Krymzyn (The Journals of Krymzyn Book 1)

by BC Powell

  “She’s still part of Krymzyn. Her body was taken to the Bed of Light on top of the Mount, and she’ll always be with us.”

  “I’m really sorry, Sash. You did everything you could to save her. I should have done more to help.”

  Sash shakes her head. “Tela did the right thing. Neither of you had weapons, and the Murkovin would have killed you both.”

  I lower my eyes to the grass between my feet. “I feel like it was my fault Miel died.”

  “You can’t ever blame yourself for events you don’t control,” Sash replies. “Apprentices are taught to always get to safety in the face of confrontation. They’re not ready to fight Murkovin. If you and Tela had joined the fight, Larn and I might have been killed trying to help you.”

  We sit silently side by side for several minutes, arms around each other. I try to accept Sash’s reasoning but can’t help feeling like I should have done more.

  “Tela’s no longer an Apprentice and is now serving her purpose,” Sash finally says.

  “Good for her. She deserves it.”

  “Two Darknesses have passed since you departed. After each, a man and a woman were chosen for the Ritual of Balance. Two children will be born, one to replace Balt and one to replace the Watcher who died at his hands. Another child is still needed to take the place of Miel.”

  “You weren’t chosen for the Ritual, were you?” I nervously ask.

  “I told you before,” Sash says softly. “Hunters are never chosen.”

  I let out a slow sigh of relief. “Any sign of Balt?” I ask.

  “None,” she replies, a look of disgust on her face. “He’ll soon be a Murkovin.”

  “I want to talk more about Balt. I gave him a lot of thought back in my world, but let’s wait until we see the Disciples.”

  She nods her head, takes her flask from the rope on her waist, and hands it to me. “Drink the sap,” Sash says. “You should have all of it.”

  I slowly drain the contents of her flask, feeling the energy pulse through me before I hand it back to Sash.

  “Sink your fingers into the ground,” Sash says, “and whisper what you want most from Krymzyn.”

  I dig the fingertips of one hand into the dirt below the red blades. “I want to know if I have a purpose in Krymzyn,” I whisper.

  Sash takes my hand in hers, holding it up for me to see, and golden light sparkles from my palm. In the distance, I hear a single ring of the bell.

  “The first bell,” Sash says with a smile. “You’ve finally reached the height of purpose.”

  I have to smile as well. I honestly think she’s learned to make a joke. She swings a leg over me, rests her hands on my shoulders, and kneels on my lap. I slip my hands around her waist. We kiss and then hold each other tight.

  “You seem to know what the children’s purposes are before they’re revealed,” I say. “Any idea what mine is?”

  As she leans back and looks into my eyes, the smile leaves her face. “With you, it’s different. I haven’t been shown anything. But I believe the Tree will see what I see inside you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Balance,” she replies. “Maybe instead of a third child being born, you’ll be the one to return Krymzyn to the number of balance.”

  “I love you, Sash,” I say, smiling. “You’re the only person who can ever make me feel this way. No matter what happens in my Ritual, I wouldn’t trade what I’ve felt with you for anything.”

  “I love you, Chase. As long as I live.”

  Another ring of the bell crosses over the hills. I remember that Tork told me that the second bell summons the people of Krymzyn to the Ritual.

  “I guess that’s for me,” I say. “How do the people on the Mount know it’s time for a Ritual?”

  “They can hear the bell on the Mount,” she replies.

  I guess her answer doesn’t really surprise me. If the atmosphere can translate our languages, I’m sure it can carry sound waves where they need to go.

  After another tight embrace, we both stand. We hold hands as we casually stroll to Sanctuary. I estimate that it will take about twenty minutes for the people on the Mount to reach the Delta, so I don’t feel the need to rush.

  I look at Sash’s face as we walk, inhaling the beauty in her eyes, face, and scarlet-laced hair. Occasionally, I stop to hold her close to me, feeling the sudden need for her body pressed against mine. She describes amazing places in Krymzyn she wants to show me, and experiences she wants us to share. I try to imagine our lives together in a world so different from mine, but with the person I know I belong with.

