Becoming: The Balance Bringer (The Balance Bringer Chronicles Book 1)

by Debra Kristi

  Then a thought—what if Ry called back on my cell phone so I just didn’t get the message? I can’t believe I haven’t already thought of this. Using the landline, I dial my answering service and punch in the code to retrieve my messages. There are a lot. One of them has to be Ry.

  The first message is time-stamped just after midnight. It’s Jaden’s voice I hear. His words are few, yet my gut tells me he’s talking about my sister. How did he know so quickly? He should have still been at the party. And I don’t remember giving him my phone number. I tug his jacket from the edge of the bed and warp it around me, hugging it to my body.

  Tears stream down my face again. I allow myself a cry before listening to the rest of the messages. When I finally play them, I listen to each one long enough to know none of them are Ry. Everyone else called this morning. Word about my sister has rapidly spread, and a bunch of her friends, some of the swim team, and a couple of the school staff have called to wish me condolences. The sobbing starts again.

  Falling flat onto the bed, I pull at the blankets, tug Oscar against me, and curl into a tiny ball, wishing I could disappear. Nothing should ever hurt this much. It feels like there’s a crater running through me. Oscar misses her, too. I know it. He’s been so melancholy since we got home without her.

  When my face is raw with sorrow and my eyes swollen from the crying, I pick myself up, set Jaden’s jacket neatly over my chair, and shuffle to Crystia’s room, where I rummage through her closet, hunting for the perfect outfit for her to wear. Oscar follows and drops on the floor at my feet. It’s better to keep my mind busy for fear of losing it to the pain. That pit of never-ending despair is not an option.

  Mom appears behind me with a cup of piping-hot tea and hands it to me. I swear that woman has hearing like a hawk and a love for tea I don’t understand.

  “Drink this. It will help calm your nerves.” She brushes the hair back from my eyes, and her gaze travels my face. “It helped mine.”

  She doesn’t look good, but I don’t say anything. Instead I focus on the silly tea. “Thanks, Mom.”

  I take a sip, set the cup on the side table, and go back to what I was doing.

  Mom leans against the frame of the door, watching me. “I can’t get over how much lighter your birthmark is.”

  I have nothing to add to that conversation, so I don’t.

  “What are you doing, honey?” she murmurs.

  “Searching for the right outfit for Crystia’s viewing.”

  “There won’t be a viewing.”

  I stop shifting through the closet and narrow my eyes at her.

  “Your sister will be cremated. There won’t be a viewing. Only a service.”

  I startle, straighten like a rod. “Isn’t this something we should discuss first?”

  Her eyes soften, and she caresses my arms. “I’m so sorry, baby. It has already been decided. The paperwork is complete, and possibly the deed as well. This is how our people have always done it. I didn’t think you would take issue.”

  “What people, Mom?” My head jerks back. “The people who escaped from your world years ago? Because they don’t count,” I yell. “We are the people. You and me. I think I should have been part of the decision!” I fight the pain threatening to roll down my cheeks.

  “You’re right.” Her tone seems meant to placate me. “I should have talked to you first. It really has to be this way. Someday you’ll understand.”

  I clench Crystia’s clothes in my fist, fighting the desire to yank them from their hangers. “Someday? Mom, I thought we would be able to give her a proper resting place. Somewhere like Everlasting Acres, where we could go visit her. Not have her placed in a jar.”

  “Anala, it’s not like that.”

  “Isn’t it, Mom? I don’t see how I can view it any other way.” I storm toward the door.

  She clutches my arm, halting me dead in my tracks. “You will listen to me, young lady, and you will listen good. It has to be this way because of who we are, but mostly because of what you are. I did this for you.”

  My eyes widen at her words.

  “If I bury Crystia, then she is lost to you forever. With her ashes, there is hope.”

  “What are you talking about?” I wiggle my shoulders and move my arms, but she still holds on to me.

  A weary smile tugs at the corner of her lips. It isn’t genuine. “It’s because of the connection of the blood and the body that we see our relatives through the dreams, Anala. You see Kaia. You may have seen others. The possibilities are endless.”

