The Crystal's Chosen Read online

  The Crystal Trilogy Book 1:

  The Crystal’s Chosen

  Trenna McMullin

  Dedicated to:

  All my teachers—from elementary school to high school and college.

  &

  To my family, for all your love and support.

  Prologue

  In places long forgotten and times perhaps not yet come, Good and Evil battle.

  It is oft said that good will always prevail over evil, though some discount this and insist that evil is predominant—for what must one do but look around to perceive pain and suffering? But in this they are all mistaken.

  Without the evil, we would not know the good.

  Without darkness, light has no meaning.

  And so, there is one guiding influence that shapes both destiny and fate:

  Opposition.

  Stars die, planets are born, and empty places are filled in the darkness of space. Down through the ages there has been a continual dying and rebirth, nothing ever truly being destroyed or created, but rather, changed: life passing to death, chaos giving way to order, joy replacing sorrow. Good and Evil are opposites, each necessary to hold the universe in its place—balancing in perfect equilibrium.

  It is the very foundation upon which all existence is built: love and hate, peace and war, Light and Darkness.

  …and then the balance was tipped.

  ~The Book of Druids, Volume I

  Chapter 1: Shattered Pieces

  The sun burned brightly from its place high above the city of Coledria, casting its rays indifferently upon the people who scurried about the bustling streets of the crowded metropolis. Elaborate buildings in the city center steadily gave way to simpler houses and inns. Just outside the main city walls farmers toiled in their fields, plowing up the rich soil with great clouds of dust billowing around them like thunderheads before a rainstorm. It was planting season.

  In one field just to the south of the city, two men worked side by side. They bent nearly double, stabbing at the ground feverishly with their iron tools to break up hard clumps of dirt, occasionally stooping further to pick up a rock and fling it to the side. Finally, one man straightened with a groan and wiped the sweat from his brow, squinting up at the sun to check the time. It was nearly noon. He had been working for hours now and most of the field still stretched before him. Glancing at his brother Jace, he saw that the younger man had also taken a moment to rest.

  “Hot day, eh Luc?” Jace commented, running a hand through his tousled brown hair to keep it back from his face.

  Luc nodded in agreement. “Maybe we should—”

  Something dark flickered on the edge of his vision. He broke off and turned to look, but there was nothing there. Turning back to his brother, he started to finish his sentence, but there it was again: a shadow just on the perimeter of his sight…

  “Should what? Luc, are you okay?” Jace’s voice pulled his thoughts back to the conversation.

  “I’m fine…did you see that?”

  “See what?”

  “That shadow…”

  Jace shook his head and glanced sidelong at his older brother. “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe it’s a touch of heat sickness. You wanna take a rest, go sit in the shade?”

  “No, it was just…never mind, let’s get back to work. I want to finish this before El gets back from town tomorrow.”

  Jace nodded and picked up his shovel again to stab down at the expectant earth. He glanced back at Luc and saw his brother staring blankly at a point to his left.

  “Light! Are you gonna make me finish this on my own? Come on!”

  Luc nodded absently, blinking to clear his vision, and went back to work. The field wasn’t going to plow itself.

  * * * * *

  The bells chimed midday and Ky’ara shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The carriage was moving far too slow for her anxious mind. Did the driver not understand that she was already late? She peeked out the window at the people who thronged the city square, then looked ahead towards her destination. The Council Gardens were close, but slow-moving peasants’ carts laden with goods for the market crowded the cobblestones ahead of her carriage, unwittingly blocking her way.

  Ky’ara sat back and tugged irritably at the neck of her council robes. The interior of the carriage was shaded and cool, but her ceremonial garb rubbed annoyingly at her throat. She glanced out the window again. They had only moved a few paces farther. This simply would not do.

  “Driver!” she called, “Stop the carriage!”

  Not like we were moving anyways, she thought to herself as she threw open the door and leapt out, startling the footman who had come to help her down.

