The Crystal Keeper BoxSet

by Laurisa White Reyes

  For a moment, she stared at the door concealed on this side by an even thicker barrier of old branches. The wall stretched far to her right and left to where it abruptly turned on either end. Above her, the castle’s tower loomed as if threatening to tell her secret.

  Ivanore turned her back to the door and the wall. She faced the forest, dense with trees. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to control her breathing. Was it fear she felt, or exhilaration? She wasn’t sure. Then she took one long, deep breath and started to run.

  3

  “Ivanore. Do you recognize the name?”

  There was doubt and hope in Arla’s voice when she asked the question, but Brommel knew the name well. He drew a deep breath, wondering how it was that the Gods had brought him to this woman.

  “I have heard of Ivanore,” he answered. “I know her husband, Jayson.”

  Arla’s eyes widened. “When? How?”

  Brommel couldn’t help but smile at Arla’s childlike eagerness to know more. She was obviously deeply interested, but it was getting late.

  “Why don’t I walk you home,” he offered. Arla got up from her stool and followed Brommel out of the tavern. A half-moon lit the night, and the air was crisp. Their breaths escaped their lips in white puffs. Arla again pulled her cloak tight around her. Brommel noticed for the first time its frayed seams.

  “After my wife and child died,” began Brommel as they took their first steps along the road, “Jayson helped me bury them and then paid for my passage to Imaness. You see, I am an enemy of the Vatéz, and coming here was the only way to protect myself and my son.”

  Arla listened, intent on Brommel’s every word. “Did you meet Ivanore?” she asked. “Did she find her husband?”

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you that. I left Hestoria nearly four years ago, but at the time, Jayson believed she was here on the island. He said he’d been exiled for marrying her, and they had a son whom he had left behind. The separation broke him.”

  Arla grew silent as they walked on a little farther. Finally, she asked, “Are you in contact with Jayson now?”

  Brommel nodded. “I write to him from time to time, but he doesn’t get my letters often since he’s in hiding. He too is an enemy of the Vatéz. But in his occasional replies he always asks me to tell Ivanore he loves her. I think he hopes that I would have found her here, but as you know, her father, Lord Fredric has been searching for her for years. Now, from what you’ve told me, I understand why.”

  “Then Ivanore failed,” said Arla. “She never found Jayson.” Arla’s shoulders drooped at the revelation. But then she seemed to brighten with a new thought. “I wonder, if I were to get word to Hestoria perhaps I could inquire if anyone has seen her there.”

  Their shoes scraped along the hardened path, the only sound other than their voices. Above them, stars began to appear like tiny jewels. A few bats flew past in jagged paths, diving after insects.

  “Gerard is the leader of the Guilde, the Guardians of the Seer. If anyone knows where Ivanore is, I suppose it would be him.”

  Arla excitedly grasped Brommel’s arm. The sudden gesture startled Brommel. “Could we send him a message?” Arla asked.

  “You could try, though there is no guarantee it would reach him.”

  “But there is a chance.” She paused hesitantly and then added, “Could you send it for me?”

  Brommel laughed at first, but she was in earnest. He wasn’t sure how to respond. “I suppose I could,” he offered hesitantly.

  When he glanced at Arla, he expected to see disappointment in her face, but instead she appeared to be deep in thought. As they continued walking in silence, he wondered what Arla was thinking. Oddly, he felt a growing desire to help her. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes a moment. What was he about to get himself into? Finally, he spoke.

  “On my return to Dokur,” he said, “I must report to Chancellor Prost. I can ask him about the Guilde, if you like.”

  A grateful smile appeared on Arla’s face. “I can’t thank you enough—” Her smile faltered. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Most people call me Brommel.”

  They continued on until the outline of the Sotherby cottage appeared in the distance. As their destination drew closer, Brommel wished the night would go on much longer. It had been years since he’d said so much to any person. He was enjoying the conversation.

  “How would you get word to me, Brommel?” asked Arla.

  Brommel’s steps slowed as they approached the cottage.

  “Winter’s coming,” he said. “Soon Vrystal Canyon will be impassible with snow. The soonest I could return is late in the spring.”

  “That won’t do,” said Arla thoughtfully. “I’ve waited four years for word from Ivanore. She’s my closest friend, and my future queen.”

  Arla stopped walking and faced Brommel again. “You see, before she left, I made her a promise. I have kept that promise far longer than I think she ever intended.”

  “What was it?”

  Arla took an unconscious step back. The sudden space between them felt somehow cold.

  “I can’t share that with you, or anyone. I swore on my life. But, you see, it was providence that you came here to Quendel. I must find Ivanore. And soon.”

  She was urgent now.

  “I don’t see how—” Brommel started.

  Arla cut him off. “I’ll go with you.”

  Brommel stared at her in disbelief. Had he entwined himself with a mad woman?

  “You can’t go with me, Arla.”

  “Why not?”

  Brommel sputtered, trying to think of a reason, any reason to convince Arla of the insanity of her idea. “You have a husband, a daughter. They need you.”

  He started forward again, determined as ever to reach the cottage and deliver her home. He would come back in the morning for Silas, get on the road, and return to Dokur as quickly as possible. But as he took a step, Arla caught him by the arm and held it firmly, decisively.

