still at least five inches taller than I am. There’s neither happiness nor sadness in his expression. Not anger, not calm—just a blank stare. I decide that, despite the sharp angles in his face, nose, cheekbones, and chin, the simmering amber in his black-lined eyes, and the vibrant orange highlights in his black hair, he’s a strangely good-looking man. He’s a little on the freaky side to be sure, but he’s handsome, kind of like a mid-forties European model in a luxury sports car commercial.
“I remember you,” I say calmly. “What’s your name?”
He drops to one knee, seeming to ignore me, and sinks the fingertips of one hand into the ground. He whispers something inaudible before standing again.
“I’m called Tork,” he replies, studying me carefully. “I’ve been told you were here during Darkness.”
“That tree over there”—I point to the meadow—“would have killed me if Sash hadn’t saved me.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he replies with true concern in his voice. “I must tell you, we Disciples are quite confused by your arrival during Darkness. No Teller other than you has ever been in Krymzyn when Darkness has descended.”
“How do you know no other Teller has been here during Darkness?” I ask. “A Teller may have been killed before you even knew about it.”
“As I told you when you were smaller,” Tork replies firmly, “the atmosphere announces the arrival of Tellers to us. With the exception of you, Tellers always arrive on the Telling Hill in Sanctuary. We’d be quite aware of a strange corpse anywhere else in Krymzyn.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“If words are spoken in Krymzyn,” he chastises me with the same irritated look I remember from when I was younger, “they are the truth.”
“So will Sash know I’m here? I’d like to thank her for saving me.”
“Only the Disciples are told of a Teller’s arrival, but I’ve summoned her to meet us.”
“Thank you. It means a lot to me.”
“Let’s proceed to Sanctuary,” he says, pointing one hand in the direction from which he came.
As I walk beside him, I glance over my shoulder at the valley behind us. I see that we’re heading in the opposite direction from Sash’s cavern—or habitat, as she called it.
“I apologize again if you were at risk during your previous visit,” Tork says to me as we walk. “I trust you don’t feel any threat upon your return.”
“No, I feel fine. I’m actually happy —satisfied—I got to come back before . . .” I correct the word that doesn’t translate but stop talking before I finish my sentence. I don’t want to mention that, on my plane, I’m in the middle of having my head cut open.
“Before what?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “I don’t know why I said that.”
He scrutinizes my face, and I know that he knows I’m lying. In a strange way, I feel guilty. It’s the same type of guilt I felt while staring at Sash when she took her clothes off. There’s a sense of purity, honesty, to everyone I’ve seen here, excluding the Murkovin. It just seems to emanate from their being.
“What direction are we walking?” I ask, wanting to quickly change the subject. After years of cross-country running, it’s a habit of mine, always wanting to have my bearings.
“We walk south,” he replies. The word hangs a little while in the air but eventually translates.
“So, you have north, south, east, and west?”
“Of course,” he says as though I’ve asked the dumbest question ever.
“How do you know which is which?”
“The light always points north in Krymzyn. Always to the north.”
I look up to the sky and, for the first time, notice that all the rays of light are basically pointing in the same direction.
“Do these clouds ever go away?” I ask.
“Never,” he says. “The light from behind would be blinding if not for the clouds.”
“What makes the light?”
“Energy,” Tork answers, but the word
“I remember you,” I say calmly. “What’s your name?”
He drops to one knee, seeming to ignore me, and sinks the fingertips of one hand into the ground. He whispers something inaudible before standing again.
“I’m called Tork,” he replies, studying me carefully. “I’ve been told you were here during Darkness.”
“That tree over there”—I point to the meadow—“would have killed me if Sash hadn’t saved me.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he replies with true concern in his voice. “I must tell you, we Disciples are quite confused by your arrival during Darkness. No Teller other than you has ever been in Krymzyn when Darkness has descended.”
“How do you know no other Teller has been here during Darkness?” I ask. “A Teller may have been killed before you even knew about it.”
“As I told you when you were smaller,” Tork replies firmly, “the atmosphere announces the arrival of Tellers to us. With the exception of you, Tellers always arrive on the Telling Hill in Sanctuary. We’d be quite aware of a strange corpse anywhere else in Krymzyn.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“If words are spoken in Krymzyn,” he chastises me with the same irritated look I remember from when I was younger, “they are the truth.”
“So will Sash know I’m here? I’d like to thank her for saving me.”
“Only the Disciples are told of a Teller’s arrival, but I’ve summoned her to meet us.”
“Thank you. It means a lot to me.”
“Let’s proceed to Sanctuary,” he says, pointing one hand in the direction from which he came.
As I walk beside him, I glance over my shoulder at the valley behind us. I see that we’re heading in the opposite direction from Sash’s cavern—or habitat, as she called it.
“I apologize again if you were at risk during your previous visit,” Tork says to me as we walk. “I trust you don’t feel any threat upon your return.”
“No, I feel fine. I’m actually happy —satisfied—I got to come back before . . .” I correct the word that doesn’t translate but stop talking before I finish my sentence. I don’t want to mention that, on my plane, I’m in the middle of having my head cut open.
“Before what?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “I don’t know why I said that.”
He scrutinizes my face, and I know that he knows I’m lying. In a strange way, I feel guilty. It’s the same type of guilt I felt while staring at Sash when she took her clothes off. There’s a sense of purity, honesty, to everyone I’ve seen here, excluding the Murkovin. It just seems to emanate from their being.
“What direction are we walking?” I ask, wanting to quickly change the subject. After years of cross-country running, it’s a habit of mine, always wanting to have my bearings.
“We walk south,” he replies. The word hangs a little while in the air but eventually translates.
“So, you have north, south, east, and west?”
“Of course,” he says as though I’ve asked the dumbest question ever.
“How do you know which is which?”
“The light always points north in Krymzyn. Always to the north.”
I look up to the sky and, for the first time, notice that all the rays of light are basically pointing in the same direction.
“Do these clouds ever go away?” I ask.
“Never,” he says. “The light from behind would be blinding if not for the clouds.”
“What makes the light?”
“Energy,” Tork answers, but the word
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