Krymzyn (The Journals of Krymzyn Book 1) (9 page)

I was sitting in my cubicle at the office building on Sunset Boulevard a few months after Jess and I had broken up. It was the beginning of spring after my twenty-third birthday. Hours had passed since I’d taken a break from painting character designs for a video game. The fantasy quest followed sexy, kind of mental, psychic mutants who gradually gained super-warrior powers as each level was passed.

Eyestrain gradually resulted in a dull pain in my forehead. I rubbed my temples and glanced at a clock on the wall. Even though the work day was almost over, I wanted to finish a female character composite before I left for the night.

When I leaned back to look at my screen, warmth spread through my veins. Staring back at me, the digitally painted young woman in full action pose, slender muscles straining, amber eyes glowing into mine, was Sash.

I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling a familiar pain rip through the back of my head—a pain I hadn’t felt in almost six years. The throbbing started in the nape of my neck, webbed through the curve of my skull, and riveted into my forehead. I opened my eyes as my muscles tightened and hands clenched. The light from my monitor spiraled around me, but my only reaction was to smile.

*             *             *

“Sash!” I scream as soon as I see that I’m standing on the Empty Hill. Valleys of infinite silence echo my voice. “Sash!” I yell again.

Not caring that I haven’t been here in six years or that Darkness might fall, I run down the hill in the direction of her habitat. I pass the outstretched branches of the ancient sustaining tree, my bare feet feeling the soft, velvety texture of the red blades of grass beneath them.

“The Teller Chase has returned to Krymzyn,” I hear a loud male voice say from behind me.

I spin to see Tork standing a few feet away. “Do you know where Sash is?” I ask.

“Another first has occurred with your arrival,” he replies, ignoring my question. “A Teller has never been in Krymzyn during a child’s Ritual of Purpose, but here you are, as all of Krymzyn will soon gather for this event.”

“Will Sash be there?”

“Of course Sash will be there,” Tork replies. “Where else would she be?”

I let out a sigh of relief that she’s alive and safe. “Is it at all strange to you that you haven’t seen me in six
years
—a long time—and I’m suddenly here?”

“I see you,” he says, then slowly turns in a circle. When his back is to me, he says, “I don’t see you.” He speaks again at the end of his rotation. “Now I see you again. You may have grown taller, your appearance may have changed slightly, but that’s all.”

“Well, I sure missed you,” I say.

He tilts his head to the side and scrunches his eyebrows. I remind myself that sarcasm doesn’t exist here.

“Did you aim something at me?”

“Nothing that would hurt you,” I answer.

“Hmm,” he replies. “The Ritual will soon begin. We must go.”

“How do you know the Ritual’s about to begin?”

“By the ringing of the bell, of course,” he says as though I should know what that means. “Shall we make haste?”

We both take off running towards Sanctuary. As we cross the red hills and meadows, Tork occasionally slows for me to keep pace. When we reach what I remember is the Telling Hill, he continues to run over the hill, down through an empty narrow valley, and up to the top of a slightly taller hill. I gasp when we stop on the crest.

In the meadow below, the one I remember being the largest in Krymzyn when I saw it from the Tall Hill, sprouts the enormous, surreal Tree of Vision. It’s larger than any tree I’ve ever seen on Earth, probably the size of the Angel Oak in South Carolina, with rich red-brown bark emitting a crimson luster. The branches, some almost the length of a football field, gently sway overhead as if in a breeze. I recognize the radiant, yellow leaves I saw when I was seventeen. I remember everything about being in Krymzyn, every detail, like it happened yesterday.

At the foot of the hill, a few feet past the outer edge of the branches, stand the other six Disciples. Beside them, a giant steel pole with an arm hooking towards the Tree reflects light from overhead. A brushed-steel bell, at least ten feet tall, hangs from the arm of the pole. When I look around the empty hills surrounding the meadow, my heart sinks from not seeing Sash. Eval turns away from the Tree, sees us, and walks up the hill to where we stand.

