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

as he joined the group, an uncommon appreciation flashing in their eyes. Among the group resting around him, Cray was the only one to have fought in the battle that morning. Tash and Palon had remained ever vigilant protectors, sticking to Luan’s side. Zed had remained with Aelin. His sheer strength was required to hold the stubborn boy back from charging into the midst of battle with nothing but his fists and brute strength.

Cray rubbed his hand idly over the bandage that covered his right arm.

“How are you holding up?” Ryl asked calmly.

“I’m alright, all things considered,” Cray responded quietly. He wrapped his arms around his knees pulling them in close to his chest.

Words weren’t needed for Ryl to sense the struggle. He focused, sending a subtle wave of calm over the tribute. Cray responded immediately. His posture relaxed as the tension ebbed from his body. His eyes remained wide as he stared at Ryl.

“How did you do it?” He quizzed. “How have you changed so much in so little time?”

Ryl chuckled softly at the stream of questions that flooded through his mouth. They both quieted as the babe in Palon’s arms cooed softly as it squirmed gently before settling into sleep once more.

“You have much to discover about the past. About the tributes. About the phrenics. And about yourself,” Ryl explained. “I'm afraid there won't be time for the introspection needed yet. You must learn to focus on the alexen that flows through your veins.”

He saw Cray's eyebrow wrinkle at the mention of the cursed blood.

“It hasn’t been long since I shared those same feelings,” Ryl commiserated. “The compound was a curse to me for cycles. Before you can learn to control the power that is rightfully yours, you must learn to understand that which resides inside of you.”

The twins and Luan leaned closer, listening intently at the explanation.

“The alexen is in essence a living thing,” Ryl explained. “It's a shared connection between us all. One that you can feel. You've most likely grown so accustomed to the sensation now that it no longer strikes you as unique. It's a feeling I can best describe as a welcome. A warmth that grows in proximity to other tributes, to other phrenics.”

There was a similar look of confusion written across their faces.

Ryl smiled at his friends.

“The path won't be easy, yet one day, you'll understand,” he continued. “To see the world the way I do.”

“I have to make it that long first,” Cray mumbled.

Ryl put his hand on the tribute’s shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Don't fret, my friend,” he said. “You fought well. You’re untrained and yet had the courage to stand your ground against seasoned warriors.”

“And if it wasn’t for that mercenary, I'd have failed,” Cray said as he hung his head.

“In that, you and I are brothers,” Ryl added cryptically. “That mercenary has saved my life on more occasions than I care to remember.”

Cray paused for a moment, kicking a small twig idly with his foot before continuing.

“There's something strange about him that I can't explain,” Cray said absently. “He could have been killed. Why would he have sacrificed himself for me?”

Ryl smiled back at the tribute. It wasn't his place to give the information to the younger man. That was Andr's. He thought for a moment before responding.

“He's willingly risked his life for me time and time again,” Ryl admitted. “He followed me on a fool's mission through the Outlands with next to no hope of return. I consider him as close to family as I have. He can be a man of few words, but he is driven by a higher purpose.”

“What purpose is that?” Cray interrupted.

“You'll have to ask him yourself,” Ryl answered.

Chapter 33

The dull thud of hooves on the road in the distance woke Ryl from his brief rest. The night was still shrouded in darkness. The camp around him was silent as the tributes enjoyed the last scraps of their short slumber. He rose quietly, moving with haste toward the sound of the incoming riders, investigating the area with his mindsight. The undeniable signature of a phrenic moved quickly in the direction of their camp.

The captain and Moyan stood alongside the lead wagon in preparation for the arrival of the riders. With the thick of the night still obscuring their vision for more than a few meters, the hands of both hovered dangerously close to the hilts of their swords. The silhouette of two horses and their riders stood out against the low, bright flicker of the remains of a fire in the distance. Ryl stopped casually at their side.

“There’s no need for alarm,” he stated quietly. “Vox returns with Millis. I can sense no alarm from the phrenic.”

Le'Dral relaxed his stance, casually resting his wrist on the pommel of the blade. Moyan viewed Ryl with unveiled curiosity.

“You will see,” was all Ryl replied.

Moments later, the riders slowed. Millis’ voice called quietly into the dark signaling their approach.

The two emerged from the darkness moments later, alighting easily before the wagon.

“The bridge is no more, captain,” Millis reported with a hasty salute. “We watched the flames eat away the timber before we rode. There will be nothing left but ash soon.”

“Good work, Millis. Thank you, Vox,” Le’Dral replied saluting his subordinate, offering his hand to the phrenic.

Vox accepted the outstretched hand with a polite nod of his head.

“How long will we let them sleep?” Ryl interjected, changing the subject, though his words trailed off at the end. He'd thought he heard a high-pitched whine over the quiet burbling of the river. He held out his hand for silence, interrupting the captain who'd opened his mouth to speak. He focused on the sound.

The high frequency sound repeated; the notes became a harmony. Ryl knew the song.

“Arrows. Cover,” he yelled as he leapt forward. He tapped into the speed that flowed within, propelling the captain and Moyan behind the edge of the wagon. The whistle of arrows ended in several solid thunks