  “You don’t understand,” she said, determination in her eyes. “I have no choice now. I swore an oath to Ivanore that if something were to happen…” She pressed her eyes shut as if trying to push away some unpleasant memory. “She’s my future queen. My friend. It’s my duty to find her.”

  Brommel shook off Arla’s grasp. He was growing angry now. “No,” he said. “I came for Silas Sotherby. I must deliver him to the mine in four days’ time.”

  “What difference does it make if you deliver Silas or me? My husband is too ill to travel. And you cannot wait until he recovers. The debt will be paid off in six months. During that time you and I can try to find out what happened to Ivanore. Then I’ll return home. My husband will be healthy, and our land will be saved.”

  A long, shuddering creak of an opening door broke the silence. A child’s voice called out.

  “Mama, is that you?”

  Arla held Brommel’s gaze as she replied to her daughter. “It’s me, sweetheart. I’ll be right there.”

  What could Brommel do? Arla was right. He had to take someone. The debt had to be paid, and if she had sworn an oath to Lady Ivanore, who was he to question her?

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “It may be longer than six months before I can bring you back here, depending on how long it takes for the snow to melt.” He hoped Arla would change her mind, but she looked more determined than ever as she replied with a slow, certain nod.

  Brommel sighed. “All right then,” he said. “I’ll come by in the morning. I must be on the road by sunup if I am to get through the pass before nightfall.” Arla smiled at him. “Go on then. Get home and say your goodbyes.”

  He stayed in the spot and watched as Arla reached the cottage and enveloped young Lael in her arms. The two embraced, the mother pressing her cheek to the top of her daughter’s head. The scene brought up memories of Brielle, too beautiful and painful to recall. Finally, Brommel had to look away, and he began his long, solitary walk back to
the mill.

  4

  The day had not ended before the ominous clouds broke. Cold, hard rain pounded the countryside as if the sky had a vendetta against the land. Ivanore wished again that she had had the foresight to bring a blanket. As it was, she had little in the way of protection from the storm. She trudged through mud and rain, her thin dress and shoes her only shield. The icy air bit into her skin, leaving her shivering.

  Auseret was located on the shore of the east sea. As the Silver Mist, the ship that had brought her there, made its course along the shoreline, she had kept vigil, searching for markers to help her remember her way back to Nauvet-Carum should she ever have the chance. Her chance had finally come, and she followed the shore westward, staying inside the line of bare white-barked trees.

  Running for hours, it seemed, she finally reached what she believed was the border of the tower’s realm. As dawn approached and the storm dissipated, she could better see her surroundings and was glad to find that the forest was even thicker in this part and would shelter her from Arik’s men should they come looking for her, which she was certain they would at some point.

  She traveled as fast as she could, stopping only long enough to catch her breath. The sun rose higher in the sky, though its warmth and light were mostly barricaded by clouds. At midday, it started to rain again, but Ivanore did not stop. Only once night had come again and the rain had ceased once and for all did she consider resting.

  She moved deeper among the trees and sat beside a large moss-covered boulder. She was hungry, but not as hungry as she was cold and wet. And not as cold as she was exhausted. She scooped together a pile of damp leaves, covered herself with them as best she could, and promptly fell asleep.

  Morning arrived with the welcome heat of the sun sprinkled through the forest of leafless branches. A shaft of light fell on Ivanore’s face, waking her. She ached horribly, and her stomach grumbled. Brushing off the leaves and dirt, she stood and stretched, her damp dress clinging to her body. She breakfasted on the single apple she had brought with her and continued her journey, keeping the shoreline just in sight.

  By afternoon she was hungry again, but in the distance she spotted a dock jutting out over the water. Probably a fishing village. She picked up her pace, hoping to find food and fresh water there. As she neared, she began to worry if Arik had anticipated this of her. He would have guessed she’d need to stop sometime. What if he had sent guards to this village during the night and waited for her there even now?

  She approached the village cautiously, noting the squat cabins nestled near the pier. She counted a dozen at least, their wooden walls gray with age. One structure was much larger than the others, some sort of storage house, she assumed. And there were boats, some secured to the pier with ropes, others scattered across the mildly lapping waves not far off shore. She watched as the men in the boats cast vast nets into the water and then hauled them up again, each requiring three or four men to drag up the load of silvery, wriggling fish. As Ivanore approached the shore, she saw more men, their dark skin glistening with sweat, hauling woven baskets of fish from the moored boats to the storehouse where dozens of women and children swiftly sorted the catches into more baskets.

  It had been so long since she had been among the people of Hestoria, she had nearly forgotten how different she was from them. Her pale islander skin and golden hair naturally made her stand out from the native people. There was no hope of blending in, of hiding among them. If Arik had sent soldiers to wait for her here, she’d be found for certain. And yet she saw no soldiers. She could no longer ignore the pangs of hunger nor her thirst. The journey ahead would last many days. She had to have food and water. She needed adequate clothing, and perhaps, if she could find it, a weapon.

  She had no choice. She had to take a chance on these people.

