The Crystal Keeper BoxSet

by Laurisa White Reyes

  From the back of the room, a young, wiry man with a scraggly black beard hollered, “Cut them Vatéz down!”

  Flint nodded thoughtfully as a chorus of “here, here” rose up. “We’ve talked about lying in wait for them, ambushing them.”

  Excited shouts exploded from the men, along with statements like, “We’ll murder those Vatéz!” and “Let their blood spill!”

  Jayson took a long pull from his mug. From the corner of his eye, he watched Teak’s response to Flint’ message. One hand grasped the edge of the bar, the other was clenched into a fist. He leaned forward, eagerly absorbing Flint’s every word. Tension rippled off him.

  He wants revenge, thought Jayson, recalling how he too had once sought revenge, and had gotten it. When he had clenched his hands around the throat of the previous Minister of the Vatéz, Emir, a thrill had shot through him unlike any he had ever known. The man was frail and old, a disguise for his immense magical power and for his blood-drenched soul. Jayson had killed animals before in many hunts, but Emir was the first man who had died because of him. And he liked it — too much. The moment that life left Emir and his body went limp, Jayson had felt such a sense of ecstasy that it frightened him. He never told anyone what he had done to retrieve the Seer’s crystal. He had never explained why he seemed so content to stay hidden at Ashlin, why he had never tried to leave and find his way back to Ivanore.

  The truth was he no longer believed he was worthy of her. It wasn’t that he had murdered a man in cold blood. Emir was evil and deserved to die, there was no question about that. It was that Jayson had enjoyed killing him, the way an animal enjoyed tracking and killing another animal. For his entire life, Jayson had fought to be recognized for the human part of him, but now he wondered if he was truly more animal after all.

  And now, listening to Flint, Jayson resisted the pull. How easy it would be to join these rebels, to take his revenge on the Vatéz. He, more than anyone, had a right to it. But no, he would not join them. Let these men do what they wanted, let them face their enemies with pitchforks and clubs. Jayson wanted no part of it.

  He set down his mug and rose from his stool. Flint was talking now of weapons, asking who had swords and was willing to use them. Few of the men, as it turned out, owned one. But the men were riled up now suggesting they recruit the local blacksmith into forging weapons. In two days? Jayson shook his head. Their emotions were carrying them away.

  He started for the door unnoticed by anyone, even Teak, whose attention was entirely focused on Flint. Jayson left the tavern and stepped out into the cold, dark night.

  25

  It was late, and the fire in the Seafarer’s hearth had diminished to coals. Brommel found Arla sitting beside it, her elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped in front of her. She gazed into the hearth, a pensive expression on her face.

  “A coin for your thoughts,” Brommel said, draping a blanket over her shoulders. “Seems you spend more nights here than in bed.”

  Arla smiled, tugging the corner of the blanket across her legs. “I can’t sleep,” she said. “All I can think about is Lael, my daughter—and Ivanore.”

  Brommel pulled up a chair and sat down. It had been more than a month since he’d brought her out of the mine, but there was still another month before the snows began to melt in the mountains. Longer still before they could travel to Quendel.

  “I’ll take you home the very day Vrystal Canyon is open, I swear it,” he said.

  “I know.” Arla closed her eyes and nodded. “But what about Ivanore? I know as little today as we did when I first met you.”

  “Tyron said—”

  “Yes, I know what the Guardians said. Ivanore is in Hestoria and is in league with the Vatéz. At least that’s what your friend claims.” She looked intently at Brommel, her hands clenched. “But I refuse to believe that. Ivanore would never turn against the Guilde.”

  Brommel held his hands up to the coals, their warmth still present. He understood Arla’s feelings. She could not imagine her friend doing what Tyron claimed she had done. But how could she or anyone else possibly believe otherwise? Tyron and his family had been there at Ashlin when the soldiers came. Ivanore had led the Vatéz right to them.

  The truth was, Brommel didn’t know what to believe. He’d never met Ivanore. He knew her only from what Jayson and Arla—and Tyron—had told him. But this wasn’t the time to argue with Arla. Being so far from her family for so long, of course she was distressed.

