Krymzyn (The Journals of Krymzyn Book 1) (19 page)

“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 towards 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?”

“If you don’t know what they are by now, then you don’t belong here.”

I know the four primary directions in Krymzyn. East, west, north, and south. I look to my left, to my right, and behind me. All I see is static light. I turn back to face me, but I’m gone. I stand alone in the radiant void.

Everything in Krymzyn is in sevens. Seven directions to choose from. What are the other three?

A new plane of existence rose from the light—the second plane.

I look up. I only see distant light. I look down. I stand on nothing. North, south, east, west, up, down. Six directions.

In Krymzyn, we always look to the inside.

Your sense of awareness is awakening inside you.

Only do what’s inside you.

I close my eyes and race in the seventh direction.

When I open my eyes, I stand on the black marble wall of Krymzyn looking over the rapids to the west. A Serquatine emerges from the water, the same woman who helped me in the river, a black scar around her neck. Long blond hair reflects the glow of red and orange from overhead while emerald green eyes stare into mine. Her face of pale beauty smiles at me, but it’s a sinister smile. She turns her head over her shoulder to the west then dives under the rapids. I follow the path her eyes took across the colorless Barrens.

Two glowing points of red appear far, far away in the wasteland. Like laser beams traveling through the sky, trails of red streak over my head—the Murkovin eyes looking over me, not at me. The eyes belong to Balt. I feel their hatred boiling in every part of me.

I spin, my eyes zooming to the top of the Tall Hill. There, on the grass-lined crest where I first kissed Sash, where I first tasted balance, my Vision of the Future is revealed.

Tears fill my eyes as I gaze upon the hilltop. One single drop falls from my cheek to the marble at my feet. I look down at a splash of crimson blood glistening against the black stone.

Closing my eyes, I sink to my knees, palms sliding down the sculpted bark. With humble devotion, I rest a cheek against the trunk.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I pledge my life in service to Krymzyn.”

I stand, grab a handful of hair from the side of my head, and stretch it in front of my eyes. Strands of shimmering cobalt blue now define the brown.

Under peaceful branches, I turn away from the trunk and walk towards the Disciples. The seven, and all of Krymzyn, drop to one knee. When I reach the Disciples, I kneel while scanning their faces. My eyes stop when they reach Sash, her head bowed to me and a virtuous smile on her face.

“I’m honored to serve my purpose for the balance of Krymzyn,” I proclaim.

Eval stands. “And so it shall be, Chase, Traveler of Krymzyn.” Eval turns to the hill behind her, points to the top, and speaks loudly. “Larn will be your Mentor while you’re an Apprentice in the ways of your purpose.”

“It will be my honor!” Larn shouts down the hill as he stands.

Tela rises beside him. When I glance at her, she raises a hand high in the air over her head. I smile at her and lift my own hand, both of us mimicking a high five. All of Krymzyn stands when I return to my feet.

“When you next come to Krymzyn,” Eval says, turning to me, “if you’re certain you’ll be here permanently, you’ll be given a habitat of your own.”

“No!” Sash interrupts in a loud voice filled with unyielding conviction. “He’ll share mine, and it will be ours.”

If the volume can be turned up on silence, it goes to full blast. Every face in Krymzyn, including Eval’s, turns towards Sash. She takes one step forward, her eyes focused on me, and I nod to her in agreement.

“Chase hasn’t had the benefit of living at Home with the Keepers,” Sash says to the Disciples, “or learning the ways of Krymzyn from them. Due to his maturity, he wouldn’t be comfortable living with the children. Alone, he’ll lack the education he needs to properly understand the ways of our plane. While Larn can Mentor him as a Traveler, there’s more to understanding Krymzyn than just fulfilling one’s purpose. I’ve been his guide throughout his journey here, so I should continue to be that for him.”

“You understand that Chase must adhere to the customs of our plane if he’s to dwell here, do you not?” Eval asks Sash in a deadly serious tone.

Sash focuses intently on Eval and speaks with what can only be described as a commanding voice. “He’s proven his loyalty to Krymzyn at the risk of his life. On his plane, it’s customary for people to dwell together and necessary for their balance. We should welcome him with the same loyalty to his needs as he’s shown for protecting ours.”

After a moment of silent communication, Eval nods to Sash and turns to me.

“Chase, is this an acceptable arrangement to you?” Eval asks.

“I understand Krymzyn through Sash,” I say. “And she’s right. There’s still a lot more I need to learn. The better I understand Krymzyn, the better I can fulfill my purpose. But my balance here comes from being with Sash.”