The Crystal College

by Nathaniel Sullivan

  But in Froj… in Froj times had only grown darker. Nandor had heard whispers of what had become of the city. His old healer friend, Cajorn, had visited Nandor once during the harvest, to let him know that he, too, was leaving Froj in hopes of finding a home elsewhere in Winfrost. Instead, Nandor had offered him an honorary place as a healer of the college, which he graciously accepted.

  “There is talk of rebellion daily, but only in fearful whispers,” the healer had told him. “In essence, two factions rule the city, the Factory Barons, and the Nobles. One bargains with the other, and they release thugs in the night to kill those who they say don’t belong, and threaten or coerce the working men and women to get back in the mines. Those who aren’t forced into the city’s mines, are put in even worse places along the factory assembly lines. The few farmers and hunters left are treated like royalty, and Lord Benjfrost keeps them close—his true source of power. Children go hungry. Women kill their babies. Men eat men. It is no longer a city, Nandor. It’s a warzone.”

  “Do you think it will ever settle?” Nandor had asked.

  “Maybe someday, but not soon enough. Thank you again for allowing me to stay here, Nandor. I pray I won’t be a burden on the college.”

  “You could never be a burden, my old friend,” Nandor had smiled. “How many times have you pieced me back together?”

  “Too many for comfort!”

  And so they joked and exchanged stories for a time.

  It was only days later that he found himself riding the sled, approaching the dark gates of Froj. Stone pillars old as time cut from the mountain ground joining the wall fifty feet high. A solid iron-thatched gate stood between the two stone pillars, raised just high enough for a man to enter.

  There was no one guarding the gates, which felt odd at first, until Nandor realized that there was no reason for anyone to be guarding the gates. Those with the ability to flee had already fled. Those who remained were without the connections to bribe their way into the rivaling city lands, and so they would rather stay than starve or freeze in the cold. There was nothing to guard. No one wanted the city. No one would flee. So long as the underworks functioned there would at least be a measure of warmth in the city—a promise that the wilderness could never keep.

  The gate simply was a relic of its time. Although the walls around the mountain were still strong, they were abandoned, but for a few scattered figures who appeared more as rogues than peacekeepers.

  “W-we shouldn’t have come here…” one of the men guarding the sled muttered. His eyes anxiously darted from the abandoned gate to the mountain path. He wanted to flee. The other four men exchanged glances, mirroring his fear.

  “Stay the course,” Nandor spoke firmly. “We’ll do our job and leave. In and out. Come.” He grasped the handles on the sled, and then spoke to the dogs, “Mush! Easy!”

  Slowly, the dogs pulled the sled through the gate. Nandor pointed left, and then right, commanding his men to take place at either side. “Keep your eyes open. We’re to head to the center of the city, where the temple is.”

  “Why not just leave the sled at the gates?” one man protested.

  “If we did, would you trust in the right people getting the food? Those who need it most?” Nandor shot him a glare. He understood his men’s doubts, but this was why he was there. To see the job done properly. The poor needed the food the most, and he would not see the sled passed into the hands of either Lord Benjfrost, who would likely keep it for himself, or the Factory Barons, who would use it to gain coin.

  The temple of Froj was a neutral place, where men who had cast themselves out of political squabbles dwelled. They were said to care for neither riches nor fame—only the pursuit of oneness and wisdom, and so he would trust the food into only their hands.

  But still, Nandor had his doubts. The god of Froj and his brand of wisdom was not a god he kept any warm feelings for. There were teachings in his book that spoke of purging the weak and the wounded, and the natural state of mankind being chaos, and barbarism. Were the priests of such a god the best place to trust the food to? Perhaps not, but he could think of no others who would be better—more of a testament to the darkness of the times than a testament to his faith in the priests of Froj, no doubt.

  For the first part of their journey through the city, they gained hungry eyes from those they passed, but none were bold enough to approach six well-armed men. From the sled, Nandor could read the faces of those he saw. Desperate men and women, with gaunt faces and garbed in ragged furs—Cajorn had not exaggerated. Half of the city was empty, random buildings abandoned, looted, or torn apart. Only the factories and the homes had any life left in them, roaring clouds of steam puffed from pipes powered by grinding gears, yes, the factories and the mines were still going strong. Nandor wondered why, but kept the question to himself.

  There was much in the city now that was familiar, and yet different. Twisted. Broken. The crystal buildings in Froj used to be some of the most glamorous constructions in the entire kingdom. Golden runes written for blessings were crossed out in anger. Their colors and their life had turned foul, crystal windows that once shined and glimmered in the light were smeared in mud and half-frozen globs of ice, untended for weeks or even months.

  “Sir!” a bark from one of his men brought back Nandor’s attention.