  We eventually cross over the Telling Hill, walk through the last meadow, and climb to the top of the hill overlooking the Tree of Vision. A few people already stand on the hilltops, looking down at the crimson field. The dark red limbs of the Tree, a stark contrast to the brilliant yellow leaves, gently sway in a breeze that isn’t there. The Disciples stand beside the bell in a semicircle with their backs to us.

  We descend the hill, and Sash leads me to the front of the Disciples. My back faces the Tree of Vision, and the bell pole stands at my side. All seven Disciples drop to one knee and bow their heads.

  “With gratitude, Chase,” Eval says, “we honor you for risking your own life to protect those in the grace of Krymzyn. You’ll always be remembered as the one person from another plane who truly understands our balance.”

  I kneel in front of them. “It’s my honor to do what I can for Krymzyn.”

  “I know that to be true,” Eval says as we all stand.

  “Someone here told me once,” I reply, “that if words are spoken in Krymzyn, they’re the truth. I’ve learned to live by that statement.”

  For the second time since knowing her, I see a hint of a smile appear on Eval’s face—for my benefit—and a look of warm appreciation in her eyes. I glance at Tork, and he nods, knowing my reference.

  “Before we get this thing started,” I say, “I need to tell you something important. I think I know how the Murkovin are getting into the Delta.”

  “Please share your thoughts,” Eval replies.

  “When I dove in the river after Sash, I saw a woman with blond hair, kind of webbed fingers, and fins instead of feet.”

  “A Serquatine!” Eval exclaims.

  “She grabbed Sash when I was swimming after her and then she helped us to the surface.” I look at Sash, who stares at me with absolute disbelief on her face.

  “If you’d come into contact with a Serquatine,” Eval says, “she would have ended your life. They consider our blood a great delicacy.”

  “Well, this one didn’t end my life,” I say to Eval. “She had rope around her neck, one hand tied behind her back, and her legs were bound together. I untied the rope and freed her. I don’t think she could’ve done it with only one hand and those webbed fingers. After I helped her, she swam us up to the surface, and we made it to the rock.”

  “That’s very strange,” Eval says.

  “I gave it some thought and what I came up with is this. If the Murkovin captured her and tied her up, maybe they used her to cross the river, rode on her, or had her take rope across the bottom or something. Then they could cross the river during Darkness and scale the wall. I think it’s safe to assume that Balt was helping them.”

  “An interesting theory,” Eval says.

  “I also think Balt’s trying to kill Sash and using the Murkovin to do it.”

  “Why do you believe that?” Eval asks.

  “He’s feels threatened by how powerful Sash is,” I answer. “In my world, we have people called sociopaths—extremely bad people who don’t care at all about other people or society. I think Balt fits that description. When I was here and three Murkovin came into the Delta, they all went straight to where Sash hunts. If they wanted sap, it seems to me they would have just gone to a tree closer to the wall. They were here to kill Sash.”

  I glance between Eval, Tork, and Sash. They all keep their eyes on me, but
they’re in distant thought. Even as intelligent and intuitive as they are, a premeditated attack on someone here is a concept almost beyond their grasp. The people are pure, honest, and trusting. They battle the Murkovin, but the conflict is on a primal level. There’s no hatred involved. They accept the Murkovin as part of their balance. While I’m sure they’ve heard stories of evil from other planes, the thought of betrayal from one of their own is just almost beyond their comprehension.

  “When you and I were in the Barrens recently,” Sash says to Eval, “I chased after a Murkovin.”

  “I remember,” Eval replies.

  “There was a trap waiting for me. I saw a vision and was able to stop before entering it. Balt was in the Barrens with us when it happened. He could have secretly alerted them that I was there.”

  “He also saw us leaving for the Mount,” I say to Sash.

  “You’re right. He was on the wall when we departed,” Sash says. “He could have entered the Barrens after we left, and organized the attack. Murkovin never attack so close to the bridge.”

  Eval nods her agreement to Sash before turning to me. “What you say makes sense, Chase. We’re thankful for your insights.”

