The Crystal Keeper BoxSet

by Laurisa White Reyes

  Erland continued. “It seems Hestoria’s leaders still resist having an islander at their head.”

  “I can’t blame them,” replied Ivanore. “I suspect they are still reeling from Emir’s death. Though I for one am glad the old snake is gone.”

  She caught Erland’s eye and noted the stunned look in them. She couldn’t help but laugh at herself. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to sound so callous, but he was awful. You must admit that.”

  “I spent most of my time in the field, so I didn’t know him well,” said Erland, his lips pulling into a grin. “But from what I’ve heard from some of the servants, I’d say you are probably right.”

  Erland’s smile brought one to Ivanore’s face as well. It felt good to smile. It felt good to be out of doors, to breathe air that wasn’t as imprisoned in the castle as she was.

  They reached the other end of the courtyard. The tops of the trees of the forest beyond were visible over the wall. Ivanore pressed a palm against its stone, warm and dry from a day baking in the sun. She noted that the sky had darkened. Even the shadows cast by the statues had vanished. A servant stepped through the castle doors and lit the sconces set in the corridor pillars. New shadows appeared.

  Ivanore turned from the wall and stepped to the gate, tall iron bars dividing the courtyard from the world beyond. She pulled on them only to find them locked. They were always locked.

  She sighed and turned back toward the doors.

  “I should go in,” she said at last. “You can tell Arik you’ve done your duty. You’ve hovered over me and have prevented my escape.”

  “Milady?”

  Ivanore stopped and turned around. “Arik sent you to guard me, didn’t he?”

  Erland’s expression changed to a look of confusion. “No, he didn’t.” Then he looked embarrassed. “Forgive me,” he said haltingly, “I had come outside to enjoy the sunset when I saw you. I thought—” He straightened himself and cleared his throat. “If I’ve overstepped my boundaries, Lady Ivanore, I do apologize.”

  He started to turn away, but Ivanore reached out and took his arm. “No, please,” she said with a deliberate smile. “I appreciated the company.”

  Erland glanced down at her hand on his arm. Suddenly self-conscious, she let go of him. “Perhaps we might walk again sometime,” she added. “Good night, Captain.”

  He nodded as she turned to go, and as she pulled open the door and slipped inside, she could still feel his eyes watching her.

  8

  The line of wagons and carts, emptied of their earlier hauls, stretched half a mile out of Nauvet-Carum. Silhouetted against the setting sun, they looked like a ragged band of refugees. Jayson and his horse waited at the first curve, just out of sight of the city, and studied the faces of the passing farmers. Some seemed almost gleeful, clearly pleased with their sales, others were angry or forlorn. These had likely settled for a lower price than they had hoped and now had to return to their families with the news. Jayson looked at each passing face until Teak’s appeared. The young man smiled when he saw him and waved, a good sign.

  Jayson urged his horse forward and fell in beside the wagon which rolled along at a slow but steady pace.

  “Well?” asked Jayson.

  Teak nodded decisively, a sparkle in his eye. “I think Gerard will be pleased,” he said. “Because of the drought, pickings were slim this year. So every last bushel of our corn sold for nearly twice last year’s price. Most of it went to the Ministry itself. Only the best for the senators, I suppose.”

  Jayson laughed. “If Arik only knew who was putting food on his table, eh?”

  “How did you spend your day?” asked Teak.

  “Same as last year. I dropped in to see Magda.”

  “How is the old lady?”

  “Feisty as ever and with quite a tale to tell.” Jayson’s smile faded, thinking of Magda’s message.

  “What is it?” asked Teak. “Not bad news, I hope.”

  “I’m afraid it is. But let’s not discuss it here. Let’s wait until we’re farther along.”

  Over the next hour, they continued to plod along. The other wagons peeled away down side roads and lanes one by one, each heading back to its own farm or village, until finally, miles out of the city, Teak and Jayson found themselves alone. Their farm, Ashlin, was another two days’ trek, out of Hestoria.

