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

The signatures of the tributes they'd rescued from the facility were still feeble at best. Like the last flickering remains of a candle, he feared it would take only the notion of a breeze to extinguish the glow forever. Would their conditions ever improve? Would they ever regain control over their senses enough to live out their lives?

Had they truly been saved when he’d pulled them from the torture chamber of the facility in the shadow of the Martrion ruins?

At his side, the distinct void where Elias lay was as painful as it was confusing. His mark was neither the golden glow of the alexen, nor the blackened stain of its opposite. In its place was a void of neither light nor dark. The emptiness that filled its confines was limitless.

Ryl squeezed his hands into fists, pressing them against his head in frustration. For a moment he tugged at the hair of his scalp as he worked to drive the thoughts from his mind.

It was a moment before he regained the clarity he sought. They had accomplished so much with so little. Whether the razing of the facility, the rescue of a father and daughter on the run from the hunter's blades or the freedom of the tributes from their captors. They'd come this far. They'd converted many to their cause.

They'd all bled for the truth. For freedom. For what was right.

“I'll not give up on you, my friend,” Ryl whispered as he looked at the still form of Elias, lying a hand’s width from his side. “I'll find a way through this. I'll be by your side until the end.”

He watched the rhythmic breathing of his friend’s chest. The steady pulsation was soothing. He waited for an answer that he knew wouldn't come. The frustration was growing harder to hide.

“He can hear you, you know,” came the airy voice from his opposite side. The sound was weak and ragged, requiring a force that was audible.

Ryl turned his head in shock. Cavlin's head had rolled to the side facing him. His eyes were open, though no more than slits. He blinked them together with sluggish effort.

“Yours was not the face I expected to see in that alley,” Cavlin mumbled. “I was sure it would be death's gaze that met my eyes. I admit I was shocked, but not truly surprised.”

Ryl leaned in close, his worried eyes darting to the bandage that remained wrapped around the wounded guard’s waist. Jeffers had changed it not long before they left their ill-fated campsite—he was relieved to see it was still clean of blood.

“We were lucky that fate chose to reunite us as it did,” Ryl answered.

Cavlin blinked hard, squeezing his eyes shut in a wince of pain.

“Aye, luck had a part in it. I'll be forever thankful for that,” Cavlin stated honestly.

A convulsion of pain rolled through his body. Ryl saw his muscles tense, and a tear formed in the corner of his eye.

“It was more than just dumb luck,” he said bluntly. “It wasn't pure luck that cut down eight professional killers in that alley. Just like it wasn't luck alone that disposed of that vile master and his henchman. It was skill.”

Ryl did his best to hide the recognition that flashed across his face. Cavlin smiled a small, knowing grin, likely the furthest extent of his muscles’ range of motion before the pain kicked in.

“Your ability is unlike any I've seen. Your movement borders on the impossible,” he gasped. “There was something about you before, something unexplainable. There is no questioning it now. What is it that you want, Ryl? Why did you return?”

Ryl stared down at the wounded guard for a long moment as he pondered the true answer to the question. There was no simple answer.

He wanted freedom. Freedom for the tributes, freedom for the children and families that fell prey to the horrors of a positive Ascertaining testing.

He wanted understanding. Understanding that the tributes were not something to be feared. They were men and women, boys and girls much like the rest. Though their powers, their skills would set them apart, they weren't something to be hunted and caged.

He wanted peace. There were battles coming. The fate of the phrenic. The fate of Vim and of Damaris would be held at the tip of a clawed hand.

He wanted hope.

He wanted the hope that freedom was truly possible. That the understanding he was witnessing around him was infectious; that it would spread across the land, carried on the winds. That peace could be realized.

“I came here to set them free,” Ryl answered after his reverie.

“And I'll aid you anyway I can,” Cavlin whispered. His eyes rolled back in his head as he fought to maintain his fleeting grip on wakefulness.

“Rest now, my friend,” Ryl said quietly as Cavlin's eyes closed. “The road will be long and there will be much to do before we reach the end.”

Chapter 35

The coming of dawn brought a clear blue sky overhead. The crisp breeze that blew from the south was chilling yet refreshing. Its gusts seemed to give emphasis to their march; pushing them toward their destination.

To their north, the Erlyn stretched out before them, though still several miles in the distance. Her green arms reached for the hastening caravan, ushering them to the safety of her embrace. The colossal statue of Taben the Defender urged them onward.

To their south, the tale was far less optimistic. The ambush from the night before was only a precursor; merely an advanced scouting party for the army that now marched at speed, nipping at their heels. The massive wave of soldiers moved steadily forward, casting a cloud of dust that billowed high into the air. The tips of their spears glistened, sending out brilliant flares of light as they caught the rays of the morning's sun.

Ryl left his post watching over Elias, passing the duty off to Soldi. He hastened to the rear of