Krymzyn (The Journals of Krymzyn Book 1)

by BC Powell

  “So people can see things they wouldn’t get to see. Or see people who are interesting or famous—well-known—or an emotion that the artist sees.”

  “I apologize, but I don’t understand.”

  “Look at what I’m doing,” I say as I stop walking.

  She stands still and watches me. I clench my hand into a fist in front of me, extend my forefinger, and trace one side of a tree trunk in the air. As I return my hand to the base of the imaginary trunk, I pull in my forefinger, and extend it again each time I add something to the image. I gradually create branches spreading out from the trunk, most reaching up high but a few falling down to the ground.

  “What do you see?” I ask when I finish my invisible painting in the air.

  “A tree,” she says with mild surprise.

  “What kind of tree?”

  “A sustaining tree.”

  “Was it a healthy tree, or was it damaged?”

  “A healthy tree,” she answers, nodding her head.

  “So in my world, we have things called paper and canvas—thick white rectangular fabric—and pencils and paint—things that make dark lines or colors. I draw like I did with my finger using the paint, and the paint leaves the shapes and colors on the paper or canvas that end up being what I draw.”

  “Why would you do that?” she asks as we start to walk again.

  “Just to make people feel good when they look at it. Or to inspire an emotion. Like how you knew that was a healthy tree. I wanted you to see it that way.”

  “Or you could have made me see a damaged tree?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say, “but the sustaining trees seem pretty important to you, so I wanted you to see a healthy tree.”

  “They are important,” she replies. “Thank you for showing it to me that way.”

  “You’re welcome. Don’t you have ways to record things that happen here or show what things look like?”

  “All is recorded in our minds,” she explains.

  “What if you need to, like, solve a math problem or show somebody where something is?”

  “We do so in our minds or with our words.”

  I remember the way she instantly told me my age in snaps.

  “If you multiply twelve hundred and eleven by thirty-seven, divide that by seventy-three, then multiply again by one hundred and twenty-three, what do you get?” I ask.

  “Seventy-five thousand, four hundred ninety-six, with a remainder of seven hundred and twenty-six one-thousandths,” she answers without hesitation.

  “I’ll have to take your word for it,” I chuckle. “In my world, we need to write that all down on paper or use a thing called a calculator to do it for us.”

  “That seems inefficient,” she says before increasing her pace when we reach the base of the hill.

  “We’re not quite as quick in the mind as you.”

  It takes us fifteen minutes to climb the hill at an extremely fast walking pace. I’m completely out of breath when we reach the top, though Sash never seems winded at all. Once on the crest, the constant silence I’m used to hearing in Krymzyn is replaced by the echo of rushing water. I marvel at the panoramic view surrounding me. All I’ve really seen of Krymzyn is a small area in the south-central portion of the Delta.

  An enormous black marble wall lines the edges of the football-shaped Delta, occasional green-haired Watchers walking along the top. Forking at the north, a broad river viciously flows down either side and rejoins at the south. Furious raging rapids swell through the river. Silvery blue waves smash against a few giant, black granite rocks spiking out of the surface. The water churns like torrents of semitransparent liquid metal reflecting the scarlet and orange light from overhead.

  Across the river, red grass gradually dissipates into an expanse of black dirt. Occasional sustaining trees with charcoal-black bark, gangly and old, are scattered across the rocky, hilly plains. Many are stripped bare of branches, just towering stumps of black rising from the ground. The few that have limbs are laced with sparse gray leaves. The light in the sky fades from red and orange over the Delta to tones of gray in the Barrens.

  To the east, a narrow, gradually rising black road leads through the bleak hills. In the distance, a black mountain reaches up to the sky. It’s as tall as any mountain I’ve ever seen, the peak hidden in the clouds. Rays of green light shine around the mountain, creating a verdant luster in the rocky black slopes.

  I look from the northernmost point of the Delta down to the south, recognizing the hill I’m pretty sure is the Telling Hill we just came from. A broad, circular meadow slightly farther south, obviously the largest field in the Delta, is home to a gargantuan oak-like tree three times the size of any of the others. The bark glows deep red as the branches gently sway in the static air. Lemon-yellow leaves, not red like those of the sustaining trees, garnish the limbs.

  “One tree is moving,” I say with surprise. “The one with yellow leaves.”

  “The Tree of Vision is always aware,” Sash says.

  “That’s the Tree that tells you your purpose?”

  “It reveals our purpose,” she replies.

  “Where do I arrive?” I ask.

  Sash points to a small hill in the center of the southern half of the Delta. In a meadow on one side of the hill sprouts the lone sustaining tree that almost killed me. The small hill—the Empty Hill, they call it—is surrounded by slightly taller hills and little else, explaining the name.

  I’m pretty good at calculating distances from all the miles of cross-country training. I scan the length of the Delta again and estimate it to be twenty miles long by ten miles wide.

  “This is really incredible,” I say, turning to Sash. “The beauty is amazing.”

  “I often come to this hilltop to see the contrast between the Barrens and the Delta,” she replies. “It reminds me of what’s important.”

  There’s not the slightest hint of happiness on her face, but there’s a look of deep appreciation in her eyes as they roam the crimson hills. When her eyes meet mine, I can’t look away.

