Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2) C.J. Aaron (unputdownable books .TXT) 📖

The mender had given Ryl his last dose two days past. Symptoms of the sickness were known to begin less than ten days after the final treatment. They became debilitating not long after that. Though not fatal, the sickness—a mix of withdrawal and the body’s reaction to the poison of the treatment—would linger for weeks. The mountains were still an indeterminable distance away and their time was running out.

Their cryptic instructions only amplified the disastrous feeling of loss and hopelessness that now dwelled in Ryl’s mind. Da’agryn, the mysterious, ancient hermit he'd met deep inside the Erlyn Woods had left him with the parting hint before his sudden disappearance.

“Look to the mountains, your answers will lie there.”

Answers, yes, but to what questions?

From where he stood, the mountains appeared unattainable. Were they to reach the mountains, what then?

Ryl's head was overflowing with questions that his mind demanded answered. What was he becoming? What powers remained hidden within his blood? How could he aid his fellow tributes who remained imprisoned inside The Stocks? Could he force an end to the barbaric system of tributes and sponsors?

Was the Kingdom of Damaris ready for that drastic of a change? A series of unfamiliar sentiments, ones he’d not seen from the outside world in cycles had enriched his mind and heart.

Compassion.

Friendship.

Trust.

He’d felt the compassion and friendship from Mender Jeffers. He had learned to trust a select few of those in stations life in The Stocks had taught him to hate. Andr, Captain Le'Dral, sub-master Millis, Cavlin, even his sponsor, the eccentric Lord Eligar had in their own ways broken the mold of the conduct he’d come to expect. This handful of kindred souls was a dramatic start, but the sample size was far too miniscule to judge the prevailing attitude of the population. Were their attitudes indicative of a populace that had been denied the truth of their existence for more than a millennium?

Ryl paused, taking a small sip from his water skin. He was already running dangerously low on the precious liquid. He followed at the heel of the determined mercenary who carved a path through the brush ahead. His thoughts, however, were still elsewhere.

The Ascertaining Decree was at the heart of the kingdom’s problem. As it stood now, the ascertaining testing, required of every child at the age of eight cycles, held their lives in the balance. If the presence of alexen was discovered, the parents were left with a heinous decision: either sell their child into a life of slavery, or tempt fate running for their lives.

Ryl had never heard of a family surviving indefinitely. Those who ran were hunted like outlaws, their families slaughtered mercilessly on the spot.

Alexen—the unseen compound in the blood—was thankfully exceedingly rare, occurring in less than one out of every several thousand children. Still, the price in blood was far too high.

What was it all for? Why hunt and remand an entire segment of the population, albeit small, to a life in chains? Ryl could think of only one word to describe it.

Greed.

For the privileged few, the ultimate favor from the King was the honor of sponsoring one of these ill-fated children. In their blood flowed a tapable power. The alexen was that power. An invisible compound, that when processed was the building block for the fabled Blessing of the King. This elixir granted long life and intelligence far past the bounds of nature.

Fortunately, Ryl's sponsor had chosen a different path. Through his cunning and deception, Lord Eligar had set Ryl free after his Harvest. For reasons that remained a tantalizing secret, Lord Eligar was convinced to sponsor Ryl by an influential, eccentric and fabulously wealthy friend, known as Old Man Averine. Prior to this point, House Eligar had stood for centuries in quiet defiance of the system of tributes.

What prompted the sudden change?

Who was Old Man Averine? How had he learned the results of Ryl's testing results quickly enough to persuade Lord Eligar?

Ryl still failed to grasp the why in all of these occurrences. Why had so much trouble been made over him? He’d been living the simple, tortured life of a tribute for eight cycles; planting, harvesting, weeding or culling infestations among the crops. In the eyes of the Kingdom he was a nobody. He was a boy with no name, abandoned by his family, stripped of all human identity.

He was identified by number alone. H1351+.

He was a tribute.

Ryl shook his head, ridding his brooding thoughts as his focus returned to the task at hand. They were alone in a foreign wilderness. The same unexplored, unforgiving wasteland that had spawned the abominations of the Outland Horde. Every step forward was another further into the unknown. They knew not where danger lurked, and he could ill afford a distracted mind.

Yet he was free.

Ryl had dreamed of freedom every day since the shock and finality of his station in life had sunk in. Life in The Stocks had been harsh. The daily regimen of abuse forever strived to extinguish even the slightest glimmer of hope from igniting a flame. Yet throughout all he had persisted. He’d never given up on hope, never truly believed that The Stocks was all life had in store.

The pair reached the summit of the low ridge, providing a thankful break from the sharpened points of the bushes. Their path forward disappeared into their midst of the jagged plants. Surveying the surrounding land, mile after mile of similarly featured terrain stretched out to the horizon.

Frequent, small outcroppings of boulders and low ridges broke the monotony of the desolate plains. Ryl was neither aware of the distance they’d travelled by boat, nor where they’d made landfall. Somewhere far to the east, fertile farmland stretched out for days until it collided with the western palisade.

Monochromatic shades of burnt amber, brown and black cloaked the entirety of the landscape and vegetation in a drab cover. To the north, several scattered groves of stunted trees pushed