A Traveler's Fate (The Journals of Krymzyn Book 3)
Page 1
Praise for BC Powell’s “KRYMZYN”
“Thrilling and spellbinding, “Krymzyn” drew me in from the very first page.”
Roxanne Kade, author of “The Bloody Crescent”
“Unique? Original? Captivating? All of the above? Yes. This book is truly one of a kind!”
Ethan Gregory, One Guy’s Guide to Goodreads
“This book has gotten into my brain, and I don't want to let it go. It was truly beautiful!”
Tiffany Williams, imabookshark.com
“Very original plot, dark and intriguing . . . a gripping book.”
Mamta Madhaven, poet
“Krymzyn is a page turner . . . a strong start to a very promising series.”
Lorena Sangui, Reader’s Favorite
A Traveler’s Fate
by
BC Powell
book three
The Journals of Krymzyn
Table of Contents
Copyright & Publisher
Special Acknowledgments
Maps of Krymzyn
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Copyright & Publisher
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright 2020 © BC Powell
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
First Edition
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020906977
Published by BC Powell
facebook.com/bcpowellauthor
Cover design and artwork by Ravven
ravven.com
Special Acknowledgments
To Ron Guyatt for the fantastic maps. To Ravven for another amazing cover. And a huge thank you to all the book bloggers and readers who support this series.
Maps of Krymzyn
Prologue
Standing on a barren hilltop, the woman watches a streak of light arc across the horizon. One of her hands instinctively reaches for the spear stabbed in the ground at her side. Her other hand remains pressed to her stomach, protectively holding the curve hidden beneath her tight, black shirt. As she studies the luminescent shape in the distance, she decides it’s moving far too fast to be one of her kind. And it’s heading directly towards her.
It could be the man responsible for the child growing inside her, returning from the Desert sooner than expected. It could be a lone Traveler soaring across the stark wasteland for reasons unknown. It could even be the extraordinary Hunter on one of her solitary treks through the Barrens. The figure is still too far away to determine who it is, but the tiny hairs on the back of the woman’s neck stand upright, prickling her skin.
She leaps into a shallow crevice concealed behind a ridge on top of the hill. As she lands in a crouch, lines of firm muscle crease the pants that hug her slender legs. A long braid of shimmering black falls down her back, a few white strands radiating the pallid light from the sky above.
The woman cautiously raises her head and peers over the jagged rocks that conceal her. Less than a mile away, the beams of light disappear behind a hill and almost immediately stream over the top. On the flat ground in front of her, the speeding figure cuts sharply to the woman’s left. Brilliant rays recede from the air and form the body of a young female—a Traveler of the Delta, the woman knows, from vibrant blue highlights in ebony hair. As the Traveler glides to a stop in front of a lone sustaining tree, long straight bangs fall over her eyes.
Did a glint of light from the stake lodged in the tree’s bark catch the Traveler’s attention? the woman wonders. The stake is old and weathered. The Traveler should assume it’s from a raid on a transport long ago.
Fortunately, I didn’t need to bind the upper branches of the tree. The few limbs that remain attached to the trunk reach straight up to the dark clouds, unable to bend downwards without ripping themselves from the trunk. The Traveler would undoubtedly tell others in the Delta of a tethered tree.
I would prefer not to kill her. An errant blow during a fight might harm the child growing inside me. But I won’t hesitate to end her life if I must.
When the Traveler looks around her, the woman ducks her head below the ridge. After a few moments pass, the woman raises one eye to a narrow crack between two rocks. The Traveler finishes scanning the terrain, apparently wanting to make certain she’s alone. Standing profile to the woman, her spear in the grip of one hand, the Traveler returns her attention to the trunk of the tree.
I know who that Traveler is, the woman realizes. She’s young, several inches shorter than I am. I’ve heard stories about her from the man who created my child with me. He helped train her to fight with a spear when they were children of the Delta.
The Traveler steps forward to the tree. Sparse gray leaves growing from gnarled branches dangle high over her head. Stopping just a few feet from the trunk, she squints at the stake. After reaching out a hand, she clenches her fingers around the shaft of the steel spike, pulls it from the bark, and holds it in front of her face. To the woman’s surprise, the Traveler drops her spear to the dirt.
The Traveler glances over each of her shoulders, but the woman doesn’t move. Confident that she’s well hidden behind the ridge, she continues to spy through the rocks. The Traveler soon returns her eyes to the stake. With the fingertips of one hand, she twists the point of the spike to make sure the hollow tip is open.
Slowly tilting her head back, the Traveler raises the steel to her lips. Thick red liquid drips to the Traveler’s mouth. As soon as she swallows, the Traveler rips the stake away from her face. Her entire body trembles from the rush of wild sap shooting through her veins.
