by Imogen Elvis
THE
CRYSTAL TREE
IMOGEN ELVIS
Copyright © 2018 Imogen Elvis
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Website: www.imogenelvis.com
Email: [email protected]
Cover design by Charlotte Elvis
First Printing: 2018
ISBN: 978-0-9925588-6-4
For my family. They made this book happen.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
Briar loved mornings in the healing room. She loved the smell of the lavender and thyme, which hung from the ceiling in long strings, and the soothing rhythm of her work, which right now meant stripping leaves of rosemary off the stem. Most of all, she loved the thrill of magic that hummed through the air as the young magicians sang, performing their healings. The wide windows let in the warm midday air, still crisp with the fresh taste of early spring, and carrying with it sounds from the street beyond. Voices. Passing boots. The low rumble of an ox cart. The rhythmic stomp from a squad of soldiers.
Briar’s hands stilled as the marching stopped outside the door leading into the street, which sat half-open, inviting people to enter. She exchanged a glance with her friend Rayna, who peeled cloves of garlic further down the bench, her nose wrinkled against the smell.
“I’ll bet they’re here for healings,” Rayna muttered. “Right before we finish too.”
Briar grimaced. “I hope you’re wrong.” But she was sure Rayna was right.
Sure enough, the door swung open and a troop of eight soldiers marched in, shattering the sleepy atmosphere with their bright blue uniform jackets, long rows of brass buttons winking down the front, and the heavy tramp of their boots. Briar brushed her hands off on the skirt of her habit. This many healings would need all the novices if they wanted to finish before the big bell rang for the midday meal.
Mistress Willow, the mistress in charge that morning, swept down the length of the room, the skirt of her long grey habit swirling around her ankles. She met the soldiers in the doorway, stilling them with a calm look. “Welcome.” The mistress folded her hands into her sleeves. Her soft voice didn’t match her sharp gaze. “How may we be of service?”
“Healings for my men. Magic, not that herb stuff.”
Briar pressed her lips together, her eyes narrowing. Of course, it had to be Captain Bren. This would be a long end to the morning. His squad passed through Osman regularly, always stopping for healings. Which in and of itself was not a problem, except that Bren was never, never pleased with any healing, and his men were not much better. Briar pitied the poor novice who got saddled with the captain.
“Of course. My magicians will be with you at once.” Mistress Willow directed each man with a touch on the shoulder and a subtle gesture. The soldiers settled themselves on the low wooden stools that lined the sides of the room, stretching their legs out so that they seemed to fill the entire space.
Briar exchanged a wary glance with Rayna as they followed the other novices, gathering around Mistress Willow in silence. Most soldiers were friendly, except for these. Maybe they got that from Bren. Briar counted silently. There were six novices and eight soldiers. Someone would have to heal twice more before the morning was done.
“Rayna, see to this man here,” Mistress Willow said in a voice low enough for only the novices to hear. “Declan, over there. Briar, I need you to take the captain.” This last added in an even quieter voice, with a glance at the surly man staring out the window with his arms folded.
The captain? Briar pursed her lips. Why did she draw the short straw? She gripped the round medallion that hung around her neck, gathering all the patience she could muster, and took her seat across from Bren. Rumour said he’d been a royal guard once, the best of the best. Then he’d been moved right out here, almost as far from the castle as you could get. No one knew why. But it was no wonder his lip curled, and his words were biting.
Bren thrust his hands at Briar. “Well, get on with it.” He continued staring out the window.
Briar hesitated, then curled her fingers lightly around his large, calloused hands and closed her eyes, listening for the sound of his life song. Every person had one, a song that embodied their soul. Each was unique, and only soul singers, like her and the other novices preparing their healings around her, could hear, let alone sing them. She didn’t really need to touch Bren to hear his life song, but it did help her to focus.
At first, Briar just listened, letting the notes swirl around her as she caught the thread of the melody. The song marched briskly, staccato and impatient, like Bren himself. Then, her voice barely more than a murmur, Briar joined the song. As she sang, she could feel the pain of every injury the captain carried: the stiff ache of exhausted muscles, the burn of a half-healed knife wound across his ribs, even the blisters rubbing to blood inside his boots. Briar let the pain wash through her, the music drawing it in. Then, with the sting of the injuries settled inside her, Briar sent her magic flooding through the song. She could almost feel it flowing down through her fingers and into Bren, healing his injuries. And, as she sang, the pain faded until it was gone completely, along with the wounds.
Finally, Briar let go of the magic and stopped singing. The music marched on, and she pulled herself away with an effort. Leaving the heady rush of a life song was always the hardest, like she had been flying and suddenly hit the ground. Briar released Bren’s fingers and folded her hands in her lap, bracing herself for the captain’s judgement.