“Chase from the planet called Earth,” Eval says when she reaches us, “your arrival presents yet another anomaly.”

She looks a little older, still elegantly beautiful, and maybe an inch taller after six years, although it’s hard to tell. I’ve peaked at about six foot one, but still have to tilt my head back to look into her eyes.

“You know, Eval,” I say, “it sure seems like I don’t have much time for telling when I’m here even though I’m supposed to be a Teller.”

“That’s occurred to me as well, as we’ve discussed before. There must be a purpose to your visits, however, even if we don’t fully understand what that purpose is yet. I can only surmise that, since you’re here now, you’re meant to observe the Ritual.”

“It will be my honor,” I say, quickly remembering the vernacular of Krymzyn.

From behind Eval, one of the giant limbs suddenly whips through the air and slams into the bell. A blaring ring resounds through the countryside.

“The second bell,” Tork says to me, “calling the people of Krymzyn to Sanctuary. The first ring, just prior to your arrival, alerted us that a child had reached the height of purpose. The third ring will begin the Ritual.”

People soon appear on the hilltops surrounding the meadow. Some have neon green hair mixed with black—I remember that those are Watchers. Others have scarlet in their hair like Sash, so I know they’re Hunters. The people with cobalt blue strands are Travelers, Sash had explained to me. I also see a few with striking magenta and several with bright cyan, but I don’t know what those colors signify.

Seven gold-haired Keepers walk to the top of the hill we stand on with seven black-haired children beside them. The age range of the children looks to be from two to eighteen. Everyone is wearing the exact same black pants and sleeveless shirts, barefoot as they climb the hills. The adults all have rope belts buckled around their waists with steel flasks hanging by their hips, and all carry long double-tipped spears in their hands.

One Keeper and one boy, the child who appears to be the oldest, continue down the hill to where the other Disciples stand. As I study his face, I realize that it’s one of the two kids from the day I sat on the Tall Hill with Sash. He’s maybe five foot nine now, muscular and stocky with a ruggedly handsome face under his black curls. I assume he’s the one to have reached the height of purpose since he’s the only child to walk into the meadow.

Something triggers inside, so I spin to look behind me. Marching up the hill in a deliberate stride, almost directly towards me, is Sash. I take a sharp breath, my chest tightens, my stomach twists, and my heart pounds so loudly that it’s booming inside my head.

She freezes when she sees me, stares into my eyes for a second, then looks down at the ground. She’s grown two inches, maybe three, still lean and toned. Slowly, Sash raises her eyes to mine, revealing only minute changes in her face. Her cheekbones are a bit more pronounced, her lips are fuller—subtle hints that six years have passed.

Amber flares from her eyes and seems to surround me. I don’t know if I’m imagining that the corners of her mouth curl up into an almost imperceptible smile. But I watch as it spreads from her dark red lips, up through her smooth cheeks, and into her eyes. Never has someone fallen so far, so fast, from just the sight of a smile. A fall that, for me, has no end.

I start to walk down the hill but suddenly break into a run. I can’t control it, can’t stop myself, and I throw my arms around Sash. She drops her spear to the ground and slips her hands around my waist. Her legs strain as her feet push firmly against the ground to press her body harder against mine. I lean my head back and immerse myself in her eyes, seeing the trace of a smile still on her face.

“How did you know I’d return?” I ask.

She lifts a hand to my face, running a fingertip along the curve of my cheekbone, down my jawline, and around my chin. “In my Vision of the Future, your face looked as it does now, not as it did when you were last here.”

“I must have drawn a thousand
pictures
of you,” I say, “and not one can begin to compare with how incredible you look to me right now. I’d stare at those
pictures
and
wish
with everything inside me that I could see you and talk with you and be with you.”

“Sometimes, before I’d sleep, I’d see your face,” she replies, seeming to understand my meaning with the word “wish.” “I longed to see you again, but you never arrived.”