  “So, what is this news you didn’t want to share with every farmer in Hestoria?”

  Jayson halted his horse, and Teak brought the wagon to a standstill.

  “Magda says the Vatéz have begun their cleansings again.”

  “What?” said Teak. “I thought that ended when the Guardians disappeared. Even Arik admitted they were nowhere in Hestoria.”

  “He’s grown anxious, I suppose. Two weeks ago, in the village of Haremsby, Vatéz soldiers dragged four men from their homes and strung them up as traitors to the Ministry. Then they set fire to their cottages.”

  “What had they done?”

  “No specific charges were made. I think Arik is trying to cast fear in the hearts of Hestorians. But there’s more.”

  “More?”

  Jayson glanced behind them just to be certain they were alone. “Magda says she overheard two senators discussing plans to punish Ralen-Arch, a village not far from the remains of Alay-Crevar.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She says Arik claims survivors of Alay-Crevar have been spotted in Ralen-Arch.”

  “But there were no survivors. Emir made sure of that.”

  “He is resorting to fabricated evidence to justify his violence.”

  Jayson clicked his tongue, and his horse moved forward at a slow walk. The wagon rolled beside him, its wheels creaking.

  “When is this cleansing supposed to occur?” asked Teak.

  Jayson kept his ear tuned to the road, listening for any approaching travelers, but they were still alone.

  “Magda wasn’t certain,” he answered, “but she believes it will be soon, mabye even tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? Then we have to do something to stop it!”

  “Do what exactly?” Jayson’s response was sharper than he intended, but what could they do? The truth was even if they had time to act, should they—and risk even more lives? He understood Teak’s concern, though he could not understand why the Vatéz would attack Ralen-Arch. It was an isolated village with a few dozen families, self-sufficient and not dependent on the Vatéz. They paid their taxes but asked nothing of anyone but themselves. Why would Arik single them out? Why would he make such a false accusation against them? What did he hope to gain?

  As Jayson and Teak continued on and their conversation fell silent, these questions nagged at Jayson. But try as he might to find resaonsble answers, he could settle on none.

  9

  Following his usual course, Brommel took the road leading out of Dokur and cut across the heart of the island toward the village of Noam at the foot of the Jeweled Mountains. It was a journey he could undertake with his eyes closed. He’d made so many similar trips that he’d come to know the island as well as any native, better perhaps, yet he had nothing but loathing for it. Imaness wasn’t an unattractive place to live. Its forests were lush and green, its mountains grand. A long, silver river ran down its center, breaking into two smaller rivers, both of which emptied into the northwest sea. Even Imaness’s Taktani Marshlands in the North, barren as they were, were filled with wild life Brommel had never before encountered on the mainland.

  Still, wherever his travels led him, he could never remove Hestoria from his mind, nor the image of the blackened ruins of his home which would forever torment him.

  Several hours into his journey, when the sun had reached its zenith, Brommel’s wagon tottered along the well-worn road past a steep hill. This part of the island was known for its sprawling grasslands and rolling hills. In the far distance, many miles down the road, the few sparse trees of the forest’s border were visible. He would likely reach the
m by sundown. He pulled on the reins, and his ox came to a slow stop. Beyond that hill was Lord Fredric’s mine. Celestine crystals were found only on the island and were of great value both here and on the mainland. Though many of Brommel’s wares were auctioned off to landowners, this was where some of them ended up. On this trip, Brommel had received orders to collect one man and deliver him directly to the mine.

  Brommel studied the hill. By next spring, after a few more trips like this one, he hoped to have enough saved to build a home of his own. It would be good for Rylan to have a home, a bed to call his own.