Captain Bren shook out his hands as if brushing off Briar’s touch, the deep scowl on his face never shifting. “It’ll do. Next time I want more than a novice though. You charge enough.” His eyes ran down the line of singers. Every head was bent as the others performed their own healings, and two soldiers still stood at the back of the room, waiting for their turns.
His words weren’t personal. Bren wouldn’t be satisfied if Mistress Willow herself sang for him. But they stung anyway. For a man who came with such a high reputation, Bren was nothing more than a self-important bully.
“Aren’t they finished yet?”
“It won’t be long.” Mistress Willow came
to stand behind Briar, resting a hand on her shoulder. “What brings you through Osman? I thought you were heading back to Mizra. After the prince…”
“Reassigned. High Command wants me to check out these attacks on the regional towns. Someone else is handling the Prince Levi situation.” Bren’s lip curled. “After Kenlan, they’re eager to get this sorted for good.”
“Kenlan was attacked too?” Briar frowned. That made five towns in the past two months.
“Yep. Destroyed the city hall. Barracks. Order house.” Bren shrugged. “Burned half the place out then vanished. Poof.” He gestured with his fingers.
Out of the corner of her eye, Briar watched as the last two soldiers took their seats. Bren followed their every movement, his scowl darkening. Briar could almost feel the next impatient outburst rising to his lips. She broke in quickly. “So, how will you find the bandits?”
“We’ve heard a rumour they go through Trava. We’ll start there. Leave tomorrow, take the north road, be there in a few days. They won’t be getting away again.”
“They obviously chose the right man for the job.” Mistress Willow smiled insincerely.
Bren’s chest puffed out, and the heavy frown shifted into a look of self-satisfied pride. “That they did. If I’d been on this from the start, Kenlan would still be standing.” The captain glanced down the room again, then stood. “Looks like we’re done here.” He pulled a small pouch from his belt. Coins clicked as Bren flicked a couple into Mistress Willow’s outstretched palm. “That should cover it.” He turned to his soldiers and bellowed, “Form up.”
The squad moved quickly, forming two straight lines by the door. Bren stalked to their head, scattering novices left and right. The magicians stood back, watching in silence as the soldiers marched out into the street, leaving the room in total disarray. Stools lay everywhere, knocked onto their sides or with their legs in the air. Dust swirled as the door banged shut.
Mistress Willow weighed the coins in her palm, her lips tightening. “Short-changed again.” She dropped them into her pocket. “Thank you, Briar,” she added, her voice a touch warmer than usual. Then the mistress swept away down the room and secured the outer doors, dropping the wooden locking bar into place. Briar could feel everyone relax, like a collective sigh. At almost the same moment, the big bell tolled out, signalling the end of the morning’s work for the entire order house.
Mistress Willow clapped her hands. “Alright. Let’s tidy this room before we leave.”
The six novices rushed into motion. Briar hung the rosemary she’d been stripping back on its hook and swept the leaves into a pile for use later. The novices cleared the herb bench, swept the dust from the floor, and stacked the stools into neat rows against the wall. In moments, they’d cleared away all trace of the morning’s work.
Mistress Willow stood in the middle of the room, watching. Nothing ever escaped her keen eye. Finally, she nodded. “That will do. You’re free to go.”
That was it? No mention of anything else? Briar turned away slowly, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Maybe the mistress just forgot. Or maybe they weren’t going out today after all. But she had hoped-
Rayna grabbed Briar’s sleeve, towing her towards the door as if she couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. “Finally,” she muttered. “I’m so hungry. I thought everyone would hear my stomach growling.”
“How do you know they didn’t?” Briar teased.
“Briar, Rayna, a moment please.” Mistress Willow’s voice stopped them just as they reached the door.
“Yes, Mistress?” Briar said hopefully.
“I’d like you two to accompany me to the market this afternoon. We will leave as soon as you have eaten.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Briar bobbed her head in a gesture of respect, then turned to the door, unable to keep the smile from creeping over her face. Market day was the best day of the month. There was always the chance of seeing something interesting out there. Or maybe even someone.
CHAPTER TWO
Mistress Willow swept through the crowded streets of Osman with Briar and Rayna following in her wake. The order house, where the magicians lived and worked, wasn’t far from the market, near the centre of town. The house sat on the main road, between the two major districts. On one side of town, the buildings were little more than lopsided wooden shacks stacked haphazardly one on top of another as if someone had flung them in a heap. Shutter-less windows gazed blindly at the street like hollow eyes, and barefooted urchins with thin cheeks and outstretched hands begged for their next meal.
