takes a long time to translate.
We silently walk side by side at a brisk pace, up and down a hill and carefully around another weathered, red-leaved tree in the center of a meadow. Tork steers me on a path to avoid stepping on any of the branches on the ground, always keeping a buffer of a few feet between us, like a border collie guiding sheep while maintaining a safe distance.
“You must always be careful not to damage a sustaining tree while it sleeps,” he warns, noticing that I’m staring at the tips of the branches sunk into the ground. “You don’t want the tree to be angry when it awakens.”
“That may make more sense to me than anything else I’ve heard here,” I reply.
He doesn’t smile, laugh, or respond to my statement in any way. From talking to Sash, I learned that slang doesn’t fly in Krymzyn. I guess I can add sarcasm to that list.
As we climb a slightly larger hill, six tall, lean figures appear on the crest, all dressed in black pants and sleeveless black shirts. They all stand with their bare feet immersed in the red blades of grass. Black hair intertwined with bright orange strands tops their heads, metallic spears are clutched in their hands, and they examine me with intense amber eyes.
When we reach the top of the hill, Tork steps to the end of the row of what I assume are the Disciples, and to my shock, all seven figures bow to me. The tallest of the seven, oldest from what Sash had told me about how they measure age here, is a woman in the center of the row. She’s at least six foot six, taller than any kid, teacher, or coach at my school. She looks a little older than my parents, maybe fifty, but her sharp features can only be described as beautiful. With a spear clutched in one hand and a lean but muscular body, she’s an imposing figure.
“Finally, we meet the Teller Chase,” the tall woman declares, a commanding tone in her voice. “Although I’m beginning to wonder if your purpose here is actually something more than just Telling.”
Chapter 9
“I present Eval,” Tork says to me, “tallest of the Disciples currently in Krymzyn.”
I quickly remember every name I’ve heard in Krymzyn—Sash, Tork, Balt, Yoni, and now, Eval.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, my eyes glued to the tall woman. “Does everyone here have four letters in their name?”
“Quite astute of you to notice,” Eval replies. “Our naming convention is one letter for each of the four primary directions in Krymzyn.”
As she examines me, her eyes remind me of Sash. They look like Sash’s eyes, although it’s hard to tell since everyone here has catlike amber eyes lined in black. But their focus, the way I feel them as much as see them, all remind me of Sash.
“Can you explain why I’m here?” I ask.
“The only beings to visit Krymzyn from other worlds are Tellers,” she replies, “although the anomalies related to your visits raise many questions regarding your actual purpose here.”
“So what exactly is a Teller supposed to do?”
“Tellers arrive in Krymzyn from every other plane of existence at various points during the life cycles of those worlds. They tell us, the Disciples, details of life on their plane so that we’re confident balance properly exists there. If balance in one of those worlds is disturbed, Krymzyn may attempt to resolve the situation on that plane. In some situations, a plane may be allowed to self-destruct. Without this process, other planes couldn’t exist.”
“I’ve got news for you,” I say. “My plane exists with or without you and me.”
“Although you may believe all things everywhere to be as they are in your world,” she says firmly, “that belief is simply not a truth of existence.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re like God or something?”
“We’re Disciples of Krymzyn. Nothing more, nothing less.”
I scan the row of seven people, not really wanting to spend my entire visit in a religious or philosophical discussion.
We silently walk side by side at a brisk pace, up and down a hill and carefully around another weathered, red-leaved tree in the center of a meadow. Tork steers me on a path to avoid stepping on any of the branches on the ground, always keeping a buffer of a few feet between us, like a border collie guiding sheep while maintaining a safe distance.
“You must always be careful not to damage a sustaining tree while it sleeps,” he warns, noticing that I’m staring at the tips of the branches sunk into the ground. “You don’t want the tree to be angry when it awakens.”
“That may make more sense to me than anything else I’ve heard here,” I reply.
He doesn’t smile, laugh, or respond to my statement in any way. From talking to Sash, I learned that slang doesn’t fly in Krymzyn. I guess I can add sarcasm to that list.
As we climb a slightly larger hill, six tall, lean figures appear on the crest, all dressed in black pants and sleeveless black shirts. They all stand with their bare feet immersed in the red blades of grass. Black hair intertwined with bright orange strands tops their heads, metallic spears are clutched in their hands, and they examine me with intense amber eyes.
When we reach the top of the hill, Tork steps to the end of the row of what I assume are the Disciples, and to my shock, all seven figures bow to me. The tallest of the seven, oldest from what Sash had told me about how they measure age here, is a woman in the center of the row. She’s at least six foot six, taller than any kid, teacher, or coach at my school. She looks a little older than my parents, maybe fifty, but her sharp features can only be described as beautiful. With a spear clutched in one hand and a lean but muscular body, she’s an imposing figure.
“Finally, we meet the Teller Chase,” the tall woman declares, a commanding tone in her voice. “Although I’m beginning to wonder if your purpose here is actually something more than just Telling.”
Chapter 9
“I present Eval,” Tork says to me, “tallest of the Disciples currently in Krymzyn.”
I quickly remember every name I’ve heard in Krymzyn—Sash, Tork, Balt, Yoni, and now, Eval.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, my eyes glued to the tall woman. “Does everyone here have four letters in their name?”
“Quite astute of you to notice,” Eval replies. “Our naming convention is one letter for each of the four primary directions in Krymzyn.”
As she examines me, her eyes remind me of Sash. They look like Sash’s eyes, although it’s hard to tell since everyone here has catlike amber eyes lined in black. But their focus, the way I feel them as much as see them, all remind me of Sash.
“Can you explain why I’m here?” I ask.
“The only beings to visit Krymzyn from other worlds are Tellers,” she replies, “although the anomalies related to your visits raise many questions regarding your actual purpose here.”
“So what exactly is a Teller supposed to do?”
“Tellers arrive in Krymzyn from every other plane of existence at various points during the life cycles of those worlds. They tell us, the Disciples, details of life on their plane so that we’re confident balance properly exists there. If balance in one of those worlds is disturbed, Krymzyn may attempt to resolve the situation on that plane. In some situations, a plane may be allowed to self-destruct. Without this process, other planes couldn’t exist.”
“I’ve got news for you,” I say. “My plane exists with or without you and me.”
“Although you may believe all things everywhere to be as they are in your world,” she says firmly, “that belief is simply not a truth of existence.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re like God or something?”
“We’re Disciples of Krymzyn. Nothing more, nothing less.”
I scan the row of seven people, not really wanting to spend my entire visit in a religious or philosophical discussion.
Similar Books
