The Crystal Keeper BoxSet

by Laurisa White Reyes

  Lael stared up at him with wary eyes.

  “Good morning,” said Brommel in as unintimidating a voice as he could. “I’m expected.”

  “It’s all right,” called Arla’s voice from inside. “Let him in.”

  Lael hesitated, but then the door opened. As Brommel entered the house, he noted that Lael wore a simple linen nightgown with her hair in a long blonde plait down her back. It was neat, without a strand out of place. Arla had obviously braided it for her with the care only a mother could exude.

  Arla stood at a table in the center of the room. A cloth had been laid across it, and items had been arranged on the cloth: slices of bread, dried fruit and a handful of nuts, some folded clothing, a pair of shoes, a book with a worn leather cover. Arla said nothing as she gathered the corners of the cloth together and tied them as the girl looked on, confused.

  A door at the back of the room opened, and a man appeared. He was thin and wan, his face gaunt and darkened by several days’ growth of whiskers. He wore loose trousers held up by dirty suspenders over his bare shoulders.

  “Who’s here?” the man asked, his voice hoarse. “What’s he want?”

  Arla immediately moved to the man and placed a kind hand on his arm. “I told you last night the debt collector would be coming.”

  “I don’t recall—”

  “Of course not, Silas. You were fevered.” She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. “It’s better now, thank the gods.”

  Silas leaned his full weight against the door jamb. He said to Brommel, “I don’t have any gold, if that’s what you’re after. And as you can see, I’m not worth the price of a horse’s leg right now. You’ll have to come back in a few weeks when I’m stronger.”

  Even as the man spoke, Brommel sensed fear in his voice. He knew what it meant when a man was afraid. He had seen it before. It meant the man would run, if given the chance. If Brommel agreed to come back, by the time he did, Silas would be gone, and that meant weeks of hunting for him and an extended punishment for Silas once caught.

  Had Arla told her husband about last night’s agreement? Or had she changed her mind? Would Brommel be forced to take this sick, worthless man on the road? He might put up a fight, but he’d be too weak to offer any real resistance. Brommel had no idea how sick the man really was. Would he perish on the journey, resulting in Brommel arriving empty-handed?

  Arla glanced at Brommel and then looked back at her husband. “He hasn’t come for you, Silas,” she said. “I tried to tell you last night, but you were delirious. Go back to bed now. I’ve asked Mrs. Archer to come check on you from time to time. She’ll see that Lael gets to school and that you both have soup to eat until you’re well. Go on now, back to bed.”

  Silas’s jaw opened as his mind grappled with his wife’s words. “What are you saying, woman?” He grabbed her hand and threw it off his arm with more force than his weakened state seemed capable. His expression hardened. “You telling me you’re leaving?”

  Lael, who had remained half hidden behind the door until now, emerged. “Mama?”

  Arla opened her arms, and Lael ran to her. “Yes, I’m leaving,” she said. “I’m going to pay off our debt on the farm, Silas.”

  Silas grasped the door jamb with both hands as if to steady himself. “You can’t do it,” he said. “You’re needed here. Who’ll tend to me? To the girl?”

  “Mama, please,” whimpered Lael into her mother’s skirts. “Please don’t go.”

  “I must,” said Arla, petting her daughter’s hair. “Papa is too sick, and the debt must be paid. I won’t be gone long, half a year at most. You can make do for half a year can’t you?”

  “You ain’t going, I tell you!” shouted Silas. “That bastard will have to come back for me next month or damn the debt. Damn the farm! And Damn Lord Fredric!”

  “Silas! Watch yourself!” said Arla. “No one’s forcing me to go. I offered myself.”

  Silas narrowed his eyes at her. “You want to leave?”

  “I’ll be back as soon as the debt is paid. I promise.”

  Silas’s eyes went cold. Then in a sudden surge of strength, he pushed away from the door. He took two wobbly steps toward Arla, raised a hand, and slapped her across her face. Her head snapped to the side, and Lael let out a frightened scream.

  Brommel’s muscles tensed. His fingers clenched around the grip of his dagger, tempted to intervene. But he held his peace, waiting to see how things would play out.

