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

Ryl opened his eyes to a view of the natural rock of the small cavern above his head. The warm air smelled fresh and clean, with only a lingering hint of the pungent smoke remaining. Cautiously, he sat upright, finding his body only a meter from the steady flame in the center of the room. The blood red knife lay on the ground by his side.

His first thoughts were of extreme hunger and devastating thirst. How long had he remained in the nexus? He rose to his feet, surprised to find the clumsy, unnatural feeling of his movements gone. He was again fully clothed, though the touch of his pants and shirt felt exceedingly scratchier and stiffer.

Bending down, he reached for the small blade with his right hand, smiling as he noted the markings covering his arm. The tattoos somehow looked more realistic now than they had when they were applied. He focused on the woodskin; hardening the skin of his arm. The crust formed without hesitation, instantaneously covering his arm with a thick, rough bark. The undyed flesh of his arm, peeking out from between the tattoos, retained its natural coloration yet it appeared to be made entirely of wood.

He let the protection slip as he tucked the small knife into his belt. Never before had calling on his skills been so fluid, so second nature. He focused on the mindsight, locating the other phrenics without a second thought. He held out his right hand calling in the soulborne wind. The air around his hand spun with the power of a tornado. As the wind whipped around the small chamber the sleeve of his left arm fluttered, sliding partway up, exposing the black line of tattoos. He let the torrent of wind dissipate back into nothing.

Ryl had grown accustomed to the heightened senses after ridding the toxins of the masquerading treatments from his body. Each of his senses now fired in overdrive. Visual details were enhanced; the room appeared brighter and more defined, as if a filter obscuring the minute intricacies was removed from his eyes.

The shuffle of his feet on the earthen floor was clearly audible as he made his way to the closed stone door. He could hear the scratch of his clothing as it brushed against his skin.

Ryl placed his hand on the stone door. Sudden pangs of hunger caused his stomach to rumble, contracting in pain. The growl echoed through the chamber. His mouth and throat were parched and painfully dry; swallowing came with a moderate level of difficulty. As soon as his fingers contacted the door, it groaned from within as it began to withdraw into the wall to his right. He could feel every grain of the coarse stone as they brushed against his fingertips.

The door stopped with a deafening thump as it completed its opening. Outside, the narrow hallway was dim, illuminated only by flickering light from the torches burning in the training circle. The room was vacant and appeared as if no one had trained on its hard, earthen floor for some time.

On the small table to the side of the exit from the hallway a large waterskin waited patiently. Ryl unstoppered the welcome find, drinking greedily from its contents. The temperature of the water matched the room. How long had it awaited his return? The stone panel slowly ground to a close behind him. He turned his head at the sound, watching momentarily as the interior of the awakening chamber disappeared from view.

Ryl experienced a moment of panic. How long had he been gone? He triggered the mindsight—automatically locating all the phrenics again with ease. It seemed that all were gathered in the hall above. His ears picked up the muffled sounds of conversation drifting down the stairwell. The scent of freshly baked bread reached his nose; his stomach growled. The intense hunger and the lure of waiting sustenance propelled him forward.

He took the stairs two at a time ascending from within the depths of the mountain. As Ryl reached the landing before the ground floor, he heard the conversation in the room above cease. A profound feeling of relief flowed from the hall.

Stepping out of the stairwell the feeling swelled like the rise of the tide, threatening to wash him back down the stairs. The main hall was in a state of disorganized chaos. Books and scrolls of all shapes and sizes were strewn across the surface of the grand table. The small tables by the door and against the side wall were likewise stacked high with tome after tome.

Even more of a surprise was the physical state of the phrenics. Several menders tended to the phrenics seated around the wooden table. Rags stained with blood were piled on the end. Ticco, Mender Brasley's apprentice, was carrying a shovel full towards the fire burning quietly in the hearth. The apprentice froze, mouth agape as Ryl materialized from the stairwell.

Without exception, the phrenics regarded him with a look of relief, smiles spreading across their faces. The comfort was eclipsed as fear crept into Ryl’s mind.

A momentary panic set in.

“Was there an attack?” Ryl asked in a rush.

“No, Ryl,” Paasek answered for the group. “There's no need to worry. All are well.”

Ryl surveyed the room. The phrenics spread out through the hall were most certainly not well. All were bloodied; streaks of crimson stretched down from their noses. All looked exhausted.

“Then, what happened?” he inquired, waving his arm over the scene in the hall.

Paasek rose from his chair, motioning for Mender Brasley’s attention.

“Excuse us a moment, if you please,” Paasek announced to the menders and their apprentices who were still busy tending to the bloodied phrenics. Brasley opened his mouth to complain, a look of profound disappointment written across his face. The mender thought better of the argument, collecting Ticco and heading from the hall.

After the last of the menders and their staff grudgingly filed from the room, Paasek sat wearily back in his chair.

“You see, Ryl, the awakening process