The Crystal College

by Nathaniel Sullivan

  MORPHIC ICE

  Book 2

  The Crystal College

  Nathaniel Sullivan

  Publisher’s Note

  © 2019 Nathaniel Sullivan. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, concepts, places, events, etcetera, are all a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people or places or events, is purely coincidental.

  Cover art by: Jeff Brown www.jeffbrowngraphics.com

  First Edition, 2019

  Any reprinting or reproduction of any part or whole of this book without the author’s written approval is subject to legal prosecution.

  If you have questions/comments, or want to read more, feel free to contact the author.

  https://www.facebook.com/NathanielSullivanBooks

  https://www.amazon.com/Nathaniel-Sullivan/e/B00FVBOK8G

  Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/dpzG95

  Books by Nathaniel Sullivan

  ______________________________

  Morphic Ice 1 The Clockwork War

  “A dangerous expedition. A war brewing in the clockwork cities. A legend of a powerful artifact. One man with a vision of peace. Nothing goes as planned.”

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KPR2K7L

  Morphic Ice 2 The Crystal College

  “The alliance between the three clockwork cities has been betrayed. Nandor, the only man brokering for peace, is thought dead after his duel against Lord Viken.”

  Morphic Ice 3 The Drake of Death

  (Coming Soon)

  The Epic of Garthel I-III

  “Forced to abandon his family, trapped on the wrong side of a civil war, and unsure of who to trust, a young wanderer is caught in a bad way.”

  https://www.amazon.com/Epic-Garthel-Parts-I-III-ebook/dp/B00FPLEUKA

  The Epic of Garthel IV-VII

  “A brilliant mastermind in a fantasy world gradually enacts his plan for world domination, drastically changing the lives of everyone. Some will try to stop him, others will try to aid him, but few will survive the struggle...”

  https://www.amazon.com/Epic-Garthel-Parts-IV-VII-ebook/dp/B07BHFG3QC

  Tales of Harrec the Mercenary

  “Harrec has lived a long life. His story starts to the south, and to the east, and the west, and anywhere else a man can travel. He’s been to the coldest regions of slow death to the hottest places of worldly hell.”

  https://www.amazon.com/Tales-Harrec-Mercenary-Nathaniel-Sullivan-ebook/dp/B0721PFXGF

  The Penguin Who Said: “Enough!”

  “Filled with exciting illustrations and clever rhymes, this book will entertain all who open it.”

  https://www.amazon.com/Penguin-Who-Said-Enough/dp/1502952459

  Chapter 1: Treachery and Death

  And so Marr was taken into the heavens by the hand of his god. He flew into the sky like a bird and arose into the great eternal sky, where he landed on the lord’s most holy star. For those blessed by the god of Marr, will never know true death…

  —The Book of Marr

  The dying man lay sprawled between her arms, and she wept.

  Several men from Lady Mikja’s personal guard removed both her and the body of Nandor from the battlefield, and then chaos ensued. But she was ignorant to all of it.

  Save to tend Nandor’s wounds, Nixie did not act at all.

  Back on the field, the men from the city of Froj were frantic. They gathered up the body of their fallen lord, and the generals fought over each other to lead the upcoming negotiations for the promised alliance.

  But there were no upcoming negotiations, and the alliance was… changed.

  Instead of splitting the Green Forest between the three cities as Nandor had been promised, Lady Mikja and Lord Grimbone joined forces and rallied their men together. It was not long before the army from the city of Froj was overrun. Most fled, running, skiing and screaming in terror. Those that were brave or dumb enough to stay and try to fight the opposing armies, were slaughtered. Soon, the icy battlefield was bloody, and Mikja and Grimbone were congratulating themselves on a smooth victory, and a valuable alliance.

  Nix was oblivious to it all. She tried to wrap Nandor’s many wounds—the great gouge in his side that cut all the way to his spine—she did her best, through blurry eyes and trembling hands, but there was nothing to be done. He was dying. His eyes were shut tight and only faint, scattered breaths escaped his lips.

  A figure approached over her shoulder and looked down at them both with pity.

  “He’s dead, girl,” a woman’s voice said.