  “Leave then, you whore!” hissed Silas. “You want to abandon your husband and child, then go ahead.”

  “Silas, you’re not being reasonable,” said Arla.

  “Get out then! Get out!”

  Brommel hated being witness to this family conflict. He had half a mind to lay Silas flat for hitting his wife, but he had learned from past experience not to not involve himself in other people’s affairs. These separations were never easy, but in time, people came to accept them. And like Arla said, it was temporary. She’d be back, and Brommel vowed he’d bring her back to Quendel himself next year just to make sure.

  Arla picked up her cloth bundle and then pulled a shawl off a hook in the wall. “Goodbye, Silas. I’ll be home soon as I can.”

  Brommel followed Arla out the front door and down the porch steps, but Lael clung to her mother’s legs, wailing.

  “Mama, please don’t leave me!” The child’s cries tore at Brommel’s heart. He recalled his own son’s cries after his mother died.

  “Mama, please…” Rylan’s voice still haunted Brommel day and night, and he was certain Lael’s would plague Arla as well. He could remain silent no longer. “Arla,” he said, “you don’t have to do this.”

  Arla raised a tear-stained face to him. Her cheek had swollen and was turning purple. “But I do,” she said. Then she pressed her lips against her daughter’s head for a long time, her tears dripping into her hair. “Lael, I need you to be strong for me. Do you understand? I know Papa can be a hard man sometimes, but if you do what he says he’ll be good to you, and I’ll be back before you know it. Promise me you’ll be a good girl, that you’ll look after the farm while I’m gone. Promise me.”

  Lael wiped the tears from her own cheeks with her sleeve. “No, Mama, no.”

  “Promise me,” repeated Arla, trying to keep her voice steady. “I can’t do what I have to do if I know you’re sad. I need you to be strong. Please, don’t make me leave like this.”

  The girl sniffed, and then nodded. “All right,” she said at last. “I promise, I won’t cry no more.”

  Arla wrapped her arms around Lael and kissed her again. Then she let her go and stood up. She said nothing else as she turned and started down the road.

  Brommel walked beside Arla. She did not look back but kept her eyes level ahead of her. But Brommel did look back. Like her mother, Lael stood stiffly in the road, her eyes fixed on her mother. Her small chest was heaving in silent tears. Brommel looked at Arla, still silent, and found her face wet with tears as well.

  They said not a word all the way out of Quendel, the silence behind them cutting as deep as a dagger.

  6

  The land had gone dry. Despite news of rains near the coast, the storms had not reached this far inland in months. Ashlin had only managed this last harvest by hauling water from the stream in the forest, but how long could that continue?

  Jayson squatted at the edge of the field and scratched his claws through the arid soil, leaving trails of disappointment behind. He peered up at the sky, solid blue in all directions, and grunted.

  He had no one to blame but himself—and the gods. It was they who had held back the rain, who had determined to make cultivating Captain Dawes’ plantation as challenging as possible. Jayson couldn’t help but believe, however, that this drought was punishment for his neglect of it that had gone on far too long.

  Jayson had come to Ashlin, not to claim his inheritance but to await the return of Dawes and to lick the wounds of his broken
heart. Sending Ivanore back to Hestoria without him, kissing her for what he was certain would be the last time, watching her sail away on Dawes’ ship, had crushed him more completely than he had ever thought possible. For weeks he had refused to eat, except for the thin broth Nira forced down his throat on occasion. He had wept bitterly, slept like a bear in hibernation, longed to drown his pain in ale, which Nira refused to bring him.

  He had emerged from his darkness after nearly a month, when Nira had come to him concerned that the Captain had not returned when expected. Another month went by before Jayson sent a farm hand to Nauvet-Carum for word on Dawes’s ship, The Silver Mist. When he returned, he brought no news. No one had seen Dawes nor his ship since he had set sail for Hestoria.

  There were many possible explanations, Jayson reasoned. He had been delayed on the island, had diverted his course to avoid a storm or to collect goods from up north. His ship might have gone down on the return trip—or worse—Jayson could not bear to consider the possibility that the Silver Mist might not have reached her destination at all. He refused to consider it. But as more time passed it became evident that something had happened to the ship and to Dawes. They would not be coming back.