  He cupped his hands around hers. So warm. So gentle.

  “I promise you, I’ll get to the bottom of this,” he said. “We’ll keep trying to find more information about Ivanore. Even once you’ve gone home, I’ll keep looking.”

  Arla slid one of her hands out from under his and laid it over his fingers. In the past few weeks since she’d come to The Seafarer, Brommel had grown even fonder of her. She was kind to Rylan and Mouse, treating them as if they were her own children. She worked alongside Mrs. Peagry in the kitchen and dining hall. And she’d done so much to help the refugee families. Through it all, he’d never heard a single complaint escape her lips.

  Whenever he thought of returning her to Quendel, he felt as though his insides were tied in knots. What would he do without her?

  He stared at her now, her eyes snaring him so that try as he might, he could not look away. He thought she would be the first to break their gaze, but she didn’t. Their eyes remained fixed on each other. Brommel felt his heart pounding deep in his chest. She had a husband, he reminded himself. And a child.

  But even as these thoughts raced through his mind, he found himself drawing closer to her. Arla did not retreat, and as their lips met, a heat unlike Brommel had felt in years surged through him. And in response, Arla pressed closer.

  Their kiss ended, and they again looked at each other. A connection that hadn’t been there before now linked them somehow. Brommel felt it, and he knew Arla felt it too. But then, as if suddenly ashamed, Arla looked away.

  “I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ve been so good to me—”

  “Arla,” said Brommel gently grasping her shoulders, “I’ve come to care for you. You must know that.”

  Tears sprung from her eyes. “I do know it. But it can’t be, Brommel. It just can’t. Perhaps I should leave.”

  “No.” Brommel lowered his hands. The hearth was colder now. “No, you’ll stay with us until the pass opens. I won’t—” He swallowed hard. “I won’t ever put you in such a position again. I’m sorry, Arla. Please forgive me.”

  With that, Brommel stood and, leaving Arla alone by the hearth once more, he returned to his room and fought the demons raging in his heart.

  26

  Jayson stood in the road beyond the tavern, where the shouts of the rebel villagers had risen to a fevered pitch. Jayson tuned it out and listened instead to the sounds of the night. Not far off, an owl hooted from its perch in a tall tree. Behind him, from the stables, he could hear the restless shuffling of horses’ hooves as they waited for their masters to fetch them.

  He wanted to return to the farm, but he couldn’t leave Teak here alone, wondering what had become of him. No, he would wait for his friend. Eventually, Teak would realize that Jayson had left and come looking for him. In the meantime, he preferred to spend a few minutes alone.

  He hadn’t been waiting long, however, when the sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the distance. They grew louder and closer until the form of a boy appeared from around the corner of a cottage. They boy was running. When he saw Jayson, he came to an abrupt stop. The boy bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, heaving for breath.

  “What it is?” Jayson asked, sensing he had come with an urgent message for someone in the tavern. “Catch your breath.”

  The boy nodded furiously. “I’m looking for Master Flint,” he said. “The Vatéz—” The boy wheezed and coughed, then tried again. “The Vatéz have attacked!”

  “Darville?”

 
; “No! They’ve hit Monte-Valle!”

  Monte-Valle was the neighboring village a few miles up the road. Jayson had never been there, but Dianis spoke of it from time to time as a place where she could find the best cloth to sew her dresses. It was a peaceful town of merchants and millers.

  Jayson took hold of the boy’s shoulders. “When did this happen?”

  “It’s happening now, sir! My friend, Sam, escaped and came to my door minutes ago. He’d run all the way.”

  Jayson pointed toward the tavern. “You’ll find Flint in there,” he told him. “Better tell him quick.”

  It wasn’t long before men with enraged and fearful faces began pouring out of the tavern door. Teak, out of breath, found Jayson.

  “There you are,” he said. “Monte-Valle’s been attacked.”

  “I heard.”

  “Then you know I’m going with these men to lend aid. If we can get there soon enough, we might be able to fight the Vatéz. Will you come with us?”