  Ivanore lifted her chin, smoothed out her rumpled dress as best she could, and strode confidently toward the village. Before she had come fifty yards from the pier, one of the men in the boats met her gaze. His eyes fixed on her, and he nudged the man beside him who also turned to watch the fair young woman walking toward them. One by one, every eye in the village was soon on her, watching with curious intensity. Even the children stopped their work to follow her approach.

  Dread as thick and hot as volcanic magma seeped into Ivy’s core. Should she turn back? Run into the forest and take her chances? How far could she get without water? Perhaps there were other villages inland, villages not under Arik’s control? No, she decided. She had to press on.

  She reached the nearest boat where the first man stood, one foot resting on the bow. He was much older than her, his hair gray and his eyes deep and watery. But his arms and chest were heavily muscled, a trait shared, it seemed, by all the men around her. She tried to smile.

  “I’m traveling,” she said in as strong a voice as she could muster. “I’m traveling—quite far—and wondered if you could spare some provisions. Bread, perhaps. Water?”

  The man said nothing at first, but his eyes shifted from her face to something behind her. He was looking up and away. Fearing that the soldiers had indeed followed her here, she turned. She saw the tower, Arik’s tower, in the distance rising like a formidable monument above the forest. Her breath caught in her throat. These people, she realized, lived every day of their lives under the gaze of that tower—of the Vatéz.

  The man’s eyes returned to hers. He stepped out of his boat and nodded for her to follow him. His eyes occasionally turned expectantly back to the tower, to the shoreline, to the trees. He was looking for soldiers, just as she had been. They reached the storage building. Women continued working, their sinewy hands deftly sorting large fish from smaller ones, but their eyes followed Ivy’s every movement. And the children clung to their mothers or hid behind barrels and crates. They knew who she was—and they were afraid of her.

  The man spoke to one of the women in a hushed tone and in an unfamiliar tongue. The woman responded, but her tone was sharp. A refusal. The man spoke again, and Ivy could tell it was a demand. The woman ground her teeth, but then she nodded, gave Ivy a long, hateful glare, and then hurried off toward one of the nearby cabins. They waited only a few minutes before she returned with a large bundle in her arms. She shoved the bundle at the man, who took it, and then the woman returned to her work.

  “Here,” the man said, holding the bundle out to Ivanore. “There are clothes for you. I asked my wife to add bread and cheese.”

  Ivanore took the bundle. It felt heavy. “Thank you,” she said.

  The man pointed toward the forest. “Not far from here is our fresh water well. Drink your fill, but then be off.” His eyes left hers again, narrowing at the distant tower.

  “Have they been here?” she asked. “Looking for me?”

  The man shook his head.

  “If they do come,” she ventured, “please, could you—your people—tell them I never came here? You never saw me?”

  The man looked at her again, and she saw a great sorrow pass through his eyes. “My son lived in Alay-Crevar, in the heart of Hestoria. The Vatéz accused the village of sheltering Guardians. The soldiers destroyed—everything.”

  The man swallowed, blinked away tears. “My son had a wife, a child—” His voice broke, but then his expression hardened. “How could the Vatéz know of the Guardians? How could they know what Alay-Crevar, what any village, had done?”

  Cold rippled across Ivanore’s skin. She knew of Alay-Crevar. She knew of all the villages the Vatéz had and would still attack. She knew because she had seen them in her visions, but this man was hinting that somehow she was responsible.

  She clutched the bundle close to her chest. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said.

  The man gave a slow nod. “Where are you going?”

  Ivanore thought of Jayson, of the place she had seen in her visions.

  “Northwest from here,” she said, but she dared not say more. What if the soldiers bribed—or tortured—this man f
or information?

  “By way of Nauvet-Carum?” the man asked.

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “You will find many villages along the coast and the inland roads,” he said quietly, “but they will not welcome you. They know—we all know—who you are—what you are.”

  His words hissed in Ivanore’s ear. She stepped back, away from the man. The village’s eyes were on her again, watching her. The cold on her skin prickled up her spine.

  The man jerked his head toward the forest. “Cut directly north. There are only a few villages near here, after that—nothing until you are beyond Hestoria’s borders.”

  Was the man helping her—or leading her into a trap? She couldn’t tell by his severe expression, but something in his voice told her she should trust him.

  “Thank you,” she said. Then she turned away from the shore and sprinted back into the forest, fear burning in her heart.

  5

  Brommel arrived at the Sotherby cottage at sunrise. Smoke roped into the sky from the stone chimney, suggesting Arla was already awake preparing breakfast for her family. Brommel stood in front of the house for a long while, contemplating the decision that had been made the previous night. He hadn’t slept since he and Arla had parted, and his conscience gnawed at him. How could he take a woman away from her husband and child? Even if she did go willingly, could he live with it?

  Brommel shook away the doubt. He had no choice, of course. Brommel had to deliver someone to the mine, and Arla had said herself that Silas was too ill. Brommel had his own troubles to worry about. Let the Sotherbys worry about theirs.

  He stepped up to the door and rapped on the hard wood with his knuckles. The door opened a few inches, and as before, it was the girl, Lael, who greeted him.