The Crystal College

by Nathaniel Sullivan

  “W-why do I…” He looked over his body, and his astonishment must have been apparent.

  Nix released his hand, and folded her arms, shifting uncomfortably. “We had to heal you, Nandor. I think it changed your body. Renewed it.”

  “Healed me?” His frown grew in puzzlement. He scratched the itch on his side again, and suddenly looked at it. There was a reddish mark that ran from his side, and wrapped around all the way to his back, and his spine. It was the darkest mark of them all. A flash of memories roared into his head like a fast running river.

  Lord Viken. The duel. The Green Forest. The Palace of Creation. The Book of Marr’s lies. The Clockwork War…

  His head fell into his hands as the power of the memories tormented his mind. Pain, he had felt so much pain on that day. “What happened—did I stop the war?” he found himself asking, but he felt he already knew the answer. In his memory there was the clashing of swords, the firing of electricity, bolts and arrows, hordes of steam-powered skis thundering towards each other mounted by men with faces of death. But he hoped against all hope that his painful memories were false.

  Slowly, Nixie shook her head. “After you defeated Lord Viken, Lady Mikja and Lord Grimbone joined forces. They betrayed your contract in favor of their own, and they slaughtered the army from the city of Froj. Most were lucky and fled, but many still died in the chaos.”

  A low growl emanated from his throat, and it uttered up to his lips before he could contain it. “So the Green Forest…”

  “…Is split between the cities of Norda and Winfrost. Froj has been forsaken. People are fleeing, or fighting within the walls. There’s talk of starvation. Even the Crystal College is in distress,” Nix confirmed.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “Everything I’ve done… was it all for nothing?”

  Nix had no reply. She looked as if she wanted to reassure him, but couldn’t find the presence of mind to form any comforting words, except, “At least you tried.”

  He nodded, and sighed deeply. “I suppose I did.” He felt his side again where the wound from Lord Viken’s powerful longsword had cut him nearly in two. “How did I survive? I vaguely remember you tending my wounds on the battlefield… but it felt as if I was drifting away. Fading into the stars. I did not expect to live.”

  “I-it-it was…” tears swelled up in Nix’s eyes. “…difficult.”

  Nandor looked deep within her, examining her with the full power of his gaze. She was hiding hardships so painful that she did not dare to even speak of them. He found no desire to press her, and so, he only sat a hand on her shoulder and pulled her close. “It’s okay. I’m back now, and I’m going to set everything right.” She sobbed as he continued to speak. “The Green Forest. Mikja’s lies. Froj. Hell, even the Crystal College. I’ll make it all better.”

  Between the muffles of sniffs and tears, Nix managed a meek reply. “I’m glad you’re still the same, Nandor. But don’t plan anything too brash. I can’t go through losing you again.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I think I’ve learned my lessons by now… I won’t go making the same mistakes this time.” His eyes hardened, and he held her tighter. “I have no sympathy left for those without it themselves. No. I won’t try to reason with them. I’ll kill them.”

  Chapter 17: Touching Gestures

  I have found that after a man gets hurt, either emotionally or physically, there has to be a period of healing afterwards. Like a wounded animal, you have to retreat. You have to hide, and build up a cocoon of healing. Then, after a period of time, maybe days, maybe weeks, maybe months, you can reevaluate, and remerge. You may still have scars, but so long as you learned from your mistakes, and stay confident, you can become an even more balanced person afterwards.

  —The Journal of Nandor

  The bot burst into the room, interrupting their intimate cuddling. “I’ve taken care of the farmer!” it proudly proclaimed, thrusting its saw-arm upwards.

  “You didn’t kill him!” Nix gasped.

  “No-no! Of course not! Just dragged him to a spot where his friends will find him. But that does mean we will have to get going soon, I imagine. If he comes back with more people, we might have a problem on our hands.” It glanced at Nandor. “You still the same man?”

  He nodded. “Should I be any different?”

  “No, no!” the bot quipped quickly. “Of course not! Just a joke sir!”