  “Doesn’t anyone ever smile here?” I ask.

  “What’s smile?”

  I curl the corners of my mouth up into a smile and point to my lips. “Something we do in my world when we’re happy,” I answer.

  “Happy?”

  “Satisfied. Just a good feeling inside. We call that happiness, or being happy.”

  “We don’t need facial expressions to share our feelings of fulfillment,” she says.

  I nod even though I don’t really understand her response. I feel, as I often do here, that she could explain in more detail if she wanted to.

  “Do you remember the first time you met me?” I ask.

  “Yes. On the Empty Hill, when we were much smaller. It was during Communal after my Ritual of Purpose.”

  “I was really confused that I was here, but I felt safe once we started talking.”

  “I remember,” Sash says. “You were frightened when you saw Tork, but still brave.”

  “I saw you before that. Before we met. You were kneeling at the Tree.”

  “I know,” she replies, holding my gaze. “I felt you watching me during my Ritual.”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “I know the way your eyes feel.”

  Her answer actually makes sense to me. I know how her eyes feel when they peer inside me, as they do now.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, almost under my breath.

  “It’s odd to define a person as beautiful,” she says with a slightly more contemplative expression on her face.

  “Where I come from, we do it all the time. How do you define someone here?”

  “By their ability to fulfill their purpose with what’s inside them. Beauty isn’t a purpose.”

  “You should tell that to some of the girls where I live,” I mumble.

  “I don’t understand your meaning,” she says.

  “Never mind. It’s not important. W
hen I said you’re beautiful, I wasn’t talking about just the way you look. I meant what’s inside you.”

  “In Krymzyn, we always look to the inside,” she replies.

  Her eyes seem to reach even deeper to my core, the same way they did when we were twelve. For a split second, maybe in my imagination, I feel thousands of dull pinpricks inside me. My entire body feels like a leg that’s waking up after falling asleep, and the feeling seems to be coming from her.

  “You know, Sash, as strange as this place is to me in some ways, there’s something really . . . I don’t know—peaceful about it. Kind of logical and calming.”

  “Maybe you feel balance here,” she says.

  “Maybe I do.”

  Sash sits on the ground, lays her spear beside her, and rests her arms on her knees. “You should sit,” she says, motioning her head to the ground at her side. “You seem tired from the climb.”

  I sit beside her with my legs stretched out in front of me. “I am a little,” I reply, then turn my head to her. “Sash, I want to ask you something kind of weird.”

  “You may ask what you will.”

  “Do you ever feel like . . . I don’t know. This sounds so lame . . . sorry, ignorant. Do you ever feel like you and I are connected somehow?”

  “What do you mean by connected?” she asks.

  I know she understands the meaning of the word because it translates, but she’s unsure of the context.

  “Like, the way I arrive on the hill close to where you live instead of the Telling Hill and always seem to see you when I get here. The way I saw you before we ever met and you knew I saw you. The way you were there to rescue me. The Disciples told me that my visits are different than any other Teller before me. It’s like we’re meant to be sitting here together right now. Like part of our purpose is to know each other and share things together.”

  She gazes into my eyes for several seconds as she deliberates how to respond. Before answering, she looks away to the bottom of the hill.

  “When the Tree of Vision reveals our purpose, each of us is shown our own Vision of the Future. This Vision is something that will come to pass and is meant to guide us. We’re to tell no one of this Vision. It’s only for the mind of the one shown, so I shouldn’t reveal my Vision to you or anyone else.

  “Your face,” she continues, returning her eyes to mine, “was in my Vision. I recognized you the first time I saw you on the Empty Hill, your blue eyes. I began to feel things from your world—emotions others here don’t feel and would define as extreme. Some of them feel good. Some are painful and difficult to control. I feel them all the time but understand them better through you. I feel how you balance them. That’s all I should say, but I believe it answers your question.”

  I’m surprised by what she tells me but relieved that I’m not imagining something more than random coincidence between us.

  I want to ask her more about what the emotions are she feels from my world, but my attention is drawn to movement over her shoulder. Two golden-haired figures, a man and a woman, with spears in their hands, walk up the hill towards us. Two children—one an adorable girl with straight jet-black hair framing her round face, maybe twelve or thirteen, and a handsome boy, ten or eleven, stocky, with curly black hair—suddenly dart past the adults. Sash turns to see what I’m looking at.

  “Keepers,” Sash says, “with two of our children.”

  The Keepers stop halfway up the hill, but the children keep sprinting towards us. The girl’s stride is long and sleek, her speed stunning as she races up the hill. Her face reminds me of my sister at that age as I get a closer look. The boy is wilder, with less control in his young gait, although it’s strong and steady. Fierce determination flows from their amber eyes.

  “I thought everyone spends Communal alone,” I say.

  “Not the children,” Sash replies.

  They stop a few feet in front of us and both quickly bow. Sash nods her head, and I smile to them. They stare at me with a mixture of curiosity and distrust.

  “The Teller is well balanced,” Sash says to the children. “There’s no need for fear.”