  The thought satisfied him. Brommel snapped the reins, and the ox and cart lurched forward, continuing their slow but steady pace. He slept soundly that night in the bed of his wagon beside Lake Olsnar. Took a cool swim in the morning, watered the ox, and continued on his way. He had heard that this road had once been a major thoroughfare connecting dozens of bustling Agoran villages. But years earlier, long before Brommel had ever heard of Imaness, humans had come from the mainland, eventually pushing the Agorans further and further into the less inhabitable reaches of the island. Finally, Lord Fredric decreed all this land for humans only, and banned the Agorans to the Taktani marshlands in the north where they still were to this day. Brommel was never sent to Taktani. The Agorans did not do business with the humans and therefore had no broken contracts on which to collect. He knew little of them, and most of what he knew he’d learned from Jayson.

  As he passed the now empty fields and abandoned forests, he thought it ironic how, after claiming the land for their own, the majority of humans had chosen to settle near the coast. The largest settlement of course was Dokur, but there were many other communities clustered near the sea. The few remaining inhuman communities, such as the Noamish and Pey Weys, preferred the safety of the mountains. Only the Cyclopes, the gentle one-eyed giants, still roamed the island freely, though Brommel had seen less and less of them as of late.

  By late afternoon, Brommel reached Noam. Nestled at the foot of the Jeweled Mountains, a few miles south of Amethyst Peak, its quaint little buildings and cobbled roads looked like a miniature version of Dokur. Beyond the village was Vrystal Canyon, the only pass through the mountains. It was a narrow winding vein, too narrow for wagons, so travelers generally went on foot or horseback. The path was tedious and wrought with twists and turns that often made seeing ahead more than a few feet impossible. But the journey itself wasn’t what kept most people away. It was the Grocs.

  The beasts were known to live deep in the mountains, and while they normally kept to themselves, on occasion one might venture into the open to hunt. In their normal state, they were ferocious looking with elongated snouts filled with razor sharp teeth, jagged spines and reptilian scales, broad tails and claws that could slice through flesh like it was water. But stumbling upon a Groc in its natural state wasn’t what frightened the villagers of Imaness. It was the possibility that they might find a groc in some other form.

  Grocs were shapeshifters, capable of transforming their bodies to resemble any other creature they wished: sheep, horse, or human. It was best to avoid coming across one at night when one’s eyes could not be trusted, and Brommel saw no point in testing that theory now.

  As he had many times before, he would leave his wagon and provisions in Noam and walk through the canyon and the Black Forest beyond. More than a dozen small villages lay scattered along the southern half of Imaness. This particular trip would take him to only one. Once his business was finished there, he would return to Noam, collect his wagon, and head back to Dokur.

  Brommel led his wagon to the fountain in the village square and let his ox drink its fill of water. The little Noamish people who lived here paid no heed to the man who stood nearly twice their height. Leaving the wagon where it stood, Brommel headed for the livery to make arrangements for his animal. The squire assured him that he would fetch the wagon himself and store it out back while he was gone. The ox would be happy in the fields until his return. Once an agreeable sum was paid, Brommel next went to the tavern.

  He never could get used to the low ceilings here. The doorways were difficult enough, requiring him to stoop to enter, but though the rooms themselves were spacious enough, that the ceilings hovered inches above his head gave him the feeling that he was trapped in a box—or a coffin. Which was why, though he ate his meals there, he preferred to sleep outdoors.

  Brommel dropped onto a bar stool and pulled a coin from his pocket.

  “I’ll need a healthy amount of ale tonight,” he said, sliding the coin across the bar toward the server, an especially small Noam with wiry black hair and piercing black eyes.

  “Keep your money,” he said, turning his back on Brommel.

  Brommel hesitated, then he laughed.

  “I don’t normally accept free ale. You never know if it’s been spit in. Now, take the coin and pass me a tankard.”

  The server ignored Brommel, serving both locals to either side of him instead. Brommel noticed that the conversation around him, which had been quite loud until now, had died away.

  “My money’s never been rejected before,” said Brommel, an easy smile still on his face. “Is there a problem?”

  “Having a slave trader in Noam is a problem if anyone here objects to families being torn apart.”

