The Crystal Keeper BoxSet

by Laurisa White Reyes

  Finally in a somewhat upright position, Jayson began the next part of his process: to swivel in the bed and set his feet on the floor. This might not have been so difficult, he reasoned, if he had not been suddenly overcome with dizziness. The room swam in front of his eyes, and for a few moments, he lost sight of what was up and what was down. He felt an overwhelming desire to lay back down and let the world go dark. But no, he told himself. This would pass. He closed his eyes for several minutes and controlled his breathing. When he opened his eyes again, the world had come back into focus, though his equilibrium still felt off. But like the pain and the muscle cramps, he ignored it.

  Jayson carefully slid his legs off the mattress and lowered his feet to the floor. The cold, hard surface against the soles of his feet was a welcome sensation, and he relished it for a minute more before steeling himself for the final leg of his journey out of bed. He leaned forward, fists pressed again into the mattress, and pushed.

  He envisioned himself rising out of bed, strength filtering down through his spine into his legs, and standing the way he had always stood. Straight and effortless. He would take his first step, perhaps unsteady at first, but then his muscles and bones would remember what they were created to do and carry him across the floor. He would open the cabin door and step outside to the edge of the porch. He would feel the warm morning sun on his face, breathe in the fresh autumn air. Then he would open the front of his trousers and let the stream of yellow liquid jet out of his body into the soil, as if he was claiming the very earth as his own. He saw all this in his mind’s eye as he tested a portion of his weight on his legs.

  Feeling the sudden shift of pressure onto his knees, his limbs began to tremble uncontrollably. The bed still carried most of his weight, yet his legs seemed unwilling to take even the little he had given them. But he ignored the trembling, blaming it on having spent too many days in bed. Muscles atrophy with disuse, he reasoned, even as something in his gut shouted at him to stop this endeavor and lay back in the bed.

  But Jayson did not heed his own instinct. Why should he? He was not a child. Not an invalid. What could be more simple for a man than to stand on his own two feet? But when he willed the muscles in his legs to straighten, to lift him off the bed, they mutinied against him. His knees buckled, hitting the floor like two granite stones. New pain shot through his thighs as he landed at the same time that his body tilted forward, a felled tree crashing to the forest floor. He told his hands to rise up, to break his fall, but they would not listen. Instead, his face met the unyielding wood while the rest of his body slumped in a pile of quivering, useless flesh.

  Then, to Jayson’s ultimate humiliation, he felt a warm wetness spread out from his groin, soaking his clothes. The smell of his own urine burned his senses. Jayson closed his eyes. He had no strength left to even turn his face away from the cabin door. He would have no choice but to watch as Agnora entered to find him lying in a pool of his own filth, completely helpless—and worthless. For what value was to be found in a man who could do nothing to help himself?

  Something inside of Jayson’s soul broke. And when the tears came, he did nothing to stop them from falling.

  10

  Brommel hated to leave Rylan yet again, but despite his new aspirations to help the Guardian refugees, he still had obligations. And he could be of no use to anyone without money. After his last journey across Imaness during which he met Arla, he no longer felt a desire to coerce anyone to come with him. Fortunately, the three men on his current list were all waiting for him when he arrived. They kissed their families goodbye, promised to return once their time was over, and went with Brommel without incident.

  The weather had turned cold, but only the tips of the Jewelled mountains were frosted white. Winter had not yet come to the valley. Still, Brommel looked forward to returning home and enjoying one of Mrs. Peagry’s hot meals. But there was still one more thing to take care of first.

  With the indentureds delivered safely to the mine, Brommel pulled aside the lead guard.

  “I brought a woman here a few weeks ago, one of the King’s contracts. Her name is Arla Sotherby, from Quendel. I’d like to speak to her, if you don’t mind.”

  The guard spat on the ground and then gave Brommel a suspicious glare. “You see that mine down there? Hundreds of slaves.”

  “I understand,” said Brommel with excessive patience. “But it’s important. I’ll wait here.”

  “It’d be better if you come with me. I’m not allowed to bring the slaves up top.”

