“It was a lesson learned far too late,” Ryl whispered. “The thirteen that accompanied Elias died by our hands before we learned the truth. They are corrupted. They’ve been tainted. The alexen that flows through them stripped to feed the insatiable desire for power. Replaced by a darkness has haunted our nightmares for a millennium.”
Jeffers and Sarial stared at him in wide-eyed anticipation.
“It's called nexela,” Ryl said. “It's the antithesis to the compound that is inherent to every tribute. It's a darkness that courses through their veins. It’s a derivative found in one place and one place alone. The blood of the Outland Horde.”
Chapter 28
Sarial refused to leave before checking on every fragile body removed from the wagon. Word traveled fast among the tributes. They came first in pairs. The approach soon became a stampede as they crowded in close, peering over or around the others to view their ailing brethren. Not an eye among them was without tears. Not an eye among them didn’t flash with a hatred that held no bounds as they viewed the wreckage of those who’d shared the same walls.
The emotion was not just limited to the tributes. The guards who remained closest to the work camp showed unquestionable signs of disgust at the sight. These were not the looks of repulsion that Ryl had grown accustomed to seeing written across the faces of his jailors during his tenure. The difference was as clear as night and day. The guards who’d abandoned their post, rebelling with the captain, viewed the shells of the tributes with loathing that was internalized. They were sickened in themselves for their part they played in perpetuating this occurrence. Disgusted in the dredges of humanity that allowed this to continue unchecked.
“So, this is the life we have to look forward to after our Harvest?” a voice rose from the depths of the crowd. Ryl turned his head but could see not the speaker.
He slowly viewed the mass of tributes that now gathered around the shells of their companions. He turned around in a circle, making a point to make eye contact with as many as he could.
He saw anger.
He saw questioning.
He saw fear.
He closed his eyes for a moment, sending a wave of hope out in a circle, touching all those who gathered around their fallen companions. His eyes lit with a fire that matched the heat surging through his veins. The air around his body shifted slightly in a circular motion; his hair and cloak ruffled in the steady breeze. Those standing closest to him took a step back.
“This is no longer the life you’re destined to lead,” he growled. His voice was hushed yet carried over the assembled group. “I spoke true this morning. As of today there will be no more tributes, no more Harvest. Though you still linger inside its walls, The Stocks will hold you no longer.”
There was a mumbling clamor of ascension and contention from the tributes. Ryl pivoted slowly, seeking the most vocal skeptics of the group.
“You lead us north, when freedom lies to the south, through the gate,” came a cry from behind.
Ryl nodded his head as he turned.
“Aye, we could have led you south. It is true that we could have blown open the doors, we could have released a flood of tributes into the streets of Cadsae Proper,” Ryl acknowledged. “Over ten thousand trained soldiers, armed with steel, not batons, wait in the garrison on the outskirts of that city. I’ve walked those same streets. They now teem with a massing of citizens who made the trip to see one thing. All walks of life and joined together in the spectacle of tributes being dragged from inside these walls to their awaiting fates.”
“We’ve seen what you can do,” came another voice from the mass. “Could you not have hewed a pathway through them? They trembled with fear at the display of your powers.”
Ryl looked at the phrenics who’d remained standing alongside the black wagon. He needed not see their faces to understand the pained emotion that each of them emitted.
“Aye, that we could. We could have cut down each and every man, women or child who raised their arms against us,” his admission sent a shudder through the crowd. “What then? You’d be free. You’d have nowhere to go.”
Silence fell over the crowd as he continued.
“We are not butchers. Though we are more than capable, we do not seek death,” Ryl stated. “To end this cycle of oppression, to drive the final nail through the Ascertaining Decree, there will surely be blood. There will come a time, when the phrenics will stand against those in battle. When that day comes, we will not stand alone. There is much you will learn of the power that flows through your veins. The phrenics of old sought peace. Sought to bring balance to the world. In another time you would have been revered for your intellect, sought after for your counsel and cherished for the wonders you could create. The phrenics of ages past offered a voice of wisdom behind the men and women who ruled the Kingdom. Their station was never to lead. They were educators.”
“Who will stand with us to make that change?” another voice rang from the crowd. Ryl caught sight of the speaker as he continued his questioning. Ryl smiled as he recognized its origin. It was Cray. Andr’s son. “We are but a few hundred. Untrained in the skills of war. There are only a handful of soldiers with us. What hope do we have against the countless millions who’d see us enslaved?”
Ryl understood the question. He understood the doubt. His eyes had once been blind to the possibility that the world wasn’t as dark, wasn’t as disparate as it seemed. It was a single act that opened his eyes.
“Aye, there is a vast disparity in the numbers. Not long ago I was like you,
