Crystal Casters: Awakening (The Crystal Casters Series Book 1)

by Jenn Nixon

  The ten-minute warning alarm pierced the quiet night. Cyndra picked her pace, more fearful of being caught for murder than running into a mut-wolf, and dashed into the woods to find somewhere secure to sleep for the night.

  There was no sun to greet him when he woke. His routine, ever the same, began with a quick glide across the island to hunt for food, deep in the forest where the few humans who resided here were too scared to enter. Fortunate to come away with a healthy rabbit and bird, Zorin soared back to the top of his lighthouse debating whether to start a fire or eat them raw. Inside, he set the spoils on a broken wooden table in the service room where he slept and returned to the widow’s walk for his daily trek around the light.

  Today, the same as every previous day, Zorin turned his eyes to the east, to the ocean, dreaming of the land he left behind as he inhaled the salty air. He moved south, peering at the mostly vacant suburban community beyond the forest to see a flock of birds circling around a long abandoned gas station. The Eastzone, part of the American mainland west of his island, where most of those who survived now called home, seemed to be suffering the same foul weather.

  Finally, he paused on the north side of the lighthouse walkway. The early morning fog, surrounding the castle-like mansion he guarded, made the view more ominous, matching the evil rotting inside.

  Zorin hopped onto the metal railing and extended his leathery wings to keep his balance. The winds were strong enough to carry him to the mainland today if he wanted to go. Although he still looked mostly human, his inability to take part in their world kept him away more often than not, and he knew the cost of traveling so far from the island.

  Deciding to eat breakfast before conducting his normal patrol around the island, Zorin retrieved his prey and retired to the lower level of the lighthouse where the previous occupants had created a livable space, complete with a wood burning stove and icebox.

  As he put the kindling in the stove, a shudder ran up his spine and spread to the tips of his wings. In the next moment, her voice entered his mind similar to how it normally did when he slept, timid and muted.

  Zorin, can you hear me?

  What do you want? he snarled.

  Did you feel it? The Shield has died. You can find the casters now. The crystals will…reawaken those who survived.

  Zorin grunted. You know what happens when I leave, Mergan.

  The choice is yours, as it always has been. Find them, free me, and I can turn you back.

  The mental connection faded.

  Zorin shook the discomfort from his head.

  He moved to the nearest window and gazed toward the mansion, seeing no movement or light or any indication Mergan had escaped the tower prison. Surmising the loss of the Shield returned the mental connections that came along with the crystal bond, Zorin did his best to ignore Mergan’s words as he prepared his meal. Yet he hoped, deep down, he could find a caster to free her so she’d finally change him back.

  Fourteen days later and no sign of any reawakened casters, Zorin flew over the dark forest, using the last of the sunlight to hunt. He dipped down, peeking between sparsely covered branches, looking for the slightest movement. His stomach constricted as he swooped closer to the trees, desperate for the smallest of creatures to cross his path.

  He landed in the middle of a clearing and drew his wings close to his back allowing his eyesight to adjust to the dimmer light. Not a single scent rode the air. No sounds echoed through his ears. The thinning animal population on the island had become problematic. Zorin never trusted the fish and hated the smell. Sharing what little the land had left to offer with the dozen or so humans meant less for everyone.

  Although he loathed going to the mainland, the lack of a meal for the second day in a row left him little choice.

  Zorin picked up a scent. His wings naturally expanded as the rest of his body tensed. Leaves rustled behind him. Spinning his head, he caught movement in the distance. He lifted into the air and silently rode the gentle wind to the edge of the clearing. The prey sprang up from its hiding spot. Zorin grabbed the rabbit by the ears, quickly snapped its neck, and landed between two rotted oak trees.

  Starved, he bit into the firmest section of the animal, hating and enjoying each second as the meat and blood nourished him, replenishing some of his already depleted strength. If he found one more, he’d make the journey to the mainland. Perhaps have better luck finding larger prey and give him enough nourishment to search for casters.

