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

Ryl knew that voice. His frustration grew as he struggled to gain control of his mind. He fought to choke back the tears, to staunch the flow that still poured down his face. He looked up into the blurred face of the man who now spoke to him in a quiet, comforting tone. As a father would soothe a distraught child.

The recognition dawned on him like the thick curtains of the window being thrown open, revealing the startling light behind them. The memories flooded back into his mind with vivid clarity.

Andr.

The man had given up everything to guide him into the unknown with less than a sliver of hope to succeed. In the end, that delicate sliver, that miniscule shard of hope was all they'd needed to carry on, to push further.

To find shelter.

The tears faded as Ryl regained a greater semblance of control over his body.

“Andr, it's good to see you,” Ryl choked through the tears. His voice weak and raspy from disuse. “Help sit me up. Slowly, please.”

“Take it easy, Ryl,” Andr said quietly. “The mender’s coming.”

Ryl nodded his head slightly, concerned any larger movement would harken the return of another bout of dizziness. The worry written across Andr's face faded into a mild smirk as he helped lift Ryl into a seated position.

“It's good to see you too,” he said, patting Ryl on the shoulder.

The tears had washed his eyes clean. Ryl met the eyes of the mercenary at the side of his bed. He looked more tired than he'd ever seen him. How long were they alone in the wilds of the Outlands?

“Where are we? How long have I been out?” Ryl blurted out the questions before he could stop himself. The relief from the overpowering discomfort was invigorating. Andr chuckled to himself.

“We're safe,” Andr said with a smile. “All will be explained soon. We've had quite the adventure, you and I.”

His voice trailed off and his eyes wandered the room absently at the end of his statement. Ryl could see the pain in his eyes. He understood now the inconsistencies in the attitude of the rugged mercenary. Andr had a patient manner of teaching. On several occasions, Ryl was taken aback with how the mercenary had communicated with him. The tone and caring of his voice were incongruous with the mystique of one who lived and died by the blade. It was more akin to how one would expect a father to speak to a child.

“None of it was your fault, you know,” Ryl said compassionately, the words spilled out before he could stop them.

“What are you talking about?” Andr asked. He cocked his head slightly to the side affording him with a look of confusion.

“Cray,” Ryl said knowingly. “There was nothing you could have done had you been there. In the end, the results would have been even more devastating. For both of you.”

“You heard?” Andr breathed in disbelief, his voice no more than a whisper.

Ryl closed his eyes before giving a small nod of his head.

“Aye, I did,” Ryl admitted. “Cray’s results would have been the same had you been there or not. Your wife would have still pushed to sell him, and you never would have agreed. She’d have sold you out to the hunters to save herself.”

Andr hung his head exhaling a long, slow breath. His shoulders slumped. Ryl had never seen the man so defeated.

“You would have run,” Ryl said. He focused, trying to force the feeling of comfort over his friend. The exertion left him winded.

“You’d have been free for the time being,” Ryl gasped between breaths. “Maybe days or maybe cycles. They would have hunted you relentlessly. Cray would have watched you slaughtered before his eyes.”

He watched Andr’s shoulders rise.

“This is the best that could be hoped for,” Ryl insisted. “You still live. Cray still lives. And as a result, I still live.”

Andr looked up at him. He watched as the confusion and defeat that had marred the mercenary’s face morph into acceptance.

“And while the blood still flows in my veins, my friend, so too does hope,” Ryl said reverently.

He felt the hints of the familiar calling from inside his veins. The blood heated as it rushed through his body. Ryl sat up straight in his bed; all discomfort in his body melted away to nothing, leaving only perfect clarity. The phrenic mindsight merged with his view of the small room they sat in. He tracked the glow from multiple pinpoints of yellow light as they moved rapidly across his vision. Andr’s eyes widened as they witness the transformation in Ryl.

“You will be reunited with your boy,” Ryl said with a force greater than he intended, his voice echoed through the small room.

“The Stocks will fall. The tributes will be free, we will see to it.”

Chapter 24

The blissful feeling that surged through Ryl was nothing more than a mask. For a moment it disguised the lingering effects of the poison that had crippled him. The feeling faded as quickly as it arrived—opening the floodgates for the discomfort and exhaustion to race through his body. He collapsed backward onto the bed, his body cushioned by the soft mattress.

He was gasping for air, his breaths coming in rapid succession. His lungs burned like he'd been sprinting for miles. His vision blurred as he struggled to focus on Andr’s face. Ryl could hear his friend’s voice, yet he failed to make out any words. The sounds were distorted, garbled, as if he was listening to someone speaking underwater.

The door to the small room had closed after Andr's forcible entry. It burst open again, this time slamming into the wall with enough momentum to gouge out a large chunk of rock.

The startling, sharp report of the door striking the wall snapped Ryl’s body back into focus. His vision returned with a startling clarity; his hearing resolved. He could see the tension in Andr's movement as he whipped his head around toward the sound.

Ryl followed Andr’s gaze.