  Nandor glanced over at Nix, suspicion growing. Her eyes darted aside, and he considered questioning her further, but decided to wait on a better moment. “So, we’ll need to be moving once the farmer comes to?” He looked around the house. “Where are we, anyway?”

  “The outskirts of Froj, along the small farmlands,” Nix responded.

  “Ah. Yes, I know these lands well. The hunters and country folk here are some of the nicest people I’ve ever encountered in my travels. Even the Ice Rangers aren’t such bad folk, for the most part.” He scratched his beard. “But what are we doing here? And why was there an unconscious farmer?”

  Nix and the Jack-Bot exchanged a glance that didn’t go unnoticed by Nandor. His frown grew, but the bot quickly dispelled his fears. “This house was the only abandoned place I could find to work. The city was in chaos, so I was forced to look for other places as I put you back together. I suspect the man formerly living here was killed in the war. A few days into my work, the farmer came by the home—a friend of the former occupant, and he was asking too many questions, he became aggressive, and would not leave Nixie alone, so I gave him a bit of a love-tap on the head. Nothing too serious. Just a rattle of the ‘ol brain.”

  Nandor nodded gravely, trying to interpret the bot’s nervous words. “… How did you manage to do it?” He looked to them both, his hand still fiddling with where there should have been a large wound, but was only a faint red line.

  Nix turned away, and gathered clothes from a drawer by the bed. Dorin’s head tilted from side to side. It looked to be considering its words carefully. “It was hard work, Nandor. I had to experiment with fusing metal to bone, I had to use the organs of a dead bear to repair yours, and Nix here had to… well, I can’t say exactly what she did, but I believe she channeled some mystic energy into you, and then we shocked you with your stun-stick to get it all up and running again. Your body, that is. I admit, I had my doubts, but apparently, it worked. You seem to be healed far better than I had even hoped.”

  A set of clothes landed on the red-stained table before Nandor. They were simple, warm clothes. A soft leather coat and leggings coated in a black and white wolf-fur. He discarded the towel wrapped around his waist, and climbed into the new outfit. Then he nodded his thanks over to Nix. “I-I honestly don’t know what to say to you both.” He looked humbled, although he stood tall. “You healed me, and took care of me… it sounds like you never gave up, although most probably would have left me for dead.” He reached over and pulled them both into a bear-like hug. “Thank you.”

  “Sir!” The bot coyly objected, prying itself from his grip. “We merely did what any friend would do for another.”

  “Yet there are few true friends in this world, Dorin, and I am fortunate to count you among them.” He looked over the Jack-Bot with studious eyes. “You appear to have grown, and it’s more than the metal parts you’ve added. You have learned much in our time apart, haven’t you?”

  Dorin nodded, a measure of pride showing as it puffed up its chest. “Indeed. You are correct sir. You always were. I learned about my, eh, my soul, as it were. I learned about how Jack-Bots are constructed, and it was rather… enlightening. Empowering, even.”

  Nandor suddenly shifted his eyes to the door.

  “What’s wrong?” Nix asked.

  “Shhh!” he hissed.

  Boom, boom, boom! Three knocks pounded loudly on the wooden door, shaking its metal hinges. The three jumped in surprise.

  “Damnit Dorin! I thought you said you took the farmer way!” Nix hissed.

  “I did!” the b
ot gasped. “I just didn’t expect him to recover that fast!”

  “Calm!” Nandor breathed heavy. “This is no problem. I can deal with him. He’s just a farmer, right?”

  Again, Nix and Dorin exchanged a peculiar glance, and this time, Nandor knew he could not ignore it. “What? What are you two hiding?”

  “I-it’s just…”

  Boom, boom! The door was thumped again. This time, the knocks were followed by a voice. “Open up you damned vagrants! I’ve got people with me this time—and we’ll not leave until we know what happened to Egold!”

  Nandor walked slowly to the door, but did not open it. He glanced over his shoulder. “Who’s Egold?”