  Located far north of the capital and outside Hestoria’s borders, Ashlin provided a safe haven for him and for the band of Guardians who had set up residence there. Gerard and the Guilde had abandoned their last hiding place in the nick of time and arrived at Ashlin on Jayson’s invitation. Nira had scowled at the unwelcome arrivals at first, but on realizing how the addition of so many willing farmhands could help Ashlin thrive, she agreed to turn a blind eye to their presence.

  They had all lived together peaceably for the past four years in relative prosperity. They worked the land, raised their children, and remained hidden from the eyes of the Vatéz. All was well until the land began to dry up, like an old woman gone barren.

  Jayson stood and brushed the dust from his hands. “Might as well not plant at all next season he said, the image of the Ralen-Arch’s slaughter still fresh in his mind. “Nothing will grow.”

  He turned to look at Teak who stood beside him. For a long time, he had not trusted the young man nor liked him, but over the years Teak had proven himself loyal to the Guardians and was as hard a worker as any Jayson had seen.

  Teak kicked at a dried corn stalk with the toe of his boot, the remains of the autumn harvest. “The Guardians are more than a hundred mouths to feed now,” he said, “five babies born just this year. What if this crop was our last? We’d have to move on.”

  “No.” Jayson’s voice was sharp. “You’ll do no such thing. You’re safe at Ashlin.”

  “Safe?” Teak scoffed. “I guess what happened the other night hasn’t changed your mind about anything.” He tugged at a loose thread on his sleeve. “If digging the channel doesn’t work, we won’t have any food next year. And now, with the Vatéz on the hunt—”

  “Enough! I won’t hear of your leaving, Teak. You know Arik won’t rest until all the Guardians are dead. Leave Ashlin and where will you go?”

  “We’ll go to the island, to Imaness.”

  “Do you really think they won’t find you there? They have eyes everywhere. And besides, what will you do? March all hundred of you right through the heart of Nauvet-Carum? And what ship would take you there? No, Teak. The Guilde is better off staying put.”

  They both stood gazing out across the fields, the weak breeze lifting a cloud of dust into the air.

  “The channel will work,” said Jayson.

  Teak let out an exasperated sigh. “I still think the river is too far.”

  They’d talked circles around this for weeks, but Jayson appreciated Teak’s caution. “It can be done,” insisted Jayson. “With enough of the men working, we could get it done in less than a fortnight. Before, most of their energy was being used to carry water and maintain the corn crop. But now that that’s over, and the wheat’s been sown, they’re struggling to occupy themselves. Put them to work on the line. It will keep them busy. It will give them hope.”

  Teak fell silent. In the drought, the river itself had diminished significantly, but water still flowed through it, enough to water the fields of Ashlin. If they could succeed in digging the line, if they finished before the next full moon, they might be able to grow enough wheat to get them all through the winter.

  “We need some of the men to hunt,” Teak suggested. “We need to lay up an added store of dried meat, in case your plan doesn’t work.”

  Teak turned to leave, but Jayson laid a hand on his shoulder. “This doesn’t alter the plans for the wedding,” he said.

  Teak protested. “But you’ll need every pair of hands. I can’t ask the others to do what I’m unwilling to do.”

  “Yes, you can. It’s not every day a man gets married. You’ll work for now, but come the full moon, we will all take time to celebrate with you. And then you will take your bride away. I don’t want to see you back here for at least a fortnight. Is that clear?”

  Teak blushed and cleared his throat. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right. And besides,” continued Jayson, “if I didn’t insist, I’m certain there would be hell to pay with Dianis.” He clucked his tongue, eliciting an even deeper shade of red from his companion. “Trust me,” he added, “the last thing you’ll want to do that day is to be digging ditches.”

  7

  You’d better have a good reason for interrupting my bath.” Arik reclined chest deep in a vat of steaming water, a young male servant standing over him with a ceramic pitcher in hand.

  Erland stood at the doorway to the marble-floored chamber, hesitant to approach. “One of my messengers has returned from following the Gorelian tracker. Seems she stopped at Durvett before turning inland.”

