by BC Powell
“Where are everybody’s habitats?” I ask.
“The Weavers have habitats near the grove,” she answers. “The Keepers and children all dwell in the caverns at Home. The Disciples’ habitats are near Sanctuary, in the hills around the Tree of Vision. The Watchers dwell in the outermost hills around the edges of the Delta so they’re close to the wall, as do the Constructs. But the Travelers and Hunters have habitats that are spread out north to south through the length of the Delta between Home and Sanctuary. There are seven different sections called the hunting regions, each with seven sustaining trees. Each Hunter only takes sap from the trees of their own region.
“One Hunter and one Traveler dwell in each region. Larn’s habitat is in mine, but on the eastern side of the Delta, closer to the wall. The nearest other habitat is about three miles away.”
“So we really are kind of alone here,” I comment.
“We are most of the time,” she replies. “A Traveler may pass through my region on occasion, or a Disciple, but I rarely see another person near our habitat.”
“What’s the other really tall hill on the eastern edge of the Delta?” I ask, pointing to a hill that’s almost the height of the Tall Hill, although it’s broader and the slopes aren’t as steep.
“The Traveling Hill,” Sash says after looking in the direction of my hand. “You’ll be spending much of your time there while learning to travel.”
“What do Travelers do during Darkness?’ I ask.
“Travelers stand watch on a hill in their region. As an Apprentice, you’ll meet Larn on top of a hill when Darkness falls. The Travelers watch for Murkovin who might intrude. If you see any, you’ll warn the Hunter of your region, summon Tork and the Watchers, and try to intercept them if they threaten a tree or a Hunter.”
“When those three Murkovin attacked you when I was here before, why didn’t Larn show up?”
“He was on the Mount at the time. I hadn’t felt that Darkness was coming before he left.” She smiles at me. “But you arrived to help me.”
“By the time you finish training me, I’m sure I’ll be much better help than I was. But . . .” I pause and look down at the grass.
“But what?” Sash asks.
“I’ve never killed anything,” I say quietly, “and I’m not sure I can.”
“Chase,” she replies. As I return my eyes to hers, she reaches a hand out and squeezes my arm. “If your life is threatened, your instincts will take over, just as they did on the bridge. When it’s kill or be killed, there’s no hesitation, no thought, and no regret.”
Thinking about the fight on the bridge, I realize I could have killed Balt when he went after Sash. I know for a fact from deep inside.
“Always remember the most important rule of battle,” she continues.
“What’s that?”
“There’s a time to fight and a time to run. Knowing the difference may save your life—as well as the lives of those with you.”
“That makes sense,” I say. “Like on the road when we returned from the Mount.”
“Exactly.”
She removes the pack of stakes from her shoulder, drops it to the ground, and lays her spear with the sharpened points down beside it. I toss my real weapon to the grass next to hers but keep the training spear in my hand. When I squeeze one of the firm softball-sized pads that cover the points of the spear, it feels exactly like the tough leather of a punching bag. After I follow Sash to a flat grassy area, she turns to me.
“Let’s begin,” she says.
Chapter 3
To simply say that Sash is a patient and supportive teacher is like saying Mount Everest is just a casual climb. She begins by adjusting my grip on the spear until I find the proper balance of the weapon. Positioning my body in several different fight stances, she stresses keeping my knees bent and my weight centered while always staying on the balls of my feet. In slow motion, she guides me through a variety of blocking maneuvers and attack jabs.
Using a repetitive pattern, we slam our spears together, slowly at first but eventually gaining speed. Over and over, steel clashes against steel, faster and faster, until each action is automated without any hesitation or thought.
As I become more comfortable with the weapon in my hands, just to see how I’ll react, she breaks our rhythmic pattern with a sudden thrust at my chest or my head. An occasional padded spear end pounds into me, knocking me to the ground more than once. She always pulls back enough so that the blows don’t cause any real pain, but I definitely feel them.
When I make a mistake, Sash never criticizes, but she instantly corrects me in a calm and encouraging manner. She praises me when I do something well, her positive reinforcement always at the ready. After several hours, my hands are sore, my arms and legs are burning, and mental fatigue begins to set in. Not at all surprising to me, Sash never seems to tire.
“One more spar, then we’ll rest to have some sap,” she says, probably seeing my state of exhaustion. “It’s important that you learn to fight when your body is depleted of energy. If Murkovin attack when you’re traveling the Barrens, you need to be prepared.”
“Go for it,” I reply, crouching at the ready.
She lunges at me with a pad targeting my chest. Swinging one end of my weapon up, I knock the end of her spear away and launch into a spin. As I whip the pad at her body, I try to hold back, feeling like I have too much force behind my strike. She snaps her weapon up to block mine away. With both her hands on the steel, she cross-checks the shaft into my chest. The strength of her blow sends me stumbling backwards until I sprawl to the ground. Before I can move, a padded tip slams against my forehead.
“You hesitated,” she says, looking down at me with her hands flexed around the shaft and the pad still pressed firmly to my head. “You made a strong move and had a clean shot, but you waited too long to take it.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I say.