  “T-the…. the d-dea…” Nix tried to speak, but tangible words did not come.

  Dorin interrupted her muttering with a scowl. “No one of consequence. I suppose he was the former occupant of this house.”

  “The man you said died in the war?” Nandor frowned.

  “Yes,” Dorin confirmed.

  A thoughtful look overcame the nomad. “If he died in the war, then shouldn’t his neighbors know already? Were the bodies not recovered?”

  The bot shrugged to Nandor, and only offered, “Human error?”

  He sighed deeply. “Human error indeed. Very well. So these people probably think we are looters. Great,” he reached for the doorknob, but gave Nix and Dorin one last look. “Leave the talking to me. And the fighting, if it comes to it.” He gestured for Nix to hand over his stun-stick. “The ‘ol gal still have charge?”

  “At least a few volts.” She nodded, placing the club-like weapon in his hand. “But I don’t think you should be fighting so soon.”

  “I’m fine,” Nandor waved aside her doubts. “I feel more alive than ever.” He turned the doorknob, and five men stood standing in the snow.

  One, was the old farmer he recognized from his bedside earlier. Greyed brown hair, axe in hand, and strong forearms that suggested he had plenty of practice using the heavy blade on felled trees. The four others were all much younger men. In their late teens or early twenties, and they had weapons of their own. More farm tools than weapons, truth be told, but they were sufficient enough for slaying when wielded by strong hands, and the boys looked to be strong enough to swing ‘em good.

  The five working boys and men had an angry fire burning in their eyes, and they were ready to burst inside, but Nandor cut off their path with his large figure. He loomed over them all, not allowing them to enter, like a monster backed into a den. “What’s the problem?” He spoke both soft and loud at the same time. There was an edge of a growl to his tone, but he was making an effort to hold back the brunt of his snarl. If possible, everything would go peacefully.

  The older man, obviously the leader of the pack, stood on his toes to look over Nandor’s shoulder. “Where’s the girl? And the damned mechanical bot who took me unawares?” he shouted.

  He did not allow the old man a good look at the inside. He took another step away from the door, and closed it behind him, so that he was the only one to face them. “They are with me, and they’ll stay inside where it’s safe. If they gave you any issues, your issues are now my concern. So I ask again—what’s the problem? From what I hear, you are the one who attacked them. My friends merely defended themselves. You should be thankful that you are still alive.”

  “That ain’t what happened!” a young man standing beside the old farmer shouted. “Tell ‘em pa!”

  “Easy son!” The farmer barked back. “I got questions of my own.” He kept his gaze leveled on Nandor, then he spoke with heavy accusation. “What happened to Egold and his family? Did you all kill ‘em? Are you robbers, or worse?”

  Nandor, not one to back down, took another step forward, almost close enough to kiss the farmer’s weapon. “You accuse me of murder? Looting?”

  “Damn right we do!” the same young man hollered.

  “That’s right!” another boy said. “And we’ll string ‘ye up and kil’ ‘ye fer it!”

  The elder silenced his boys with a firm look, then faced Nandor again. “There were three people that lived in this house. My friend, Egold the hunter, his wife, and their son. I need to know what you’ve done with ‘em. That’s the reason I’m here. That was why I questioned the girl. She claimed to be a niece of Egold—but I saw that for a lie. So tell the truth now, and we might spare you and your accomplices.”

  A hum of electricity crackled through the weapon Nandor held in his powerful hands. “Don’t. Threaten. Me.” With a lightning-like movement, his left hand seized the farmers axe. “And most importantly, don’t threaten my friends.” The farmer tried to pry the axe from his grip, but he only held it stronger. The boys at the farmer’s back became frantic, and nearly swung their makeshift weapons, but they were inexperienced, and their father was standing directly in the way. Nandor calmly ignored their advances like the children they were. “I do not wish to hurt anyone.” He yanked the axe from the farmer, and tossed the weapon several feet away. “My friends and I arrived in this home a few days ago. It was abandoned. I cannot speak as to what happened to your friend or his family, all I can say is we won’t be here for much longer.” He looked over them all, sparing a moment to hone his powerful gaze into each of their eyes. “We will be gone before the day is out. If that isn’t good enough for you, then we will exchange more than harsh words. Is that what you really want?”