  Nix shook her head, “No, no… h-he’s still breathing.”

  “Maybe,” the woman allowed. “But his wounds are too great. He won’t live for long.”

  Nix looked up from Nandor for the first time, and saw Lady Mikja staring down. “No. He isn’t like other people. He’ll live. He has to.” She clenched a fist as water streamed down her face, then she wiped the tears away, and looked back to Nandor’s body. He was held together by more bandages than flesh. His face was deathly pale, and so much blood had drained from his body that he looked half the size he had once been.

  “I’ve seen many dying men. He won’t last. Leave him, and I’ll see to it that his suffering is done. I’ll even make sure he gets a proper burial.”

  “No,” Nix didn’t have to think the word before she said it. There was no way she was releasing Nandor into Mikja’s care. If there was even a chance that he could live, she would take it.

  “He cannot survive. It is the decent thing to do. If you truly care for Nandor, you’ll let me spare him his pain.”

  “I’ll not let you even touch him!” Nix spat, her hand going to the dagger at her belt.

  There was a pause—a brief moment where Mikja said nothing at all. Then, she spoke softer. “Very well. I’ll leave you to your grief.” The lady walked off, not even bothering to retrieve the dislodged sword she had lent Nandor for his duel.

  After a minute, two men approached. “Girl,” the first man said, “where do you wish us to take him?”

  Nix looked up to see royal guards dressed in blue and bronze-gold armor. Lady Mikja’s personal guard. “Y-y-you won’t try to hurt him?”

  The guard sighed, saddened more by her hope than her words. “Why would we try to hurt a dead man? No, girl, we won’t hurt him. We’re under Lady Mikja’s orders. We are tasked with escorting you home…” He looked at her through a thoughtful frown. “If you have a home.”

  “The healer!” she suddenly snapped, looking almost lively for the first time. “Take him to the healer!”

  “A healer?” the guard exchanged a glance with his companion. “I wouldn’t bother, girl. He’s dead.”

  “The healer in Froj! He’s a miraculous man! He can save him! I know it!”

  The guards looked doubtful. “As you say.” They picked up Nandor and put him on a sleek sled. A body carrier. Then they discarded their colorful armor. “I don’t fancy the men in Froj seeing the colors of Winfrost… doubt that would be a peaceful encounter,” he muttered, then he turned to Nix. “You fit to lead the way?”

  She nodded back, banking all her hopes on the healer’s abilities. Then she mounted her skis and led them to the city of Froj.

  ***

  Froj was in discord. The lord of the city was dead, and so was their claim to the Green Forest. The poor and the opportunistic raided and looted buildings, the wealthy clammed up with their personal guards inside their homes, and the working men tried their best to calm the streets or protect their families. Some fled the city. Perhaps they were the wise ones. Nix and her two escorts wound their way up Froj as quick and as quiet as they could, having no wish to draw attention to themselves.

  The
y approached the healer’s home, and then the guards hurried away, abandoning both Nandor and the young woman on the doorstep.

  Nix knocked loudly. “Cajorn! Cajorn! It’s Nix! With Nandor! We need a healer!” she called out desperately.

  The door opened and she met a sword, pulsing with electric currents. It was an odd weapon, and she was surprised to see it in the hands of the elderly and small-bodied healer. “Oh, forgive me,” he hastily sheathed his sword as soon as he met Nix’s eyes. “Can’t be too careful with the war…” he explained, then he frowned as he gazed downwards at the body-carrier by her side. “Is that—no.” The healer was at a loss for words. He collapsed and then cried out, “Nandor!” His hands fumbled over the body, feeling every cut and slice that maimed it. “You fool, you poor fool…”

  “He’s still breathing!” Nix hissed. “We must take him inside—quick! You can still save him!”

  The healer put a hand under Nandor’s nose, and his eyes lit up. “Impossible…” He shot to his feet. “We must be fast! Drag the sled inside, Nix! Quickly! I have to prepare! Tools, potions, threads and needles!”