  Zorin tossed the carcass aside and wiped the blood from his mouth. Another moonless night greeted him as he exited the forest. Saving his strength, he walked the only remaining paved road back to the lighthouse. Even though there was no actual light guiding him home, Zorin remembered the sights prior to the war, when the lighthouse looked out on a world still vibrant and colorful and full of life.

  As he came upon the entrance, a sensation he hadn’t felt in over two decades pulsed through the air. The indisputable crystal power trickled over his skin like a warm breeze on a bitter winter day. His entire body crackled with fire.

  He felt renewed.

  Finally, a nearby caster had evoked an element.

  Zorin shifted his gaze toward the mansion upon hearing the mirror-wraiths stirring. They felt the power too. Knowing the wraiths rarely left the safety of the island, he paid them no attention and clawed his way up the side of the lighthouse until he reached the widow’s walk. With a firm grip on the railing, he turned toward the mainland, stretching his wings and easily sensed the firecasting power riding through the air.

  He focused on the coast of old Virginia, released his hand, and glided over the land, letting the elemental force guide him. The moment he reached the edge of his island, a gust of wind lifted him higher into the air. He soared over the bay of water between the island and the coast absorbing the crystal’s power through his siphon when it settled against his skin.

  During his descent toward the sandy barren beaches, Zorin realized he had two ways of returning home instead of his usual method. If he found no game to nourish him, a crystal caster could.

  Find them, free me, and I can turn you back.

  The words, burned into his mind, continued to haunt him. He wanted to believe Mergan spoke the truth, but she had lied to him more than once. Zorin refused to be her fool any longer.

  The shoreline of mostly sand, broken highway, and a fresh row of thin trunked trees looked the same as it always did. This time, however, he felt different. Not exactly stronger but less drained after traveling so far from the island…from her.

  Shaking his head and already prepared to forgo sleep simply to keep Mergan from contacting him, Zorin stayed grounded, preserving his strength for when he needed it, and followed the curve of the road-beach toward a flattened landscape, formerly a farm, and cut through, heading toward the dim lights in the distance.

  From his usual perch on the lighthouse, Zorin often watched the enormous floodlights of the major coastal towns glowing every night. He understood their caution yet offered no pity. The humans were equally responsible for the fate of the planet. Now, being on their level, blinded by the mountainous urban rubble and wild terrain, he remembered why he rarely left the island. Not only was half of the mainland uninhabitable, the remaining safe zones of land had yet to recover fully from the fallout of war and the flare’s destruction. Everything he saw only depressed him further.

  When a decent sized squirrel scurried up a tree, Zorin tucked his wings back and breathed deeply enough to catch the scent of a few animals on the air. More hopeful he’d be able to return home, he stalked through the woods, curious of its name, equally surprised at the health of the trees the closer he moved inland.

  The draw of the crystal increased as he crossed a thin stream of water parting two very different sides of the woods. Before him were thick, leaved trees growing beside the petrified stalks of ghostwood left behind after the flare. The new trees were half the size of their predecessors, which may why he’d never seen t
hem. Zorin rarely ventured this far inland and only saw the burned treetops from his lighthouse.

  It seemed the mainland had some hope after all.

  Unsure who he’d find and how he’d make contact considering his unique situation, Zorin lumbered through the woods following the crystal’s pull, hoping the caster he came upon could help end his monstrous existence and set him free.

  Every time Cyndra shut her eyes, the disintegrating old man appeared. Close to two in the morning she stopped trying to sleep then grew so tired, she conked out soon after.

  She jerked upright at sunrise, clutching her chest and gasping for air, trying to calm down from the old man nightmare. Cyndra thought she mentally prepared for it, yet nothing compared to the disgust and guilt that came from robbing someone of his life. Although she didn’t want to think about it, she had no choice, it occupied every thought. The old man wanted the wooden box, next the crystal, and then seemed to weaken her with only his hands. His perplexing words rattled around in her mind. What did he mean by caster?