  Jayson considered Teak’s request. What could he say? What would he tell Dianis if he returned home without her husband? What if something happened to his friend? He could never forgive himself.

  Minutes later, they were on horseback riding with dozens of other Bendby farmers east toward Monte-Valle. But when they arrived, there were no Vatéz soldiers in the village. They had already come and gone, leaving behind a scene Jayson hoped he would never have to see again.

  It was evident that Monte-Valle had not welcomed the soldiers with open arms. Men, more than fifty in all, lay in a condensed mass of death, swords still in hand. Among them were nearly as many dead soldiers.

  “They fought valiantly,” said Teak, a catch in his voice. But Jayson wasn’t looking at the men. A sense of alarm rose in him.

  “Where are the women?” he asked. “The children?”

  Had the men sent their families away to safety before the soldiers arrived? Jayson doubted it. If they had had enough notice, they would all have fled the village. No, these people were taken by surprise, which meant the men’s families must be nearby.

  Jayson followed the scent of blood away from the men, and it led him to the edge of a field of wheat. The golden stalks, tall as a man’s waist, swayed in the breeze. Jayson and brushed his palms over the plant tips. “Teak!” he called out. “Tell Flint to bring the men here.”

  Jayson tried not to smell the scent of horses’ sweat, of blood, of fear that still lingered here. The villagers must have believed the soldiers would avoid the fields. Jayson parted the stalks with his fingers and reluctantly ventured in.

  He hadn’t gotten far when he came upon the first body, a girl not more than six years old, lying face up on a bed of crushed wheat. Her open eyes stared up at the sky, focusing on nothing, her chest filleted so that the white of her ribs were visible through the torn dress. For a moment, Jayson entertained the hope that she had survived, but no. Her form was still and cold.

  Jayson felt a familiar pain deep in his gut. He squatted beside the child and slid his hand underneath her body, then gently pulled her to him. The girl felt light, like a bird. She looked to be the same age that Jayson’s son in Hestoria would be now.

  Behind him, Jayson heard the Bendby men approaching. Some stopped beside him to take in the scene of the dead children, then hurried past, searching the field. Cries lifted up from various parts of the field as more gruesome discoveries were made. The other children and their mothers, hiding in or escaping through the field, had been ambushed by the Vatéz.

  Jayson cradled the tiny body against his chest and pressed his forehead against the girl’s. This could have been his own child. If Fredric had had his way, his boy would have died like this. The pain in his gut swelled to unbearable proportions. He gasped for breath, fighting back the tears that burned his eyes. How could Arik do this? How could anyone be so cruel? For Jayson, this was the last dead child he ever wanted to see, the last slaughter he ever wanted to witness. How could he continue to pretend that the Vatéz, that Arik, would give up hunting him? Give up looking for Ivanore’s crystal? He was attacking these villagers, relying on fear to weed out the Guardians. Even though Arik believed Jayson was dead, he would never stop trying to locate that damned crystal.

  But it was over, Jayson told himself. The Arik Jayson knew on Imaness, the boy who had drawn his sword to defend Jayson against his own father, was gone. The man who now bore his name was a tyrant, obsessed with revenge and power.

  All around Jayson, Bendby villagers were assembling. Some carried the bodies of the men, depositing them near their families in the field. Jayson felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.

  “This is just like the other cleansings,” said Teak. “It’s as if the Vatéz want the children dead.”

  “It’s a message,” replied Jayson. “No more mercy, for anyone. Arik is counting on Hestoria to buckle, to hand over every Guardian—or face the consequences.”

  Flint appeared through the stalks. “We’ve checked them all. No one survived. We’re going to burn the field.”

  Jayson held the girl a moment longer, and then gently, like a father laying a sleeping child in his bed, placed her beside a dead woman. He didn’t know if the woman was her mother, but he couldn’t bear the thought of the child being alone. He adjusted the woman’s arm so that it lay protectively around her. When he was finished, Jayson followed Teak and the other Bendby men out of the field.

