Krymzyn (The Journals of Krymzyn Book 1) Read online

  My best friend Connor was already a star on our junior high school track team. He competed in sprints ranging from the one hundred to four hundred meters, winning most races he entered. Tall, thin, and gangly with white-blond hair that flopped around his face when he ran, he didn’t have what many would consider a sprinter’s body. But his bursts of speed often dropped the jaws of those who watched. Even though he loathed long distances, he often ran with me after school and joined Dad and me for weekend treks through the hills.

  Early during my freshman year of high school, a year and a half after my surgery, I’d sometimes run on the school track after classes were finished for the day. One afternoon, I noticed a track coach timing my laps with a stopwatch. When I finished running, he walked over to me and asked my name. He said that I had a natural long-distance runner’s body since I was taller than average with a lean, athletic build and long legs. Light weightlifting, the coach added, would help me better develop my already broad shoulders so I could more powerfully drive through the end of my runs. By the time our conversation was over, he’d convinced me to join the cross-country team.

  To my surprise, I made varsity my freshman year. As a sophomore, I qualified for the Southern California regional meet. I finished third at the autumn state championship my junior year. Hearing my name on the loudspeaker during morning announcements helped me feel normal and proud. I became Chase the cross-country runner, not the pathetic kid who had a tumor cut out of his skull in seventh grade.

  I did well enough in high school to know that I should write “well enough” as opposed to “good enough.” My legs logged countless miles. In addition to my workouts at cross-country practices, I often jogged through our neighborhood with Casey at the end of his leash, his feathered blond tail leading my way. Hours and hours each week were spent drawing and painting, moving to computer-based digital art programs as I grew older. I kissed a girl for the first time when I was fourteen, made it to second base when I was sixteen, and also passed my driver’s license test that year.

  Summer days were spent at Zuma Beach with friends, body boarding, running on the hard, wet sand at ocean’s edge, and trying to forget about the fascinating girl, the orange-haired freak, and a place called Krymzyn. I was just like any other kid in a middle-class San Fernando Valley family—except for one thing.

  “Preventative” was a word I’d learned to know well over those years. Every three months during the first year after my surgery, and every six months after that, I went to the hospital for a checkup, blood tests, and a brain scan. Because of the seizure, my parents insisted that our entire family take CPR classes. Any time I had a headache, I couldn’t help but worry if it had been caused by a new tumor growing.

  The problem was, between running and the hours I worked at my computer on art projects, overexertion and eye-strain headaches were unavoidable. If I suffered from a headache two days in a row, my parents rushed me to the doctor just to be safe. They weren’t being ridiculously overprotective, just genuinely concerned and responsible. One positive that came out of the experience was an honest, open communication between my parents and me that I’d always thought was rare for a kid my age. I could talk with them about anything.

  After the fall cross-country championship my junior year, over Thanksgiving break, we had an unseasonably warm day that almost felt like summer. We quickly packed the car for our favorite family activity—a day at the beach.

  Bodies thermally warmed in wetsuits, Dad and I spent an hour body-boarding together in the frigid Pacific water. When we finished, I went for a quick two-mile run at the ocean’s edge. After the run, I sat alone, watching the break of aqua waves on golden sand. My mom walked down the beach and sat beside me as warm late afternoon sunlight bathed our skin.

  “You’ve seemed a little distant the last few days,” Mom said, smiling. “Is everything okay?”

  “I’m kind of bummed cross-country is over,” I replied. “It always leaves me feeling a little empty.”

  “You’ve had a few more headaches lately. Is that bothering you?” Her face tried to hide the concern that was obvious in her voice.

  “Not really,” I answered. “I’ve been spending a lot of time painting, so I think it’s just eye strain. No need to worry.”

  “I know you’re on top of it, but it’s also a lot for you to think about.”

  “It’s not like I worry about it coming back that much anymore. It’s really hard to explain.”

  “Try me,” Mom implored.

