A Traveler's Fate (The Journals of Krymzyn Book 3)

by BC Powell

  Less than one hundred yards from the bridge, I suck my particles in from the beams. With the sting of a hurricane-force wind hitting my skin, they reassemble into my body. A split-second later and slightly in front of me, Tela transitions from her blend to a sprint. The last rays of light seep into our bodies just fifteen yards from the end of the road. In our unspoken game of chicken, Tela wins again.

  She coasts to a stop on the upslope of the bridge while I jog towards her from behind. When I stop by her side, I’m panting from a combination of excitement and overexertion. With her spear dangling from one hand, she rests her other hand on her hip. As she looks up at the sky, she inhales a few deep breaths, a definite clue that she was pushing her speed just as much as I was.

  “You’re becoming much more efficient at coming out of your blend,” she says, still studying the clouds.

  “I’m working on it,” I reply through gulps of air. “No matter how many times I do it, I don’t think it’ll ever get old.”

  Tela looks at me. “Traveling?”

  “Traveling,” I reply with a nod.

  The slightest smile curls the corners of her lips, a response from her that’s becoming more and more common. “It never will,” she says. “I promise you that.”

  Tela just confirmed what I’ve already come to realize. Travelers relish in our ability to blend our light. It’s a stupendous gift that only a handful of people from each generation experience. We never take it for granted and immerse ourselves in the sensation as often as possible.

  Even with the precautions that Larn put into place after the Murkovin blockade killed Beck, on a morrow off, a Traveler will almost always end up alone in the Barrens. The Murkovin lack the focus to keep up with us, and if we travel in an unpredictable route, they can never set a trap. With tens of thousands of miles of open space, we can unleash our mind-blowing speed. To paraphrase what Larn once told me, it becomes meditative when our bodies transfuse with the light of the world around us.

  After Tela and I catch our breath, we both look at the road. Much farther from the edge of the bridge than where Tela and I exited the light, Velt and Jeni have already come out of their blends. Muscular like a heavyweight boxer, Velt effortlessly pulls his transport along the road. His short, spiky hair radiates the same cobalt blue that all of us Travelers have in our hair.

  Walking beside Velt with her transport handles in her grip, Jeni has a natural bounce in her step. She’s curvy and athletic, not heavy, not lean, with long, wavy hair tied in a ponytail behind her head. Other than Jeni being about three inches taller than Tela, the two are built almost exactly the same.

  Nuar streaks in from behind Jeni and Velt and then transitions to a run. Her sleek stride is always calculated and graceful in its motion. With a pixie-like hairstyle that seems to match the delicate features of her face, she looks more like a tall, thin ballerina than someone who would be traveling across the badlands with a spear in her hand.

  Finally, the beams of Larn and Kale recede into bodies. They jog past the others before slowing to a walk. At six foot six, trim and athletic, Larn towers over Kale. He immediately begins offering his Apprentice a few words of traveling critique.

  Only about eighteen, Kale still has a boyish quality to his chiseled good looks. He’s not as lean as I am, but not nearly as stocky as Velt. His long, straight hair hangs over his eyebrows, covers his ears, and falls past his neck in the back. As they all walk towards us, I look past them to admire the colossal Mount of Krymzyn in the distance.

  “There’s a very long flat space in the Barrens to the southwest,” Tela says to me. “It’s several thousand miles west of the Stone Crossing.”

  “What’s the Stone Crossing?” I ask, turning my head to her.

  “The only natural river crossing in Krymzyn,” she answers. “It’s about two-thirds of the way to the Great Falls. At some point, you should go there to test your speed in the flat area.”

  “Is that allowed?”

  “We all do it,” Tela says. “We rarely speak of it, but every Traveler does it sooner or later. Even Larn.”

  The others walk up the slight slope of the bridge to Tela and me and stop in front of us. After Larn finishes imparting whatever advice he’s been giving Kale, he looks back and forth between Tela and me.

  “Did either of you see anything?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I answer.

