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

He noted the eyes of a few squeeze shut at his command. He quickly surveyed the crowd for any sign of recognition. Of all, it was Palon who regarded him with an uncharacteristic grin.

“There are yet secrets to be discovered within these walls that have hidden in plain sight since your first day here,” Ryl said quietly. “And there are wonders beyond these walls that have remained hidden from the Kingdom since their inception. All will come to light soon enough. Rest is what’s needed now. We still have many miles to travel before we reach our destination.”

With little else of substance that needed to be said, the impromptu meeting came to a close. There was still much for the tributes to learn. The secrets of the Erlyn loomed in the distance. The secrets that lay dormant in their blood begged for discovery. The wait would be excruciating, possibly even more so than the sickness that was inevitably to come.

The tributes dispersed with a distant look in their eyes. Though the future was undoubtedly uncertain, their hopes of freedom bolstered their flagging spirits. They walked with a spring to their step that Ryl hadn’t seen the likes of in his cycles in The Stocks. That was not to say that their fears of capture and the sickness did not still weigh on them. Ryl could see traces of it in their shoulders. He could see its force pushing on them as they moved about the work camp.

For the first time, however, the doubt and the fear were fighting a losing battle against hope.

Many of the tributes made ready for rest, bedding down anywhere there was room. The guards had done their best to distribute the spare bedrolls taken from the storeroom at Cadsae, however, there were still far more tributes than supplies. In most cases, the lack of the added comfort was trivial; they were more than accustomed to spending the night sleeping on the ground.

Others found themselves locked in conversations with their peers. They glanced at the guards with uncertain eyes, hesitant to put trust in those who’d ensured their captivity for so long. They viewed the phrenics with a sense of confusion, wonderment and even fear.

The eyes that followed Ryl were filled with awe.

The feeling of their conspicuous looks was disconcerting. It reminded him of the attention he’d received in Vim once the true nature of his power, of the phrenics’ power, was revealed after the devastation of the Prophet’s Tree.

Ryl wandered through the tributes before stopping briefly among them. He found his closest friends huddled together near the outer wall of the small common house. Through the door, he could see the modest domain was overflowing with bodies, jostling for sleeping position under the shelter of the roof.

He had a momentary flashback to the last time he’d journeyed on the dusty, narrow road through The Stocks. The master’s assassins had plagued them by night and two common houses were razed to the ground.

Ryl smiled as he approached the group of his friends. Faya was sitting on the ground, her legs crossed in front of her as she listened intently to Aelin’s animated story. Her smile shone brighter than the brilliant blue of her sightless eyes. Rolan stood several paces away chatting idly with Luan and her seemingly steadfast defenders, Tash and Palon. His eyes glistened from the swelling emotion as he watched his daughter play with the young tribute.

Sarial had returned to where they had unloaded the impaired tributes with Elora at her side. Several others had followed suit, assisting with their care. Ryl watched as a pair assisted one of the more mobile of their charges, gently supporting her under each arm as she sluggishly shuffled her feet.

One small, hesitant step followed the other as they made their way across the now trampled patch of wild grass alongside the road. Her eyes were unfocused and appeared to be clouded over. Ryl felt a tinge of frustration and annoyance that he'd failed to recognize her before now. Her face was one which he should have recognized, having left with the Harvest in cycle 1347, only four cycles prior.

Her name was Terrali. She shared the same story as many within the walls. Like too many others, her family had made the unconscionable decision to choose gold over the life of their only daughter.

Though her staggered steps, taken with a considerable amount of support, were a monumental achievement in terms of any of their recoveries, he was still concerned about their seeming lack of connection with the world around them. Amongst all of them, moments of lucid awareness were still unseen.

The afternoon progressed rapidly as the sun plummeted toward the western palisade. The ailing tributes had been tended to and cared for by the compassionate hands of the tributes, guards and the mender. Jeffers was distressingly baffled by their condition. He paced wildly along the side of his wagon, arms folded across his chest, speaking to himself like a man possessed.

The captain had taken control of watching the perimeter as the tributes rested while they had the chance. His troops were unsurprisingly well trained. A perimeter was maintained, while several scouts traveled south as well as east and west of their location. Ryl refused to leave the guard duty solely to Le’Dral and his men. Andr, the Vigil and the phrenics maintained their own patrols and shifts, though theirs were centered closer to the tributes and their wagon.

With few exceptions, Ryl had nearly ignored the intensity of the oppressive watchfulness that resulted from living in The Stocks. From their current position, alongside the work camp at Thayers Rest, sight of the walls was blocked by the hill from which the camp got its name and by the small grove of trees that surrounded the newly rebuilt common house.

As his shift was second, he’d laid down to rest, finding an opening among newly reunited friends. Sleep was not to come to him that evening. The