  I scooped a handful of dry fine sand and tightly clamped it in my hand. After holding my fist in front of me, I relaxed my grip, letting the sand slowly pour to the beach. Watching the grains catch sparks of sunlight as they fell, I searched for words that could accurately express the intangible emotions I’d so often felt since I was twelve.

  “When I had the tumor,” I finally said, “I felt like it opened my mind somehow to possibilities that I’d never considered before. Like there’s so much more in the universe than just what’s in front of us every day. I know it sounds stupid, but I just feel like I’m waiting for something to happen. Something amazing to happen, and I don’t necessarily mean wonderful amazing. It might be horrible, I don’t know, but something that will amaze me one way or the other. Does that make sense?”

  Mom’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Do you feel like life owes you something because of what you had to go through?”

  “No, it’s not that,” I replied adamantly, shaking my head. “It’s more like, when they took out the tumor, it left an empty space in my brain that’s waiting to be filled by something more than what I’ve experienced so far.”

  My mom smiled at me then looked out over the ocean. She didn’t answer for a few seconds, contemplating her response.

  “You had to face the reality that your existence is finite at a very young age. Most kids your age don’t think much about death. I know I didn’t when I was a teenager. So I think you want as much as possible out of life at a younger age than most people. Maybe because you know how fragile life is. You felt it firsthand.”

  I let her words soak in before replying, scrutinizing the sunset colors reflected in her eyes. “Yeah, something like that,” I said. “I just wish I knew what it is I’m waiting for.”

  “Don’t worry, Chase,” she replied. “You’ll find it. Give it time.”

  Mom reached her arm around my shoulder, and we silently listened to the waves as they crashed on the beach. Warm amber light danced across white foam crests as the sun sank to the horizon.

  Chapter 4

  She slips the tip of her spear from the skull of a dead creature at her feet. Streams of black blood mixed with rain drip to the grass below. Veins that once bulged from the muscular body are now empty, fading lines of charcoal against pale, white skin. Despite being almost twice her size, the Murkovin had little defense against her wrath.

  The girl steps over the body, rain spattering on her head, and walks to the other two corpses in the field. She ignores the second Murkovin but stops over the body of her Mentor, her guide in the ways of her purpose. She stares at the fading scarlet in his short black hair, wondering how one so experienced, so strong, could have been taken by surprise.

  She wasn’t shown a vision of her Mentor’s death, or she never would have left his side. While spending Communal with the children, she’d sensed that Darkness was near. She’d traveled to their usual meeting place, but he’d never arrived.

  Sounds of clashing steel had steered her to the battle. Two creatures from the Barrens had scaled the walls and secretly entered the Delta. Her Mentor had already been slain when she reached him, the two Murkovin still lurking nearby. A fury had ignited inside the girl, was unleashed upon the intruders, and they’d quickly met death at the tip of her spear.

  She looks up to the sky as the churning clouds slow, the rain gradually stops, and fresh beams of light sever the edges of the clouds. Darkness has departed.

  “Watchers will remove the Murko
vin bodies,” a woman, the tallest of the Disciples, says from behind her. “I’ll summon a Traveler to take your Mentor’s body to the Bed of Light.”

  “No,” the girl objects. She lowers her eyes to the corpse of her Mentor. “I’ll take him to the Mount.”

  “You know that isn’t the duty of a Hunter,” the Disciple reprimands.

  The girl turns to face the woman, slightly hunches her shoulders, and bows her head in a show of respect. When she speaks, her voice is quiet but firm with conviction.

  “I’ll take his body to the Bed of Light.”

  She looks up into the Disciple’s eyes. The two silently stare at one another.

  “A Traveler will accompany you,” the Disciple finally responds. “No one should cross the Barrens alone. Not even you.”

  “Thank you,” the girl humbly replies.

  The Disciple kneels, sinks the fingertips of one hand into the black dirt beneath the grass, and whispers a name before standing again. She takes a step forward, towering over the girl.

