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

slam into place with a deafening thud. The fire dimmed in response as the doorway closed. Ryl threw himself against the door in an involuntary response to the sight. His heart rate surged as he pushed against the rock with all his might. The stone gave no hint of moving.

Ryl put his head against the warm slick wall. He could hear the rapid cadence of his heart beating in his ears. He could feel the reverberations rippling through the floor, as the fire danced along to the beat.

The pain in his chest surged as his blood abruptly cooled. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest, the pouch rolling to the ground in front of him. Ryl squinted his eyes working through the pain as he crawled forward to collect the offering. With a grunt, he snatched the small bag, rising first to his knees then hobbling to his feet.

With hands shaking from the pain, he struggled to open the pouch. A potent waft of complex aromas filled the room as the bag revealed its contents. The orange, powdery mixture inside smelled of earth, spice and a piney scent that reminded him of the forest. He shook his hand, jostling the contents, still in shock at the heft of the powder inside.

With a sigh, Ryl took a staggered step forward, the heat from the flame growing more intense. Holding his shaking hand out above the fire, Ryl turned over the pouch, emptying its contents. As the mixture made contact with the fire, the greedy flames leaped up the column of powder. Ryl released his hold on the bag, falling back a step, shielding his face and eyes as the plume of fire reached the ceiling.

For a moment the heat was stifling—Ryl felt as if he was burning alive—and the flare of light blinding. The heat and pain quickly subsided, yet his vision still suffered. He blinked his eyes, rubbing them with the base of his palms, working to correct his vision.

A thick layer of smoke covered the ceiling of the chamber; the clouds within churned with the turmoil of a storm. Ryl watched as the dense wall of seething grey sank toward the floor. He pulled up on the collar of his shirt, covering his nose as the veil descended over his head. The thickened air was oppressive, and the haze burned his eyes. He gagged as the smoke found its way into his lungs. Ryl doubled over, hacking as the cloud replaced the oxygen in the chamber. The coughing fit only served to suck more of the pungent smoke into his lungs.

Thankfully the layer of smoke passed quickly, though Ryl remained hunched over with his hands on his knees. He savored the clean air above as he watched the cloud reach the floor through tearing eyes. The thick grey mass dissolved as it touched the earth. Fleeing tendrils of smoke vanished as they rose from the ground.

His lungs sucked in breath after breath of the fresh air. Though the smoke had cleared, the fog in his head remained. He felt dizzy, and his legs felt weak, tingling from loss of feeling. The sensation rapidly worked upward from the lower extremities of his body. Ryl panicked as the touch, or lack thereof, grew in his fingertips.

There was one more task that needed completion.

Ryl’s right hand fumbled as it withdrew the blood-red dagger from his waistband. He squeezed his fist around the blade’s handle until his knuckles went white. With all the concentration he could muster he closed his left fist around the thin blade. He squeezed it shut for a moment before wrenching the burning knife from his hand.

The razor’s edge of the blade cut a thin line across his palm. The skin on either side of the incision splayed open for a moment before the blood pooled in its crease. He held his clenched fist out over the fire—a thin stream of blood rushed toward the waiting flame.

The fire erupted as the first drop of falling blood ignited. A wave of energy surged outward forcing him off his feet, throwing him backward into the wall behind. The room exploded into a blinding white light.

Ryl no longer felt his body. The tingle, the pins and needles that had started in his legs and arms had vanished. The agonizing twisting and stretching of the skin on his chest had faded along with his senses.

Surrounding him was an aura of pure white.

His vision was limited to the arc of his eyes. He had no sense of direction. No understanding of up nor of down. He had no sense of temperature, neither heat nor cold. There was no sound.

For a moment he remained motionless.

Slowly, his sense of self returned. The feeling started with his head, moving down his spine as it spread throughout his body. Still there was no pain from the slash in his hand, there was no hint of agony from the torquing skin on his chest. With his head now mobile he rotated it from side to side, surveying the surrounding scene.

Up. Down. Left. Right

In every direction, all was a wash of white.

With his senses restored, Ryl looked at his body. He was naked. His eyes traveled to the tattoo on his chest. The rings rotated with a dizzying speed. The perfectly depicted lines coalesced into a blur. Yet still he felt nothing.

He placed his right hand on his chest, covering the swirling tattoo. There was no hint of motion, only the steady beat of his racing heart.

Ryl called on the mindsight.

His body rejected the attempt.

Ryl waved his hand, projecting the soulborne wind outward in a lazy arc.

There was no wind save for the gentle wake from his arm’s movement.

His body felt whole, yet somehow, deep inside he felt incomplete. The alexen, the power that surged through his veins was gone. He felt more exposed by the absence of the familiar feeling than he did with the absence of clothing. The sensation had been a constant companion the