The Infinite Expanse (The Journals of Krymzyn Book 2)

by BC Powell

  Sash had told me that summoning works anywhere in the Delta or in the compound of the Mount, although not in the Barrens or between the Delta and the Mount. I’m hopeful that I’m far enough inside the Delta for the communication to work.

  Pressing my palms against the granite rock, I whisper, “Tork, it’s Chase. I’m safe in an underground cavern. Can you hear me?”

  A few seconds later, a faint voice enters my mind. “Chase, I hear you.”

  “Tork, please let Sash know I’m safe. I’ll summon you when I find my way out.”

  I back out of the tunnel and return to the side of the pool. When I sit on the rocky edge a few feet away from Hycinthea, her face is calm and peaceful, almost friendly looking even though she doesn’t smile. Her arms are relaxed in front of her with her hands folded in her lap, her pale white skin iridescent under the golden light.

  “Why are you helping me?” I ask. “I was told Serquatine would kill me if I’m in the water.”

  “The first time I saw you in the river,” she replies, “I helped you to the surface for the sake of the Hunter. I now return the aid you provided me when you released me from the rope.”

  “Why did you help us for the Hunter?” I ask.

  “We have seen her many times entering the Infinite Expanse. Even when she was quite small. Her spectrum is perfect. No Guardian would ever bring harm upon her.”

  “What do you mean by ‘perfect’?”

  “The colors that emanate from her mind are all pure,” she answers. “Every color that exists in creation is brilliant, as well defined as it can possibly be.”

  “I don’t really see things the way you do,” I say. “I don’t see people’s spectrums. Well, I saw hers once.”

  Her eyes rise to my forehead. “In your spectrum, the shades of blue are rich and easy to discern. Also, your purple, indigo, and magenta are quite strong, but most of your other colors are dull. In a Watcher’s mind, the shades of green are rich, while other colors are murky.” As she looks into my eyes again, she leans forward to my face and almost whispers. “But in her spectrum, every color that can possibly be is perfect and pure. Only one other being has ever had a spectrum as hers is.”

  I think back to my visit to the Reflecting Pool, to those few seconds I saw Krymzyn in its true form. Every color in Sash’s mind was vivid and chromatic, like spectacular three-dimensional refractions of light from a rotating prism inside her head.

  “Who was the other person?” I ask.

  “It is not a person,” she says, shaking her head and sitting back again. “It is The Origin.”

  “I’ve heard his name, but I don’t really know anything about him.”

  “The Origin is not a man.”

  “A woman?” I ask.

  Hycinthea’s facial expression doesn’t change, but her eyes glaze over as though she’s searching for a memory from long ago. “Not a man, woman, or any other classification of creature. The Origin is the essence of all living beings and created those who could walk, fly, swim, slither, and crawl. We are all born of The Origin, and for eternity, The Origin is what The Origin is.”

  I wait for her eyes to return to the present before replying, “Learning about Krymzyn is high on my priority list. Believe me. But right now, we’re having a problem with Murkovin entering the Delta.”

  “Your problem is not with the Murkovin,” she replies. “It is with the Watcher who has them under his control.”

  “Balt,” I say. “Is he the one who captured you?”

  “I was resting in the pool where I assume you found the rope,” she answers. “A net was hidden on the bottom—a trap—and they ensnared me. The Watcher had several Murkovin under his command.”

  “He’s not a Watcher anymore. He’s in the Barrens now.”

  “Where he belongs,” she says. I would expect to hear anger in her voice, but her tone is still soft and serene. “They dragged me out of the water and kept me captive on the banks until my strength was almost gone. With my arms and legs bound and a knife at my throat, I swam rope across the bottom of the river with the Watcher on my back.”

  “How did you escape?” I ask.