  “I hope it helps,” I reply. “I’d check the edge of the river all around the Delta for any signs of where they come out of the water. Maybe there’s a rope secured along the rocks that leads to the other side.”

  “And so we shall. Your help in this matter is yet another first,” Eval says.

  “Well, let’s hope for one more first. By the way, just out of curiosity, are there seven Serquatine?”

  “Yes, seven,” Eval replies, “but Serquatine aren’t considered to be among those in the grace of Krymzyn. While they serve an important purpose to our plane, they belong to the Infinite Expanse.”

  I suddenly jump from the earsplitting clang of the bell beside me.

  Chapter 32

  “Why do you stand before us?” Eval asks loudly.

  Sash walks to the end of the row of Disciples and stands facing me.

  “To seek my purpose in Krymzyn,” I say.

  “Do you have the sign?” she asks.

  I extend my hands in front of me, revealing the golden glow from my palms.

  “Show Krymzyn you’ve been chosen,” Eval says.

  I hold my hands up high over my head and scan the many faces on the hilltops surrounding the meadow. I see Larn and Tela standing side by side, exactly where Sash and I stood for Cavu’s Ritual. As my eyes roam over the people of Krymzyn, I have to wonder if they’ll have any reaction if I’m killed by the Tree. And will they accept me as one of their own if I’m not?

  Lowering my hands to my side, I look at Eval, and for the first time, it really strikes me that I might die in a few minutes. The morbid realization floods my mind with sudden fear and doubt.

  “Since you’re not a child of Krymzyn and have no Keeper,” Eval says to me, “Sash will stand in support of you.”

  Sash steps forward with a fierce determination in her eyes. I actually see pride in her gaze, the same way she looked at the children when we watched them play Red Rover in the meadow. The passion in her eyes, the caring I see, calms my nerves, revives my confidence, and reminds me why I’ve made this choice. But I still know that these may be the last words I ever speak to her.

  “Sash, in case something happens,” I say, “just know—”

  “Believe in yourself,” she interrupts, pounding a fist against her chest. “Believe.”

  The inspiration is so immediate and unexpected that my pulse soars and I gasp sharply for my next breath. Does she somehow know the meaning that word has to me from my world? No other word could have had as much impact on me as that one does right now. I silently nod, not taking my eyes away from hers until I turn to face the Tree.

  Giant branches swing wildly through the air. Loud swooshing sounds fill my ears as the limbs pass in front of me. Remembering Cavu’s Ritual, I quickly review my plan. I gave it a full week of thought back on Earth, even making diagrams of my path to the trunk.

  Walking around the edge of the meadow, I examine the Tree. The branches abruptly rise in the air and hang motionless, leaving a clear path to the trunk. Maybe the Tree will just let me pass. It let Sash go by without challenge, Eval told me. Maybe the Tree will do the same for me. It kind of makes sense, so I jog straight towards the trunk.

  Of all the decisions I’ve made in my life, this is the worst. A limb soars across the meadow straight at me. I duck as the branch sails over my head, just a few leaves scraping the back of my neck. I look up just in time to watch another hammer into my stomach. Instantly knocking the wind out of me, it catapults me backwards. I land on my rear twenty feet away, sucking for air, and just inches out of the limbs’ reach.

  When I finally get my breath back, I stand and slowly circle again. The Tree set me up, toyed with me. I need to be more physical.

  Hunched low to the ground, I charge at the Tree, dip my shoulder into the first limb that smashes into me, and spin off of it. My face slams directly into another branch lying in wait, spawning a gush of blood from my nose and lips.

  Momentarily dazed, I stagger while a third limb swings into my hips. The branch wraps around my midsection, clenches me in a tight grasp, and hurls me through the air. I land on the ground at the base of the hill and roll to a stop. I’m getting the shit beat out of me, and there doesn’t appear to be much I can do about it.

  I wipe blood from around my mouth with the back of my hand, stand, and turn to look at the crowd. No one’s expression has changed at all, every face stoic. Unwavering eyes focus on the meadow. My own eyes fall on Sash.

