by Debra Kristi
Contents
Copyright-Kindle
Title Page
Dedication
Foreward
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
More by Debra Kristi
Meet the Author
Acknowledgements
Glossary of Terms
Copyright © 2015 by Debra Kristi
Becoming: The Balance Bringer
The Balance Bringer Chronicles, Book One
All rights reserved. Published by Ghost Girl Publishing, LLC.
www.GhostGirlPublishing.com
No part of this publication may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. For information regarding permission, address Ghost Girl Publishing, P.O. Box 940583, Simi Valley, CA 93094-0583
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015932335
ISBN 10: 1-942191-07-3
ISBN 13: 978-1-942191-07-0
Cover design and layout: Book Cover Corner
Balance Bringer art: Carrie Osborne
Editor: Tiffany Johnson
Editors from previous edition:
Content: Shelly Stinchcomb Tegen and Holly Kammier
Line and copy: Marcy Kennedy
Proofreader: Eden Plantz
Kristi, Debra
Becoming: The Balance Bringer / Debra Kristi. – 1st ed.
Visit the author: http://www.debrakristi.com/
Smashwords Edition
For Christy (In loving memory)…
This book and every book in the series to follow is dedicated to my sister, Christy—also known as Kristi by some of her close friends. I never would have started writing if it weren’t for her, this story in particular never would have become ink on the paper. Christy, sister, you bring me balance.
Throughout the worlds, the
Balance Bringer will bring hope.
She will be a light in the darkness
and salvation from the chaos.
Kaia Raine
Two Years Ago
I stare down at the thick, red substance oozing over me, my dress, the floor. It was supposed to be punch, but it sticks to the skin of my palms like thinned blood. I can’t stop staring at them.
Blood. On my hands.
I shake my head. It’s only punch.
Everyone laughs and points and stares. My head pounds with their ridicule, swims with the negative attention, and fresh tears spill. I want to run from the winter formal like Cinderella from the ball. Run home and never look back.
But I can’t.
My feet are trapped, shoes rooted to the gym floor. If only I could be anywhere but here—
“Why wasn’t I told we were playing action charades?” Paige uses her handbag as a fan and gawks at me.
“Because it’s a one-chick show.” Skylar throws extra torque to her hip and flips her hair. “This is Faredale’s pathetic rendition of Carrie with Ana in the lead.” She giggles.
“Sorry we couldn’t provide real pigs’ blood. Stephen King would cringe if he knew how we’d compromised.” Skylar’s date strides forward, making a not-so-crystal-clear confession of the truth. He knocked the bowl off the table and into me on purpose.
Skylar clutches his arm and leans forward, smirking at me. “I bet Jeremy only brought you to this dance because he felt sorry for you. Pure King material. You are the embodiment of Carrie.” She grins, and I’d swear it’s wrapped in one hundred percent evil.
“Oh my god! Ana, are you all right?” Jeremy rushes to my side, takes my hands in his, and checks for cuts. Finding none, he snags a wad of napkins off the table and begins cleaning the red mess from my skin. He snaps a sharp glare at Skylar, Paige, and their cronies. “None of you are funny. Why don’t you scurry on home and think things through for a change?” He closes his eyes for a minute, resembling the calm at the center of a storm. “If you can’t be nice…stay in your cage!”
I don’t realize what he’s doing until he wraps his jacket around me, hiding the manslaughter guise I now bear. He sloughed off his jacket for me. Me, who probably echoes Sharon Tate after the Manson party. Not pretty.
He leads me across the gym, putting as much distance as possible between Skylar and me while staying within the confines of the gym. “I’m so sorry, Ana. I never should have left you alone. I won’t make that mistake again.”
I love him for the comment, his chivalry, the fact he’s still here. But none of it will make a difference. “I want to go home.”
“Okay.” He looks deflated when he wraps his arm around me and walks me out across the parking lot to the car. A resigned frown spreads across his lips when we drive away from the school, leaving the mean crowd and ugly memories behind.
Best night of my sophomore year—not. I suck back the threatening emotion in the aftermath of my Skylar-band wreckage. Facing the passenger window, I hope Jeremy won’t see the mess that is me.
He stretches across the driver’s side and, with his hand on my chin, turns me toward him. “You shouldn’t let Skylar and her wannabes get to you. She’s just being her usual bitch self. She’s probably threatened by you.” He brushes a tear from my cheek with the gentle touch of his thumb and smiles tenderly, meaningfully.
Sniffling, I wipe at the small pools forming beneath my lashes. “I don’t see how I could possibly threaten her. I’m nobody.”
Jeremy glances at the road, then back at me. “You don’t see yourself clearly, Ana. I see how strong you are. I’m sure she does, too.”
My heart warms. He called me strong. Am I? Shadows shift through the interior of the car, drawing my eyes toward the street. Like searchlights cutting through a fog-laden night, two intense circles blaze a path straight for us.
