Krymzyn (The Journals of Krymzyn Book 1) (20 page)

Eval’s face softens with understanding. “While not customary on our plane to dwell with another,” she says, “I do recognize the benefit to you.”

“Thank you,” I say, bowing my head to her.

I begin to shake, feel dizzy, and collapse to my knees. When I look up at Sash, she crosses her hands over chest, and embraces me in her eyes.

“Sash,” I call to her, “when I return, I won’t ever leave again.”

Ally left on Saturday afternoon, both of us maintaining brave faces as we said good-bye. I promised to call her after I told Mom and Dad about the surgery. She wanted to schedule a flight home to be with me during a procedure that would never happen. The truth was, I wasn’t going to my surgery on Monday, and I would never say a word to my parents.

Mom, Dad, and I spent a quiet evening together, but I stayed up almost all night making a few important revisions to the painting for them. Casey kept me company in my studio, although he snored most of the night. Early Sunday morning, I took him for the last walk we’d ever share together.

Back at our house, I covered the framed canvas with a sheet before loading it into my car. I then had to spend thirty minutes alone in my room to muster enough courage for the most difficult moment of my life. When I said good-bye to my parents, I struggled to avoid a breakdown in front of them.

Severe headaches rarely came in the morning, which is why I’d chosen early Sunday to drive back to my apartment. I made it about a block before I had to pull over, but not from fear of a seizure. I couldn’t see because of the tears that filled my eyes. Maybe how Davis had left was better—not having to say good-bye, not knowing that, when he fell asleep one night, he’d seen his family for the last time.

I’d given almost two weeks of thought to what his family had gone through during the months and months of his fight, the toll it had taken on them. My family had been through enough. A sudden shock would be easier for them to recover from than months, or even years, of prolonged agony.

I spent Sunday afternoon adding the most recent events in Krymzyn to my journals. When evening came, it took me a while to gather enough strength for the last phone call I had to make. Connor had been working long hours in production on a documentary. He’d only had time to stop by my family’s house once during the prior week. I’d invited him to go to the beach with us, but he hadn’t been able to get out of work that day. When I felt like my emotions were reined in, I dialed Connor’s number.

“Hey, Chase. What’s going on?” he answered.

“Not much,” I said. “Are you finally getting a break?”

“Yeah, I am. We’re done with the shoot for now. I’m sorry I couldn’t spend more time with you guys last week.”

“No problem. I know what it’s like, but we were all glad you stopped by.”

“Ally looked great!” he exclaimed. “I really enjoyed seeing her.”

I paused for several seconds, momentarily confused by the tone of his voice. It instantly made me forget about the real purpose of this call.

“You have a thing for my sister,” I finally said.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “She’s really cute, Chase. I mean, she’s grown up now, and she’s always been smart. We’re into a lot of the same things and . . . I just feel good when I’m around her.”

I didn’t really hear the individual words, but I understood their meaning. “You have a thing for my sister,” I absentmindedly repeated.

A feeling of warm comfort suddenly spread through me as I tried to digest my own words. Connor was the most honorable, loyal, respectful guy I’d ever known. He would never do anything to hurt Ally. Connor broke the silence.

“Look, if it makes you uncomfortable, or you’re not cool with it, I’ll just—”

“No!” I interrupted loudly. “I think it’s awesome.”

“Thanks, Chase. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it. She and I have been e-mailing and texting for a while. Maybe we can hook up for a beer one night this week and talk more about it.”

The reality of the phone call hit me again. I clenched my jaw, took a deep breath, and tried to speak in a normal voice.

“I’m really crazed at work the next few days,” I lied, “but later in the week should work.”

“Perfect,” he said.

“Listen, in a couple of days, I’m going to be sending you a picture of a painting I did and something I want to you read.”

“What is it?” Connor asked.

“Just something I’ve been working on for a while, but it’s important to me. More important than anything I’ve ever done.”

“I’ll look at it the second you send it.”

“Connor, I want to tell you something.” I had to pause again and use everything inside me to say the words without my voice betraying me. “No matter what, you always stood by me. I just want you to know I knew that. You’re the best friend anyone ever had.”

A few seconds of silence passed before he spoke. “What’s going on Chase?” he asked.

“Nothing bad. I promise. I was just thinking about old times last week, being at home and all, and wanted to tell you that.”

“Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “I just don’t think I ever told you how much it meant that you were always there for me.”

“It goes both ways,” he replied.

I had to end the phone call. My voice was starting to get hoarse, and I didn’t know how much longer I could suppress the swelling in my throat and chest.

“I have a lot of work to finish for tomorrow,” I said quietly. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Chase,” he said. “Are you sure everything’s cool?”

“Couldn’t be better. I’ll see you later this week, and keep your eyes open for an e-mail from me.”