  “Don’t try to do what you’ve seen,” Sash calls to me, making fists with both her hands. “Only do what’s inside you. That’s what the Tree wants to see.”

  Do what’s inside me. What am I good at? What’s inside me? Long-distance running? That’s pretty useless right now. Drawing? I don’t think sketching a quickie of the Tree will do much to impress it. I guess I notice things others don’t, details from an artist’s perspective. But what do I feel inside me?

  Most of the time, I feel different here. Not around Sash. I feel perfect when I’m with her, as though we’re one. But everything about my visits to Krymzyn has been different than those before me—a first for Krymzyn—and Krymzyn knew it would be that way. I have to do something unique, original, something the Tree hasn’t seen before. That’s what it wants to see inside me.

  What do I know about trees? All I’ve ever done is paint them, sit under them, and climb them when I was a kid.

  My family was on a hike in Franklin Canyon when I was twelve. It was the weekend before the first time I went to Krymzyn. We came across an enormous old oak tree on the side of the trail. A few branches grew outward and fell to the ground, while others extended into the air over our heads. I climbed up to the highest branch and crawled out to the end.

  “Don’t go so far out on that limb,” Mom yelled at me. “You’ll break your neck.”

  “He’s fine,” Dad said. “He’s like a monkey up there.”

  Casey excitedly barked at me while prancing back and forth underneath the limb. Ally plopped on the ground, shook her head, and rolled her eyes at the entire scene.

  “Not a monkey,” I said, hanging from the branch by my hands and legs. “I’m a sloth.”

  “Well, you better go as slow as a sloth,” Mom said. “And do it now.”

  I pulled myself back to the trunk hand over hand, foot over foot, hanging upside down by all fours.

  When I crossed that branch, I could’ve gone much faster than I did.

  I jump up and down a few times, relaxing my arms, and slowly walk the perimeter of the meadow again. Exactly like I’d do before the first stroke of a painting, I scrutinize the branches and angles I’ll need. Finally settling on the limb I’ll use, I glance at Sash.

  She nods encouragement, a knowing, confident look in her eyes. I quickly smile at her and then sprint t
owards the trunk.

  A giant limb speeds directly towards me. I dive onto the grass, sliding on my stomach just under the leaves. The branch I want flies down from straight overhead. I roll away from it, crouch as it roars into the ground, and leap onto the limb.

  With my arms and legs, I cling to the bough as it whips back up in the air. When it slows high over the meadow, I nimbly pull myself towards the trunk. Hand over hand, pushing with my feet, I slide as fast as I can. The limb suddenly swoops down, so I firmly clutch it again with my arms and legs around the wood.

  After it hits the ground, trying to knock me off, I immediately scamper towards the trunk. Suspended underneath, I pull with my arms and drive with my feet to the feel of burning in my muscles. Another giant branch flies towards me from the side. I grip the limb with all my might and press my face against the bark.

  I flex in response as the branch pounds into me. A bolt of pain shrieks through my body. As soon as the branch pulls away, I ignore the pain and furiously scoot farther along the limb, closer and closer to the trunk.

  One last branch slashes at me, but I swing to the ground a split second before it hits. As soon as my bare feet feel the grass beneath them, I launch into a sprint.

  With my arms spread wide, I slam into the blazing red trunk. My lips clamp to the bark, and I feel thick sap flow onto my tongue. When I swallow, I’m instantly blinded by pure, perfect light.

  * * *

  I stand in a void of white. Silence encompasses me. I look to my sides, behind me, but all I see is brilliant emptiness. I turn forward again and I stand in front of me.

  “Where am I?” I ask.

  “The Beginning,” I answer.

  “The Beginning of what?”

  “The Beginning of time and the center of all that exists.”

  I nod silently, my eyes staring at my own face. “Do I have a purpose?” I ask.

  “You have to find the answer to that question.”

  “How do I find the answer?”

  “Choose a direction,” I reply. “There are seven directions to choose from, but only one will reveal the answer.”

  “What are the seven directions?”