  “The Watcher departed, leaving two Murkovin to guard me. Darkness fell and their thirst for sap overcame them.” Using her hands, she flips waves of blond hair behind her shoulders, revealing full, round breasts. When she speaks again, her voice is laced with a seductive passion that entrances me. “After drinking sap from the tree near the pool, their carnal appetites were released. They were unable to resist my appeal. Do you not find me desirable?”

  I have to force myself with everything inside me to turn my face way. While the water of the pool softly laps at my legs, I close my eyes for a moment, trying to free myself from the spell of her voice. When I finally look at her again, she pulls the ends of her hair in front of her chest, covering her breasts. She’s obviously aware of the hypnotic effect she can have on someone else.

  “I convinced them to untie one of my hands so I could better provide pleasure,” she continues, the mesmerizing sultriness no longer in her voice. “When they did, I throttled the neck of one and ripped open the throat of the other with my teeth. I cut the rope securing me to the tree by scraping it over their teeth. More Murkovin came before I could finish freeing myself, so I fled into the river. The sap of their blood provided me with enough strength to swim upstream. That was when I saw the Hunter in the water with you swimming after her. I was surprised to see that you could swim.”

  “Almost everybody swims in my world,” I say.

  Just as she did the first time I saw her, she reaches a hand to my face and touches the corner of my eye. “I saw kindness in you, and the belief in your eyes that you could revive the Hunter, so I let you live.”

  “Are you here now to destroy the rope?” I ask.

  She returns her hand to her lap. “After regaining my strength at the Springs, I came back to wait in hiding near the center of the river. My intent is to take the life of the Watcher who ensnared me.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I say. “I want him dead, too. But I have to destroy the rope. Murkovin are using it to enter the Delta.”

  Turning her face to the pool, she lifts a fin out of the water. When she splashes it back down, a small wave rolls across the surface. Before it hits the other side, she raises a hand in front of her and spreads her fingers until the webs are stretched tight. The wave stops dead in the water. As she lowers her hand, the mound of water dissipates to the surface without sending even the smallest ripple across the pool.

  “What happens in the Delta is of no concern to me,” she says, returning her eyes to mine. “However, I will destroy the rope for you now.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “Do you want to use my knife?”

  “The knife will simplify my task.”

  I take the knife from its sheath and, holding it by the blade, extend it to her handle-first.

  “I will soon return,” she says, taking the knife from me.

  She gracefully dives into the water and speeds away with effortless, fluid kicks of her fins. Only a few minutes pass before she emerges again in the center of the pool. After gliding to the edge, she lays the knife on the rock beside me and hands me the end of a severed rope.

  “I cut the rope where it circled the rock in the center of the river,” she says. “You can pull half out from this side of the river, and half from the other.”

  “Thank you,” I reply. “I really appreciate your help.”

  “I want you to know that I will never harm you if I see you in the water, but the other Serquatine will not show you the same courtesy. They will thirst for the sap in your blood.”

  “Why don’t you just drink sap?”

  Never taking her eyes off mine, she gently pushes herself away from the edge of the pool and floats on her back to the center. “Guardians cannot consume raw sap. If we do so, our immortality will be ended. We live on nectar that frees our minds from the boundaries of time so that we may
survive eternity. But once flowing in the blood of another, the deathly effects of sap are removed. For a few moments after drinking it, we are able to comprehend linear time. We find it a unique and enlightening experience.”

  I’m fascinated by everything about her and could ask a million questions. Although her age appears to be about twenty-five, between her immortal comment and what Eval said about the creation of the Guardians, I know she’s immensely older. But I’m worried the people on the other side of the river may be at risk of a Murkovin attack, and I want to find out where the tunnel leads.

  “Thank you for the warning about the other Serquatine,” I say. “I don’t plan on swimming in the river, but the pool is tempting.”

  “Be very careful if you choose to enter the water,” she warns.

  “I will,” I reply. “I hope I see you again.”

  “You are a Traveler. I am certain that, at some point in the future, you will make a journey to the Gateway at the Springs where I dwell.”

  “I hope I do,” I say.

