Fulcrum of Light (Catalyst Book 2) by C.J. Aaron (ebook reader that looks like a book .TXT) 📕

His finger pointed toward a patch of clear reddish earth less than a meter in front of him. In the loose soil was what appeared to be the deformed footprint of a man.

The foot itself was longer than his own, the heel was far skinnier and ended in a point. The toes were thin and the large, deep gouges in the earth painted the shocking portrait of long, curved claws.

“Do you recognize the track?” Ryl said, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’ve never seen the like,” Andr gasped. “We need to leave this area, quickly. To the spring, now.”

It was only a matter of agonizing moments before they reached the small spring. Visions of the ruined creature and the footprint played in their heads. They wasted no time, taking turns drinking from the refreshing spring, refilling their water skins as the other stood guard. Ryl focused his mind, scanning the surrounding area, thankfully finding nothing out of the ordinary.

Andr pulled the few remaining vegetables from the soft earth, wiping them off on his pant leg before stuffing them into his pack. The addition of the game from the trap would have been a welcomed change. Ryl's stomach rumbled at the thought of having meat to supplement their paltry ration of carrots.

As hungry as he was, the thought of food in the aftermath of the massacre they'd just witnessed instantly culled his appetite.

Chapter 7

Ryl and Andr fled the small grove with haste. As with the day before they travelled just below the peak of the ridge running to the north. Their pace was sluggish owing to the rugged terrain and the care at which they observed their surroundings.

As always, Andr's eyes were in a constant state of motion, a habit instilled from a career served as a mercenary. Ryl too, scanned the landscape. His eyes lingered on every shadow, watching with morbid anticipation for a nameless abomination to make its presence known. He searched with the mindsight for any sign of the black shapes.

Thankfully, nothing appeared.

For five days the pair travelled under the cloud of foreboding that had settled in after discovering the slaughter. The scattered ridges and outcroppings of rock had increased in size and number and they were fortunate to find caves to shelter in as night descended over the unknown land. The dense patches of thorny brush had grown more infrequent the further north they moved, though the orange and red hues still abounded over everything in the Outlands.

There had been no additional sign of whatever creature had caused the devastation. The nights remained silent and still. They were even rewarded with a hare in one of their hastily constructed traps. Its meat provided a much-anticipated change to their staple of gritty carrots.

As the days wore on, Ryl’s anxiety grew increasingly more troublesome. The fear of the unseen dangers in the night was being overshadowed, supplanted by his worry over the unavoidable approach of the sickness.

They'd now traveled for nearly eight full days—leaving Ryl two days overdue for his treatment. The cleverly disguised poison he and the other tributes were forced to choke down for cycles would soon diminish in concentration to the point where it would fall prey to the alexen in his blood. The battle that would soon rage within his body would manifest itself with debilitating effects.

They were running out of time.

The pair had followed the base of a low ridge heading to the northwest for most of the day. Over the last several days the desire for speed over stealth had pushed them to a greater, more reckless pace. Though they covered more ground during the day, their haste resulted in more frequent stops at the groves that lay scattered across the land. Thankfully, the small plots of trees readily provided water and a consistent supply of food, albeit the choice of nutrition was annoyingly limited.

Exhaustion was beginning to have ill effects on them both. The Haven Mountains were still far to the north. The frustrating range never appeared to be any closer than it had the day before. The true distance remaining between their position and the peaks was an agonizing mystery. Attempting to shelter in the Outlands for the majority of a moon to weather Ryl's coming sickness would undoubtedly amount to a death sentence.

The thought soured Ryl's mood, momentarily distracting him from his survey of the land that stretched out before them. He lay prone on a large, flat rock an arm’s length away from Andr.

They’d found a small cave a short distance from the peak of the ridge they’d been following. After a short climb to the top, they'd crawled out across the stone to steal a discrete view of the surrounding landscape. The sun was rapidly descending toward the horizon to their left.

Ahead, the mountains loomed tall, dominating the horizon to the north. In all other directions the Outlands continued unbroken.

“We should head toward that second ridge,” Andr commented. “The ground looks flatter and the groves closer.”

Ryl sighed in response, putting his head down on the red rock. The surface was warm having baked all day in the heat of the sun’s light.

“How are you holding up?” Andr asked, his smile growing to cover the hint of worry that flashed across his face.

“I'm fine,” Ryl snapped before he could control his frayed nerves. “I'm sorry. Just really tired. I’d give anything to see a hint of greenery right now.”

“I second that,” Andr agreed. “They can't be too much farther, though. I’ve studied what I could of the few maps that have been made of the Outlands. The Haven Mountains are the only consistent feature in any of them. They run west from The Stocks. We have to run into them sooner or later.”

“I'd prefer sooner, if at all possible,” Ryl grumbled.

Andr patted him on the shoulder, slowly shimmying his way off the rock covered peak. Ryl followed closely behind.

Their shelter for the night was a cave set