  Hoping her grandmother’s journal explained what happened and answered some questions, Cyndra sat up and scooted closer to the cave’s entrance for extra light and pulled the box out of her backpack, setting it between her legs.

  She furrowed her brow. One of the markings on the box matched the triangle burn on her palm. When she rubbed her thumb over the raised flesh, her hand grew warm. Realizing a connection when she…felt one, Cyndra traced the marking on the box. The symbol glowed red.

  “No fucking way,” she whispered. The power will always be within you.

  More than a little freaked, yet more curious as to why she shuddered with excitement, Cyndra lifted the lid and pulled the pendant and journal out of the box. She set the necklace aside and unbuckled the strap securing the journal. Peeling open the book, Cyndra held her breath as she caught sight of her grandmother’s writing.

  It’s imperative you and Pristy are together, Cyndra, you will need each other and your pendants to unlock the journal. ~Evie

  Sighing, she flipped through the empty pages of the journal before checking inside the cover and binding and even turned it upside down to shake it, wishing something would fall out. Disappointed, she set it back in the box and shut the lid. Next, she picked up the necklace and touched the pendant. The same warm feeling surged through her body.

  Her stomach grumbled, muting everything else.

  After securing the pendant around her neck and rifling through her bag for something to eat, Cyndra repacked and readied for a hike. She ate half of a rationbar as she exited the cave and scoped out the immediate area, guessing she had six more miles to go before she hit the edge of Ricksberg. From there, she’d take a boat to Baltimoretown or if she had enough ration points left in the system, maybe bribe her way onto the train. She had no idea what she was going to say to Pristy about all this, but she needed to know, they were still family after all.

  A mile and a half from the edge of the forest, the hairs on the back of Cyndra’s neck prickled. She slowed her pace and edged closer to the trees hugging the path.

  Preparing for a wacker encounter, she curled her fingers around the sai’s handle, feeling both her hand and the weapon warming upon contact. At a curve in the path, she darted behind a thick ghostwood tree and came around the other side.

  The cloaked figure standing in the middle of the road looked straight into her eyes and smiled. Cyndra caught the complete opposite vibe she got from the creepy old man. And this guy definitely wasn’t a wacker in that getup. She stepped closer, curious as to why she felt so at ease.

  “Are you following me?”

  He nodded.

  Cyndra raised an eyebrow and her weapon. “Why?”

  He lifted a leather strap from his collarbone and a matching black crystal pendant slipped out of its hiding spot beneath his dark brown vest. Then he pointed to hers.

  “You know what these pendants are?”

  He nodded again.

  “Don’t keep a girl in suspense…” She tilted her head to the side, taking in his odd appearance. Aside from his immaculate boots and clothing, he had several short-handled knives hanging from his leather belt, and a small satchel attached to his waist.

  He pushed the hood off his head. Dark, wavy hair shielded a pair of green eyes, which held more emotion than his young face displayed. The man opened his hand, palm down and waved it over the ground. Grass sprung up from the soil. A dandelion came to life.

  Awestruck, Cyndra inched closer and knelt down to touch the grass. “You did that?”

  He nodded. The man turned his other hand palm side up. He had the same raised triangle on his skin.

  “Okay…I, uh—”

  When a fireball materialized above his hand, Cyndra shrieked and jumped back, clutching her sai despite the heat strengthened under her skin.

  “How did you do that?”

  He shrugged and extinguished the fireball as a frown fell to his face. The man made a fist and rubbed a circle on his chest. Something about this seemed familiar. Hope filled his eyes for a moment and began moving his hands at a rapid speed.

  Cyndra shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  The man’s hands fell to his side and he nodded. Then he tapped his throat.

  “You can’t speak? Oh! Stupid me…I’m sorry, I don’t know the hand symbols,” she said, wincing, aware that wasn’t the right term.