  Brommel followed the guard down a narrow rocky path that snaked down the inside of the mine. The path was steep, and Brommel stumbled more than once.

  Once they reached the bottom, Brommel breathed with relief, then he considered his surroundings. This was an entirely different world, a world of shadow. The depth of the mine resulted in the perimeter being cloaked in perpetual darkness. Only the very center received direct sunlight, which, Brommel imagined, must shift and disappear as the day wore on. It was quite cool as well, ten, maybe twenty degrees colder than up top. The smell of fresh dirt, sweat, and urine hung heavy in the air. Brommel could feel the thick scents collecting on his skin.

  Along one end of the mine were row upon row of makeshift tents. This was where the slaves slept at night. From what Brommel could see, there were no facilities for bathing. The rest of the mine was a hive of workers. The sounds of iron tools colliding against rock rang out, echoing through the pit. Men shouting “All clear!” followed by the rumble of stones cascading from above. The creak of wagon wheels, the sloughing of soil being poured onto piles. Just being there in the middle of the noise and the buzz of activity set Brommel’s nerves on edge.

  To be here knowing you have no way out, thought Brommel, how do they survive?

  The guard stepped across the quarry to where another guard stood with his thick fists curled into his hips. His face was weathered and brown, adorned by deep lines. The first guard spoke to the other, whose frown lengthened. The man glanced up at Brommel and then gave a sharp nod to bring him over.

  Brommel joined the two guards.

  “There aren’t many women here,” said the first guard, “and even fewer human women. You’ll likely find her over there behind the tents. Most are there now preparing supper for the slaves. Make it quick and get out.” The guard’s lips parted revealing stained teeth. Brommel suspected it was an attempt at a smile. “Stay too long, and I might forget you’re only visiting.”

  Brommel took the warning seriously and hurried over to the tents. He found about two dozen women there, mostly Agoran with half a dozen humans among them in various stages of making dinner: chopping vegetables, starting cookfires, stirring pots, organizing bowls carved from stone. He was relieved to see that there was a well here where one of the women was heaving out a bucket of water. But from the looks of the women, he doubted there was water enough to wash regularly. At least the smell in this far corner of the quarry was a bit more bearable.

  He spotted Arla sitting alongside two other women husking corn. To his surprise, the women were chatting among themselves and even laughing.

  Brommel wondered how anyone could find anything to be happy about in such a place.

  He approached Arla, but at first she did not notice him. Then a moment passed, and her eyes met his. All at once, she stood up, corn cobs rolling from her lap onto the ground, and she threw her arms around him.

  “Brommel!” she cried. “You’ve come at last!”

  Feeling her embrace sent an unexpected wave of gladness through Brommel. He returned her hug before stepping back to look at her.

  “This,” he said disappointedly, “and after just a few weeks. What will happen in a half a year?”

  Arla smiled, and it was genuine. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “As women, we only work the mine in the mornings. The rest of the day we cook and mend clothes. We even act as healers when a worker or guard gets sick or injured. It’s not so bad.”

&
nbsp; Brommel still had his doubts, and even half a day hauling dirt and digging up gems would take its toll on Arla soon enough.

  “I wish I could take you out of here,” he said.

  Arla wrapped her hands around his arm and gazed up into his face. “You and I both know that isn’t possible. But I thank you for wishing it. Now,” she said, giving him a gentle squeeze, “what news do you bring me?”

  Brommel told her about the coming of the refugees and how he had learned they were Guardians. He hadn’t had a chance yet to talk to any of them about Ivanore, but he planned to as soon as he returned to Dokur.

  “What if the Vatéz have Ivanore?” asked Arla with concern. “And the crystal? That’s likely what they really want.”

  “What crystal?”

  “Ivanore is the Seer, you know that,” explained Arla. “But even a Seer cannot fully control her power without a crystal to help focus her visions. Ivanore told me once that she had two. I only know that she doesn’t have them anymore. She hid them, and only Jayson knows where they are. Well, at least one of them, or part of one. It’s complicated. Ivanore said that when Jayson was exiled, she broke one of her crystals into two pieces and gave him one of the halves. I don’t know where the other half or the second stone have been hidden, but I know she did not take them with her to Hestoria. But Jayson must still have his half, which means it is in Hestoria, and quite possibly the Vatéz know about it.”