  I rack my hand through my hair, pulling it taut. It doesn’t help my brain accept this fantasy any easier.

  “Think of what that means for you and Crystia.” Mom releases me and walks away.

  The new information makes me restless. I have to start dreaming about Crystia now. Now. Why I haven’t already? I run back to my room and pace, gazing at the picture on my nightstand of my sister with her favorite cat, Caesar. I snatch it up and stuff it in my back pocket, suddenly needing to escape. I head for the door—and stop short. Sitting on my dresser is the glass shard from the object Jaden broke. I don’t know why I kept it.

  Something or someone peers out of the shard at me. Beautiful and exotic, there’s no denying the reflection is a woman. I dash over and pick up the piece to get a closer look. Her face contorts, appearing startled, before disappearing. I don’t know anymore what’s real and what isn’t, only that the woman reminded me of one I once dreamt about. What was Jaden doing with this thing? After several minutes of examining it with no change, I shove the shard in my pocket and head for the kitchen door, snagging the keys to the car from the hook as I go.

  Mom appears before me. “I don’t think it’s wise to go out. You should stay home, where I can protect you.”

  I stare her down. “Mom, I really need to get out of this place. I can’t be here. I don’t know where I’m going, I just really need to be anywhere but here right now.”

  She purses her lips and studies me in silence. Not a word is spoken for over a minute, then silently, she nods. Taking that as approval, I walk out the door. Filled with a mixture of emotion, I stare at Crystia’s silver-gray Mustang in the driveway, then gaze down at the keys in my hand. I shuffle through the ring, separating the Mustang’s key from the rest. My heart is fluttering like a nervous butterfly, but I steel my resolve, get in Crystia’s car, and pull out of the driveway.

  Without thinking, I head down our street and turn toward the center of town. Across the freeway, at the far end of Faredale, is the small trailer park where Ry lives. Children are playing around the entrance when I arrive. Parking in a spot at the front, I start the walk toward Ryland’s trailer. Deciding I’m part of their game, the children make me their target. I’m in no mood to play, so I ignore them and continue walking. Yelling at me to fight or surrender, two small boys and a girl with ratty hair covered in dirt jump around and in front of me.

  “Fight, fight, fight!” they holler, the snarky young redhead getting right in my face.

  I get down in his face, taking the challenge, even point my finger and shoot. Sparks fly, and the kids run screaming. I stare at my hands in disbelief. They appear normal. I don’t have a clue how to explain what just happened. That was no static electricity. Is this how I’m blowing up things? What am I becoming?

  I walk the row to the old white-and-beige double-wide, rubbing my hand nervously. The absence of Ry’s 1970 Plymouth Barracuda immediately jumps out at me. Clearly he isn’t home. Examining the outside from a distance, everything looks to be in order. I enter the carport, climb the steps, and knock three times on the door. I know no one will answer, yet I wait anyway. The curtain keeps me from seeing much when I try to peek in the window.

  Finally giving up on the locked door, I walk the perimeter, searching for something, anything. At the back of the trailer, the blinds are open on one of the high windows. Spotting Ry’s storage locker jammed against the back end of the carport, I drag it over and use it
as a stepping stool. Even with the added height, I need to lift onto my toes. I can barely see over the bottom edge of the window into the bedroom. What I do see appears messier than normal, although not particularly out of the ordinary. Through an open door, I can make out the living area. Nothing out of the norm.

  “Whatcha doin’ there, girlie?” A gruff voice has me spinning around, almost losing my balance.

  Flattening my back against the trailer, I come face-to-face with Doug, Joanna’s husband. I didn’t know they were Ry’s neighbors. Not surprising, since I’ve only seen them when Joanna stops by the flower shop or they set up next to us at the Farmer’s Market.

  “Ah. It’s you. Didn’t recognize ya from behind. He ain’t been here since yesterday.”

  I hop down, wipe my shaking hands on my jeans. “Oh, okay. Thanks, Doug. I’m just worried about him. Can’t get ahold of him.”