“That’s called ‘missing someone’ in my world,” I say, pulling her close to me.

We stand silently, our bodies pressed together, fitting perfectly in each other’s arms, until she whispers in my ear.

“It feels so good to be with you now, but we must attend the Ritual.”

When we release our embrace, she picks her spear up from the ground. We turn and walk to the top of the hill side by side, Eval and Tork both staring at us with blank faces. PDA doesn’t happen in Krymzyn. In fact, the “A” of PDA doesn’t even seem to exist here, so I’m sure they’re more confused than anything.

“I was just greeting Sash in the manner of my plane,” I say to Eval when we reach her. “It’s called a
hug
. Do you want one too?”

I extend my arms out, genuinely wanting to share a physical greeting from my world with her, but she cocks her head to the side and squints at me.

“Since you and Sash are familiar with one another,” Eval says, ignoring my gesture, “perhaps she’ll be able to explain the events of the Ritual to you as they occur.”

“I’d really like that,” I say.

“It will be my honor,” Sash adds, the soft sound of her voice floating into me and starting the flutters in my stomach all over again.

“How do you measure the height of purpose?” I ask Eval.

“You show a keen interest in the ways of Krymzyn,” Eval remarks, a note of approval in her tone.

“I’m fascinated by everything here.”

“So it seems,” Eval says. “In answer to your question, the height of purpose varies from child to child. Some reach it when they’re still short, others not until they’re almost your height.”

I assume the age range she refers to is roughly sixteen to twenty-one, based on the boy I saw and Eval’s vague description. Vague in the way so many explanations are in Krymzyn, I remember.

“The tallest child knows they’re chosen for the Ritual when they hear the bell?” I ask.

“No,” Eval answers. “The chosen child knows by their palms glowing gold. It’s not necessarily the tallest child currently in Krymzyn. Sash was surprisingly short when summoned for her Ritual. In fact”—Eval glances at Sash—“she was much younger than any child ever chosen.”

I turn to look at Sash, but she stares straight down the hill at the Tree, not responding to what appears to be a compliment.

“So the
kid
—child—just goes up to the Tree, spikes it, and drinks the sap?” I ask Eval, remembering to instantly correct myself when a word doesn’t translate.

“There’s no need for a spike. The sap of this Tree will be freely given, but only after it’s been earned. The Tree won’t simply let one pass without challenge.”

“You’re telling me that boy has to fight his way to the Tree?”

“He must prove to the Tree that he has a purpose inside him,” Eval replies. “If he has none, then he’ll meet death at the branches of the Tree.”

“What!” I exclaim loudly enough that half of the people standing on the hills turn to look at me.

“While it’s rare, it does happen. Not all who are created have a purpose.”

“That seems pretty cruel,” I say.

“So all on your plane are born with a purpose of value to your world?” Eval asks.

I don’t say anything, understanding her point, but it still seems cold and barbaric to me.

“I should mention,” Eval responds to my silence, “that only once in the history of Krymzyn has a child reached the trunk entirely unscathed, uninjured, and untouched by the Tree. In fact, that child was allowed to pass without challenge.”

Eval’s eyes wander to Sash again and mine follow. Sash is focused on the meadow and seems to be ignoring the conversation.

“I believe,” I say to Sash, “Eval the Disciple has just praised you.”

Sash turns her head to Eval, bows it slightly, then looks back at the Tree. I guess I can add humility to the list of things to admire about her.

“When scarlet was revealed in her hair,” Eval says, “I believe the Tree of Vision made it clear that Sash should remain as close as possible to the sustaining trees. No Murkovin has ever taken sap from a tree in the Delta since Sash became a Hunter, and we’ve never lacked the sap we need for our sustenance.”

“It’s my honor to serve those in the grace of Krymzyn and the trees that provide for us,” Sash says without taking her eyes off the meadow, an undeniable sincerity and truth in her voice.