On the other side, the buildings were tall, robust log affairs that lined the street in straight rows. Long strings of laundry hung between the houses, petticoats and stockings fluttering gaily in the breeze, hung there by ruddy-cheeked housewives who called good-natured greetings to their neighbours. Children ducked between the passing carts, their laughter ringing as they chased each other through the streets.
If you went far enough in that direction, eventually you reached the houses of the rich, built from hewn stone hauled in from miles away. Glass filled their windows, glittering as it caught the sun. The streets were wide enough to fit two carriages side by side with space to spare and, most importantly, were spotlessly clean. It’d been a while since Briar last slipped through that neighbourhood, but she remembered how even the air seemed to smell sweeter.
The market was a melting pot in the very centre of town. The hollow-eyed poor rubbed shoulders with the rich and their entourages, while the middle class hawked wares to them both. And in the middle of this hodgepodge of life were the magicians, neither rich, nor poor, but a little grey haven of magic in the centre of it all.
Midday was always the busiest time in the market. It teemed with people from all parts, buying, selling, and haggling over prices in a deafening roar. Briar stuck close to Rayna and Mistress Willow as they made their way through the crowd, which seemed to part magically before the mistress, a trick Briar envied and had never managed to replicate.
When the magicians reached their usual spice merchant, Zamir was already occupied with a harried-looking servant brandishing a battered list which she stabbed at emphatically as she spoke. The merchant waved his bony fingers at Mistress Willow, a cheery smile breaking over his thin brown face.
“Be right with you,” he called, before turning back to his customer, adding a bunch of lemongrass to the servant’s basket and deftly plucking the list from between her fingers in the same smooth movement.
Briar sniffed the air, tasting a heady mix of elderberry, feverfew and ginger among the many other scents wafting from the stall. Zamir was from Tannis originally, somewhere over the western border, and he stocked the most extensive supply of herbs and spices Briar had ever seen. Apparently, so Zamir said, his brother sent him a special supply from his spice caravan. This was good news for the magicians, who could always do with better herbs, and good news for Zamir also, who was more than happy to take the regular business.
The servant tucked the last bundle of spices into her basket, swiped a loose strand of hair off her face, and then dropped an assortment of coins into Zamir’s outstretched palm before hurrying away. Zamir jingled the coins, an approving smile lifting the corners of his mouth, before pocketing his payment.
“Willow,” he said, his thick accent drawing the word out. “Always a pleasure to see you. What can I do for you today?”
“Zamir.” Mistress Willow’s greeting was formal, but her face softened. Briar secretly suspected the mistress had a soft spot for the cheery herb seller, though none of the novices dared mention it to her face. “Is the new shipment in yet?”
“You know, it just came in this morning.” Zamir gestured across his stall with both hands. “You shall not be returning empty handed today.”
Briar stepped back as Mistress Willow and Zamir set to filling the long list of herbs they always needed in the healing room. This could take a while. Zamir liked to gossip while he worked, especially when serving Mi
stress Willow. No one would notice if she slipped away for a moment.
Briar nudged Rayna with her elbow. “I’ll be right back.”
Rayna nodded, her eyes glowing with understanding. “Give me your basket. And don’t take too long.”
“I won’t. Thank you.” Briar pressed her basket into Rayna’s hand and slipped away. Zamir’s stall wasn’t far from the edge of the square, and she soon broke free of the crowd, coming out somewhere near the baker’s store. Smells of honey and rich pastry wafted out the open door. Mm. Briar might have only just eaten, but that smell was enough to set her stomach rumbling again. If only she had a couple of coins. But novices never had money, so Briar reluctantly tore her eyes away.
There. A small, familiar figure slipped out of the crush and hurried towards Briar. She grinned and stepped forward. “Ava.” Briar caught her sister up in a hug, squeezing her tight. “I missed you.”
“Ouch. You’re hurting me.” Ava wriggled free, glaring at Briar.
“I’ve got a lot of hugs to catch up on.”
“Yeah, well you don’t have to give them to me all at once.” Ava folded her arms. A cheeky little breeze swept the straggling strands of hair that slipped from her tight braids across her face. Ava blew at them, ruining her tough attitude completely.
Briar laughed and smoothed the loose hairs back. “You know you love it really.” She glanced back into the square. “I’ve only got a few moments. How are things? Anything new?”
“Lots.” Ava’s face lit up. “The family’s going to Mizra soon. Cookie says they have a huge house right on the edge of the city. It’s much bigger and grander than the one here. And guess what? Oh, you’ll never guess.” Ava hopped from foot to foot, her whole face aglow with excitement. “Cookie wants me to go with them.”
Briar’s heart missed a beat. “They want to take you to Mizra?”
“Yep.”
They wanted to take Ava with them, all the way south to the capital? But it was so far. A knot twisted inside Briar’s chest. “H-how long are they going for?”
