Krymzyn (The Journals of Krymzyn Book 1) by BC Powell Read Free Book Online Page A

Darkness falls.”
    “You never have, like, a boyfriend or husband or partner ?”
    “I don’t know the meaning of those words,” she says.
    “You never have sex ?” I blurt out, but wish I’d bitten my tongue again.
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Whatever goes on in the Ritual of Balance. Mating maybe?” I ask, happy that “mating” translates.
    “Only if one is chosen for the Ritual,” she answers.
    Sash walks around the base of a hill and I follow. I’m still confused and want to ask more about how hair color defines purpose but decide that I have enough information to absorb for now. What she told me explains why, in my mind, she always seems to have such a sad, lonely expression on her face.
    We walk into a narrow gorge of grass-lined ridges. An oval door constructed of black granite stone is tucked into the crease at the foot of the hill. She leads me to it, grasps a brushed-metal knob, and opens the door.
    “Follow me inside,” she says.
    I crouch behind her as we enter a dark, narrow tunnel of black crystalline stone. Darkness surrounds us when she closes the door.
    “Awaken,” Sash calls out.
    At the end of the long tunnel, soft amber light slowly illuminates an opening. We slink towards the light, and I gasp when we enter the spacious cavern.
    My eyes are instantly pulled to a high-domed ceiling, a sprawling crystal garden like the inside of a geode. Sharp spikes refract pinpoints of gold light from within. I stare at tiny bright spheres that seem to float like gravity-defying flakes of snow inside the fragmented crystal.
    “Swirls,” Sash says, seeing my dazed expression. “Tiny creatures of light that dwell in the stone.”
    “How do they live in there?” I ask.
    “They feed on minerals in the crystal. The proper sound from my voice causes them to illuminate or darken.”
    Sash walks across a smooth dark-blue quartz floor that dully reflects the light from overhead. The floor is polished but doesn’t feel slippery beneath my bare feet as I follow her into the cavern. The walls are the same quartz as the floor, rich blue-gray with dull red and amber veins. A gentle rush of flowing water echoes through an opening at the far end of the cavern.
    She slips the pack from her back and hangs it on a metallic rack fastened to the wall. Another pack filled with the short stakes hangs beside it. She leans her spear against the wall, locking it into a clasp beside the rack.
    I glance to the other side of the oval cavern. A large mattress-like pad lies on the ground by the wall across from us, longer than a king-sized bed but about the same width. It’s covered by white fabric that looks like brushed cotton with two large, well-stuffed white pillows on top. I don’t see any sheets or blankets for the bed.
    “You live here alone?” I ask.
    “Yes,” she replies. “This is my habitat.”
    “It’s really incredible,” I say.
    “I hope you feel comfortable while you’re here,” she answers sincerely.
    The air in the room feels exactly like the outside in Krymzyn, void of temperature. In this world, no one ever shivers from a winter chill, bundles in soft wool blankets, or warms themselves by a fire. In Krymzyn, the temperature just is.
    “How old are you?” I ask.
    “I’ve reached the height of purpose, completed my Apprenticeship, and now fulfill my purpose.”
    “No, I just mean in years ,” I say, but “years” never translates.
    “I don’t understand,” she says.
    “How do you measure time here? Like a person’s age?”
    “A person’s age is measured by their height, so one who is young is shorter, one who is old is taller. The greater passage of time is measured by the tenure of the same seven Disciples in service together, called an Era.”
    “What happens when someone stops growing?”
    “Our growth in height begins at birth and ends at death,” she says. “It slows as we grow older, but we always gain height.”
    I guess that explains why everyone I’ve seen here