Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3) C.J. Aaron (mobi reader .txt) 📖

Ryl took Andr's outstretched hand, mounted behind the mercenary. Rolan rode with Geshill, while Faya was all too happy to ride with Kaep. The young girl had already launched into a flurry of questions the moment her father had finished assisting her onto the back of the phrenic’s horse.

Kaep, to her credit, showed a side of her character of which Ryl was wholly unfamiliar. The normally stoic warrior was nurturing and bubbly as she opened up to the child. Ryl flashed her a bemused smile; the phrenic responded with a roll of her eyes as they spurred their horses onward to the farm.

In Ryl's absence, his companions at the farm had been anything but idle. Watches were maintained with a steady vigil. None wanted to risk further endangering the farmer, or his additional family members who had been recruited from Milstead. Thankfully the roads leading to his farm and the surrounding countryside remained quiet. There were no further sightings of hunters or Lei Guard.

The phrenics had maintained a constant presence watching over Elias and the other tributes. Each had taken marginal steps toward recovery, though none had spoken with any inkling of clarity as Elias had the previous afternoon. Arms and legs of the tributes twitched with glimpses of conscious control. Eyes batted as if in deep, dreaming slumber.

The signs were nominal at best. Their worried and eager rescuers were cautiously optimistic about their progress.

Both of Geshill's daughters, Zayah and Willa, were eager participants, though they had no concept of the true nature of their father’s scheme. They'd reported to the farm as promised past midday. True to their father’s word, they feigned no emotion when the plight of the tributes was described. They were raised grieving over the stories of their stolen aunt. They sided with their father, echoing his deep-rooted hatred of the system that had taken his beloved sister away.

Though none knew of the final plans, they'd set in on the task they were enlisted for in earnest; recreating the black cloaks. As two talented seamstresses, they assured Geshill that the work would be accomplished quickly. Their horror was poorly veiled when they viewed the quality of the disguises that Aldren had pieced together on the road. The merchant was chastised—but took the abuse in good stride.

The ride back to Geshill’s farm was thankfully short. Ryl could see the weariness that remained in Rolan’s body. Now that the ever-present burden and dread of being discovered was at least mildly alleviated, his shoulders slumped. His protective eyes watched his daughter cautiously as his body cried out for a well-deserved rest.

Against all odds, he'd brought his child from the brink of certain servitude. He'd willingly sacrificed everything. Every moment spent with her was a moment more than he'd been granted by the Kingdom. Ryl was thankful for the twists of fate that had caused their paths to align. One looming question, however, remained. Who was the mysterious mender who'd informed them of the impending news?

The mystery would have to wait. A thin line of smoke streaked into the clear, darkening sky ahead. The rooftops of Geshill's house and stable stood out among the scattered trees that dotted his property. The bleating of the sheep grew steadily as they drew near.

They approached the farm from a westerly direction, opposite from the small road that led to the front. The back of Geshill's farmhouse held a single door in the middle of its frame, and a solitary step led to the ground below. Their impending arrival had likely been reported by one of the sentries guarding the perimeter of the property. The figures of two women stood patiently waiting, one standing on either side of the door.

Geshill's daughters strode out to meet them as they reached the farm. The subtle aroma of food on the light breeze caused Ryl's stomach to rumble. The day had not gone as anticipated. Nearly a full day had been spent. The Harvest loomed in the immediate future.

Less than five days remained.

Less than five days before an action that could shape the course of a kingdom.

Ryl was distracted by the thought as he slid down from the horse as Andr pulled the mare to a stop. He hastened to the side of Kaep's mount, assisting Faya as she fearlessly sprang into his arms. Rolan, who had lagged a few steps behind, gently chided the child for her careless behavior. Faya grinned at Ryl as she collected her father’s hand.

Geshill walked forward, embracing his daughters as if they'd not seen each other in cycles. Ryl felt an uncontrollable twinge of regret as he watched the greeting. A sudden pang of pain from the unfillable void that resided in him—care of his family’s betrayal—inserted itself into his thoughts. He inhaled a deep, steadying breath, willing the unbridled emotions back into the recesses of his mind.

Would he ever truly be free from the torment of their actions? Nearly ten cycles had now passed … yet the lingering wound remained.

The familial similarities between Geshill and his daughters was readily noted. Their faces all shared common features. The young women maintained a similar, rigid pointed chin to that of their father and their high cheek bones seemed to pull their lips into a perpetual grin. Geshill had tears in his eyes the previous night when he reminisced about times past. In his view, they were both spitting images of the sister that had been stolen away so many cycles earlier.

Zayah, the eldest, was also the taller of the two siblings. Like her younger sister, her brown hair was tied into a neat braid that ran down her back. She separated from her father’s brief embrace, looking over the motley crew gathered in the yard.

Ryl had remained with his hood down since the morning's encounter with the hunters. He watched as the expression on her face grew momentarily into one of shock. Her kind, brown eyes widened briefly as they traveled to the marked skin on his neck before