  “Is this broken crystal really so valuable?”

  “It’s celestine, dug right from this very mine long ago. But the two crystals were shaped and carved by the Gods themselves, at least that’s how the legend goes. The Gods gave them as a gift to the first Seer to help her reclaim magic from those enchanters who began using it for selfish means. Generations of Seers have passed, yet dark magic still remains. It is a force that is not easily destroyed. But from what I understand, there are few enchanters left in the world. I know of only one on Imaness. There may be others in Hestoria, among the Vatéz, who were once called the League of Magicians. I’m sure they want Ivanore’s crystal and would stop at nothing to find it.”

  When Arla stopped speaking, Brommel found he could not think of what to say in return. Dark magic? A broken crystal? The Gods? He knew of the Vatéz’s capacity for evil. He had once been a tool of the Vatéz to remove anyone who they labeled a traitor. He also knew of the previous Vatéz leader, Emir, and his ties to ancient magic, though he had never seen any of this magic himself. From one of the early letters Jayson had sent him, he knew that Emir was now dead and that Arik, Ivanore’s brother, had taken control of the Vatéz. If anyone knew of Ivanore’s power and of the value of her crystals, it would be him .

  “Why would Arik and the Vatéz want the crystals?” Brommel wondered out loud.

  Arla glanced up at an approaching guard. “I don’t know,” she said, “but I think our time together is over.”

  To Brommel’s surprise, Arla once again embraced him and then pressed her lips to his in a fleeting kiss.

  “Thank you for coming here,” she said. “Don’t forget me.”

  When the guard arrived, Arla shrank away and returned to her place beside the other women who drew her immediately back into their conversation.

  “Time to leave,” said the guard, giving Brommel a hard shove in the back with the butt of his whip.

  “I’m going,” said Brommel. As he made his way back toward the path up the side of the mine, he glanced back hoping to see Arla one last time. He felt he had to see her again, and he had a gnawing dread that he might never have another chance. His eyes scanned the area near the tents, but he could not find her. From this distance all the dirt-encrusted, bedraggled slaves looked the same. He felt disheartened as he climbed the path, and as he reached the top he made a decision. The next time he came for Arla would be the last.

  11

  Fortunately for Jayson, Agnora was not the first person to walk through the cabin door. He was spared the humiliation of the old woman having to hoist him off the floor and clean him up. Instead, the face that appeared in the fresh wedge of sunlight belonged to Teak. Jayson was almost relieved to see his friend, a man like himself.

  Teak spotted Jayson immediately and rushed to his side in alarm.

  “Jayson, what happened? Are you all right?”

  Jayson nodded. “I tried to get out of bed to take a piss,” he explained, adding a deliberate tone of self-deprecating humor to mask his true feelings. “I didn’t get very far. But the deed was done anyway.”

  “I can see that,” said Teak, smiling, though his eyes betrayed his concern. “Let’s get you cleaned up before the ladies get back. Dianis and I met Agnora on the trail here, and Dianis is helping her skin and clean her catch.”

  Teak, as it turned out, knew where everything was in Agnora’s cabin: clean linens, rags, and clothes. He expertly stripped Jayson of his soiled garments and wiped him clean with a wet cloth. Then he just as expertly dressed him in fresh clothing and lifted him back into bed. Then Teak cleaned the floor.

  “I’ll take these out to the river and give them a wash,” he said. Jayson knew his friend would never mention the mishap to either Agnora or Dianis, and he felt a deep gratitude for his discretion. Jayson doubted he would ever try such a stunt again without help.

  By the time Agnora and Dianis arrived, all evidence of Jayson’s accident had been removed.

  “Caught ourselves a couple of hares for supper,” said the old woman holding the two dead animals by their hind feet. The creatures were long and lean with fur the color of pecan shells. “Took down a small boar as well. That, I’ll be boiling and salting for my winter storage.”

