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

the incoming information. As he progressed, so too did the speed of the training. The pair spun around the room in a coordinated volley of strikes and parries, blocks and counter attacks.

As his skills advanced, a blindfold was often added to the equation. Though the thought of fighting another phrenic was unheard of, the Outland Horde displayed their own signatures, similar to that of the phrenics. Ryl shuddered at the thought of the inky black voids he’d seen in his vision as the Horde had stalked he and Andr from afar. Paasek, with the help of several other phrenics, would stalk silently around the edges of the room, while Ryl remained in the center. In random succession, they’d dart across the area at him, forcing him to evade their incoming attacks. A delayed reaction on his part was followed by a painful strike to his body.

There were times that the phrenics seemed to relish the chance to cause a small undue amount of discomfort. Muted chuckles echoed through the training chamber as they struck as a coordinated team, intent on bringing him to the ground. Ryl bit his tongue, taking the abuse in stride. His mind was steadied by the reassurance that all had likely faced training similar to this in their time.

The implementation of the woodskin was far and away the most painful of the skills to train. He and his phrenic tutor would spar in unarmed combat; Ryl would be permanently on defense. Paasek would launch strikes at varying locations on Ryl’s body with ever-changing speed and intensity. Sometimes the blows would come in rapid succession, others would delay for harrowing moments of anticipation as the more experienced phrenic circled patiently.

The strength contained in even the lightest of strikes from Paasek was tremendous. The phrenic tutor struck with only a fraction of his power, yet the blows still felt as if his fists were made of stone. Ryl couldn’t imagine the force that accompanied a fully powered strike. He squirmed at the thought of the damage. Images of the ruin of the assassins that had failed their assigned task to end his life in the Erlyn flashed before his eyes. He choked back a wave of nausea. Ryl had thought his skill had been adequate. The bruises were a lingering reminder that he still had much to learn.

The training of the soulborne wind progressed with the advances in understanding the phrenic mindsight and woodskin. Though the skill was foreign to Paasek he’d set up various tasks and practices allowing Ryl to hone the ability towards perfection. At first, wooden dummies clothed with straw filled apparel were arranged around the room. On commands from his mentor, Ryl launched focused attacks with bursts of wind. Powerful blasts were directed at the chest, throwing the dummies into the air while more narrow, focused beams of wind targeted the arms; knocking loose weapons. A large sweeping motion sent a wave of air into the legs, toppling the helpless dummies.

For more precision training, Paasek tasked Ryl with blowing out the flame of individual candles set in a single candelabra. The initial results were rough. Droplets of wax splattered the wall behind the small wooden table that had been arranged for him. His precision aiming had seen dramatic improvements yet was still far from anything that could be considered mastery.

Ryl had gained remarkable control over his skills, though he still felt as if a crucial piece was missing. The persistent lingering doubt riddled his mind, reminding him that there was still much he was incapable of. Still much he had yet to understand.

Ryl smiled at Paasek as he entered the chamber. His cautious eyes assessed the room for signs of any impending attacks. On several occasions, Ryl had been caught off guard; a painful lesson he was determined not to forget. His smile faded into a questioning look as he noted the subtle change in the feeling of the room. There was a distinct air of uncertainty and hesitance.

Paasek stood stoic with his arms folded across his chest, a stern look written across his face. To his left stood a small table, with a leather pouch the size of his fist resting on its surface. The top was securely cinched shut. To his right, the darkened recesses of the short, dead end tunnel were lit by a single candle burning in a tall, thin holder at its end. Ryl could see the hilt of a small dagger tucked into Paasek's belt, peeking out from behind the edge of his cloak.

“What’s happening?” Ryl hesitated. He stopped just shy of the center of the earthen floor of the phrenics training circle.

“I have taught you all that I can, my friend,” Paasek intoned. “The time is past due that you take your place among the phrenics who’ve walked this world.”

“I still feel there is so much I am missing,” Ryl protested. “That there are missing pieces that have yet to fall into place.”

Paasek flashed him a sympathetic smile.

“Fear not, Ryl,” he said. “That is a feeling we have all experienced. It is natural at this point in the process. The skills you’ve exhibited far exceed those phrenic initiates; even most fully awakened phrenics will never achieve them. The raw, uncontrolled power that flows through you now would have driven most to madness, or pushed your body past the bounds of control. It’s a wonder you’ve been able to maintain them.”

Paasek reached down, scooping up the small pouch from the table. He pivoted to his right, moving into the narrow hallway to his side.

“Follow me,” he ordered.

“What happens now?” Ryl asked as he tentatively stepped after the phrenic.

His body was a mix of emotions. He was hesitant. The fear of the unknown. The uncertainty. The doubt in his readiness slowed his feet. At the same time, he felt the familiar heat, the quickening of the blood as it surged through his veins. With it came the uncontrollable urge to follow.

Concentrating on placing one foot in front of the