  “Not a thing,” Tela replies.

  “That’s good,” Larn says. “If this continues, perhaps we’ll be able to reduce the number of Travelers needed for trips to the Mount.”

  “It seems weird to me,” I comment.

  “What do you mean?” Larn asks.

  “We haven’t seen any Murkovin since the blockade that killed Beck.”

  In the six weeks since Beck died, no one has seen a single Murkovin. It seems to me that they’ve purposely vanished from our sight. The Watchers haven’t spotted any near the river during Darkness, and the Travelers haven’t caught a glimpse of even a lone Murkovin when we’re crossing the Barrens.

  “It’s not out of the ordinary at all,” Larn says. “We can go hundreds of morrows without seeing a Murkovin. What is strange is how many encounters you’ve had with them during your short time here. You’ve already had more direct contact with Murkovin than most people have in their entire lives.”

  “But we saw so many for a while,” I say. “It seems like they’re trying to avoid us now.”

  “They normally avoid us,” Larn explains. “They’re solitary creatures for the most part. A few might band together, usually a male and female who create a child, or a small group that will try to work together. They occasionally attack us for clothing, tools, or sap, but they eventually turn on one another if their sap runs low. Most of the sustaining trees around the Delta have been dead for many Eras. Only if a few Murkovin happen to be near the Delta when Darkness falls will they try to enter.”

  “Unless Balt is trying to change all that,” I counter.

  “It’s quite possible that they’ve turned on Balt by now. Their attacks on the Delta and the road didn’t result in anything useful to them. Once they realize he has nothing of value to offer, there’s no reason for them to let him live.”

  “I guess so,” I say, although I certainly don’t believe that Balt is dead. I can’t help but feel that this is just the calm before the inevitable storm.

  “Our duties for the morrow have been completed,” Larn says to the group. “We don’t have any trips to the Mount on the morrow, but we’ll need to transport a few items from Market to the southern part of the Delta. We also need to take some of the children to the gate to spend time with the Watchers. We can all take the early part of the morrow to ourselves and then meet at Market. I’ll summon you when it’s time. I think Kale is ready to tow a transport.”

  With a determined look in his eyes, Kale nods his head in agreement with Larn’s statement. Larn has been much slower with Kale’s traveling progression than he was with mine. I know he feels guilty for rushing me into carrying a transport too early in my Apprenticeship, so I don’t think he wants Kale to repeat my rather painful experience. The fact of the matter is, I was more to blame for my injuries the first time I traveled with a transport because I wanted to prove myself to the others as soon as I could.

  “He’ll do great,” I say emphatically. “See you on the morrow.”

  After Kale and Larn tip their heads goodbye to us, Tela and I say our farewells to the rest of the group. We turn away and walk side by side over the arch of the bridge. Still thinking about how Larn had said that confrontations with Murkovin don’t happen very often, I realize that I’ve never asked Tela what her experience with them has been.

  “How many fights have you been in with Murkovin?” I ask.

  “It’s rare to encounter a Murkovin,” she answers, “even as often as Travelers are in the Barrens. As Larn pointed out, you’ve had more interaction with them than most people ever do.”

  I notic
e that Tela gave me a logical response, but she didn’t actually answer my question. “When they attacked us near the bridge, was that the only time you’ve been in a fight with them?”

  “I didn’t fight them during the attack,” she says with her eyes focused on the Delta wall and her tone of voice seeming mildly annoyed by my question. “I tried to get you to safety and then helped Miel.”

  The people of Krymzyn—those of the Delta and Mount, anyway—will never flat out lie to your face. But that doesn’t mean they won’t answer a question with an ambiguous response or twist my question into a question for me. Even the Serquatine didn’t blatantly lie when they lured me into the Springs. They encouraged me to jump in the water by telling me half-truths.

  “So you’ve never actually fought a Murkovin,” I say as a statement of fact.

  “Very few people ever fight a Murkovin,” she replies with her irritation much more obvious. “I have to go to Market to get a few things. I’ll see you on the morrow.”

