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

the sutures that held the wound together. From several locations, the crimson stain spread outward as it dyed the white bandage on his left leg.

He winced in pain as he began ascending the steps to the Council Seat. Ahead of him, the doorway was closed. A pair of armed Vigil stood like statues before each door. They noted his presence immediately, and the guard on the right hurried to open the door, letting him pass without a word. The door closed behind him with a silent puff of air.

The scene inside was vastly different from that which filled the avenues without. The large entryway was empty, the doors at the end thrown wide open. Ryl moved undisturbed through the area to the Great Hall beyond. Rows of people, in most places, several individuals deep, lined the upper ring of the inset auditorium.

The attention of all in the room was trained on the proceedings within the large chamber where the Council no doubt presided over the occasion. With the focus of the crowd elsewhere, Ryl reached the auditorium with his presence still thankfully unnoticed. He peered over the shoulders of the two standing before him, eager for a view of the happenings within.

Every seat in the large amphitheater was occupied, the remaining in attendance were forced to stand at the rear. Seated at the long table in the center of the depression was the Council. Ryl’s heart raced as he scanned the crowd, eager for any sign of his friends. Paasek sat at his place among the council members, his face locked in an uncomfortable scowl.

He located the remainder of the phrenics in the room with ease. They sat together in the front row of the crowd to the left side of the auditorium. To a member, all wore their hoods up, shadowing their faces. Ryl let out an involuntary sigh of relief as he noted Andr sitting just to the side of the line of stoic warriors.

Ryl turned his attention on the dialogue occurring within the arena. The tension in the air was palpable. The temperature in the room was a touch over comfortable as the agitation and overcrowded bodies made for a sweltering mix. The conversation was no less heated.

“What of their numbers?” a voice shouted from the crowd.

“That we do not yet know,” the nasally voice of Counsellor Oswill carried over the crowd. “They could number in the thousands or they could number in the millions. They've not been seen gathering in groups this size in over a thousand cycles. It’s now been three days. They’ve strayed closer to the edge of the woods each day.”

Three days? Had it been that long since the battle? Ryl hadn't taken the time to truly assess his physical state before he left his new room. Aside from the lingering discomfort from the obvious wounds, his body felt strong. He felt complete.

Multiple voices rang out in unison as several shouted to make themselves heard.

“What if they turn on the city?”

Councilwoman Lenu erupted to her feet, addressing the speaker directly.

“There is no cause for fear to the city,” Lenu projected. “The exterior walls are unshakeable. We have archers on watch around the clock should they attempt the feat. All tunnels remain guarded, the numbers bolstered. Keep in mind, both can be collapsed at a moment's notice if the need is dire. There should be no cause to fear.”

The statement elicited a gasp of panic from some, shouting from others.

“There have been no further sightings anywhere within the forest,” Lenu’s voice crescendoed, silencing the din of discussion. “Our walls are impenetrable. We have self-sustaining sources of food and water that will last us indefinitely. We could seal the entrances today and survive unmolested for an eternity.”

“Still nothing changes the fact we have been deceived,” came the animated shout from the right side of the room, opposite where the phrenics sat. Ryl recognized that voice. He scanned the crowd, easily finding the speaker standing up above the seated crowd.

Nielix.

The Vigil had survived, though he wore the wounds to prove it. His head was wrapped in a bandage that hung diagonally down from the right side of his scalp nearly covering his right eye. His left arm was braced carefully in a sling, yet he was alive.

“The skills the phrenics have led us to believe were long since lost to time were painfully put on display,” Nielix shouted.

“Long before any of our time it was decided that this city must learn to survive without the promise of phrenic assistance,” Paasek boomed. “The Barren taught us that.”

“And yet none of our troubles, not the increased sightings of the Horde, not the massacre at the Prophet's Tree happened before that boy arrived,” Nielix challenged.

Ryl's blood heated at the comment. There were murmurs of consent from the crowd, emboldening the fuming Vigil further.

“If not for that boy, sixteen of our Vigil, Vim's protectors, would have returned home,” Nielix screamed. “Sixteen families would not grieve the loss of their loved ones.”

Ryl was furious at the insinuation he was the cause of their deaths. Every word stoked the fire that now burned in his veins.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Andr jump to his feet, his mouth open to retort. Councilor Paasek was quicker; his booming voice echoed throughout the hall. The muscles of his tattooed arm flexed, its rock-like appearance seemed to change to an ashy grey while details became more crystalline and jagged.

“Everyone grieves their loss,” Paasek roared. “Yet if not for that young man, everyone in that party would have perished.”

Nielix spat back.

“And what now?” he cursed. “The prophet is gone. By your own admission the tree no longer lives. The prophecy has been vague all along. The catalyst may be the winds of change, the savior of the phrenics, but he will spell doom for the rest of us.”

There was a gasp from the assembly—the councilors looked to be at a loss for words.

“There have been none of your precious seers in ages. The