  “Here.” She thrust some coins at him and took off down the side of the street, clutching the skirt of her robe in one hand and sprinting past the startled peasants with their carts.

  This is exactly the type of thing I am supposed to avoid, she thought wryly, Uncle will be furious.

  But there was no help for it: if she waited in the carriage she would miss the meeting, and then she would really feel his wrath. Finally, she broke through the edge of the crowd and stopped, panting, at the entrance to the Gardens. She waited as one disgruntled guard unlocked and opened the large, elaborate steel gate for her.

  Yes, I am late, she thought, annoyed at the knowing glance the two guardsmen shared as she slipped through the opening, why should you care?

  Once she had rounded the corner, she left the path and sprinted across the immaculate green lawn, her long auburn hair streaming out behind her. Without following the intricately curving walkway, she quickly reached her destination: a wide stone tower near the center of the complex. Its sand-scrubbed marble gleamed in the afternoon light.

  A hurriedly muttered pass-code got her past the sentries at the door. She stepped inside only to be assaulted by a torrent of noise and flurry of movement as bureaucrats scribbled notes and rushed to and fro accomplishing the various tasks that kept the government of Tirem functioning smoothly.

  “Your cloak, Milady?” the steward inquired politely. Ky’ara hurriedly shed the bulky cape, thinking again how ridiculous it was on such a hot day—but Mier had insisted.

  “How late am I, Perrin?’ she asked, glancing at her reflection in a nearby window to smooth her hair and tug her robe back into place.

  “Ah, I believe everyone else arrived over fifteen minutes ago,” the serious but kindly old man replied, staring ahead respectfully.

  “Shades!” Ky’ara yelped, unable to contain herself, “I’d better get up there!”

  She hurried across the entry hall, not quite running. As soon as she reached the stairs she abandoned dignity and dashed up two at a time. Why, today of all days, did she have to be late? Especially after her uncle had visited just to remind her…

  “I already know about the meeting tomorrow. Although I appreciate the reminder, your visit was not needed.” Ky’ara stood across from her uncle defiantly. She kept her tone completely passive, but her stance betrayed her agitation.

  “This council meeting will be different from the others you’ve attended! The king will be there at the end to perform the quarterly review.” Cor’tien Si Lafeno was a tall man with a stately demeanor, but now his normally diplomatic features were twisted in frustration and contempt. He began to pace agitatedly.

  “Don’t embarrass me by wearing the gaudy styles young people seem to enjoy now days! Dress in black, grey, or brown…”

  “Uncle, I hardly think I need to be told how to dress—” Ky’ara cut in, her tone finally exhibiting her annoyance, but Cor’tien ignored her and continued his lecture.

  “…and leave your hair down! I want to emphasize your youth. As the youngest Council member e
ver elected you have a reputation to uphold. Do not be late.” He paused and gave her a scathing look. “Do you understand?”

  Ky’ara nodded curtly, tired of arguing.

  “Good.” Her uncle turned with a swish of his expensive black cloak, and left.

  Ky’ara recalled the strict tone with which he had lectured her, still hurt by his lack of faith in her. The annoying thing was he had been right to be worried. She was late, and worse, everyone knew it.

  After reaching the top of her fourth flight of stairs, she hurried down a hallway, her robe rustling loudly in the otherwise distinctly empty corridor. Ky’ara continued past the large, ornate double doors that led into the Grand Council Chamber and headed for a smaller door near the back of the room where just maybe she could slip into her seat without being noticed.

  She reached for the handle, and then paused. Something didn’t feel quite right. Glancing back down the hallway, she realized what it was. There were no guards at the doors. They couldn’t be inside the room, Council meetings were generally highly confidential. The walls and doors of this chamber were thick enough to be soundproof specifically so the guards would not hear what was discussed. But where else would they go? Why would they leave their posts?

  Ky’ara shoved these thoughts aside, quietly opened the door, and stepped inside. The sight that greeted her was so different from what she had expected that she stopped in her tracks and stared numbly around the room.