“Look out!”
My scream is lost in the sound of screeching tires. Jeremy jerks hard on the wheel, tries to avoid the collision, but the passing car clips our back left bumper.
Our car shimmies, then slides, twisting my view of the horizon. An ugly tree becomes the center of my view, illuminated by the beam of the headlights. I can feel it tugging at me, pulling me to its rough trunk and thick, stocky branches.
Then bam, it’s gone.
We bounce off a sedan parked at the curb. I’m thrown to the side, and my skull slams into the window with the force of a sledgehammer.
Metal creaks. Glass shatters.
Peace.
The still waters of a de
ep, wooded lake stretch out beside me. The fresh scents of moss-covered rocks, moist red earth, and mammoth oaks linger in the air. A mild breeze teases my hair, and the crisp air kisses my skin. I’m no longer in the car. No longer with Jeremy. I’ve been to Hiddenkel many times in my dreams, although this particular part is new to me.
My younger sister, Crystia, stands before me, waiting. She’s beautiful. Shimmering. An aura aglow, golden in color. Holy Gaea and God! Is this the afterlife?
“Crystia!” I reach for her. A see-you-soon smile warms her face.
Reality shifts, yanking me back to the true world.
The car has jumped the curb. My eyes flutter open, and my arms spring forward. I brace myself against the dashboard. In the moments before impact, time seems to abate. The tree looms in our path like a beacon of death, a pinyon pine living among families of California palms and Joshua trees.
The tree wins. Its roots dig deep beneath the surface, holding the ugly beast firm. The car comes to an abrupt stop, and, unable to raise my hands in time, my head smashes into the dash.
Crystia’s there again, surrounded by a soothing light, standing on that shore in Hiddenkel. Something tugs at my core. I need to go to her. And there’s something else. Green eyes?
Dazed, I look up. The unusual tree is impaled deep in the hood of Jeremy’s car. This is my fault. I somehow know this is my fault. My presence in the car reeled us to this fate. To this tree.
Jeremy isn’t moving. His head lies against the steering wheel. His glazed eyes stare back at me, absent of life. Dark crimson blood, gruesomely gorgeous, gathers along his blond hairline. Like molasses, the gore trickles down his cheek, running a trail to his heart.
Blinking, I stare at him, confused by the emotions churning inside me. Jeremy’s beautiful light is gone. I just began to explore my feelings for him. Now I’ll never know how deep they could have gone. He was the first boy to take a chance on me. Skylar always made sure everyone ignored me at school, always made sure no one saw past my oddity.
Seizing Jeremy, I take his hand in mine. It’s sticky with a fine film of blood. I want to scream. Instead, the world turns black. I wait. Huddle in a ball. Someone will come. Call for help. I shudder, hold my head.
The door behind me groans with protesting metal, and the cool night air wafts in. A warm breath on my shoulder and a firm jerk at my seat belt causes me to stir. Someone yanks ruthlessly, trying to release me from the wedged strap. “Ana, are you all right?”
I don’t respond.
“Can you hear me, Ana?”
When I do turn, his face is close to mine. I blink, force his image into focus. It’s Ryland, the guy from my gym class at school.
The belt snaps, releasing me in a brisk, unexpected motion. My body slouches, then slides from the seat. He reaches in to support me, and then tries to pull me from the car.
“No.” My voice is a mere whisper, and yet he stops and waits. “I should stay with him.” I motion to Jeremy.
Ryland runs his gaze over the interior of the car, me included. “I’m sorry, Ana. There’s nothing we can do for him now. Why don’t you let me help you?”
“It’s not true!” My voice hitches, and a sharp ache shoots through my skull. My hand reflexively presses against the pain. “He’s only resting,” I whisper. It’s a lie, but I need to believe. Then I look at my hand. My fingertips are laced with blood. “Oh.”
Ryland lays out his hand. I hesitate, think of Jeremy, and then slip my hand into his.
We sit together and wait, Ryland passing the minutes tending to my wounds. Sirens ring in the distance. The sound plummets my heart into my gut. The paramedics are already too late.
With blurred vision, I watch them load Jeremy into the ambulance. It’s clear our destinations will not be the same. The bombardment of endless questions that comes after—a fuzzy recall.
When I get home, the minute I walk through the door, Crystia throws her arms around me. I hug her back, but I don’t appreciate it. Not the way I wish to. It’s as if I’ve been body-snatched, all my emotions sucked into an abyss. Though seeing and holding her puts everything into perspective. Hiddenkel was nothing more than a trauma-induced vision.
I clean up and climb into bed for the night, but there is no comfort to be found. My eyelids are heavy, swollen. Every muscle, every bone in my body aches from the clenching.