  She nods farewell to me, dives under the water, and disappears into the tunnel leading to the river. I return the knife to its sheath before pulling the rope the Murkovin used out of the pool.

  After walking to the tunnel in the wall of the cavern, I crawl inside, finding it wide enough for my body but little else. At some parts of the gradually rising passage, I have to slide on my stomach because the ceiling is so low. For several hundred yards, I slither through the shallow stream until I hear a loud rush of water in front of me.

  When I reach a tall, narrow crevice, I rise to my feet. Squinting through almost pitch-black, I make out a ledge a little above my head with water spilling over its side. I hoist my body over the fall and land inside a shallow pool of water.

  “Awaken,” I say, but the ceiling doesn’t illuminate.

  I’m cautious as I stand, barely able to see the walls of the tiny dark cave. I slide my hands over the rock until I find an opening about the width of my body. As I walk through the narrow tunnel, soft light begins to brighten my path.

  I reach a small opening to the outside, really no more than a crack in the side of a hill. Examining the entrance, I find chisel and shovel marks in the rock. I squeeze through it and step into a tiny, well-concealed gorge under scarlet rays of light. When I take a few steps away from the opening, I quickly realize that unless someone stood directly in front of the entrance, it would never be seen.

  Using my hands and feet, I climb up the side of the gorge until I reach a steep grassy slope. I run to the top of a hill and survey the terrain around me. The wall is half a mile to the east, and the hills surrounding Sanctuary are to my west. Our habitat lies no more than three miles to the northwest of the tunnel opening. Under the cover of Darkness, the Murkovin easily could have traveled through the network of valleys to our habitat without ever being seen.

  I sink to my knees with my fingers pressed to the ground. “Tork,” I say, “I’m on a hill just west of the wall. Can you see me?”

  A few seconds later, Tork and the Watchers climb to the top of the wall. After I wave my arms to them, they descend a ladder into the Delta and run to the hill I’m on. I describe the tunnel to them and, to their utter amazement, my encounter with the Serquatine.

  The Watchers return to the wall to notify the others across the river. Tork follows me down the side of the hill and we climb into the gorge. As I lead him inside the tunnel, I pause to show him evidence of the tools used to widen the opening. By the time we reach the small cavern, my eyes have adjusted to the dark enough that I can make out his face.

  “When I crawled through the tunnel from the river,” I say, “I could tell that areas had been widened to make them big enough for a person to get through.”

  Glaring at a wall of the cave, Tork slowly clenches every muscle in his body, his amber eyes burning through the dark. He suddenly rears back his spear and slams it into the rock. I flinch at the loud clang of steel against granite, stunned by what I’m witnessing. Other than Sash or Balt, I’ve never seen such a blatant display of emotion from anyone in Krymzyn. Anger or frustration may be evident in their eyes at times, but an outburst of this type, especially by a Disciple, is really beyond my belief.

  Tork turns to me, locking his eyes on mine. “I deeply apologize,” he says. “I don’t know what came over me. I chastised you for your inability to control anger, and now I’ve dishonored you with the same behavior.”

  “Your reaction is understandable,” I reply. “A lot of work went into planning this.”

  “Betrayal from one of our own has never occurred in Krymzyn. Over the passing Eras, a few from the Delta have been lost to the Barrens. They were unable to control their desire for sap and joined the Murkovin. But Krymzyn has never seen a carefully designed plot to attack the Delta.”

  “We found their entrance,” I say. “It’s over now.”

  Tork shakes his head, his eyes still focused on mine. “Their passage may no longer be of use to them, but I fear whatever has begun is far from over.”

  Chapter 16

  Standing by the rack of spears in our habitat, I’m already dressed for the new morrow. After Tork and I had left the hidden cavern at the end of the prior morrow, he told me a team of Constructs would work nonstop to destroy the entrance from the river. I feel not only relief that we found their entrance but also pride that I could play such an integral role in the discovery. For the first time since being here, I feel like I added something of value to Krymzyn that they wouldn’t have had without me. Smiling to myself at the thought, I unclip my spear from its clasp.