  “Yeah, I heard what happened to your sister. Real sorry about that. Real sad, that is.” Doug shifts his weight. “I don’t know where he went. Haven’t seen him, and he didn’t say nothing. Some guy was lurking ‘round here the other night, though. Maybe they went someplace together.”

  “A guy was here? What did he look like?” For the first time, I’m worried about Ry.

  “I didn’t get a name. He took off when I came to see what he was doin’. All I can tell you is he was around the same height and build as Ry, maybe a tad taller, and blonde. Oh, and he had that all-black tragic thing goin’ on.”

  My heart clenches. “You said maybe they went somewhere? Did you see them together?”

  “Nah, if they met up, it definitely wasn’t here. For all I know, Ry’s trying to avoid that guy, and that’s why he hasn’t come home.”

  Something new to consider. I sigh heavily. “Thanks, Doug. Guess all I can do is wait.”

  “No problem, Ana. Hope he shows up real soon for ya.” Doug stares at me, like he’s not sure if he should say or do anything else. Then he sighs and walks away. Death makes people uncomfortable.

  Now I’m totally frustrated and don’t know what to do. I’ve always had Crystia or Ry to help me. I’ve never had to make a plan on my own. Especially when I’m under duress, or in such utter pain. My inner core is shred to smithereens—a tattered and torn remnant of who I’m meant to be. Weaving my fingers together, I firmly press my palms to the sides of my forehead to help center my focus. I breathe out and try to release my tension. It rolls out in a lengthy, continuous wave. I’m amazed at how this clears my mind and brings me focus.

  I know where I need to go.

  I’ve spent two years going out of my way to avoid this spot. Even Ry always seemed to make a conscious effort not to drive by here. Crystia’s death has nothing to do with this place, and yet, everything circles back here, to the night Jeremy died, to the vision of Crystia in Hiddenkel.

  My hand lingers on the somber, crusted bark of the pinyon pine, the scar from Jeremy’s Honda still evident in its trunk. Withered, dying sunflowers are crumpled at my feet, and I take note of an older, more faded scar around the other side of the tree. Jeremy’s life wasn’t the only one to be cut down by this beastly centurion. My chest is heavy. I let out a sigh.

  That’s not fair to the tree. It didn’t kill Jeremy. Rub-bing the prickly husk, as if to apologize, I shiver. Like someone walked over my grave. It’s as if all my cells momentarily awaken.

  I stare at the overhanging crown, recalling the many heavy-laden branches that hung above as our car bounced off this spot. Now barren, only a handful of leaves rustle lightly in the all-but-dead desert air. And…something shiny? Cocking my head to the side, I use my hand to block the sun but still can’t be a hundred percent sure.

  It looks like the pendant I was wearing that night.

  I absentmindedly rub at my neck, the spot where my pendent should be, and study the path between me and where it now hangs. The tree limbs are precarious, yet I believe they can be climbed. I can climb them. The crystal captures the sunlight just right, showering the tree and surrounding space in dancing dots of rainbows.

  Taking firm hold of two low branches and securing a foot on a thick knot, I hoist myself up. I pull my other leg up to the lowest branch, raising myself into the tree. Its dry, weathered shell scratches and cuts into my skin, but I ignore it and drag myself higher. Light rushes through me in thousands of tiny bright balls, all blending together until there is only white, and then it’s all gone.

  I’m in Hiddenkel. Like the night of the accident, I’m swept to a wooded lake. I’ve never explored this part of the realm before, and still I know it exists.

  Crystia beckons me, her voice floating through the trees like leaves skipping on the wind. “I’m here. Come find me.”

  I forget to breathe.

  “What in the bloody blazes are you doing?” The accusing voice yanks me back to the tree.

  My heart skips a beat, and I slip back to the ground. The vision is gone and, with it, Crystia. I dust the bark debris off my jeans. Bree is striding directly for me. Her intensity is baffling and a wee frightening.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was going to climb the tree and get my pendent down.” I point to the crystal as it twists from one of the higher limbs.

  “That’s yours?” Her intensity falters and is replaced by a new look. She rubs the stone around her neck. “Of course it is.”