My mind desires escape, seeks to let go. When thoughts finally do quiet, the door within opens to the other world, and I slip through to Hiddenkel.
A stranger appears before me, extends his hand. Hair the color of the golden sun, eyes resembling the deep, blue sky on a cloudless day, he resembles a god. “How do you do? I am Dohlan.” He bows and takes my hand. His touch eases my pain. But something deep within me whispers, Run.
I shiver and glance at the surrounding flora before returning my gaze to him. “What are you?” I stammer. “How did you—? No. Why did you find me?”
“Your blood, my dear.” He kisses my hand. “It sang to me. Led me straight to you.”
My blood? Memories of the accident flood my soul. The blood on my hands, my arms, the thick, red line running down Jeremy’s face. Instinctively, my fingers trace the line on my temple. Blood-tracking, that’s…gross. The voice within me whispers again. Disengage. Run.
I don’t listen. The tiny voice—she never wins.
Present Day
Transfixed by the sparkle and shine of the pinyon pine at the end of the street, I freeze like a confounded child, gawking. This is the closest I’ve ventured since that horrid night two years ago. The night that tree changed my life. Some changes were for the better and some—not so much. I lost Jeremy forever, and I’m not convinced any amount of good is worth the casualty, no matter how my mom tries to make me believe otherwise.
A block away. That’s as close as I’ve managed to get. Can’t bring myself to take another step. Not one stride closer. Will I ever stop blaming myself for the accident? Probably not. I know somehow my life force pulled us into that tree. Like two magnets needing to come together.
I wipe my eye and turn away, allowing one last glance over my shoulder. Deep down I struggle with the feeling I should investigate the tree and magnetic memory, but I’m too chicken shit. The sun is getting ready to retire for the night, and my mind clings to that fact, uses it as my excuse to head home, escape whatever waits here for me. I’m not ready to know. The setting sunlight shines through the upper plume of the pinyon pine’s branches and leaves. The resulting gleam and glint is a mystery to me. And the dead flowers at its base, a punch to the gut shoving me in the opposite direction.
My pocket vibrates, and I jerk from my mental reflection and yank my phone free to see Crystia’s vibrant face winking at me from the screen. Tomorrow is our big day at the Farmer’s Market and, like the rest of the family, I should be home prepping and packing. Instead, I shoved that duty behind my mental need and walked out to clear my head. This is where I ended up. Like a magnet.
I’m used to having unusual dreams at night, but now any time of the day or night is free game for their infringement. I want—need—to make sense of them, of me, of what’s been going on in my head this last month. So here I am, two miles from our house by the pinyon pine. No doubt Mom got Crystia to track me down.
I take the call. “Hey, sorry I’m late. I’m heading home now.” I take a sip of my water and start home at a jog.
“That’s part of why I’m calling.” Crystia’s voice chimes across the line. “Besides wondering where you are, of course.” She goes silent, most likely waiting for me to fill in the question of my whereabouts. When I don’t, she continues. “We got most everything done. Think we’re good. Mom said she would like you to try and get to bed early on account of you’ve been looking ragged. Her words, not mine.” Crystia emphasizes the word ragged.
You’d be ragged, too, if you never got any peaceful sleep. It’s always rigorous defense training, intense battles, and deep, emotional love or loss. Maybe that’
s the strangest part, the extraordinary emotional ties with people I’ve never met. An older sister, comrades in arms, and him. The nameless one. He doesn’t always appear the same in my dreams, but his eyes never change. Always a fierce, misting swirl of jade.
A gentle sigh escapes. I’m lost in my thoughts of the green-eyed guy, leaving Crystia waiting in silence. He has complicated my life, scrambled my thoughts, messed with my feelings. Just as Jeremy’s car hurtled into that tree sophomore year, a month ago this guy jumped back into my thoughts after a four-year sabbatical, clutching on tight and refusing to let go. I remember him from a hazy hallucination the night of the accident, and I’m quite sure my mind plucked him from my childhood dreams. As children, we often played in my imaginary world of Hiddenkel. He was always present, like my older sister Kaia, until he vanished around my fourteenth year.
“Ana!” Crystia’s raised voice shrills through the phone line.
“Oh man!” I shake my head. “So sorry. Totally dazed on you. My sleep has been a tad off lately.”
“Tell me about it,” Crystia says.
The phone slides in my sweaty grip, so I shift gears to a swift walk and allow the breeze to dry my skin. A streak of red and sporty races by, horn stuck on blast. I ignore the four-wheeled interruption and the harem of girls spilling from its windows yelling at me.
“Have you been having weird dreams too?” I ask Crystia.
“Yeah…nah…probably school stress. No biggie. Why don’t you get home so Mom stops freaking?”
“She’s freaking?” My lips twist and pucker at the side. “What about?”
“She’s been strange for a while now,” Crystia whispers on the other end of the line. “Haven’t you noticed?”