  Tela abruptly jogs away from me. When she reaches the end of the bridge, one gate in the wall swings open. She quickly disappears behind it.

  For some reason, she didn’t want to answer my question with a direct “yes” or “no,” and I seem to have made her feel uncomfortable by forcing the issue. I feel bad for putting her on the spot that way. She’s been much more open to idle conversation than anyone else in Krymzyn other than Sash.

  Tela and I have fallen into the habit of strolling to our habitats together when our work for the morrow is completed. I’d define us as becoming good friends. The more time I spend with her, the more I feel the same way about her as I do my little sister on Earth. But the fact remains, she never answered my question. I can’t help but wonder why.

  As I step through the gate, I wave to the two Watchers on duty. Once my feet are on the crimson grass, I drop to one knee and sink my fingers under the blades.

  “Sash,” I say, “I’m on my way to our habitat.”

  A few seconds later, her voice speaks inside my mind. “I’m running a little late, but I’ll be there soon.”

  Chapter 2

  By the time Sash arrives at our habitat, I’ve already cleansed in the waterfall and had a few cups of sap. Sitting in front of my easel in the small cavern that serves as my studio, I work on a detailed painting of a Murkovin. The Swirls slowly move inside the crystal ceiling over my head, projecting their soft golden light on the blue quartz walls around me. Lost in serene concentration, I don’t even hear Sash when she enters. She sneaks up behind me, throws her arms around my neck, and kisses my cheek.

  “I’m sorry to be so late,” she says in my ear. “I don’t know why, but I had an urge to visit the children at Home.”

  “You don’t need to apologize,” I reply. “You know me. I can always keep busy.”

  “But I like our time together.” She kisses my cheek again and then returns to upright with her hands still resting on my shoulders. “Do you want to go out for a walk in a bit?”

  “I’d like to,” I answer.

  Sash and I often go for walks in the evening, or “end of morrow” as the people of Krymzyn call it. Every few morrows, we stroll to the Tall Hill to admire the view. Other times, we just walk hand in hand around the Delta. Assuming that’s what we’d do this evening, I re-dressed in my black pants and sleeveless shirt after showering instead of slipping into the more comfortable shorts and tank top I usually wear in the evening.

  “Why do you insist on painting Murkovin?” Sash asks.

  “I like subject matter that’s interesting to look at. The Murkovin are definitely interesting.”

  “They’re hideous,” she says.

  I chuckle at her comment. “We have a saying on Earth. ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’”

  “Does that mean you think they’re beautiful?” she asks, squeezing my shoulders.

  “Not at all. But they are interesting to look at.”

  “Please don’t hang that up in our habitat,” she says firmly. “Even in here.”

  “Don’t worry,” I reply. “I wasn’t planning to. But I do want to show you something that I hope we can hang up.”

  I lay my paintbrush on the easel tray, stand from my stool, and walk across the studio. Leaning against the far wall is a sheet-covered steel picture frame that Wren made for me. On the canvas inside the frame is the first full-color painting I’ve finished since being in Krymzyn. Turning to Sash, I grab the sheet with one hand.

  “Ready?”

  “You finished it?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

  “A couple of morrows ago. I just wanted to live with it for a while before showing it to you.”

  “I’m ready,” she says.

  With an imaginary drum roll in my head—I’d do it out loud, but it wouldn’t have any meaning to Sash—I lift the sheet off the painting. Sash’s eyes widen and the corners of her lips turn up in a smile. Focused on the canvas, she walks across the room to where I’m standing.

  The painting of Sash kneeling beside Ovin’s tree with her head bowed, one hand resting on the bark of the trunk, the other hand clutching a spear by her side, is deeply evocative to me. In my opinion, it’s the most beautiful painting I’ve ever created, probably because of how I feel about the subject matter.