  Cajorn rushed throughout his home like a madman, gathering up all his supplies around the operating table. They put his body on the table, and then he began to work. He removed Nandor’s clothes, and discarded the bandages Nix had wrapped around his body. He gasped, “Oh, Nandor…” His eyes looked away from the great wound. He had seen many sights in his many years of work, but rarely anything as bad.

  “Just fix him!” Nix exclaimed.

  “Girl, there are some wounds even the gods could not fix… and I am but a man.” Yet he ignored his own words and tended to him as best as he was able. He poured disinfectants, sewed, purged bile and sewed some more, then he injected Nandor with the potent essence of rek-root to keep his heart pumping, but he knew it would not be enough, and he told Nix to expect the worse. “He won’t last the night, girl. His liver, his spine, his ribs, all cut beyond repair. It is a miracle he is still breathing at all…”

  His words did not matter to Nix. She pulled up a chair close to Nandor, and held his hand. “He’ll live.”

  “No, he won’t,” the healer replied firmly, telling himself as much as the girl. “Were it not for his stubborn body, he would be dead already. But no one can fix a broken spine or a heavily sliced liver. Not even Nandor. The best we can do is comfort him as he passes.”

  Nix looked to Cajorn. There were tears in his eyes. “There must be a way…” she pleaded.

  “There is no way. Nothing known by any healer within the clockwork cities.” He cleaned his hands in a nearby sink and then sat a hand on Nix’s shoulder. “Stay by his side. Keep him warm. There is nothing else I can do. I’m sorry.” His hand fell, and then he slowly shuffled up the stairs to his bedroom. “Goodnight, Nix,” he whispered back, and then, he muttered something else, so faint that she could barely hear it, “and goodbye, Nandor, my dear friend…”

  Chapter 2: The Disappearance

  Nothing living stays stagnate. Movement is life. If you do not keep moving, how can you ever become that which you are meant to be? How can you ever find that which you seek? The tea that lingers in the cup for too long will grow mold and become rotten. Everything must remain in motion. Survival itself is adaptation.

  —The Book of Marr

  Nix held Nandor’s hand, resolving to never let go. She checked his pulse and his breathing regularly, fearful that they would stop at any moment, yet he continued to live.

  The hours dragged on through the night, and she heard terrible noises outside the healer’s home. Raiders and scavengers were prowling the dark, eager to take advantage of the chaos.

  Luckily, the healer’s house was solid, and had a large door reinforced with iron. And there were only windows on the upper levels. It was a very practical design, and she found herself wondering if the healer had designed it that way intentionally. He was a morbidly practical man.

  As the time passed, she did not hunger for food, but her stomach told her to eat. She was hesitant to leave Nandor’s body, so she ignored the feeling.

  Nandor’s face was sweaty, and feverish, but his body was shivering. She looked around for a cloth to wet and clean him, but there was nothing nearby. Reluctantly, she released Nandor’s hand and walked to the kitchen. Her legs were shaky and weak—exhausted from the terrible day. She found a suitably clean rag near the sink, and cranked the water on high.

  It was a high-pressure water-crank, and she hadn’t been expecting it to pour as quickly as it did. It shot from the sink and sprayed all over her and onto the floor before she was able to get the pressure under control. Then she wet the cloth thoroughly with a sigh. It had been a terrible day. It would be remembered as the worst day followed by the worst night she’d ever had.

  She twisted the cloth so that it would only be damp enough to clean, and then she turned from the sink.

  She paused. It was unusually quiet.

  Suddenly her heart raced—she couldn’t hear Nandor’s breathing!

  She had left him for just one moment—just one!

  No—it couldn’t be!

  She planted her foot firmly into the tile ground to rush beside him and check for life, but the ground was wet, and she hadn’t been expecting it.

  She slipped, and fell hard.

  Perhaps because her head was already injured from the yeti, or perhaps because it was a jarring hit, the world went blurry and wild thoughts fell in her mind as a raging waterfall.

  Nandor… Nandor…

  …please don’t die…

  And then, the world went dark.

  ***

  She knew that something was terribly wrong when she woke up, but her mind was scattered, so she could not place exactly what it was.