  “Even with all your gifts,” the Disciple says quietly, “you can’t blame yourself for events out of your control.”

  “I know I shouldn’t blame myself,” the girl answers. “If I’d been shown his death before it occurred, I could have protected him, but I wasn’t shown. I don’t understand why I’m shown some things and not others.”

  “The things you’re shown, the purposes of the children or when Darkness is near, are events you can’t alter. If a path has already been defined, you won’t be able to change it.”

  “It’s difficult to accept when I know I could have saved him.”

  “You weren’t meant to save him,” the Disciple replies. “You were meant to learn from him while he was alive. With his death, you’ll no longer be an Apprentice. Even though you’re still young, you’re now asked to fulfill your purpose as a Hunter of Krymzyn.”

  “I’m honored to serve our balance,” the girl says, bowing her head solemnly.

  The Disciple silently admires the girl standing in front of her, realizing how quickly she’s maturing into a young woman. Despite the girl’s recent growth, she’s still younger than any before her to end an Apprenticeship. Well aware of the girl’s extraordinary abilities since they were first displayed as a small child, the Disciple knows how difficult it must be for the girl to understand her gifts.

  “Why you’re sometimes shown the future,” the Disciple says, “feel the things you feel, and are able to do all you can, none of us can explain. I know it’s confusing to you, but in time, I believe it will make sense.”

  “Do you remember my Ritual of Purpose?” the girl asks.

  “Of course. I thought a first would occur and more than one color might be revealed in your hair.”

  “During Communal after my Ritual, a Teller arrived, but on the Empty Hill, not the Telling Hill.”

  “I remember,” the Disciple says. “I was told of his arrival, although there were many anomalies associated with his visit.”

  “I know I shouldn’t have approached him, but I couldn’t resist my curiosity. He was confused and didn’t understand why he was here. When we spoke, I could feel what was inside him. Not only what he felt being in our world, but what he felt in his. The types of feelings I sensed in him are the same things I feel all the time now, emotions that don’t exist here in others.”

  “Did you find it helpful to be aware of those emotions in another?” the Disciple asks.

  The girl slides the tip of her spear across the grass at her feet, wiping black Murkovin blood from the steel. “It helped me understand them and control them. Some of the emotions I feel are extreme, like anger as severe as what the Murkovin must feel. Those are difficult to accept.”

  The Disciple ponders the girl’s words for several moments before answering. “Much of your journey is one that, I fear, must be traveled alone. You’ll gain understanding as you travel your path. Although I may not fully grasp all that’s inside you, I’ll always try to provide what insight I can.”

  “Thank you,” the girl sincerely replies. “The things I feel will never interfere with fulfilling my purpose to Krymzyn.”

  “Your honor is never in question,” the Disciple says. “We all know you give every part of your life to protect what’s sacred to us in a way no one else can.”

  Both of their heads turn towards beams of light gliding over a nearby hilltop. The brilliant rays recede into the shape of a man. Tall and slim with cobalt blue highlights in his wavy black hair, the Traveler sprints across the meadow. With his spear in one hand, he coasts to a stop in front of the Disciple.

  “Please accompany her to the Mount,” the Disciple says. “She’ll take her Mentor’s body to the Bed of Light.”

  With a somber expression, the Traveler surveys the three corpses on the ground. When he looks to the girl, his eyes fill with respect.

  “It will be my honor,” he replies.

  The girl hands her spear to the Traveler, leans down, and lifts the body of her Mentor from the ground. Without effort, almost no strain in her muscles, she gently throws the corpse over her shoulder as though he were nothing more than a small child.

  “Have a safe journey,” the Disciple says.

  The girl and the Traveler both bow to the woman before running to the east. Even with the weight of the body over her shoulder, the girl races ahead of the Traveler as they cross the first meadow. After brief streams of light over rolling crimson hills, the two arrive at the eastern wall of the Delta and slow to a walk.

