The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4), C.J. Aaron [best novel books to read .TXT] 📗

the brunt of a guard’s blade. What should have been a mortal wound had amounted to nothing more than torn clothing and a scratch.

“I do not imply that you take for granted the gifts she willingly provided,” Da’agryn interrupted. “Weak as she may be, her domain will yet be of assistance to you, your kind, the phrenics, and those you know as the tributes.”

As Da’agryn finished speaking, Andr reacted to a tingling along his right side. The air between his body and the wooden edge of the pathway took on a noticeably altered state. The air had a density that he could feel. It weighed on him with a pressure that was incongruous with normal air. It seemed to crackle with energy and power. The tiny hairs on his exposed arm stood tall, pulling toward the magnetic attraction of the anomaly.

Andr turned his head to his right. The woods beside him were unremarkable from the rest of the pathway that surrounded him. He noted the slightest hint of distortion. A faint shimmering of the air at his side seemed to shift on its own. He gently waved his hand outward, the tingle of electricity grew, yet his arm continued without pause.

“The Erlyn has something she desires to show us, so we follow,” Da’agryn stated matter-of-factly.

The clearing ahead resolved as they steadily approached. Though his vision was shielded by the narrow confines of the pathway, Andr noted the presence of several slender trees. They were all slightly varying shades of light grey. All had the disturbing appearance of being dead, almost petrified.

The arboreal pathway ended without warning. Andr let out an involuntary gasp as the scene unfolded before him. The clearing ahead was unlike any he’d seen before within the interior of the forest. He glanced at the prophet to his side. For his part, the ancient phrenic examined the area with a noted air of surprise.

The clearing was rectangular in shape, stretching perhaps twenty meters at its width and easily double that in length. Tall, slender trees were scattered throughout; their variety was unknown. For the first several meters the trunks were smooth and straight. Their bark was a bland ashy color. It was thin and brittle looking. In places, it had peeled away from the trunk, like parchment curling from the heat of a flame, revealing the similarly shaded wood behind it.

Several meters up, a curious ring of uniformed-sized branches spread out from the trunk. The offshoots were stubby, riddled with knots and twigs. Higher up, thin branches split off at random, though all were squat like those below. None held a single leaf. Draping down from the first ring of branches, however, long tendrils of charcoal-colored vines reached almost to the ground.

Andr looked at the earth around the base of the tree. No leaves littered the soil. Though the trees appeared dead. No errant twigs crowded the gaps between their trunks. Strangely enough, the pungent smell of rotting leaves wafted into his nose as a mild breeze rolled through the clearing.

The trees were scattered throughout in a peculiar pattern. Though seemingly random, they had an undeniable look of purposeful organization that exceeded his expectations of natural order. Nature, like the Erlyn, never ceased to amaze him with its creativity.

Andr approached the closest tree, running his eyes over the lot. There were easily one hundred trees spread out across the rectangular area. Holding out his arm, he gently parted the vines, stepping closer to the trunk. As his eyes continued to study the tree before him, they paused momentarily at the ground at its base. The earth sank inward as it met the stump, revealing the top of the roots below.

Everything in the clearing was grey, bland and ashen. The roots, partially hidden by the drab soil, however, were blood red.

Andr glanced to his side, seeking the faint glowing outline of Da’agryn. The ancient phrenic approached the tree closest to him. He paused for a moment, cocking his head slightly to the side before reaching his arm out, placing his palm on the thin bark.

Andr thought he saw the prophet’s body go rigid for an instant. As quickly as the tension had appeared, it was gone. The phrenic stood relaxed, leaning his weight on the arm pressed against the trunk. His head nodded slowly as he mumbled a string of unintelligible words to himself.

His vision was drawn back to the trunk before him. Though in appearance, the tree was but a shell of its once thriving self, it seemed to exert a pull over him. The magnetism was undeniable. It drew him in, like a siren luring its quarry to its side.

Andr’s every inclination, every fiber in his trained body cried out in protest. His ingrained training pleaded with him for pause. To resist the unnatural urge. The hanging vines at his sides began to sway in eager anticipation.

The woods had yet to steer him wrong. With a deep steadying breath, a subtle shake of his head, and a whispered profanity under his breath, he stretched out his hand.

Chapter 10

“Stop,” boomed the voice at his side.

Andr flinched at the strength of the sudden charge.

The green shimmer that had surrounded Da’agryn only moments earlier had faded. The phrenic appeared hale, more solid than he had moments earlier. He loomed over Andr, his eyes shrouded in shadow from the hood, yet the intensity of the pointed gaze bored into him.

“You will find nothing of use here.” The prophet’s voice had softened. He retreated a step away from the trunk, motioning for Andr to follow him out from beneath the swaying charcoal vines of the tree.

“In the ages I’ve walked these paths, I’ve never glimpsed this chamber,” the prophet continued. “Whether this construct has been secreted away all these cycles or is a creation only moments old, I could not begin to tell. The fact is immaterial. The need has arisen, and the Erlyn has seen fit to provide a solution.”

Andr puzzled at the statement.

“Created?” He gasped. “As