“The only way you’ll hurt me is if you don’t know how to defend yourself.”
She lifts the end of the weapon away from my face and reaches a hand down to help me stand. When I take it in my grasp, I immediately pull her on top of me. I know that, if she wants to, she could slip away. Instead, after letting go of her spear, she flops onto my chest.
“I like hugging you better than fighting you,” I say, wrapping my arms around her.
“They each have a time and place,” she replies with an impish smile on her face.
“I know we shouldn’t do this when we’re around other people, but it’s okay when we’re alone, right?”
“Of course,” she answers. “You’re correct, though. Others won’t understand the way we show affection.”
After Sash rolls off me, we both sit up. I unclip a flask from my belt and gulp down about half the sap inside. “That was really fun,” I say, turning to Sash.
She looks at me and tilts her head to the side. “Fun?”
“Fun,” I say. “Like . . . doing something that makes you happy.”
“Fighting shouldn’t make you happy,” she replies.
“No, I know, but learning to use a spear is rewarding, I guess I should say. But it’s fun because it’s with you.”
“So, kissing is fun?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.
Just like that, the word “fun” has now been added to the dictionary of Krymzyn. Sash’s, anyway, as I’ve learned.
“Only when it’s with you,” I reply.
I brush a strand of hair away from her face, lean to her lips, and kiss her with the same intensity I had while sparring.
“You did very well,” she says as our lips part.
“Kissing?” I joke. “I’m glad you approve.”
“No . . . Well, that too. I meant fighting with spears.”
“It’s weird,” I say. “I know learning something like this begins with repetition to train your muscles to react instinctively. But I sense the movement in you, and it’s like my muscles know exactly what they’re suppos
ed to do.”
“I know,” she says, nodding thoughtfully. “When you hesitated, I could feel it in you before I actually saw it happen.”
“Can you always tell what others are about to do when you’re in a fight?”
“I try to anticipate their possible moves, but I feel it much more with you. I think it’s just part of our connection.”
“I guess it is,” I say. As I replay our last skirmish in my mind, it occurs to me that I’ve only ever seen one type of weapon used in Krymzyn. “Do you ever use weapons other than spears?”
“Only spears,” she replies. “We’ve learned of different weapons from other planes of existence. But spears are the only weapons we can use that will always protect the trees.”
“What do you mean?”
“We know of swords, crossbows, and firearms from your world, as well as many different weapons from other planes. Tellers have explained them to the Disciples over the Eras, and the Disciples share that knowledge with all of us.
“When I need to block a branch, the shaft of a spear can be used without damaging the tree. A sword blade could too easily cut into the limb. An errant arrow could injure a tree or remain in the bark, causing permanent damage. The points on the stakes we use are narrow and don’t need to go very deep into the trunk to drain sap. The trees heal quickly.”
“Do you ever plant new trees?” I ask.
“It’s not possible,” she replies.
“They don’t make seeds?”
“No,” she answers. “The Tree of Vision provided the seeds for their growth, but the trees don’t produce their own.”
“Couldn’t you break off a shoot with leaves to grow a new one?”
She shakes her head. “Any part of the tree that’s removed soon dies and won’t regrow. I spend much of my time each morrow checking the trees for damage to make sure their roots and branches are healthy.”
“What happens when a sustaining tree dies?”
Sash removes the flask from her belt and takes a long drink before answering. “Sustaining trees are eternal if taken care of. A tree on the Delta has never died. There are as many as there are, and that’s all there will ever be. The forty-nine on the Delta have been here since The Beginning.”
As I sip again from my flask, I think I finally understand why the people of Krymzyn are so protective of the sustaining trees. “It’s strange that you do so much for them, but they still attack you during Darkness,” I comment.
“They don’t attack us,” she replies in a quiet but impassioned voice. “They want to provide sap for us—it’s their purpose. But they test us first. Hunters prove to them that we’re worthy of their sustenance by earning the sap. They gain as much respect for us during the process as we have for them.”
The reciprocal nature of the people’s interaction with this world is unlike anything I’ve seen or heard of. The balance of Krymzyn they talk so much about is much more than just a utopian ideal they strive for. It’s the essence of their existence.
Sash looks up at the clouds and squints slightly as she studies them.
“Is Darkness near?” I ask.
“No,” she replies, lowering her eyes to mine. “We seem to be in a long period of light. Sometimes, we can go many morrows between Darknesses. Other times, as soon as I return to my habitat after hunting, Darkness falls again.”
“Morrows?”
“The period we’re awake between sleep we call a morrow.”
“How odd. We call that a day, but the next one we call tomorrow.”
“We call it the next morrow.”
I start to take another drink but stop when magenta light glows from my palms. “Communal,” I say, holding my empty hand up to Sash.
“Very good of you to notice,” she replies. “I want to take you to a place I sometimes spend Communal.”
“Sure,” I say. “I’d like that.”
After guzzling the rest of my sap, I clip the flask to my belt. Despite the hours and hours of exercise, the fresh sap flowing through my veins makes me feel almost as energized as when we first came to the hill. We pick our spears up from the ground, Sash slings her pack over her shoulder, and we walk down the slope.
