The Defiance of Vim (Catalyst Book 4) by C.J. Aaron (graded readers txt) 📕

As was the case with much of the fabled forest, the views into the interior were sparse, even in broad daylight. With little more than the light of the moon and stars overhead, the deep, impenetrable darkness was absolute.

Andr paused as he reached the edge of the woods. Ahead, the lone tree remained in focus. He struggled to scour the details of the forest on either side, yet they remained lost in a blur of color.

The tree itself was unremarkable. Its bark was ashen in the pale moonlight, though streaks of orange highlighted the vertical grains and blemishes on its face. Overhead several branches curved outward. Their pointed leaves were toothed.

The pull from within the forest swelled. Andr knew in that instant what he must do. Why he was drawn to the tree. With a deep steadying breath, he reached out his hand, placing it on the smooth bark.

A sudden jolt of energy preceded the deluge of information.

Chapter 9

The path ahead was clear. Andr found himself striding forward at a measured pace. Trees lined either side of the straight walkway wide enough to comfortably account for three abreast. A thick veil of bushes, brambles, and vines obscured the views further into the Erlyn’s midst. The thin trees on either side reached their branches inward, forming a low ceiling overhead.

In the distance, he could make out the dull glow of moonlight as the pathway opened to another clearing. Scattered patches of glowing mosses provided faint illumination. The air inside the forest was still. The earthy scents were strong here. Gone were all hints of the acrid smoke and the thick metallic tang of dried blood that seemed to linger throughout their expansive shelter.

The neatly swept appearance of the surface underfoot belied the infrequent use of the route he now traveled. The muffled impact of his foot as it struck the hard earth below was steady, rhythmic, as it stepped along with the tempo of his heart. The forest around seemed to pulse in time.

Step after step he moved onward. He walked with a determined purpose, his focus set on the opening ahead. It wasn’t long before a second sound grew to his left. Andr heard the soft padding of footsteps approaching from the rear. The trained mercenary instinctually let his hand fall subtly to the hilt of his sword. The feel of the weapon’s grip in his hand was comforting, yet strangely enough he found no desire to unsheathe the blade. He knew he had nothing to fear here. With a casual ease, he pivoted his head, greeting the figure who approached.

“You’ll have no use for that here, my friend,” the newcomer intoned. His head gestured to the weapon at Andr’s side.

“Aye. I suppose it’s a force of habit,” Andr replied with a shrug of his shoulders. The man nodded in response.

Andr needed no introduction to recognize the figure that now joined him. The body was partially opaque. The fleeting hint of the trees behind gave off a disconcerting sensation of motion. A thin, faint green glow shone from the outline of his form though it cast no light on the ground underfoot.

He wore a long grey cloak with the hood raised. The shadow obscured the view of the upper half of his face. A wispy grey beard stretched downward from his chin. His right arm was exposed from the shoulder down to his hand. From where his cloak stopped, the skin was covered in an intricate array of tattoos. The details were astounding yet undeniably perplexing. They appeared to move with a speed that defied the ability to make out their designs.

Da’agryn.

The prophet matched his steps with ease. A smile invaded the corners of his lips.

The ancient phrenic, or whatever form he remained in, moved along at his side. The pace of his ethereal form matched the rhythm of his own, the sound of their footsteps merged together into one steady pace. Andr had the distinct impression that the noise of Da’agryn’s motions was more for a show of realism. It was a subtle touch, used to alleviate any undue surprise at his sudden appearance. Andr risked a brief glance downward. The prophet’s feet moved in time with his yet appeared to fade into the earthen path below.

Da’agryn’s form wavered as he walked silently at his side.

“Where are you taking me?” Andr inquired.

“It is not I who am taking you anywhere,” Da’agryn replied softly. His voice was airy. He sounded weary. “In this venture, I am as surprised as you.”

Andr was puzzled by the comment.

“How could you not know? You’ve been a part of this forest for ages.” He immediately regretted the tone and inflection of his voice. His face gave away his emotion. Da’agryn chuckled at his side.

The sound was more like leaves rustling in the trees than human laughter.

“The Erlyn has always maintained her wonders,” the prophet intoned as he spread his arms wide toward the woods at both sides. “Remember, she is as alive as you are. There are likely secrets that will remain hers to keep for ages still.”

Andr’s eyes roved the pathway ahead. They ran from one side to the other, cataloging every detail they could grasp. He peered into the depths with wonder. How could one place hold so much unseen for so long? A new appreciation for his surroundings swelled from within.

“You see, there is little of her domain left in this world,” the prophet opined. “Her power used to be vast. The majesty of her boughs stretched hundreds of miles. What is left of her influence has been condensed. For her part, she is willing to assist. It is an offering that should not be taken lightly.”

Andr opened his mouth to reply. The boon that the woods had provided him had already likely saved his life on multiple occasions. Though he’d been curious about the extent of the woodskin, its strength had been put on display as his chest had borne