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

His careful survey inevitably ended toward the east. The pillar of smoke that he’d watched grow throughout the day was larger than he’d ever imagined. A massive black cloud boiled into the sky, spewing ash and debris over the city as it burned out of control. Cadsae was situated in the southeastern corner of The Stocks at the intersection of the mighty palisades. From his brief, yet eventful foray into the free city outside the Pining Gates with Andr, he understood better the layout of the sprawling habitations beyond.

Directly to the east, hidden largely in the shadows of the looming wall, was the East Ward. The gritty, working backbone of Cadsae Proper, home to the downtrodden and the outcasts of the upper echelons of society. Crime in the East Ward was rampant. Simultaneously a cause and a byproduct of the situation. Those who had nothing fought for more. Those with excess strove to expand their wealth. The true human cost of this perpetual struggle was never calculated, as it largely went unseen and therefore unnoted.

Ryl motioned for Aelin to follow as he slowly crested the small rise. Step by step the tops of the buildings of Cadsae resolved from behind the wild grasses. First to take shape were the three identical common houses. The horseshoe-shaped arrangement of run-down buildings, capped on the closest end by the smithy and the other by the Master’s House and clinic, slowly materialized before them. Set into the backdrop of the drab southern palisade, the Pining Gates stood out ominously. More foreboding than normal. The massive inner door, with its weathered, rough dark brown wood, had provided at least some contrast in color from the grey of the stones that enveloped it.

The fire they had set to buy them time to escape with the tributes had decimated the mighty structure. Charred chunks of wood of varying sizes were piled high on either side of the road. Twisted lengths of blackened metal jutted up from the rubble. The road leading from the gate was stained with a wide, solid black streak that crossed the village before fading as it moved to the distance. Thousands of feet tracked the soot and ash from the rubble coloring the surface of the road. Only along the edge of the mark was there any evidence of solitary action. Here and there a single boot print stood alone from the thousands that melded together around it. Its deviation was never for long. Within a matter of paces, it was swallowed up by the host that followed.

Ryl felt a chill roll through his body as he peered into the darkened maw where the mighty inner doors once stood. The shadow was impenetrable. The darkness inside the inner chamber of the gate was an endless void. Visions of the nightmares that had plagued him for cycles flashed back into his mind.

The darkness had been there then. It clawed at him with razor-sharp talons. It gnashed at him with daggerlike teeth. Its putrid stench was an unconscionable concoction of death, rot and decay.

He scanned ahead with his phrenic mindsight, pushing the vision to the extent of his power. So potent had the response been to the sight, so powerful the reaction, he was surprised when no sign of the evil that haunted him was present.

It was unnerving to see the village he’d called his home for cycles so desolate. So devoid of life. No tributes or guards moved throughout the square. Absent was the rhythmic thrumming emanating from the smithy. They plodded their way slowly through the field, leaving a trail of trampled grasses in their wake, merging with the dirt road at the outskirts of the village.

“It doesn’t seem right,” Aelin whispered at his side. His voice was hushed as if concerned their conversation would be overheard.

“Aye, my friend,” Ryl whispered in return.

Cautiously, they moved forward into the abandoned village. Ryl forged ahead, walking a few steps in front of Aelin. His left hand led the horse; his right flexed open and closed. A small gust of wind spiraled around his tattooed arm in anxious anticipation. He became keenly aware of a growing sensation in his left arm. Unlike the tingling feeling he’d experienced when near the Lei Guard or nexela, the current agitation was like the stabbing of tiny knives being thrust into his biceps. What followed was a burning sensation that radiated outward. His arm spasmed with every jolt of stinging pain.

Risking a glance, Ryl removed his attentive gaze from his surroundings for a moment to study his arm. Without the confirmation of his eyesight, he would have expected to find blades protruding from his skin, yet his arm was unscathed. Even as he watched, the muscles twitched. Each motion sent a lancing pain down through his fingers while a similar shock coursed upward, rounding his shoulder before fading. The source of the agony seemed to spawn from the core of the sun tattooed on his arm. A searing, burning pain radiated outward as if the sun’s flares pushed out waves of heat that scorched the unprotected skin around it.

Ryl gritted his teeth as he looped the rein around his left hand, squeezing the rope to alleviate the discomfort pulsing from above. There was no time to ponder the cause of the sudden discomfort. Elias had passed the gates a matter of hours before them. His chances of rescuing Kaep were slipping away with every passing moment.

Though they picked up speed crossing the empty square of the village, the trip seemed to take an eternity. The unprotected openness of the expanse, though short, was daunting. Here they could easily fall prey to arrows from above, though he feared not for his own safety. The young, stubborn charge following in his wake would require attention and protection.

Halfway across the square, the winds blowing from the sea changed directions, altering the course of the smoke from the burning city outside. The acrid air stung his nostrils. The sky darkened overhead