  When Sash reaches me, she kneels in front of the painting. Her eyes study the painstaking detail I put into the blades of grass, the gray billows overhead, and every twig and leaf growing from the branches of the tree. The lighting in the painting intentionally draws the viewer’s focus to Sash. At least a full minute passes while she examines my portrayal of her.

  “Chase, it’s . . .” She pauses and shakes her head. “It’s amazing.”

  “I really hope you like it,” I say.

  “More than I have words to express. I like seeing the way you see me.”

  “That makes me happy,” I reply. “I know things don’t look the same to you as they do to me.”

  She stands up and turns to me. “The way you see things is beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “If you don’t mind, I was hoping we could hang this in the empty space between the tunnel entrance and the door to my studio. That way, we can see it from across the room when we’re in bed.”

  “That’s a perfect place for it. I’ll talk to a Construct on the morrow about securing mounts in the wall for the frame.” She reaches her arms around me and pulls me to her. “Thank you for making it for us,” she says softly in my ear.

  “You never need to thank me for painting. It’s one of the things I love most in life.”

  “I know it is.” We silently stand in each other’s arms for several moments. “Should we still go for a walk?” she asks, leaning back from me.

  “Absolutely,” I answer.

  “Let me have some sap first.”

  “Tell me when you’re ready,” I say.

  She steps back and looks at the painting again. I can see by the appreciative glow in her amber eyes how much she truly likes it. When she walks to the main cavern, I return my attention to the canvas. I wonder if I’ll always see things in Krymzyn the way they would look on Earth, or if my perception of this world will eventually change to the way it actually exists here.

  “Darkness!” Sash shouts from the other room, startling me out of thought.

  I rush to the main cavern. “Where to?”

  I already know what her answer will be, but I always like to confirm where we’re going. For the past few weeks, Darkness has been falling roughly once every morrow and a half. It usually lasts about two hours. That gives Sash enough time to take sap from three trees per Darkness while I stand watch over each location from a nearby hill. We’ve been working in a consistent pattern through her hunting region to make sure all the trees contribute equally.

  “The Empty Hill,” she replies. “It’s the turn of Ovin’s tree to provide for us.”

  After hurrying to the habitat entrance, we stop by the hooks on the wall. Sash takes
down three packs of stakes, slings them over her shoulder, and we both grab our spears. I follow her through the tunnel until we burst outside. Since Sash is usually aware of Darkness several minutes before it falls, the sky is still blanketed by dormant clouds.

  We sprint out of the gorge in front of our habitat, cut into the broader valley, and surge into beams at the same time. With Sash leading our way, we navigate to the Empty Hill. As we slide to a stop on the crest, rain begins to pour from a darkening, tumultuous sky. Sash drops two of the three packs of stakes to the ground and charges straight down the hill towards the awakened tree.

  She effortlessly bounds, twists, and leaps through the violent limbs. In almost no time, all seven stakes are spiked into the bark and filling with sap. Using the shaft of her spear, she protects the stakes from branches that slam down at her from above. She’s meticulous in her defense, careful to never damage even the smallest twig when she blocks a limb away.

  I slowly turn in a circle, scanning the stormy countryside for any sign of Murkovin who might have entered the Delta. Other than rain splattering on the blades of grass, the hills and valleys are motionless and empty. About ten minutes later, I return my eyes to Sash. She’s already ripping the stakes out of the trunk and slipping them into the cylinder on her back.

  When the last one is securely in her pack, Sash presses her forehead against the trunk of the tree. The limbs that were lashing down at her are still waving vigorously in the air, but they stay high over her head. It’s as though the tree is allowing Sash to peacefully pay homage to it by temporarily suspending its assault.

  To my surprise, the rainfall thins, the undulating clouds slow until they’re static, and scarlet light cuts through their edges. This is the shortest period of Darkness since before my sister Ally was here.

  Sash glances up at the sky and squints at the clouds, probably wondering why Darkness didn’t last longer. After turning away from the trunk, she walks towards the base of the Empty Hill. She only makes it a few steps before freezing in place. Locking her eyes on my body, her mouth gapes open and she drops her spear.