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

rapid order. Ryl’s time was consumed studying the intriguing history of the lost city’s past. He'd seen little of Andr over the time, as Councilor Lenu and the officers of the Vigil had monopolized the mercenary’s attention. Neither Kaep nor the other phrenics had made a second appearance.

Ryl was ecstatic to have completed the mender’s regimen of the putrid tasting remedy. With every passing moment, he felt his body reveling in the newfound freedom from the poison that had choked its veins.

Every sensation felt heightened. His eyes spied details he'd never acknowledged were there. There was a distinct clarity, a crispness to the world, that he’d never previously noted. In the handwritten pages of the books Oswill had deposited, he spied the virtually imperceptible bleed from the ink of the fine lettering on the parchment.

Ryl could decipher the muted conversations of Mender Brasley and Ticco from within their room on the opposite side of the hall with startling clarity. He made out the unique gait of Andr as he returned to their apartment from his meeting with the Vigil—the mercenary walked with a faint limp, from a nameless injury in his past, his right foot striking the ground slightly harder than his left.

The food delivered to his room was simple fare by most standards, yet the flavors exploded on his taste buds. The tastes combined with an overpowering newness; as if he was eating the food for the first time. He marveled at the complexity of even the simplest of dishes.

Ryl’s fingers lingered as they dragged across the pages of the tome he'd been reading. The fibers of the parchment stood out in stark contrast to the slight indentations where the pen’s tip had traced and ink had soaked into the paper.

His focus was interrupted as the phrenic mindsight triggered unbidden. He noted the telltale signatures of the phrenics as they moved throughout the city, careful to mark their locations and any further details before they again faded from vision. Strangely enough, the mindsight ended as it had begun, yet he no longer noted an appreciable loss in energy.

His recovery had continued to astonish, yet he was loath to push the bounds of his newly restored health. He had painstakingly resisted the urge to attempt the application of any of his skills as a promise to the mender. With the purging of the final toxins from his body, he could feel his strength returning, yet he was still hesitant to push the limits. Curiosity nearly got the better of him. Would his other skills require less energy to complete as well?

Ryl placed the large book down on the table he'd dragged across the room to the side of the low couch. He'd started off the day outside, as the warmth of the sun and the cleanliness of the mountain breeze was preferable to the stuffy indoors. With his heightened smell, there was no hiding the lingering tendrils of stench from the remedy, though Mender Brasley repeatedly insisted they were no longer there.

Remaining inside was preferable to persisting on the avenue today. With the ceremony proclaiming their introduction to the ranks of Vim occurring just before sundown, the lost city had taken on a distinctly more excited feel as the day progressed. The avenues grew crowded and the attention infinitely more curious.

Ryl rubbed his eyes, letting out a wide yawn. He’d expected his reading ability to have fallen off dramatically from disuse, yet was shocked by the speed at which he took to the new books. He felt as if his skill had grown substantially, though it should have atrophied from prolonged disuse and lacking tutelage.

The city that stretched around him was a marvel. What they had accomplished in over a thousand cycles was astonishing. Not only had the original phrenics survived, they had thrived. For a time, the settlers had reproduced out of mutual necessity over love. From the brink of extinction they had forged their city to over sixteen thousand souls, stretching the limits of what their society could now hold.

The sound of boots upon the Avenue outside gave away Andr's approach. The mercenary entered the room, plopping himself down eagerly onto the opposite side of the couch.

“How'd the studies go today, Ryl?” Andr quizzed.

“Well enough, I suppose,” Ryl answered with a sigh.

“There's a hint of discomfort in your voice, my friend,” Andr responded intuitively. “What's bothering you?”

“I've spent far too much time idle, recovering from this or that over the last cycle,” Ryl complained. “I didn't come here just to read from some dusty ancient tomes. There are more important things to do.”

Andr let an empathetic smile spread across his face.

“You've never spoken of your motivation for doing the things you do, nor have I asked,” Andr commented. “Yet, you need not say a word for me to understand where your heart lays. Know that mine rests in the same place.”

Andr placed a comforting hand on Ryl’s shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze.

“As much as we owe Vim a debt for saving our lives, I'd be a fool to believe that you'd be content to linger here indefinitely,” Andr admitted. “They’ve created a unique society here, one that is half militant, half an artistic wonder. I’ve only spent a short time in the company of their Vigil, yet have to admit that they are impressively skilled. If all are trained to fight even half as well as their guard, as they profess, then the whole of Vim would provide a more than worthy adversary for any fighting force I've known. And that is not to mention their phrenic warriors.”

Andr rose from the couch, crossing the room, filling a cup of water from the pitcher on the table. He cautiously swirled the liquid putting his nose into the glass, sniffing it before bringing it to his lips. Ryl laughed to himself as he watched the mercenary. He found himself mimicking the action before drinking as well. The overlaying paranoia of encountering any residue from the horrid smelling remedy was still