Near the bottom of the hill, Sash increases her pace to a jog. I stay on her heels as we run through a valley to the west and turn south around the base of another hill. We eventually enter a meadow with a giant gangly sustaining tree in the center.
“That’s another one of the trees in my hunting region,” Sash says, pointing a spear at the tree as we run past the outstretched branches.
On the far side of the meadow, a narrow, winding valley cuts between the slopes of two steep hills. I follow Sash into the ravine and around a gradual curve. Forming a secluded dell, the valley ends at the sheer face of another hill. The U-shaped cove tapers into almost vertical slopes of grass on either side, leaving a secluded area of crimson blades in the center.
Sash slows to a stop near the end of the nook. When she sets her spears and pack of stakes on the ground, I toss my spears beside hers. She lies on her back in the lush grass, looking up at me.
“I call this my safe place,” she says. “Ever since I was a small child.”
I sit on the ground next to her, but she grabs the back of my shirt and pulls me down to the grass. We both roll onto our sides so our faces are directly in front of each other’s.
“Safe place from what?” I ask.
Her face darkens with the same look of loneliness and melancholy that I so distinctly remember from when we were younger. It’s the facial expression that twisted the pit of my stomach the first few times I saw her—and still does when I see it again. She peers into my eyes and speaks with a hint of pain in her voice.
“Safe from being me.”
Chapter 4
Sending a dull thud echoing through the Barrens, a sharpened steel blade slices cleanly through the limb of a tree. After watching the branch crash to the ground, the man steps away from the trunk. He glances at a dozen Murkovin sitting idly on the side of a nearby hill, knowing they’ll soon serve his will. Tossing his axe to the dirt, he turns to the two creatures waiting behind him.
“Secure the top branches,” the man commands.
With coils of black rope looped over their shoulders, the beasts scale the trunk of the sustaining tree. When they reach the few remaining upper branches, the two Murkovin knot the rope around the weathered bark of each limb. Crossing the tethers above the center of the trunk, they pull the rope until the first sound of cracking wood resonates from the tree. With more strands of thick black cord, they weave a sturdy web around the limbs, ensuring that the branches never again slash at them during Darkness.
Violently lunging forward, the man rams a steel stake into the tree. After digging the tip deep into the trunk, he picks up several more stakes from the ground. Unlike those used in the Delta, there’s no cap on the end of the hollow shaft opposite the point. One by one, he stabs the spikes into the tree and twists them into place.
To the open ends of the shafts, the man connects long steel tubes. While backing away from the trunk, he gathers the ends of the flexible metal hoses in his hands. He secures the tails inside a round hole cut into the top of a large steel container. The transport that was used to carry sap from the Delta to the Mount—plunder from his failed attack on the Hunter and Teller—serves a new purpose in the Barrens.
The two Murkovin leap down from the tree, walk to the front of the man, and await his next order. The man knows he’s one of them now. The strands of green that once defined his black hair have faded to vacant white. The radiant glow from his porcelain skin has departed, leaving a pallid shimmer in its place. Sap from trees in the Barrens has transformed the once blue veins under his skin into deathly black lines. But he knows he’ll always be mentally superior to the Murkovin.
“What now?” one of the creatures asks.
The man points to four packs of stakes on the ground. Smuggled across the bridge by the man, the t
ools originally created for Hunters have now been filled with sap from the badlands. Like the gifted young woman with scarlet in her hair, the man has mastered many skills—including those of a Hunter.
“Take those to the others waiting by the Delta,” he replies. “There should be enough sap for all of you until your task has been completed.”
Without answering, the two pale creatures lift the packs from the ground and sling them over their shoulders. As they sprint into the Barrens, gray light streams from the skin of their brawny frames. After the two disappear into the forsaken wasteland, the man returns his attention to the newly bound tree.
When Darkness falls, sap will flow freely from the trunk to the steel transport. Soon, the man thinks, there will be many trees secured as this one is. The creatures of the Barrens will have an immense supply of sap. Unlike those who dwell in the Delta, they’ll never be required to take only what they need—they’ll always drink as much as they want.
That’s why the Murkovin serve him. It isn’t difficult to gain power over them. As long as he controls the flow of sap they so desperately crave, he controls their minds.
Their constant thirst consumes them. Almost forty billion square miles of Barrens spread out around him, with sustaining trees never farther than a few miles apart, yet one third of the trees are dead. Rotting black trunks stripped of their limbs blight the wasteland. Time has taken its toll on the Barrens, endless time with insatiable desires feeding the destruction.
When the Murkovin can’t take sap from trees, they turn on one another. One may drink sap from a tree during Darkness just to have its own blood drained by another beast during light. Only the strong survive in the Barrens, but the man is showing them a different way. No more than a few branches are needed to maintain a tree’s life, and the creatures can have all the sap they desire without ever facing the risk of hostile limbs.
The Murkovin lack the discipline and mental clarity to figure these things out for themselves. They also lack the tools. It’s not that they have no intelligence—although they can never match that of the man. They lack self-control, so the man is providing that for them through an unlimited supply of sap.