A curious young Traveler, the woman thinks to herself. Like others of her generation, she must long for something more than life in the Delta provides her.
Lifting the stake over her mouth again, the Traveler throws her head back. Once consumed, the woman knows, wild sap unleashes an almost uncontrollable thirst. The Traveler continues to gulp until she has to gasp for breath. After she pulls the stake away from her face, she looks down at the ground.
As the wild sap pulses through the Traveler’s limbs, tightening muscles contour her bare arms and stretch the fabric of her black pants. Raising her empty hand in front of her face, the Traveler clenches it into a fist. She takes several deep breaths, spreads her fingers apart, and presses her palm to her chest.
The T
raveler slides her hand over the roundness of her breasts. She continues to move her hand down her torso and then outward around the curve of her hip. Her fingertips graze over the front of one leg before coming to a rest on the inside of her thigh.
She’s aware of carnal sensations, probably for the first time, the woman surmises. Physical desires have been awakened, replacing the spiritual that those of the Delta adhere to.
The woman’s flesh crawls when she spots a pale, brutish creature creep around a mound of rocks. From behind the Traveler, the Murkovin silently skulks towards the tree. The beast must have been in hiding when the Traveler arrived, the woman concludes, waiting to steal the sap-filled stake that belongs to her. He’ll now crave the sap inside the Traveler’s veins. He’s taller than both the Traveler and the woman, much more muscular, but the woman fears no creature of the Barrens. Time has taught her the harsh lessons of survival in the wasteland.
The woman starts to spring over the ridge but freezes before her feet leave the ground. Still peeking over the rocks, she notices the stake slip through the Traveler’s hand. Before it falls to the dirt, the Traveler stops it by tightening her fingertips on the shaft. Almost unnoticeably, she presses her palm to the butt of the stake.
She knows the creature is behind her. Will she have the strength, quickness, and cunning to kill the brute? But a more important question enters the woman’s mind. Why did I feel the need to rush to the Traveler’s aid?
When he’s less than ten feet from the Traveler, the Murkovin rears back his spear. As he lunges forward, the tip pierces the air behind the Traveler’s head. The woman anticipates the perfect moment for the Traveler to react, the exact point of the creature’s assault when he’s off-balance, his weight falling forward, and most vulnerable to a counter-attack.
The point of the spear is within a few inches of the Traveler’s skull when she jerks her head down and wrenches her hips to the side. Ducking under the steel, she furiously spins. With a powerful upward thrust, she shoves the stake into the Murkovin’s larynx. She rams it through his head until the sharp point shatters the back of his skull. Black blood mixed with gray light spews from the beast’s head.
The Traveler’s palm smashes against the underside of the creature’s jaw. With a savage grunt, she lifts the Murkovin’s feet off the ground. The brute writhes in agony until the final breath of life gurgles from his lungs. Heaving his body away from her, the Traveler sends the limp corpse sprawling to the ground.
The Traveler raises her hand in front of her eyes. Her body shakes as she stares at the Murkovin’s blood dripping from her palm. With a sudden urge to query the Traveler, the woman leaps over the ridge and lands on the crest of the hill.
“You like the power you feel, don’t you?” the woman calls out.
The Traveler snaps her head to the voice. In an instant, she jumps to where her spear lies on the ground, snatches it from the dirt, and whirls towards the woman.
“I’ll kill you if I have to!” the Traveler shouts.
Maintaining her grip on the spear in one of her hands, the woman holds her arms out to her sides. “I have no quarrel with you. I’m with child and have all the sap I want.” She tips her head towards the dead body by the Traveler’s feet. “But that stake belongs to me.”
“I have no use for it!”
“You drank the wild sap from it,” the woman accuses. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“What I do is none of your concern!” the Traveler retorts.
She’s having difficulty controlling her temper. She’s not used to the effects of wild sap. She’s dangerous while it’s in control of her mind.
“Why are you here?” the woman asks.
The Traveler crouches and points her weapon at the woman. “I don’t have to answer to you.”
“This is my territory,” the woman calmly replies. “It’s a simple question to put my mind at ease. Are you hunting Murkovin? Are others nearby?”
“Of course not!” the Traveler barks. “We don’t hunt your kind in the Barrens for no reason.”
“Then explain why you’re here.”
Narrowing her eyes with distrust, the Traveler hesitates. “I have no duties this morrow,” she eventually says. “I wanted to feel open space.”
Still holding her arms out to her sides, the woman takes a few steps down the hill. She stops when the Traveler coils.
“And to satisfy your curiosity?” the woman asks.
The Traveler grimaces at her words. “If you come any closer, I’ll kill you.”