  He smirked and slipped his pendant beneath his vest. When he made a walking gesture with his fingers and motioned down the path in the direction she was heading, Cyndra debated her next move. Less than two miles and she’d be on the outskirts of town. The weekend afforded her a chance to get as far away from the village as possible before anyone noticed the pile of dead old man in her trailer. Company was never part of the equation, yet given what she’d done and seen him do, he may be able to answers some questions before she reached Pristy’s house.

  Two heads were better than one, as the old saying went, so Cyndra nodded, shoved her sai back into her belt, and gripped the straps of her backpack, heading in the town’s direction.

  She continued down the path, growing more concerned by the minute. The man stayed to her left, a few steps back, happily unaware of her inner turmoil. After everything that happened, her paranoid mind kept jumping to various, terrifying conclusions. Without a way to communicate properly with her traveling companion, Cyndra stayed quiet until she had something useful to say.

  As they left the shade of the woods and reached the paved road leading into town, Cyndra pulled a faded army bucket hat out of her pack pocket and set it on her head. The man didn’t seem to mind the bright sun, rather turned his face to it, and smiled again.

  Wishing she shared his cheery mood, Cyndra carried on toward the outskirts of town, coming upon the abandoned and broken homes and buildings scattered across the land. Scavenged long ago, she bypassed them without a second look only to glance back to see her companion’s eyes wide with sad bewilderment.

  “You’re not from the EZ are you?”

  He shook his head.

  Cyndra twisted her mouth. “Southzone?”

  He shook again.

  “Westie?”

  The man nodded.

  “You came through the darklands?”

  He grinned.

  Cyndra shuddered.

  The man’s green eyes narrowed as he snatched a knife from his belt. On instinct, she drew her sai, again feeling her hand and weapon heat up. Realizing his focus was elsewhere, she followed his gaze to the right.

  A woman and man about her twice her age materialized in the same fashion as the old man wearing similar pristine clothing. Their whited-out eyes locked on her companion.

  “You cannot escape us, Rune, the Shield is gone,” the woman called, providing at least one answer.

  He made two v’s with his fingers mashed them together and pointed at the man.

  “Still a rude little boy,” the man said as he flexed his fingers and gaz
ed in her direction. “I know your eyes.”

  “What the shit?” Cyndra gasped, stepping backward as the temperature of her hand increased.

  The woman, moving faster than seemed possible, rushed forward. Rune’s knife sliced through the air, nearly missing her nose. She skidded to a stop.

  “Bring the wraiths here,” the strange man said before turning in Cyndra’s direction.

  The heat spread through her body again. Cyndra tried containing the sensation to her arm so it wouldn’t explode outward. Her hand trembled, but she focused harder, she refused to kill anyone else.

  Flames encased her fingers, the blade, and prongs of her sai. Cyndra screeched and dropped the weapon. The fire disappeared, but the warmth remained.

  “Your ignorance will destroy you,” the man snapped, darting forward with his hand outstretched.

  Rune rammed into the man sideways, tackling him to the ground, and leaving Cyndra with the woman who stared blankly up into the air oblivious to the fighting.

  Not ready to face anything called a wraith, Cyndra ignored the grunts and deep thuds of punches behind her and unclasped her go-bag. She ran toward the woman and whacked her across the head, knocking her out with one hard swing.

  Rune scrambled to his feet and staggered toward her while trying to catch his breath. He paused to pick up her sai and one of his knives and then approached with yet another smile on his face. When he brushed his hands together in self-congratulations, Cyndra rolled her eyes and stripped her sai out of his grasp. Just as she was about to ask the first of a hundred questions, two sets of silver eyes emerged from the woods.

  No, four wraiths.

  Wisps of black smoke mixed with tendrils of dark blue fabric to form a cloaked figure with a silver face. Rune, frozen at her side, gaped at the wraiths as they floated between the thick dead trunks of the ghostwood trees.

  “You see these before?”

  Rune shook his head, lifting his weaponized hands.