  My hand caresses the thick lower branch, my gaze traveling between the fresh sunflowers she carries in her hands and the wilted remains at the base of the tree. “I lost it here a couple of years ago.”

  I watch her closely, drawn in by her intensity. She caresses the crystal she bought from me at the Farmer’s Market. It appears to shift colors as she approaches.

  I point to the decaying matter at my feet. “These flowers are from you?”

  “They’re for my mom. I lost her here eight and a half years ago.” She sets the flowers at my feet, twining wire around them and shoving the end into the ground so they’ll stand up. She pats the tree three times. “This is the tree of life. Did you know that?”

  I answer honestly, shaking my head with a resounding no.

  Her lips curve into a lopsided smile. She’s actually pretty when she smiles. “The tree giveth, and it taketh away.” Dragging her hand along the trunk, she circles the tree and comes around to my other side. “This mother of all trees is said to connect all things. All life.”

  “I don’t think—” I was going to say something about how, if such a thing were to exist, which I don’t believe in, it’s highly unlikely it would be in our tiny town of Faredale, but she doesn’t give me the chance. Her voice booms over mine, resonating in my head, my bones, through every inch of my being.

  “You don’t want to remove the crystal pendant from that tree.”

  I pull my car into the lot, unsure how I got here or what happened beforehand. The last thing I remember is climbing the tree to get my pendant and Bree telling me I didn’t want to, then I woke up here. Dammit! This is Bree’s doing. Bree and that damn crystal around her neck. Somehow she put the whammy on me. She not only learned how to harness the influential power of the stone but how to use it against me. A bitter taste fills my mouth, and I ball my fists. I resign myself to making the best of what daylight is left. I’m here now, so I might as well do what I came to do.

  Parking my car at the far end of the lot, next to a dust-covered beater of a truck, I walk to the entrance of the Feline Preservation Center. At the front gate, I’m greeted by a cheery middle-aged woman with short, curly black hair and an oversized smile.

  “Welcome to the Feline Preservation Center,” she says. “You haven’t given yourself much time to see all our lovely cats today.”

  It’s already three-fifteen, and they close at four. Except that’s not why I’m here.

  I can’t hide the way I feel, the ache pulsing through my bones. So I’ll use it to my advantage. Mustering a weak smile, I wave. “I’m Crystia’s sister. I came by to gather her belong
ings.”

  She hesitates, frozen in shock or surprise, I don’t know which, before regaining her composure. “Oh dear, we’re all so saddened by her loss. Our hearts pour out to you. Whatever we can do.”

  “I only want to collect whatever she might have left here. She had a locker or something, right?”

  “Why yes, dear, certainly. Let me get someone to show you where it is. Just a minute.”

  She bustles off a few feet to grab a tall, thick gentleman. They put their heads together for all of thirty seconds. Together they gaze at me and approach.

  Thrusting his hand in my face, the gentleman introduces himself. “I’m Hank. I’ll help in any way I can. Let me show you where your sister’s locker is.”

  We walk in silence to the building where the lockers are located. Hank shows me Crystia’s space, and then gives me time alone to explore her stuff.

  Now that I’m here, I’m unprepared for what may be inside. I know there won’t be anything life-changing. It doesn’t matter. I sit in a small plastic chair across the room and stare. I wonder what combination she may have used. I wonder what might be on the other side of the door. I wonder how it might have been for Crystia to come here day after day. I bow my head and exhale. Tears gather at the corners of my eyes, and it feels like Crystia is here with me. Chills run up my spine, making me quiver.

  Three numbers nag at me insistently, like they’ve been whispered in my ear. Yet I’m alone in the room. I feel the numbers again, knocking at my frontal lobe. Crossing the room to Crystia’s locker, I give them a try. Click. The lock opens. I’m frozen, muted.

  I carefully open the cool metal door as if it might explode. There is nothing more than a library book, a binder, a lightweight jacket, and a small cosmetic bag. Inside the door, Crystia taped pictures of cats I assume are from the Preservation Center, and a picture of the two of us with Ry taken at one of the Farmer’s Markets. A tear travels down my cheek, and I touch the picture lightly with my fingers, wishing it could somehow bring me closer to her.