Ghosts of the Erlyn (Catalyst Book 3) by C.J. Aaron (books like beach read .TXT) 📕

less than a day since their rescue from the jaws of certain demise by a stranger whose power was simply awe inspiring. Whose power was terrifying. Rolan had willingly sacrificed everything to keep Faya as far away from The Stocks as possible. Defeat within those walls was nearly certain. Ryl intended to bring them to the Outlands beyond. To most, death there was assured.

The uninterrupted, relaxed slumber was a boon for Rolan and Faya. They both awoke the next day with a renewed vigor that Ryl was sure had been absent from their steps for a long time. Having seemingly nothing more to lose than what had already been taken from him, the father admitted that the decision had been easier than he’d expected. After conversing with Faya, they were both in agreement. The Kingdom of Damaris no longer held the prospect of a life for them.

They would bind themselves to Ryl and his companions. The hope of a better future in the wilds of the Outlands, though nearly unbelievable, was no less risky than remaining in Damaris. Though it was an idea of his own creation, Ryl felt a twinge of regret as their numbers swelled further. How many lives now remained figuratively in the palm of his hand and at the whim of his planning?

Ryl, Andr, the phrenics and the Vigil had been intentionally vague with their new companions when it came to their plans after The Stocks. The secrets of Vim, of the hidden society, would remain veiled if possible until the wall of the western palisade was behind them. The newcomers knew that their destination lay beyond the realm of known civilization and little more.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent blissfully devoid of excitement. Zayah and Willa worked diligently to complete the seven cloaks, a feat they accomplished ahead of schedule. The black shrouds were expertly fitted to the members of the party who were to carry out the charade. The cloaks had been crafted in the image of the only remaining original article Elias had worn during the battle on the ill-fated bridge outside of Serrate.

Aldren’s daughters had willingly agreed to remain at the farm beyond their duties assembling the clothing. Their extra services were well appreciated as the number of mouths to feed had swelled dramatically. Elias and the ailing tributes were becoming marginally more lucid as time passed, though their recovery was far slower than Ryl had hoped. The feeding regimens had increased, requiring another brief trip to Milstead to restock on supplies. Though still painfully emaciated, the tributes appeared to be making a positive turn toward physical recovery. The paleness of their skin had been replaced with a muted tinge of pink. Their bones, though still clearly visible, no longer appeared as if they would puncture their skin at any moment.

Of the group, Elias remained the only one to have opened his eyes, having done so on a few occasions. His gaze was unfocused as it regarded the surroundings momentarily before staring, unblinking, off into nothingness. He was unresponsive either to questioning or to touch.

Ryl was concerned for his friend, or at least what remained of him. The glow that he’d expected to see from Elias was still alarmingly absent. In its place was either a light so faint that it was nearly imperceptible, or more frequently a nothingness that defied explanation. He appeared to Ryl as a void, neither light nor dark but the disturbing, incomprehensible absence of either.

He feared for him.

Faya continued to impress Ryl and the phrenics with her ability to interact with her surroundings even though her eyes were blind. Her lack of sight had augmented her mindsight far beyond the point that any could have believed. The young girl had an uncanny knack of moving her way through her environment without being reliant on assistance from others. She spent as much time with the phrenics as her father or their duties allowed, though her preference found her primarily seeking out either Ryl or Kaep.

They had taken to instilling in her the basics of communicating through her projected emotions. Faya had accepted the training as if her mind had been starving for sustenance that only learning could provide. Within the span of an afternoon, she was confident in her ability to convey her feelings to others within close proximity.

The party had maintained a regimented patrol taking in the narrow road approaching Geshill’s farm as well as the surrounding landscape. The traffic on the road to and from Milstead was moderate, yet spoke of nothing more than the mundane commercial ventures of the prized spirit that was distilled in her midst. If hunters had arrived seeking their missing compatriots, their presence hadn’t been noted.

Ryl woke early before the sun had cleared the horizon to the east spilling the light of day over Geshill’s farm. His watch over the tributes and Elias the previous night had ended late, yet even on the short rest, he felt rejuvenated; eager for the day to commence.

He stretched as he rose from his position on the floor of the loft above the stable, mindful not to hit his head on the low rafters. He slouched over as he walked, brushing the errant pieces of straw from his cloak. For some reason this morning, the pitched ceilings of the stables reminded him of the small room he’d called home for the first eight cycles of his life. Growing up, he’d slept in the tiny attic loft of his family’s home. The memory was unwelcome and startlingly surprising. He’d not thought about that house for cycles.

Ryl made a brief inspection of his pack before carefully strapping his leather holster with the Leaves onto the small of his back. He’d slept in his phrenic cloak as had become his norm since leaving the comfort of Vim behind. His pack contained nothing more than a change of clothes, a water skin, carefully packed rations and his portion of the dried leaves of the blighted rose—thankfully sealed to