Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2), C.J. Aaron [e reading malayalam books txt] 📗

on the other hand, we cannot. Fetch your water skin, let's go fill up. We'll grab limbs for the door on the way back too.”

Ryl and Andr filled their water skins from the small spring that spurted from the earth. Unlike their water source from the previous day there was no pool, the precious liquid seeping back into the earth after traveling a few meters.

Andr’s sword made easy work of slicing off a collection of branches. He took his time finding the last, largest of the group, hacking it from its tree with several swings of his blade. Ryl looked on questioningly as he slid the sword back into its sheath.

“It's a shame we lost all the supplies from the boat,” the mercenary mourned. “That second blade for you would have come in handy. Still, we’ll make do with what we have. A stick with a sharpened stone will be better than nothing should we need it.”

Ryl questioned his decision to remain silent about the Leaves as he followed the mercenary back to their shelter. On one hand, he couldn't see the harm in trusting Andr with the information, after all, he was trusting him with his life.

His mind argued the point—he had made a promise to Da'agryn not to reveal what he’d learned about the phrenics, their history, or his powers. He was convinced the old man had known of his coming freedom at the hands of his sponsor, Lord Eligar. Although, how he had known was a question that troubled him, he was determined to uphold his promise.

Ryl set to the task of starting the fire while Andr hastily constructed their screen of branches. The dry tinder lit with ease, the burning twigs and leaves crackling gently as the fire took hold. The small blaze issued a puff of acrid smoke that momentarily filled the cave before dissipating through the exit. His eyes stung from the harsh smoke, involuntarily filling them with tears. He rubbed them with the back of his hand, wiping off the moisture with the left sleeve of his cloak.

Andr seemed unfazed by the brief cloud as he sat closer to the modest doorway of their cave. As Ryl worked on the fire, his companion had amassed a small collection of rocks from the surrounding terrain. The mercenary was in the process of standing one up on its end atop a large rock that made up a good portion of their floor. Content that the fire would sustain itself, Ryl shuffled closer, curious to see what Andr was doing.

The mercenary hefted a larger, rounded rock with both hands, hammering it down on the standing stone. Ryl jumped as small fragments of stone pelted his legs.

“Sorry about that,” Andr said with an uneven smile.

He carefully sifted through the fragmented remains of the standing stone.

“Ah hah, here we go,” he said enthusiastically. “This should work just fine.”

In his hand was a fragment of the original rock that had been sheared from its parent by the force of the impact. The shard was nearly twice the length of his hand. Its dirty, weathered exterior had hidden a beautifully polished speckled pattern on the inside. The single serrated edge appeared wickedly sharp and spanned nearly half the length of the blade, ending in a pointed tip.

“This won’t be the most durable of blades,” Andr lamented. “It’s incredibly sharp and will work in a pinch though. There are a couple other fragments here that will work for smaller blades too.”

Andr carefully picked up another smaller shard and went to work stripping the rough bark and small branches from the largest of the wood he'd cut earlier. Ryl sat down, leaning back against the cold rock wall, silently watching as the mercenary worked.

Having stripped the branch of its bark, the resulting pole was slightly curved in the middle but straightened toward each end. The resulting shaft stood a little more than waist high to Ryl. Andr dug the blade into the top of the pole, shearing off long thin strips, leaving a notch for the stone blade to slide into. Bringing the pole to the fire, he painstakingly heated the entire length.

“Baking the wood like this will give you a stronger, lighter shaft,” Andr instructed. “I’m rushing the process, but it’ll do. Keep an eye out for any straighter branches as we go.”

While the charred pole cooled, Andr dug through his pack, retrieving a length of cord he’d salvaged from the wreckage of their skiff. He unwound a length, leaving several long thin stands.

“Ryl, hold on to the end of this one for me,” Andr stated. “Do your best to keep the line taut while I pull. The tighter the line, the more secure the blade will be.”

Ryl nodded and did as asked. Andr fixed the stone blade into its place on the spear, pulling backward on the line while he meticulously lashed the blade to the pole. After tying the end, he repeated the process.

Before long, Andr held the short spear out in front of his body, admiring his handy work.

“Come outside with me,” Andr said. “We won’t have time for a full lesson, but I can give you a few pointers before we lose our light. The night here is unsettling. I’d rather not be caught outside after dark.”

Ryl agreed. Although he’d not sensed any additional abnormalities since the previous evening, the Outlands carried a distinct feeling of paranoia that he’d yet to shake. The feeling was disturbingly similar to being inside The Stocks.

The ensuing overview was brief, and the short spear performed admirably. Although nothing like his inherited familiarity with sword form, Ryl again impressed his tutor making remarkable headway. The pair broke from the training to check on their traps, finding them again empty. They collected wood for the fire and refilled their water skins in contemplative silence before retiring to their earthen shelter for the night.

They again spent the night sleeping in shifts while the other maintained a vigilant watch over the silent grove. Ryl yawned,