  “You’re quite bold for being so small,” replied Brommel. “I’ve been coming here for years and no one’s objected before.”

  The server wiped a glass and set it on the bar. He glared at Brommel with unflinching eyes. “No one here had their mother sold into slavery.”

  Brommel straightened his shoulders. “I don’t deal in slaves,” he said, his voice low and steady. “And I’ve never had a contract for any Noamish.”

  “No,” answered the server, “maybe you haven’t. But there are others like you who don’t care that families are torn apart for profit.”

  “No one goes unwillingly. Their marks are their own. Default on your agreement, then the law says you must work it off. If you don’t like the deal, don’t sign it. Now,” continued Brommel, forcing a grin to his lips, “will you give me a tankard?”

  The server again turned his back to Brommel. The conversation was over. Brommel glanced around the room at the eyes watching him warily. It would serve no purpose to start a fight over a drink. He needed his ox and wagon cared for. He needed to purchase supplies on his return. Brommel shrugged. Then he picked up his coin and tucked it back into his pocket. Taking his leave, he stepped out of the tavern into the night. The cool, damp air smelled of earth and decaying grass. He walked across the village square to the livery, where he found his wagon secured outside. Climbing into the bed, he unfolded one of the blankets, pulled it over himself, and drifted off to sleep.

  10

  The visions invaded Ivanore’s dreams day and night. Blood soaking into the earth, the cries of women and children. It was as if the dead were reaching out to her, pleading with her to bring them back. But she could not do that. They weren’t dead yet, and she had no way of knowing when they would be.

  Ivanore rubbed her temples. A headache was beginning to sprout deep in her brain. She had seen the boy again, in the corn field, had seen Arik raise his blade. The scene always made her feel sick.

  She folded the quilt back and slid her feet to the floor. Sunlight spilled into her room from the window, reminding her that day had arrived even though she had slept little. Night had felt too long.

  The guard would be coming soon to call her to breakfast. Should she tell him she was ill today? But what was the point? Arik would come see for himself what the trouble was, and the last thing she wanted was to be interrogated again. Why couldn’t he listen to her? She had tried and tried to get him to see reason, to understand that the path he was taking would eventually lead to his downfall. But he always asked the same question. When?

  For that, she had no answer. Only the crystal could give her that, and she had no idea where it was now. She had broken it into thre
e pieces. Jayson had the first half, or so she hoped. And the other pieces she’d left in Imaness with her boys. Arik knew only of this crystal and seemed determined to find Jayson’s piece, as if it would be sufficient for his needs. And perhaps it would. Ivanore had no idea how a Seer’s crystal might function once broken. She had had visions with her half of the crystal. They were what had brought her to Hestoria in the first place.

  That there was a second unbroken crystal still on Imaness was her secret.

  She moved to the window and pushed the glass open. A sudden rush of cool ocean air blew into the room. The sound of the sea calmed her. She glanced down into the courtyard below where a contingent of Vatéz soldiers were holding drills. The men marched in step with each other, drew their swords in unison, attacked unseen enemies in formation, then returned their weapons. They did this over and over to the call of their leader.

  “Draw! Attack!” shouted Erland.

  Ivanore watched for a few minutes, awed by the way the Captain exuded confidence and leadership. Suddenly, as if sensing her eyes on him, Erland tipped his chin up toward the window. His eyes locked on hers, and for a moment, she could not look away. Finally, she spun away into the room. She pressed her back against the wall and grasped the neck of her gown. Why was she breathing so fast? She chided herself.

  A sharp knock at the door broke the silence. Ivanore gasped in surprise. Then, checking herself, she said, “Come in.”

  The lock clicked, and the door swung open. A guard stood in the doorway. “Time to come down,” he said.

  “All right. In a moment.”

  She closed the door just enough to keep the lock from catching, then slipped out of her night gown into a dress. Then she tied back her hair with a ribbon and started for the door, pausing a moment by the window. She stepped close enough to look down but not so close that she could be seen.