  A lone man approached the sled from a dark alley, dressed in the finest of white-wolf fur. His boots were clean of mud, although as he got closer, a stark contrast was written upon his dirty, simple face. When he smiled, yellowed teeth appeared, and as he removed his hood, unkempt, greasy locks of brown hair fell all the way down to his shoulders.

  “What ye got ‘er?” the man grinned. “Food, is it? My oh my! That’s a lot o’ food! Don’t believe I’s ever seen so much food in a long, long time!”

  “Keep your distance!” Nandor commanded, “If you value your life!”

  “Oh!” the man halted, and then followed as close as he could as the sled continued to move. “So I see how it is! Your delivering this food to the castle ain’t ye? Going to the fancy lords and ladies of the keep while poor men like myself go hungry!”

  “We’re not going to the keep,” Nandor corrected him. “We’re going to the temple. If you need the food, you’ll find it there.”

  “O! The temple! My! I believe they were ransacked a couple o’ weeks ago! A few friends of mine told me, mind you, not that I’s had anything to do wit it!”

  “Ransacked?” one of Nandor’s men asked.

  “Yep!” the vagrant confirmed through an empty smile. “Torn and looted right apart! Times is tough, ye know? Got’a loot what ye’ can and keep what the rich’s leaves behind! How’s else a feller expected to get anything to eat? Cost keeps going up, it does! Up and up!” He flapped his fine jacket like a bird to demonstrate. “Now how about ye toss me a piece there—just a bit! One of those juicy melons or onions will do!”

  “You’ll wait your turn,” Nandor growled, no longer sparing the stranger any kindness. “Men, if he takes another step closer, draw your swords and slay him where he stands.”

  “Yes sir!” his men replied.

  “Oy!” the vagrant protested, but was wise enough to stop where he stood. “Is that any way to treat a starvin’ man? Have ye no heart?”

  “Come see us at the temple if your need is truly great,” Nandor advised.

  “But ain’t you’s ‘eard what I’s said? The temple be no more! Been looted! Priests is dead or gone!”

  “We’ll pass out the food ourselves, if we must,” Nandor raised a gloved finger. “Now keep your distance, and keep your mouth shut. If I see a crowd of looters gathering behind me, you’ll be the first I kill. Understood?”

  “Curse you sir!” the vagrant spat. “You ain’t care nothin’ about us regular folk. Nothin’ at all. You’re just like Benjfrost—only uglier!”

  “I wouldn’t be commenting on someone else’s looks if I had your face,” one of Nandor’s men joked, and then drew his
blade. “Now piss off or there’ll be blood, and it won’t be mine.”

  “Curse you all!” the vagrant screamed, but despite his defiant words, he made a hasty retreat back to whatever hole he had crawled out of.

  Nandor watched the filthy man dressed in fine fur scamper off, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he told his men. “If we stay strong, we’ll get through this. I know it’s not ideal.”

  “…But if the temple’s already been looted, what good can we do, sir?”

  “As I said, we’ll pass out the food as best as we can ourselves. We’ll start with the hungry children, and then the women, and then the men. Whatever is left we can leave for the looters.”

  “Sir, with respect, I’m not sure it’s possible. It will be chaos as soon as word of food spreads throughout the city. How are five men expected to hold off a hoard of hungry people?”

  Nandor raised a brow. “Cleverly. And there are six men, counting myself, and sixteen well-trained dogs. Take heart, Jorjol. Once we get to the temple I’ll lay out my plan.”

  The temple of Froj was not an ideal place to pass out food. It was a squat, dome-shaped structure made of stone with wide entrances at two points, both south and east. The crystal windows had been vandalized at the top, letting in chill air, and there were a few people and animals of refuge who had taken shelter within its dome, but a sharp yell was all it took to scare them off. It wasn’t a very defendable structure, which was likely what had led to it being looted in the first place. It was, however, better than handing the food out in the open, where they could be overwhelmed or backstabbed.

  Already a small score of eager, hungry men, women and children had gathered around outside, and the crowd was growing with every passing minute, getting both more eager, and more dangerous. Word of free food was spreading fast, and it would only take a small pebble of anger to turn the crowd into a mob.

  “Sir? What’s the plan?”

  As he unclipped the sled dogs, he spoke, “Two men stand at the temples eastern entrance, swords drawn and at the ready. If anyone approaches who isn’t told to approach, you give one, quick warning, and then kill them then and there if they don’t heed it. Two more men will stand on the steps leading up to the eastern entrance. You two are to call out who is allowed to approach. Prioritize the children and women first, and keep them from protesting your choices. All but two of the dogs will be at the southern entrance with one man commanding them. No one is to approach the southern entrance at all. I’ll hand out the food, and keep two dogs by my side. If anyone needs backup, call on a dog. Don’t be afraid to threaten those who get to rowdy, but also, remember, at the end of the day we’re here to help. This should be a fast, smooth process. Let the crowd know the plan, and tell them that if they all wait their turn, they’ll all get something to eat.”