  There was no one there.

  Thoroughly disquieted, she turned back to leave—and hesitated as a whiff of tainted air reached her. She gagged, covering her mouth and nose with a sleeve, and moved towards the center aisle where her view would be unimpeded by desks and pews. What she saw shocked her, and she dropped her arm only to be instantly slammed with the sharp scent of blood and the reek of burnt flesh. Councilors littered the floor near the front entrance of the room. Their bodies, maimed so terribly that many were unidentifiable, were scattered haphazardly on the rich scarlet carpeting.

  Ky’ara turned away, falling to her knees and retching uncontrollably. Finally, when nothing more could force itself up, she steeled herself, stood, and turned back to the grisly scene. Her eyes involuntarily sought out recognizable features…There, near the center of the group lay her uncle. His body was contorted grotesquely, his limbs covered in glossy black burns that flickered slightly in her peripheral vision—an indication that they could only have been caused by one thing:

  “Magic!” she gasped.

  After a moment of looking at her Uncle’s mangled form, she turned again to leave. A faint sound echoed through the putrid air, and Ky’ara paused, listening.

  “Ky—ara…”

  This time it was more distinct. The girl looked out over the bodies, her eyes searching for the source…

  A’kiina, her uncle’s bodyguard, lay near the back of the group. Her leg was twisted grotesquely underneath her, stark white bone showing through the charred black flesh. A dark red gash crossed her chest, slowly soaking her uniform with blood.

  “A’kiina, what happened here?” Ky’ara asked, rushing to the woman’s side. She cradled the woman’s head in her lap despite the blood that trickled from a cut above A’kiina’s eyebrow.

  “Your uncle, he’s…we were attacked,” A’kiina murmured, struggling to speak, “by Elrackon. Just as we came in—they appeared out of nowhere…”

  Ky’ara drew back in surprise at this statement. Although Elrackon trolls were not as big as their cousins, the Ungh, or as fast as DiekSyth trolls, they were still larger, stronger, and faster than most humans, and they were the only breed to possess innate magical power. Even A’kiina—the best swordsman Ky’ara had ever known—could be no match for more than one or two Elrackon. It was no wonder there were no survivors in the Council.

  Even as all this information ran through her head, Ky’ara realized she must be in shock. She had instantly believed A’kiina despite one very important fact—according to official reports Elrackon hadn’t been seen in Tirem for over a hundred years.

  Suddenly A’kiina began to cough loudly, hacking up blood. Ky’ara looked down in alarm. She quickly took stock of the wounds her uncle’s bodyguard had sustained and realized with a heavy heart that there was little chance that A’kiina would survive.

  “Why would anyone do this?” Ky’ara asked through the tears that suddenly welled up and spilled from her eyes.

  “It’s…my fault,” A’kiina whispered. “They must have found out…” she paused, fumbling for something in her pocket. “Here.” She held out a small object and placed it in Ky’ara’s hand, closing her own fingers over the girl’s. “Keep it safe…I’m—” Her voice cracked and she coughed up more blood, breathing shallowly. “I’m sorry…Find them, they’ll help you.”

  “Find who?” Ky’ara asked urgently, “Who should I find?”

  A’kiina’s only response was to close her eyes and turn away, coughing so deeply that Ky’ara was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stop. But soon the spasm passed. The hall was silent save for the painful, rasping noise that was A’kiina’s breathing, and the throbbing of Ky’ara’s own heart. Tears flowed openly down her cheeks and she bent her head as grief overwhelmed her.

  “They…in Doraicolé…find them.”

  Ky’ara’s head came up upon hearing the woman’s hoarse voice again. A’kiina moved her head, agonizingly slow, and locked eyes with the girl. “Take my sword,” she whispered painfully.

  “What?” Ky’ara cried. A’kiina loved her sword! It had been passed down through her family for ages, and her father had chosen to give to her, rather than one of her brothers. And she never let anyone touch it let alone use it.

