Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3), C.J. Aaron [book recommendations .TXT] 📗

A wispy, darkened cloud shifted by the phrenic’s side.

Elias.

Ryl leapt forward calling on the gift of speed from within. He reached the back of Aldren's wagon in an instant, the tingling in his tattooed left arm swelled as he approached. Without pause, he ripped the flap aside, springing into the back of the darkened wagon.

A small lantern hung from the ceiling of the rear of the wagon. Vox jumped as Ryl burst inside. The phrenic was leaning down, his back to Elias. Somehow a tribute had fallen from their hastily constructed stretcher, and the phrenic elementalist worked carefully to return the addled body to its bed.

As Ryl entered, Elias’ head rolled purposefully to its side. His haunting eyes met Ryl's. The eyes were not that of his friend. There was nothing but an infinite blackness filling their interior. The grin that slowly spread across his face contained pure malice.

The tingling sensation in Ryl's arm began throbbing.

“Vox, behind you,” Ryl hissed quietly as he hastened over the first of the tributes.

The phrenic elementalist turned, the limp body of the withered tribute still in his arms. In a sudden motion, Elias struggled forward against his bonds. Vox cursed as he dropped the tribute to the floor before lunging for the straps that held Elias’ arms to the board.

The voice that filled the wagon was ghostly. Ryl couldn't distinguish a note of his friend’s voice through the airy growl that issued from his lips.

“You abominations will not remain free for long,” it said as it flashed its teeth together, thrashing against its restraints. “Your blood will be milked until every last drop has been devoured.”

Ryl's arm was glowing as he reached Vox's side, the ball of light coalescing around his left hand. In their struggle with the Lei Guard at Serrate, he thought he had decimated the corruption that spread through his friend’s body. The black stains on his skin had faded, yet the taint clearly remained.

His left arm moved on its own accord, his hand traveling toward Elias's head. He felt the tear brewing in his eye as he pressed his palm down on his old friend’s head.

Ryl sensed the energy pass from him into Elias's skull. The haunting eyes rolled back into his head, startling white replacing the black before they slowly closed. The thrashing body lay still.

What had he done?

Chapter 3

In the low, flickering light of the wagon, Ryl flexed his left arm over and over again. His eyes were trained on the small black smudges that marked the surface of his skin where the sun was tattooed on his left arm.

Moments ago, there had been but one, now a second joined the first. The marks, no bigger than pin pricks, appeared to move ever so slightly as if jostled by the flares of the sun below.

His eyes travelled to Elias. His friend had lain still since the outburst earlier in the night. Ryl stared closely for a long moment, confirming that his breaths still came. His friend’s chest rose and fell ever so slightly. Though his rest had been short, Ryl took over the watch from Vox. He knew the racing of his heart and the running of his mind was incongruous with sleep.

He'd helped Vox secure the straps that held Elias down before tending to the tribute who'd fallen from their makeshift litter. It seems the convulsions were involuntary as the man was still unresponsive after they returned him to his stretcher.

The night passed without further incident. The recovering tributes in both wagons remained comatose as they broke camp before the sun had risen fully into the sky.

With few words between them, the wagons slowly began their creaking procession over the rough road headed south toward the crossing. They traveled in a staggered line, separate, though keeping relatively close proximity to each other. A pair of riders scouted ahead, while two trailed slightly behind. The remainder of their party split their duties between driving the wagons or tending to the ailing tributes. Aldren for the most part remained at the head of his wagon diligently working on the black cloaks.

They intended on traveling within earshot until they crossed to the eastern side of the narrow river. From there, they would space themselves out by a matter of a mile or so as they traveled the short distance to the main road that ran toward Milstead. Should they encounter any on the road, word of Lei Guard riding in caravan with civilians was sure to raise unwanted suspicion and questions.

Ryl remained at his post watching Elias and the comatose tributes as the caravan slowly inched forward. He waved off the reprieve as Ramm pushed his head through the flaps at the rear of the wagon. The modest confines of the wagon’s interior weren't comfortably set to accommodate a person of the massive phrenic's stature. Even before the addition of the makeshift stretchers for the tributes the wagon would have felt cramped for the mountain of a man.

Ryl chuckled to himself as Ramm accepted the dismissal, closing the flaps behind him. The sight of the phrenic riding on a horse was interesting to say the least. The beasts were strong, but their legs were sure to flag quickly under the weight of his imposing, solid frame. For the most part, Ramm had occupied his time driving one of the two wagons.

The day passed slowly as Ryl's charges were less than talkative. His attention was focused intently on their actions, or lack thereof. Every abnormally large breath, every involuntary noise drew his scrutiny. He routinely checked to verify that they were still breathing, oftentimes leaning in close, feeling for the faint puff of breath on his skin. The air from their lungs was startlingly cold, sending a chill down his spine. Each registered a faint yellow glow in the vision of his phrenic mindsight. How long would they remain in this condition?

Would they ever wake?

Ryl heard the muted, “whoa” from Dav, who was