  The air in the room was heavy with moisture. Sweat beaded on Erland’s brow though he dared not wipe it away. In the water, Arik’s bare pale shoulders glistened. He reached for a glass of wine perched on a nearby table and downed it all. He returned the glass to the table before rising to his feet.

  Erland instinctively averted his eyes. Arik was still a boy in his opinion, barely twenty years, his thin immature frame lacking the musculature of more seasoned men like himself. That was part of the problem, Erland thought. He was too young with too much power. It had gone to his head.

  Arik snapped his fingers, and the boy servant hurriedly snatched up a towel. Arik raised his arms, dripping with water, as the boy wrapped the towel around his master’s waist. When Erland heard the squeak of wet feet on the floor, he lifted his eyes and found Arik grinning at him.

  “You’re awfully modest for a soldier,” he said. He snapped his fingers again, and the boy bowed and left the room. “Now, tell me more about Durvett.”

  Erland explained how he had sent a scouting party of four men to accompany the Gorelian as it tracked Ivanore to the coastal fishing village.

  “Is the Gorelian still on her trail?” asked Arik.

  “It is,” replied Erland.

  Arik nodded approvingly. “Good. Now it’s time to set things in motion.” Arik reached for a second towel hanging on a hook in the wall and vigorously dried himself off. “Take your men to Durvett—tonight.”

  Erland watched as Arik tossed the damp towel onto the floor. As if silently summoned, the boy reappeared with a black silk robe in his hands. Arik loosened the towel around his waist, letting it fall. The boy held out the robe as his master slipped his arms into the sleeves and then tied the waist shut with a sash.

  “What do you want me to do there?” asked Erland, though the question was unnecessary. He already knew Arik’s intentions.

  The young minister of Hestoria laughed as if Erland had said a wildly funny joke. “Punish them,” he said at last. “And you’ll do the same for every village that offers aid to the Seer or the Seer’s Guardians.”

  “But I thought you only wanted Jayson. Isn’t that why you let Ivanore go, so she’d lead you to the c
rystal?”

  In a moment’s flash of fury, Arik’s face turned crimson.

  “I don’t give a warboar’s ass about the crystal!” he shouted. “I want Jayson’s blood in a goblet! I want the Guardians’ hearts on a skewer!”

  His voice careened off the gilded walls. Even the young servant trembled in fear. But Arik soon quieted, the color in his face returning to normal. He drew several deep breaths in succession and then plastered on a shallow smile.

  “Of course, I want the crystal,” he said at last, his voice unnaturally calm. “And you will get it for me at any cost. Do I make myself clear?”

  Droplets of sweat trickled down the side of Erland’s face. The boy was mad. There could be no other explanation. Still, as long as he was in power, Erland was duty-bound to obey him. Only then could he position himself to become the next minister of Hestoria, should Arik suddenly die by natural—or unnatural causes. He need only bide his time.

  Arik paused and sipped his wine. “After Durvett, continue with the Gorelian. I suspect it will lead you right into the Guilde’s lair. I want none left alive.”

  “What about Ivanore?”

  Arik’s face again grew stern and Erland was afraid he would again lose his temper, but the minister gritted his teeth and kept his voice level. “My sister is not to be harmed, do you understand? You will bring her back to me.”

  “And Jayson?”

  Arik’s face hardened, and his eyes widened like a crazed lunatic. “Do I have to say everything twice?!” he shouted, then with a loud pop, he crushed the goblet in his fist. Red wine dribbled over his knuckles, mingling with a thin line of blood oozing from his palm before dripping onto the floor. “Do what you must to locate the crystal. And then,” he added with a satisfied sneer, “kill the halfbreed.”

  8

  Brommel and Arla traveled along the edge of the Black Forest for most of the day and decided to camp near the mouth of Vrystal Canyon. It had taken longer to get there than he had hoped, and there was no point explaining to Arla about the danger of traversing Vrystal Canyon at night—or at all. There wasn’t a villager in that part of the island who wasn’t familiar with Grocs or hadn’t had a sheep eaten by one at some point or another. There was an unspoken understanding between Brommel and Arla that they would camp until morning, and then move through the canyon swiftly and quietly.