  “In my world,” I say, “I compete in something we call cross-country, a race of speed across hills. Both of you would be champions.”

  “Champions?” the girl asks after the word dissipates.

  “Winners of the race,” I answer. “Those who finish first.”

  “I believe Chase the Teller is praising your speed,” Sash explains.

  “Yes,” I say, smiling. “That’s exactly what Chase the Teller is doing.”

  Both kids bow to me in obvious gratitude, glance at one another, and suddenly fling their bodies to the ground. They cross their arms over their chests, stiffen their legs, and roll away down the hill. I’m surprised by the lack of smiles on their faces or laughter filling the air, just the continued look of determination. It’s a test to them, not a whimsy as it would be on Earth.

  The girl is the first to reach a flat area partially down the side of the steep hill. She leaps to her feet and bolts towards the Keepers with no stagger at all from dizziness. The boy sprawls onto the flat ground, catching himself with fingers dug into the grass just before he slides off the ledge to another steep part of the hill. He pulls himself forward, springs into a crouch, narrows his eyes, and sprints after the girl. When both children reach the Keepers, the four walk down the hill away from us.

  “I believe Tela, the girl,” Sash says to me, “will be a Traveler when her purpose is revealed. She has great speed and a strong mind.”

  “Traveler?” I ask.

  “Travelers are the fastest of all in Krymzyn. They take things across the Delta and travel between the Delta and the Mount.”

  “What about the boy?”

  “He’s quite brave,” she answers. “Cavu is a bit reckless, but he already demonstrates mature respect for our trees. He has a tremendous desire to protect the Delta. I believe he’ll be a Watcher, although I don’t know for certain yet.”

  I study Sash’s face and eyes. “Do you know things before they happen?” I ask, pretty sure I already know the answer to the question.

  “Some things,” she says. When she looks down at the bottom of the hill again, a shadow of sadness falls over her face. “I’m shown visions. They’re like glimpses from waking dreams. While Tela rolled down the hill, I saw streaks of blue in her hair—the color of a Traveler. I know when Darkness is near. I can feel it inside me. Sometimes, I see something directly in front of me that will soon happen as though it’s happening in that instant, and I can change the outcome before it actually occurs.”

  “Do other people here see these things?”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “Only me.”

  “Is it hard on you?” I ask, reacting to the pain evident on her face.

  Turning her face to me, she seems surprised by my question. “You’re the only person to ever ask me that.”

  “I don’t mean to be nosy—too personal,” I say.

  “I don’t mind,” she replies. “It feels right to talk to you about these things. It’s not what I’m shown that hurts me. It’s what I’m not shown—things I could have changed. I don’t always understand the emotions I feel from your world, and that’s even more difficult. I don’t even have names to go with some of those feelings. They can be overwhelming at times. No one here understands them, so it helps me when you’re here.”

  We hold each other with our eyes for several seconds. I suddenly feel closer to her than I’ve felt to anyone in my life. She’s reaching inside me again. I want to take her in my arms and hold her, comfort her, and share the feelings I have for her. But she’s already told me that physical contact doesn’t exist here.

  “I’d like to kiss you,” I say.

  “What’s kiss?” she asks.

  I immediately decide that a verbal explanation can’t begin to do justice to the meaning of the word or the way it feels. As I think about it, I decide that it may just sound po
intless to her. But I don’t want to let this moment pass, so I slowly move my face to hers and gently kiss her lips. She doesn’t return my kiss, but she also doesn’t pull away. When I lean back, her face wrinkles with confusion.

  “Why did you do that?” she asks.

  “That’s a kiss,” I say.

  “What’s the purpose of a kiss?”

  “It’s like when I touched your hand. It’s another way two people nurture one another where I come from, but it shows you like them more than just as a friend.”

  “It seems strange,” she muses. “Is that to show how you feel about me?”

  “It’s to share how we feel about each other. But if you don’t feel that way, I won’t do it again.”

  Her face inches forward, slowly closing half the distance between us. She stops and stares into my eyes. I move the other half, softly pressing my lips against hers. Sash awkwardly returns a brief kiss this time, and then we kiss again. I open my mouth slightly and slide my tongue between her lips. She hesitates, unsure, but does the same, and our tongues gently intertwine.

  As our kiss ends, I wrap my arms around her and hold her close to me. She hesitates again, obviously not knowing what a hug is, but then she slips her hands around my waist. We clutch each other tightly until I feel a deep sorrow come over me. I pull away to look into her amber eyes.

  “Sash,” I say, shaking my head, “I don’t think I’m coming back to Krymzyn again.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The reason I come here is a growth inside my head. It’s called a tumor.” I point to the spot on the back of my head. “That’s why you knew I was in pain when I was younger. Right now, in my world, some people are about to take the tumor out of my head. When it’s gone, I won’t come back. I want to come back and see you and spend time with you, but I can’t control that.”

  The amber from her eyes streams into mine. I feel her completely inside me, sharing my own sadness. She leans to me and gently kisses my lips.

  “Chase,” she whispers, “you will return.”

  When her lips touch mine again, I feel dizzy. My head starts to spin, my hands tremble against her body, and I close my eyes. Darkness from inside consumes my vision.