“You got it.”

“Connor, I’m really happy about you and Ally. I hope it works out.”

“Thanks, Chase. That means everything to me.”

“Take care,” I said.

“You too.”

After we hung up, it took a few minutes before the numbness subsided enough for me to move. I scheduled an e-mail to automatically send to him two days from that night. I attached a digital photo of the painting I’d made for my family and a copy of my journals. I typed one word in the body of the e-mail.

“Believe.”

*             *             *

An hour later, when I looked at the painting for my family one last time, I was again amazed at how closely my Vision of the Future had matched what I’d already put on the canvas. I didn’t know if it was coincidence, serendipity, or fate. The painting I’d shown Ally originally had depicted Sash and me standing on the Tall Hill, holding hands. Each of us had held a spear in our other hand.

In my revisions, I’d had to remove the spears. To my side, I’d added a beautiful little girl, her hand tightly grasped in mine. She looked exactly how I’d imagined Sash would’ve looked at the age of six, with brilliant black waves flowing over the shoulders of her lean frame.

I’d also added a little boy standing beside Sash with his hand in hers. He looked remarkably like I did when I was four—if my hair had been black. Both of the children, as I’d seen in my Vision of the Future, had blue eyes the exact same shade as mine. I guessed that boys looking exactly like their fathers and girls looking like their mothers just ran in my family’s blood.

I stored my journals on a flash drive for my family to read and put it inside an envelope with a note that simply read: “Please read the manuscript carefully. I love you.” I guess you could say it was my farewell suicide note—for my life on Earth, anyway.

My hope was that, once Mom, Dad, Ally, and Connor had read all I’d written over the years combined with the conversation I’d had with Ally, they’d realize that everything that had happened to me in Krymzyn since I was twelve had been real. The same amber light had shown up the second time I’d recorded my seizure, so they’d see those videos as well.

When they sensed the realism in my painting for them, the passion I’d put into it, and the unconditional love displayed in the eyes of Sash, me, and our children, that’s the moment I hoped it would sink in for them. That’s the moment I hoped they’d know as an absolute truth, hoped they’d feel deep inside exactly what I’d known and felt when I’d sat with Sash watching the children of Krymzyn play a game of Red Rover.

In Krymzyn, I’d be alive in a way I could never have been in this world, on this plane. I’d be free of cancer and tumors and pain. But I’d be more than just alive, because I’d be happy, healthy, and fulfilling my purpose in life. And more than anything else, I’d be completely, totally, and perfectly in love with the only woman I’d ever belonged with. I’d found my balance in Krymzyn.

The amber rays weren’t my only discovery from the recordings of my seizures. I’d learned that they always lasted exactly seven seconds on Earth. From amber burst to amber burst, exactly seven seconds. Imagine that.

I’d also discovered that, every time a seizure started, immediately after the light in my eyes showed up, my hands jerked away from my body with tremendous force. Certainly enough force to pull a trigger after I was already taken to Krymzyn.

A dull headache had started after the phone call with Connor. The pain gradually grew as the evening wore on. Everything was already in place for what I’d have to do, so I sat at my desk and waited. When my next seizure started, my life here would end. But in that world, an infinite plane of existence called Krymzyn, my new life would begin.

The young woman with scarlet in her hair sits alone on the Empty Hill. Her spear rests by her side on the ground, a sap-filled pitcher in her hands. She stares at the motionless sustaining tree in the meadow below her.

A woman, the tallest of the Disciples, strolls from the north into the meadow. Following a long talk with the children, telling them wondrous stories of other planes, she returns to Sanctuary. The Disciple sees the young woman, walks almost to the crest of the Empty Hill, and stops in front of where the young woman sits.

“You wait for him,” the Disciple says.

“He’ll need sap when he arrives,” the young woman answers, her eyes never leaving the tree.

“Why?” the Disciple asks.

“I was shown his arrival in a dream,” the young woman replies. “He’ll be injured from what he must do in his world to stay here.”

“Any physical injuries from his world shouldn’t travel with him.”

“They will this time. His spectrum will still be in transition when the damage occurs, partially in both planes.”

The Disciple nods her understanding. “Your Vision of the Future came to pass in the river. Do the events all make sense to you now?”

“They do,” the young woman says, looking up to the Disciple’s eyes. “Thank you for your insights in the past.”

“If you had known the eventual outcome of the events on the rock, that knowledge may have influenced your decision to stay close to him. As it turned out, the feelings you share with him evolved despite believing he would be with you at your death. Nothing could be more genuine than what you feel for him.”

“I understand that now,” the young woman replies.

“I never doubted he would have a purpose here,” the Disciple says. “He stood up to face every challenge Krymzyn put in front of him. Instead of turning away in fear, he embraced the opportunity. The two of you truly belong together.”