  While Agnora busied herself at the table with preparing the smaller animals, Dianis pulled up a stool beside Jayson. She brushed away a tangle of hair that had fallen into her face. “What are we going to do with you?” she asked with a motherly smile.

  Jayson laughed, though it made his shoulder hurt. “Maybe you could boil and salt me. That’s about all I’m good for right now.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Dianis straightened his covers. “You’ll be well in no time, you’ll see.”

  But though she smiled at him, Jayson sensed doubt in her voice.

  “Tell me what happened to me, Dianis. I’m only guessing from the little you’ve explained. By the bandages. I’ve seen the burns…”

  Dianis’s face grew apprehensive, but he knew she wouldn’t lie to him.

  She drew a breath and slid her hands around one of his, her thumbs delicately stroking his bandage. “You should have been dead,” she whispered. “No one should have survived what you’d endured. When we found you, one body among dozens—I don’t know. It was horrible, Jayson. Children. They murdered the children.” Tears pooled in Dianis’s eyes and for a moment it looked as if she couldn’t continue. But she swallowed back the tears and steeled herself.

  “We checked them all, of course. We had to be sure. But when we came to you, you were so bloody, so burned, we didn’t even consider the possibility that you’d survived. Then I noticed you take a breath, and another. Shallow, weak, but you were breathing. You were alive.”

  “But what had happened to me?”

  Dianis’s eyes rolled over Jayson’s body as if re-examining his wounds. “The burns are extensive,” she began. “Your arms, of course, but also over your back. And you were stabbed. The blade went all the way through your chest below your left shoulder. Another inch lower and that soldier would have taken your heart. He must have hit you with the butt of his sword because there is a bad wound on your left temple, which probably explains your patchy memory. And then…”

  “There’s more?”

  Dianis nodded. “Your lower spine. Badly bruised. We aren’t sure if it’s broken or not.”

  Jayson thought of his earlier attempt to stand, how his legs had failed to bear his weight for even a moment. He didn’t think he was paralyzed. He could feel his legs and feet, could move them, but damage had been done. Was
the injury permanent? Would he ever be able to walk, let alone stand, again?

  “Thank you, Dianis,” said Jayson, “for taking a chance on me and bringing me here.”

  “I’m sorry we weren’t there when it happened. If only we hadn’t left. If only—”

  Jayson pulled one of his hands free to wipe away Dianis’s tears. “Stop, Dianis,” said Jayson. “If you and Teak had been there, you two would have been lying beside me in that field. There was nothing anyone could have done.”

  She looked down as though embarrassed or ashamed. Jayson couldn’t imagine the weight she must have been carrying.

  “I’d better help Agnora,” she said. “I saw Teak out by the river on the way in, doing laundry of all things.” She laughed a little. “Isn’t he a wonderful man? He’s so thoughtful.”

  Jayson agreed. “You two were made for each other.”

  Dianis kissed Jayson’s hand and, after she had straightened his blanket once more, joined Agnora at the table.

  Jayson watched the two women for a while as one sliced open a hare’s skin with a knife and slipped it, like a glove, off its body. Then the other woman opened and cleaned out the body cavity, placing the contents in a bowl. The smell of fresh blood aroused the wild instincts in Jayson, the Agoran part of him that drove him to hunt. He turned away and faced the wall, blocking out the scent. He would not be hunting now, would not be doing anything for himself. How long would he have to lie in this bed? How long would have to rely on the old woman to help him relieve himself, to eat, to dress?

  If only Ivanore were here, he thought. He wouldn’t mind so much if his wife were caring for him. He would consider it a pleasure to feel her gentle touch against his skin. Suddenly, an ache worse than his wounds swelled in his chest as her face came into focus. Her blue eyes, skin as pink and warm as life itself. Hair the color of ripe wheat. He could still smell the sea, hear the lap of the waves against the boat’s stern and the snap of the sails. He could still see her standing at the stern of Dawes’ ship as he called out orders to his men. The tears in Ivanore’s eyes as the ship pulled away from the dock. And Jayson still felt the jagged tear in his heart as he watched her sail away. It was the last time he ever saw her, and now, thinking of his broken body, he hoped it would remain the last.