  A Watcher, strands of bright green against his black hair, descends a steel ladder attached to an enormous black marble wall. When he reaches the ground, the man nods to the girl and the Traveler. He walks to the arched metallic doors in the wall, releases large, steel bolts that secure them, and swings one door open. The sound of raging water bursts through the gate.

  The Traveler steps to a rack of soft black boots beside the wall. He slips one pair onto his bare feet before handing another pair to the girl. She gently lays the body of her Mentor on the ground while the Watcher bows his head to the corpse. After sliding the boots on her feet and tightly tying the straps around her ankles, she lifts the dead body onto her shoulder again.

  The Traveler and the girl pass through the gate, stepping onto a steel bridge that spans the immense river. The colorless Barrens stretch out in front of them on the far side. Leading to the Mount of Krymzyn in the distance, a narrow road weaves through the wasteland.

  The girl looks over her shoulder at the top of the wall where a female Watcher stands with her Apprentice. The Apprentice glares at the girl with anger in his eyes, just as he did during her Ritual of Purpose long ago.

  He must be wondering why she would transport the body of her Mentor to the Mount instead of a Traveler, the girl concludes. She ignores his stare by turning away and walking across the bridge, but she senses the intensity of his eyes stinging her back.

  As the girl climbs the arc in the center of the bridge, the sound of churning rapids below, she looks down the violent river. Soaring silvery blue waves rise high in the air and crash down on the turbulent flow. She stops walking, her attention captured by a hulking slab of black rock in the middle of the river—the one she recognizes from her Vision of the Future.

  When I spoke to him on the Empty Hill long ago, he was much younger than in my Vision of the Future, but there’s no doubt it’s the same face. When we talked, his blue eyes were brave even though he was in a world he didn’t know. His eyes filled with wonder at all around him, were intelligent and kind. It was odd that he arrived on the Empty Hill just as I passed by, not the Telling Hill as he should have.

  The last time I slept, I saw him in my dream. He looked the same age as I am now, but not yet as mature as he was in my Vision of the Future. In my dream, he again stood on the Empty Hill, but Darkness surrounded him. Tellers are never here during Darkness, yet Darkness fell the first time he was here, as well as in my dream.

  That d
ream must have been a warning. Now that I’m no longer an Apprentice, I’ll always hunt near the Empty Hill. He won’t know how to protect himself when he arrives during Darkness.

  Chapter 5

  To get a used car for Christmas my junior year of high school, I had to make a deal with my parents. I agreed to help drive my little sister to and from school, which I didn’t mind. My Christmas present to them was the family portrait I’d secretly been painting for many months. A tranquil sunset behind rolling aqua waves was the background. In the foreground, Mom and Dad stood on the beach with Ally and me crouching on the sand at their sides.

  Blowing in the ocean breeze, my mom’s sandy brown hair was streaked with summer blond in the painting. Her round face with big, chocolate brown eyes and smiling cheeks expressed the serenity we always felt on family days at the beach. My dad, tall and lean, with wavy dark brown hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a long, straight nose on his slender face, stood with one arm around my mom’s waist.

  Studying the finished oil on canvas, I debated about a little more detail in the curl of the wave behind us. I also couldn’t help but wonder if it was only in my perception that Ally looked almost exactly like my mom and I looked exactly like my dad or if that’s how everyone saw us.

  After I turned seventeen in January, track practice began. I was training to run the mile during the upcoming spring season. Ally played for the freshmen soccer team, and fortunately our practices ended at the same time every day.

  She sat beside me in the front seat as we drove home on a busy four-lane boulevard through Sherman Oaks. I had a slight headache from the mixture of a strenuous track workout and battling heavy traffic during the drive.

  The throbbing in my head suddenly exploded into greater pain than any I’d felt in many years. I immediately knew this headache hadn’t been caused by tension or overexertion at track practice. The tremors were spreading way too fast through my skull, exactly like the headaches from five years earlier.