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

of energy he’d used to comfort Kaep was draining. The mender leaned over him, placing his warm hand on his forehead.

“How are you feeling, my boy?” he asked patiently.

“Dizzy still, sir,” Ryl admitted.

“There's no need to call me sir, Brasley will do just fine,” the mender said, as his mouth made a show of making a slight frown; an emotion that never reached his eyes.

“The resiliency of your phrenic bodies never ceases to amaze me,” Brasley continued. “That toxin they've been forcing into you is especially diabolic. The poison, introduced consistently and at such a high level, would have likely killed those without the alexen in their blood. If the drug had not, the effects of the withdrawal most certainly would have.”

Ryl struggled to work himself into a sitting position. The careful hands of the mender gently assisted him up, propping a pillow behind him as he leaned against the stone wall of the room.

“I assure you Brasley, the effects of the drug will have scarred a lasting mark on my mind. One I'll happily not repeat,” Ryl shuttered at the thought.

The extreme dizziness, uncontrollable fevers, weeping rash and vivid hallucinations that had wreaked havoc on his body and mind had been terrifying.

“I make no claims of comprehending the pain you went through, and by no means am I attempting to discredit your struggle, Ryl,” Brasley apologized. “I only meant it to serve as a credit to the resilience of the power you have flowing through your veins and the strength of will you possess.”

The mender reached out a finger, tapping Ryl gently on the forehead with the statement.

“I must ask you something though. An inconsistency that has come to light in the only version of your stories we've heard to this point,” Brasley said inquisitively. “Your companion mentioned that you could see the Horde with your mind, using the phrenic mindsight as they call it. Were you able to see the others, the tributes imprisoned with you as well?”

The mender studied Ryl with a look of academic curiosity, waiting patiently for him to respond.

“Yes,” Ryl admitted. “I could see them at a range of almost two hundred meters.”

Brasley’s jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wide.

“Impossible,” he gaped. “The poison is meant to act as a blocking agent. It prevents the body from accessing the inherent skills all those gifted with the alexen possess.”

Ryl paused for a moment before responding. Though he’d never heard the statement before, it made perfect sense. Was the poison the cause of the block he felt when trying to access his skills?

“Impossible as it may seem,” Ryl stated defensively. “It is the truth, nonetheless.”

The hasty entrance of the mender’s apprentice interrupted their conversation. He was red faced, panting heavily, with a strip of wadded up fabric stuffed into each nostril. He slid to a stop on the smooth, natural rock tiled floor; the waft of odor from the carefully wrapped package in his hand continued inward in his wake. The room filled with a sickening smell of death and decay.

“Dear boy,” Mender Brasley barked at his apprentice. “Get that rotted leaf out of this room. Bring it to the stove in the kitchen. Fetch water and start the fire. I’ll be along shortly.”

Ticco fled from the room as quickly as he had arrived, the stench of the flower’s petals lingering long after his departure.

“The blighted rose, I assume?” Ryl asked. “I thought those only grew across the sea. How did one come to this land?”

“Ah, very wise. It was at a very high cost, I'm afraid,” the mender acknowledged woefully, pausing for a moment in thought before carrying on. “We've been lucky enough to maintain at least a single phrenic with a certain gift for horticultural wonders. We'd never have survived here without their assistance throughout the cycles.”

The mender’s nose wrinkled as an especially potent tendril of the horrid smelling petal assailed him. He waved his hand in the air before his face, attempting to waft the smell away.

“That bloody flower has proven quite the difficult one to rein in,” Brasley continued. “Notwithstanding the odor, that plant itself has a voracious appetite. It took some time to figure out the right balance to keep it alive. If you'll excuse me, I'll get to making another batch of your remedy. We'll have that poison flushed from you once and for all before long.”

With a nod, the portly mender turned and hurried from the room, closing the door behind him. His muffled voice floated back through its cracks as he bellowed commands at his hapless apprentice.

Ryl closed his eyes, resting his head against the cool stone of the wall behind him. He focused his mindsight searching for signs of other phrenics. His heart surged as he noted the telltale signs of multiple orbs of light moving throughout his vision. The fatigue that tore through his body was intense, and his vision blurred before he could count them.

Ryl snapped his eyes open, regretting the decision immediately. The use of even the most mundane of his skills required considerable concentration and sapped substantial strength from his failing reserves. He squeezed his eyes shut again, waiting until the dizziness and nausea had passed. He hesitated to attempt any of his other skills for fear of the damage they could cause.

It was some time before he opened his eyes again, and when he did it was with slow, cautious movement. He studied the room for a few moments, noting for the first time the immaculate details in the furniture’s craftsmanship.

A small lantern hung from an impressively carved sconce to the side of the door. The lantern itself was a work of art, its details rivaling even the most decorative of pieces he’d viewed on Lord Eligar’s ill-fated frigate.

The legs of the table standing to the side of his bed were carved into lifelike images of tall slender trees. Ryl could clearly make out the fine details of the bark in the dim light of the room. Everywhere he looked, the exquisite