“As I said,” the woman replies, lowering her arms to her sides, “I have no reason to fight you. Go on your way. You didn’t drink much. If you take an indirect route back to the Delta, the wild sap will be purged from your veins before you return.”
The Traveler takes two steps backwards. Without saying another word, she turns away, bursts into a sprint, and explodes into rays of light. After the beams of her body disappear in the wasteland, the woman walks down the hill to reclaim her stake.
Why did I feel the need to help her when I thought her life was at risk? I don’t care what happens to anyone from the Delta. She’s nothing like me, and I’m certainly not like her. Was it merely because I’m familiar with her from stories of when she was younger? Is that why I had the urge to protect her? Or is there more to it than that?
It may have been nothing but a coincidence that I was here when she found the stake. There’s no doubt that these are strange times we live in and many changes are upon us. I should expect that odd things will happen—events far from the ordinary.
None the less, I can’t help but feel that this was more than a random encounter. I’m certain that our paths will cross again.
Chapter 1
I rocket over a hilltop and soar at least thirty feet into the air. Flapping my arms by my sides, I try to keep my spear in the grip of one hand. I realize that I was traveling way too fast when I hit the crest. The drop on the backside of the hill is much steeper than I anticipated, always a risk when sailing through the Barrens.
The more I blend my light, the more I learn that distinguishing between two thousand and ten thousand miles per hour is a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. When I’m cruising through the Delta, I have familiar landmarks to help me judge my pace. But in the open space of the wasteland, it’s like being behind the wheel of a sports car on an empty highway in the middle of nowhere. Excessive speed is inevitable.
I estimate that my speed was well over eight thousand miles per hour at the top of this hill, much faster than I should have been going in an area I’m not familiar with. Decisions aren’t split-second at this speed. They’re split-millisecond. And they’re much less of a decision than they are a pure instinctual reaction.
Trying to maintain my balance through the descent, I concentrate on the layers of light flowing between me and the dirt. As gravity pulls the millions of particles of my body downward, I focus only on the beams pointing in the same direction that I am. If I get tangled in the rays that splay off to my sides, my landing could turn into a painful explosion of my molecules in many different directions. When they eventually slap back together out of my control, at the very least, it would result in a horrendous wipeout with several broken bones. Death would be more likely.
Of equal concern is the sheer face of rock on the side of the next hill in front of me. If I can’t regain control in the half-second I’ll have on the ground before covering that mile, the last painting I create in Krymzyn will be my body splattered all over the side of a cliff.
As soon as the particles of my feet graze the dirt, friction slows my speed with a jarring stutter. I start to topple forward and feel my molecules trying to implode. Fighting to maintain my running motion, I funnel as much of my body as I can into a few distinct beams. I rifle forward after regaining my balance, but a wall of rock instantly fills my vision.
Jerking my head to the left, I jam my focus into a series of light rays perpendicular to the dir
ection I’m traveling. Like a fully stretched rubber band being snapped, my particles spring in the direction of my vision and complete a ninety-degree cut at full speed. I imagine a thunderous “whoosh” echoing off the side of the hill as my body sweeps into the light ahead of me, but I’m traveling way too fast for my own sound waves to enter my ears.
“Woo-hoo!” I shout, curving around the base of the hill.
My heart is racing from the surge of excitement, something I’m getting used to in Krymzyn. I’ve never considered myself an adrenaline junkie, but nothing on Earth can begin to compare to the feel of blending my light. To be honest, I find it addicting.
With one hundred miles of flats between me and the road to the Delta, I glance around one last time to check for Murkovin. Not seeing anything but lonely hills and a few dead trees, I return my attention to the road and angle in from the south.
From the north, the vague shape of Tela sparkles towards the dirt path. She and I often find ourselves assigned to lead watch for transport caravans between the Delta and the Mount. Both of us have surpassed the speed of the other Travelers and can stay neck and neck with Larn, although I have to assume that even he’ll be lagging behind us soon.
As I close in on the road, I make a gradual curve towards the center. Checking to the east, I spot the rays of Jeni and Velt with the blurs of their empty sap transports in tow. Farther behind them, Larn races down the road with his Apprentice Kale at his side. Bringing up the rear, Nuar jets in from the Barrens behind Larn and Kale.
Tela and I reach the hard dirt path at about the same time and both aim towards the Delta. With our particles lightly bristling against one another’s, we race the final few miles to the bridge. I feel a slight bump in my motion from the last little hump in the road, my marker to let me know that the bridge is only a mile away.
Tela is still at full throttle by my side, so I don’t slow yet. As we near the end of the road, the multi-directional array of reflections from the steel bridge becomes increasingly brighter. They’re the same reflections that Larn once warned me will scatter my body in many different directions and more than likely kill me if I’m still in my blend when I reach them.