  They stood in a line several yards from the edge of the field as Flint ignited the first stalks. “May the Gods bless your souls,” he said.

  The flames devoured the field like a hungry beast. The heat grew so intense that the Bendby men had to move further back.

  Jayson’s gut roiled with agony. For the first time in years, he let the animal part of him escape. Never again, Jayson told himself. Never again.

  He threw back his head, and from the bottom of his gut, he let out a ferocious roar.

  27

  Spring in Dokur brought with it warm weather and a calm sea. Despite Brommel’s worry that he wouldn’t have enough money to buy a farm, he did purchase a small cottage bordering one. The farm’s owner agreed to let Brommel work ten acres of land for a percentage of the seasons’ crop sales.

  Arla helped make the place presentable and even tilled the soil alongside Brommel. She was used to such work, having managed her own farm in Quendel. She proved invaluable. True to his word, Brommel never again spoke of his feelings for her, though they only grew stronger, and the demons became more difficult to fend off.

  Rylan, too, had come to love Arla, and on the day Brommel announced that Vrystal Canyon was finally clear, a dark cloud seemed to descend over the house. The boy, who had grown at least two inches in the passing months, held tightly to Arla, tears trailing down his cheeks. He didn’t bother asking her to stay. Brommel had made it clear from day one that Arla’s visit was temporary. That she had her own little girl waiting for her in Quendel. Still, Arla returned Rylan’s embrace and shared his tears.

  Brommel and Arla were both silent for the first leg of their journey out of Dokur. The sound of the ox’s hooves clopping against the packed dirt road was their only connection. As they passed the mine, the sounds changed to the sharp clanging of metal picks and shovels, the shouts of guards, the snaps of whips, the cries of slaves. Brommel had spoken to Chancellor Prost, but his protests to how the mine workers were treated had fallen on deaf ears. Brommel was no longer an employee of the King, so his words had no sway over the King’s second-in-command. He doubted Prost would have cared even if Brommel was still a collector. All he was interested in was the production of the precious gem that kept Dokur a leader in the trade market.

  Brommel snapped the reins as they neared the mine, and the ox temporarily increased its pace. Brommel’s muscles stiffened, his fists clenched around the leather straps until the mine was miles behind them, its sounds long faded.

  The journey by wagon to Noam, and on foot through Vrystal Canyon and the Black Forest took
several days. Though they were prepared and alert should they face another groc, none accosted them. The closer they came to their destination, the shorter their conversations became, consisting primarily of comments about their food and the weather.

  When the Sotherby farm appeared in the distance, they both stopped and stared at it for a long while.

  “You don’t have to come with me,” said Arla finally without looking at Brommel. “I can see my house.” Her voice brightened, though it seemed laced with hesitancy. “My little girl, my Lael. She’s waiting for me.”

  Brommel simply said, “I’ll go with you.”

  They continued walking, though Brommel noticed that Arla’s steps seemed lighter, quicker. Her whole being had somehow transformed. Of course it would have, he thought. She’s going home. His feelings on the other hand, now felt like a stone weight. He had, despite his best efforts to avoid it, grown to love Arla. He had come to enjoy her smile, her laughter, the way she sang to herself while out in the fields. Without her knowing, he had memorized every curve of her body, every detail of her face. But he had no right to her. And now the day he dreaded had arrived.

  They approached the farm house, which seemed depleted somehow, as if its spirit sagged. Brommel noticed the absence of flowers in the front garden, now barren earth. There had been flowers before, he recalled.

  Arla paused and turned her eyes to Brommel. She looked at him with an expression so easily deciphered. Thank you, it said. Thank you, and I’m so happy, and don’t forget me.

  Brommel smiled at her. He didn’t know what to say. Perhaps he didn’t have to say anything. Instead, he nodded.

  Go on, he said back to her. Go on.

  Arla drew a loud breath and started forward. However, before she had taken three steps, the front door to the cabin opened, and the young girl Brommel had met before appeared. Like Rylan, the child had grown. She stepped out onto the porch and caught sight of Arla.