  A man was shaking her. He was an older man, probably in his mid-fifties. His face was gaunt, his hair was silver and cut unusually short, but he had a full beard that made him look very wise, and a pair of rounded glasses covering brown eyes that made him look smart.

  “Cajorn?” she asked, speaking for the first time in hours. The name felt tart in her mouth.

  “Yes, Nix! What happened? Did someone break in? Are you okay?” The healer’s words were frightfully fast—he was worried about something.

  “I’m okay—it’s just my head… still tingles… everything is strange,” she murmured her reply, and then tried to look around. A rush of memories suddenly came to her, and she nearly jumped to her feet. “Nandor! Is he okay!”

  Cajorn did not reply.

  She scrambled upwards despite his protests, using the edge of the counter to lean on. Her eyes searched the room—it was exactly how it had been before she had passed out with the exception of one detail—Nandor was gone.

  His body was no longer on the operation table.

  No…

  “What have you done with him?” she screamed at the healer. “Where is Nandor?”

  Very slowly, the healer rose to meet her. “So,” he opened his mouth, speaking carefully, “you don’t know either?”

  “What do you mean, either? Where is he? He must be somewhere! He can’t be dead!”

  Then, the healer frowned. “It is strange, I’ll give you that. When I awoke early in the morning to check on him, I came downstairs and found you unconscious. Nandor was gone. That is as much as I know. It is very strange…” His frown grew deeper.

  “He—he’s gone?” Thoughts escaped her. “What could have taken him?”

  The healer shook his head. He did not know. “The front door is still locked, and none of the windows upstairs are broken. For lack of a better opinion, it is as if he disappeared… but how did you end up unconscious?”

  “Oh… I slipped on the water. I was getting a rag to clean him with, he was so sweaty, so hurt… I had to do something…”

  Suddenly she began to cry, and she did not know why. Maybe it was shame. Perhaps if she never left his body, he would still be there… everything would still be okay…

/>   The healer’s lanky fingers awkwardly patted her shoulder. “There, there,” he attempted to comfort her. “Perhaps this is for the best? He wasn’t going to survive for long anyway, Nix. I know you wish he would have—but he wasn’t. That’s just a fact. Now he’s gone, and we don’t have to watch him suffer, lingering on as a husk of himself, dying a painful death, in a way, this may even be a blessing. Maybe this is somehow part of Marr’s plan.”

  “Marr’s plan…” she muttered back, her eyes growing dark. Then she brushed off his hand. “Was it Marr’s plan too that Nandor should be betrayed? That he should be cut in so many pieces that he’s hardly recognizable? Was it also Marr’s plan that Froj should be barred from the Green Forest? And that Lady Mikja and Lord Grimbone should join forces and slaughter the defenseless men of Froj, outnumbering them two to one? Was that all part of Marr’s plan?” she hissed, looking bitterly into the healer’s unmoving gaze. “Tell me if you think it was, Cajorn—because if that is the god you follow then he sounds pretty cruel and thoughtless to me!”

  The healer did not immediately reply. There was water dwelling at the edges of his soft brown eyes. “I cared for Nandor too, Nix,” was all he said. Then he turned away, and whispered softer. “But there is nothing we can do for him now. I have no idea where he is—it could be someone stole him, but I find that unlikely, as the door is locked and there are no signs of a break-in. It could be he walked out by himself, but I find that even more unlikely. His wounds were far too great, even for as strong of a man as he was. There is no way he walked out. So, for all I know, perhaps he was blessed by Marr. Perhaps he was taken directly into the heavens, to the most holy star, as those who are truly blessed are foretold.”

  Anger, confusion, and frustration made Nix clench her tiny fists. The healer was far too eager to give up.

  She would have none of it.

  She shuffled through the room and searched carefully for any signs of strange happenings. The operation table was still stained with Nandor’s blood, and there were dried drops of blood from the doorway to the table—but they were most likely there from where the sled had initially dragged him inside. Everything else was the same as the night before. There was no obvious tampering. Only Nandor’s body and his bag of supplies were gone. The last bit was strange. If he was kidnapped, or taken into the sky by some god, it seemed unlikely that his bag would vanish with him.