“We do belong together, because we want to be together, not because we should be or have to be. We
love
each other, to use the word from his plane.”

“It must be strange to feel so much for one person, in addition to the whole.”

“It doesn’t lessen our dedication to Krymzyn,” the young woman says. “I believe we’re both stronger because of our
love
.”

“I believe so as well. He’s a very strong young man in many ways, intelligent, resourceful, and loyal. The Tree of Vision saw that in him.”

“I saw a strange vision during his Ritual,” the young woman says, “when the Tree took his mind into the future.”

“Do you want to share with me what you saw?” the Disciple asks.

The young woman looks up to the Disciple’s eyes. “When the light surrounded him, instead of his body, I saw myself kneeling at the Tree. My face looked as I did when I reached the height of purpose. My own image turned to me, but my eyes were blue. The same color as his.”

“How do you interpret the vision?” the Disciple asks.

“I’m not sure. Maybe it just means that we should both feel as though we’re one now, which we do. I’m confused by it.”

The Disciple glances around the empty meadow, steps to the top of the hill, and sits beside the young woman.

“Before my Ritual of Purpose,” the Disciple says with a thoughtful expression, “I hoped blue would be revealed in my hair, just as it was revealed in his hair. I know it’s wrong for a child to hope for one color over another, but I wanted to be a Traveler of Krymzyn.”

“Why did you want that?” the young woman asks.

“I wanted to feel my light crossing our plane as only the Travelers can. I wanted to travel south to the Great Falls, north to the Springs where the Serquatine dwell, to the west to stand at the edge of the Eternal Canyon, and to the Desert east of the Mount. I wanted to travel through the Infinite Expanse to see it stretch out in front of me.”

“Your wisdom as a Disciple is unsurpassed,” the young woman says. “All in Krymzyn appreciate and honor your service.”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I’m honored to serve as a Disciple. In retrospect, I was wrong to hope for anything else.”

“I feel privileged to live during your Era,” the young woman replies.

“And I,” the Disciple says, gazing deeply into the young woman’s eyes, “to witness the exceptional person you are and the events in your life. I know you never fully understood your Vision of the Future until it came to pass. Only recently have I understood mine. I believe I’m meant to share with you what I was shown in my Vision.”

“Why would you tell me of your Vision?”

“So you understand what you saw at his Ritual of Purpose. Your Vision of the Future weighed on your mind since your own Ritual. You’ve lived a brave, selfless life with the image of your death constantly in your eyes. I believe you deserve peace as you move forward with your life, and now that I understand my own Vision, I can give that to you.

“In my Vision,” the Disciple continues, “I was shown several events that have never occurred in Krymzyn. I saw a female Hunter holding a little girl in her arms. The Hunter had been chosen for the Ritual of Balance and given birth to that child. The Hunter was you, and the girl in your arms looked exactly as you did when you were a small child. I have such vivid memories of the way your face looked.

“But the girl you were holding had blue eyes passed on from the man who will be chosen to join you in the Ritual of Balance. Your relationship with that child will be different than any other in Krymzyn. As she grows, she’ll know you’re the woman who gave birth to her. I believe what you saw during his Ritual was a glimpse of her.”

A serene, peaceful smile slowly spreads across the young woman’s face. “Thank you,” she says warmly to the Disciple. “What I saw makes sense now.”

The Disciple stands and looks down at the young woman. “Do you know if he’ll arrive soon?”

“The next time I sleep, he’ll be beside me,” the young woman answers.

“The two of you should spend some time alone together before he begins his journey here. He may find his transition into our world and leaving his own difficult at first. When you’re both ready, then he can begin his Apprenticeship.”

“Thank you,” the young woman says, deep appreciation in her eyes.

The Disciple walks down the hill towards Sanctuary. As the young woman watches the Disciple, she tightens her grasp on the brushed-steel pitcher in her hands, curls her bare toes in the crimson blades of grass, and slowly inhales a long, deep breath.

“Were you ever chosen for the Ritual of Balance?” the young woman calls to the Disciple.

The Disciple stops walking. Another decisive moment is before her, a break with ways that have existed in Krymzyn since the beginning of time. She turns to face the young woman and stares into her eyes.

“I was chosen for the Ritual once. I was later in my life than when most are chosen.”

“Before I was born?”

“Yes,” the Disciple answers. “Before you were born.”

“But after the child born before me?” the young woman asks, already knowing the answer.

“I should say no more. You and I seem to often break with our ways, and change must come slowly.”

“Changing our ways,” the young woman says, “appears to be in our blood.”

“I believe you’re correct,” the Disciple replies, a hint of a smile appearing on her face. “Change is in our blood.”