  Nandor finished unhooking the dogs, and then pushed the weighty sled into the center of the temple. “Everyone understood and agreed?”

  “Yes sir,” they replied.

  “Good. Then get to it.”

  It took some time to explain the process to the crowd outside the temple, they purposely kept secret their exact numbers, both in terms of food, and the scarcity of men guarding the food. Once the plan was understood, Nandor’s men began organizing the crowd and shortly thereafter a stream of wide-eyed hungry children slowly entered and exited the temple, arms full of food and mouths watering in anticipation.

  During the first hour, there were a few tense moments, but it never came to blood.

  Nandor was always fair in what he supplied. Each person got roughly the same amount, but as the time went on the food supply was dwindling fast. They didn’t have enough to feed the entire city, although it felt as if the entire city had arrived with the expectation that they would.

  To some hungry souls who weren’t sure if they could last another night on an empty belly, they were angels sent from heaven. To others, they were demons, taunting them with a few days’ worth of food to stretch out their misery. Nandor wasn’t sure which he was, all he knew was that there were hungry mouths, and he had to do his best to feed them for the moment.

  He received little thanks, but had expected none, so what little he got was a pleasant surprise. Those who didn’t thank him, occasionally, cursed him for one reason or another. Them he understood as well.

  There was a certain cruelness to his kindness, from a nihilistic point of view, which many in the city shared. What was the point in feeding them for one or two nights when there would still be hundreds left for them to starve? Was he truly helping, or only prolonging their misery?

  Such thoughts passed into his mind, though he fought them away as fast as they arrived. He was doing all that he could. Perhaps from the food they might find some seeds, and then grow some food for themselves in the city gardens. Perhaps they just needed to get by for one more day before things took a turn for the better. As he glanced at each hungry face, as he handed each person a bundle of food, his spirit did not feel lighter, but somehow, it became more burdened.

  These people needed more than what he could offer. They needed a real, lasting solution to their ailments, a solution in which he was utterly unqualified to supply.

  Perhaps the ones who cursed him were more right than he cared to admit.

  A woman carrying a small child entered the temple, a boy trailing along at her heels. The three of them were deathly skinny. Nandor bundled together an extra-large packet of food for them. He wanted to do more. To ask if they had anywhere else they could go, to offer to take them back to the college—to do something tangible, but he knew such efforts would be in vain.

  The root of the problem that plagued Froj was far larger than himself. They needed to supply their own food, to tear down the empty buildings and replace them with gardens, hire more hunters—something—anything to get a steady supply of food rolling. But it would take time for such things to happen, time, and little else.

  From the eastern entrance, he heard the rabble of noise grow unusually loud, and the stream of hungry people stopped without warning. He looked for his men stationed by the shattered door, but they were gone.

  Abandoned their posts? Surely not… He called a dog to his side and rushed to the doorway. Outside, the rabble had only increased in numbers, but his men were not preoccupied with keeping the people in place—no, there was a more sinister presence on the horizon, and their eyes were fixed on it with morbid fascination.

  “S-sir!” one of his men needlessly pointed.

  Coming down the main street from the castle, a large squadron of well-armed soldiers dressed in the colors of Froj marched. At their back, was a tall figure riding upon the blackest, darkest, nastiest dire-wolf Nandor had ever seen. Its fur was matted and puffed at the same time. Its ears, pointed back. Its teeth, snarling at anyone in sight.

  Yet it was not the massive wolf that caused Nandor to shudder. It was the man riding it. The tall figure garbed in royal silver and blue. The new lord of Froj.

  Lord Benjfrost.

  He did not look pleased.

  Books by Nathaniel Sullivan

  ______________________________

  Morphic Ice 1 The Clockwork War

  “A dangerous expedition in the ice. A war brewing between three clockwork cities. The 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)

  “Goblins are gathering in a massive swarm of hundreds of thousands. The grandmaster of the college is hiding secrets, and only Nandor seems to care. In order to save the new alliance, he must prepare for war, and learn hard truths of ancient teachings.”

  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

  ABOUT THE author

  I am Nathaniel Sullivan.

  Some of my works include, Morphic Ice Book 1 The Clockwork War, Morphic Ice Book 2 The Crystal College, Morphic Ice Book 3 The Drake of Death, Tales of Harrec, The Penguin Who Said: “Enough!”, The Epic of Garthel I-III and IV-VII, and a multitude of upcoming projects.

  My true love is in creation—creating worlds, characters and situations through my writings, drawings, and storytelling.

  If you wish to follow me or contact me, please do so.

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

  https://www.facebook.com/NathanielSullivanBooks

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