  “Don’t bring a practice spear,” Sash says from behind me. “We’re doing something different for the early part of the morrow.”

  “What do you have planned?” I ask, turning to her.

  “You haven’t had many of the experiences that we have as children,” she replies. “One of them can be beneficial to blending your light. When you learn to let go of your mind, your body will follow. I think a mental exercise the Keepers do with the children will be helpful.”

  “Which one?” I ask, thinking a game of Red Rover might be a fun distraction.

  “Visiting the clouds,” she says.

  “What’s visiting the clouds?”

  “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

  I’m more anxious than ever to master blending my light as quickly as I can. My self-confidence is at an all-time high after the successful battle against the Murkovin and being the one to find the tunnel. If Sash believes that visiting the clouds—whatever that entails—will help me learn to blend my light, then I’m all for giving it a try.

  After we walk outside, I climb on Sash’s back. We soon sail across Delta until we reach the meadow in the center of the area called Home. We stop at the edge of the field where I once watched the children play a game of Red Rover. Seven Keepers and six children are standing in the grass, apparently waiting for us.

  Cavu recently left Home when he became an Apprentice, although his Apprenticeship ended quickly when he was needed to replace Balt as a Watcher, which explains why there are only six children standing with the Keepers. Two babies were recently born and are still with their mothers, Sash told me. I glance at the tallest child as we walk to the group, a boy of about eighteen. From Sash’s description of the children, I know he’s the one named Kale. I have to assume he’ll have his Ritual of Purpose soon so that once the infants are presented to the Keepers, the number of children in the Delta returns to seven.

  It’s strange to me to refer to Kale as a “boy” or a “child,” but they only use three distinctions of age in Krymzyn as far as I can tell, although they really have little to do with age. You’re a child until your Ritual of Purpose, then an Apprentice, and finally you’re considered an adult when fulfilling your purpose.

  The tallest Keeper, a man at least six foot eight, steps forward when we reach him. As I noticed with the Weaver in the grove of thread trees, there’s an indefinable s
ense of older age to him, although he has no wrinkles or gray hair. He’s muscular and fit, with a square face, thick nose, and rugged jaw.

  A beautiful little girl, maybe ten or eleven, hides behind him but occasionally peeks at me from around his side. She’s so timid in behavior and slim in build that I’d almost describe her as frail. Her straight black hair is tied in a single long braid and falls down her back almost to her waist. Catlike amber eyes set in a heart-shaped face look directly into my eyes whenever she sneaks a glance at me. Based on the details of the children I remember from Sash, I assume she’s the child named Maya.

  I have to wonder if the people of Krymzyn see her in that same way I do, since no one here really exists as I see them. It’s occurred to me that Krymzyn may show everyone to me in a certain way for my own perception of them. I recently decided that’s the reason why everyone here looks so attractive to me. It’s how Krymzyn wants me to see them, maybe to make the world more appealing in my eyes.

  “Chase, this is Marc, the tallest of the Keepers,” Sash says.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say. Out of habit, I extend my right hand to him.

  He tilts his head to the side and squints at it, not understanding my gesture.

  I quickly return my hand to my side. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s something we do in my world when we meet someone. It’s called shaking hands.”

  Marc slowly raises his hand and holds it out in front of him. “Then by all means, let me adhere to your custom.”

  After I reach my hand out again and take his in mine, we both squeeze firmly.

  “It’s an old custom,” I say. “Originally, it was done to show that you didn’t have a weapon in your hand.”

  “The concept is relatively disturbing,” he replies. “Fighting among your own kind must be common in your world for such a custom to exist.”

  As we release our shake, I’m somewhat taken aback by his insight into how a practice so benign in the modern era of Earth had its beginnings during a time of almost perpetual violence. At the same time, I feel honored that he wants to make me feel comfortable.