  The old farmer was unsettled with how easily he had been disarmed, and he quickly backed a few feet away. His children surrounded him like angry wasps, eager to protect their hive. “W-w-we just want to know what happened to Egold,” he managed to reply.

  “Then go looking for him.” Nandor pointed away. “All I can say is that he is not here, and he has not been for days.”

  Nervous muttering bumbled between the farmer and his sons. “Perhaps he fled after the war…” one of the sons offered. “Many people from Froj fled to other cities…”

  “Nonsense!” said another. “Egold would never flee. This was his home!”

  “Father! Let us attack! We can kill him and find the truth for ourselves!”

  “We can’t kill him!” a different son said. “If they were murderers than why would they have spared you, father? It seems to me that they are telling the truth! They’re only robbers!” He looked over Nandor, seeing his beard and ragged hair. “Or homeless!”

  “Robbers should still be killed! We can’t tolerate vagrants in our neighborhood! Not even for a day!”

  The old farmer waved down the opinions of each of his sons, and reluctantly considered his options. Nandor was a large man, grizzled, in his prime, and strong, and he had already proved himself to be surprisingly fast and equally skilled. While they could win the fight, it would not be without loss. No person who valued their children would wish to send them up against such a man. “Y-you will leave Egold’s house soon?” he asked.

  “Before nightfall,” he confirmed. “We were only staying to recover after the war. Like I said—the house was abandoned, and I was injured. It was the only place where my wounds could be tended to in peace.”

  “You don’t look like a wounded man!” the same, eager son yelled.

  “I have recovered.” He eyed the aggressive youth with a wolfish gaze, daring him to speak again.

  The farmer, at last, seemed to accept his words. “If you and your friends aren’t gone by nightfall, then I will come back with more people! Everyone in the neighborhood! And we’ll come with axes and fire and everything under the moons of tomorrow! Understood?”

  Nandor nodded—he would allow the old farmer his little demand, if it eased him. “You have my word. We will be gone.”

  The farmer and his sons left almost as swiftly as they had come, but Nandor stayed watchful in the snow, waiting until they were out of sight, and then a bit longer just to be sure. Then, at last, he opened the door to the small house. Nixie and Dorin were waiting inside with weapons in hand.

  He almost smiled at the si
ght. A small woman, still not fully dressed, wielding a large sword, and a mechanical creature sprung to maximum height, letting it’s saw hum over her head.

  Nandor had many questions for them—but the one that fell from his mouth first was, “Is that Lady Mikja’s sword?”

  Nix nodded, “She left it with you on the field.” Her eyes darted over his shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

  At that question, his face became grim. “No. The nearby farmers are preparing to gather their torches and pitch-forks. We have to leave immediately.” His face grew even graver. “You said you don’t know what happened to the man and the family who lived in this home. Is that true?”

  “Absolutely sir!” the bot spoke just a little too fast. “No idea whatsoever. Home was abandoned ever since we arrived.”

  “Y-yes,” Nix muttered her agreement. “P-perhaps they fled after the war. Looking for safety inside another city. Winfrost, or Norda”

  Nandor frowned, “Unlikely. Country folk don’t leave just because there is a little rough weather. The people here are stronger than most. And more stubborn.” His eyes examined the room, falling from the bloodstained table, to the bed he had been lying in, to the desks and dressers. There were toys suitable for a small child scattered about erratically, and clothes still hanging over the countertops. The stove had been altered, by the looks of it, recently, to burn hot enough to milt metal, and tools for delicately cutting and slicing flesh were arranged systematically by the kitchen. “This does not look like a home willingly abandoned. Something else happened here…” He paced back and forth the stone dwelling, looking and sniffing everything like an inquisitive animal.