  “Here…take it.” A’kiina struggled to unbuckle the sword belt and sheath from around her waist, and then held the weapon up for the stunned girl to grab.

  “I—I couldn’t,” Ky’ara whispered, shaking her head.

  “Shades, girl! Just…take the blasted—” A’kiina’s angry tone was cut off by another hacking cough. It was almost too much to bear.

  Ky’ara reached for the proffered blade and lifted it from the woman’s grasp. A’kiina brought up a hand and touched Ky’ara on the cheek, whispering something in an unfamiliar language. Slowly but deliberately a powerful tingling sensation crept through Ky’ara’s body, starting from the place where A’kiina’s hand rested. The sensation paused for a moment, and then sudden warmth surged through her.

  “Use it well…” A’kiina whispered, and she let her hand drop, a slow sigh escaping her lips for the last time.

  Ky’ara stood and gently closed A’kiina’s lifeless eyes. She buckled on the sword belt and clenched her hand tightly around the object A’kiina had given her. A strange calmness came over her, and she wiped away the final tears that spilled from her eyes. Filled with determination, she turned and ran to inform the King.

  * * * * *

  Luc sat outside the interrogation room, fidgeting nervously on the glossy wooden bench. He stared around at the exotic flowers and perfectly trimmed hedges that lined the walkways of the Gardens, but his eyes were inevitably drawn back to the cold white marble of the perfectly symmetrical building that sat indifferently before him. Rumors of something unusual happening at the Council had spread through the market and to the countryside quicker than a plague in summertime and Luc was convinced that what he had seen had something to do with it. Jace had scoffed at him for thinking it was important. In fact, he had tried to convince Luc not to bother telling anyone. But Luc had come anyways, stopping only to visit their booth in the market and talk to El. She had thought him silly for coming as well. “They won’t listen to you, even if it is somehow related,” his wife had warned. Maybe she was right. He had been waiting here for hours.

  The inanimate sentries stared forward, but to Luc it seemed that their eyes were boring through him, sizing up his muddy boots and ragged shirt. He smoothed his hair reflexively, and then realized that he was squirming. He jerked his hands
back to his lap where they immediately began tugging nervously at the edge of his shirt.

  He didn’t belong here.

  * * * * *

  “I have explained this to you twice already: I. Was. Late. When I arrived they were already dead! Perrin saw me come in…he took my cloak for me at the door.” Ky’ara said exasperatedly, trying to keep a hold on her temper. She glanced out the window at the man sitting on the bench and wondered briefly why he was there.

  “Let me get this straight,” the interrogator stated, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on the desk in front of him. “You are the niece of Cor’tien Si Lafeno—a seventeen year old novice council member with little more than three months experience. You were late for a meeting at which your uncle specifically warned you not to embarrass him. You claim that the only person still alive when you found them was your uncle’s bodyguard, A’kiina Gighu…and the only person you have to vouch for you is the doorman?”

  Ky’ara nodded, shaking as she struggled to contain the annoyance that was starting to build inside her. She had managed to intercept the King and his retainers en route to the meeting and explain briefly what had happened. Now, while officials and physicians studied the scene of the assassinations and removed the bodies to be prepared for burial, she was being questioned by an overbearing, pompous, idiot of man. All he had done since she had been put in his custody was imply that her testimony was not accurate or even plausible. Meanwhile, she was struggling not to have a complete emotional breakdown. The peasant outside had been waiting for over an hour. This interrogator was just wasting everyone’s time.

  “Answer the question please.” The man tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk and stared at her condescendingly.

  “Excuse me,” Ky’ara replied, breaking from her thoughts, “could you repeat it, please?”

  The man sighed, and looked down at the notes he had taken from her answers to previous questions. “You said earlier that, according to the bodyguard, a group of trolls attacked them, and that you yourself confirmed this from the magic you could see lingering over some of the councilors’ wounds.”