Tales from the Kurtherian Universe: Fans Write For The Fans: Book 3

by Michael Anderle

  They continued in a straight line until cool air indicated that they were approaching an outside wall. The corridor narrowed until it was little more than a crack, which they had to move through sideways.

  Adaire bent her leg and cracked her knee on the stone. The pain brought tears to her eyes and made her more careful as she shuffled to the end.

  "Thank my hairy arse," Calum exclaimed when they reached a grate where there was room to stand side by side. “I thought if I breathed out, I’d be stuck in there.”

  “More like there was a chance you might have to leave the cakes.” She noted that he had grazed his forearms to keep the armful.

  Metal barred their way outside. They stared at it, dreading having to retrace their steps where the odds of getting caught were high. After all, someone had followed them.

  "Do you think you can get under?" Calum asked.

  She looked at the shallow depression. "You're bigger than me. If you can, I can."

  Years of not enough food had made them short and lean.

  Calum’s eyes slid away. "As long as you get out, I can always go back the way we came."

  "No."

  "I knew you'd say that.” He sighed. “Here, then."

  Adaire wasn't hungry anymore, but she took the food. She was tempted to drop it for the rats, but it was for the other children more than them.

  Calum peeled off his clothes. She averted her eyes and waited until he wasn’t looking to peek. He was skinny, but a coating of muscle gave his body a distinct shape.

  "Don't drop them in the mud." He placed the clothes on top of the pastries. “It’ll stop you eating the buns.”

  She stuck out her tongue. The prospect of getting naked was not appealing.

  Calum was already on his knees with his white ass sticking up in the air. Like a lizard, he slithered in the damp mud, sliding easily under the grating.

  Once he was on the other side, she passed his clothes through, and he dressed.

  He took the pastries. "That's lucky. It looks like we're at the back of the building."

  He raised his eyebrows in a challenge, but she was no coward.

  "Look away, then."

  He chuckled but turned his back to her. "Hurry, we don't want to be missed."

  Adaire undressed quickly, doing her best to ignore the cold. Mind over matter. A stab of unexpected grief hit her in the chest. It was something her da used to say.

  "What's wrong?"

  Calum had felt the change without her saying a word. She was impressed that he didn’t use it as an excuse to look at her body.

  "Just remembering da."

  He'd understand, having lost everyone too. That was why they named the day the raiders came “The End”—because it had been the end of a normal life, although they’d stopped brooding about it years ago. She reminded herself that it didn’t do any good to live in the past.

  Adaire slithered under the grate. Once over the shock of cold, she enjoyed the sensation of smooth mud on her body.

  She accepted her clothes from Calum. “You better not have sneaked a look at my ass.”

  By the way his pale skin went bright red, she knew he had.

  Dressing over a layer of mud felt wrong, but then much about life was just plain wrong these days.

  Chapter Two

  The guards called the old cowshed “the barracks” as if that made it something it wasn’t. They scrambled through a loose board to get inside.

  The straw strewn across the floor made it even more like a cowshed. Adaire felt sorry for the cows that used to live here. In winter the wooden slats let in freezing drafts, and in summer they baked.

  There were no lessons today, so the children must have noticed their absence, but even the little ones were careful not to see too much in case they were questioned.

  The eight kids were playing a game with stones at the far side of the shed. Only Aila was doing her own thing, drawing with a stick in the dirt.

  Calum and Adaire went to adjacent beds. Calum's coat hid the pastries.

  "Where are we going to leave the food?" Adaire whispered.

  Neither Calum or Adaire wanted to let their captors know the depth of their hatred for the people who had murdered their clan. Although Calum could stop the mystic from getting into their heads, the bastard could still read those around them. If they gave out the food, the guards would catch them within the day.

  Calum juggled the rolls. "You create a distraction, and I'll put the food outside the door."

  Adaire smiled. There was nothing wrong with Calum's overall strategy—let the enemy believe they were stupid while thwarting them at every opportunity.

  Until they take Calum away. The unwelcome thought was difficult to process, so she ignored it.

  "I've got a better idea." She took the food and walked into the middle of the space. "Look what some thieving guard dropped!"

  There was a cry of excitement, which Adaire hurriedly shushed. It wouldn’t do for a guard to barge in to see what had caused the noise.

  Later, Adaire and Calum lay side by side on their straw mattresses to have a private conversation. With their heads close together there was less chance of being overheard.

  Calum said, "That was stupid. Now they'll know it was us."

  "I think we have bigger things to worry about." She propped herself on one arm. "Calum, they are going to separate us."

  At least until now, their captors couldn’t see into their hearts. Calum had made sure the mystic experienced darkness when he tried. The pasty-faced-freak never lingered long.

  "They've already taken everything else. Now, you won't be able to protect my mind. " Adaire didn't mention how much she was going to miss him, because that was too hard.

  She rubbed her eyes, angry at being weak. Loss should have become easier with practice, but it hadn’t worked that way.

  Calum shook his head. "I've been thinking about this. Protection doesn't stop when we’re out of sight of each other." He rolled over to face her. "It’s possible that distance doesn't make any difference."

  That was true. Calum had become so good that it took no effort for him to confuse the mystic.

  He pushed up to sit on the edge of the bed. “If I can do it, so can you. It’s a learned skill rather than something I was born with.”

  Adaire wasn’t sure. She didn’t have any valuable skills.

  “Do you remember the first time I did it?” Calum asked.

  She nodded, seeing Imogen’s terror again at not being able to spread the fire. Imogen was too young for her magic to be consistent, but their captors could be cruel.

  “I did it out of necessity, to protect Imogen from the mystic,” Calum explained.

  “I understand what you are saying, but…”

  “No buts, Adaire. You have to do this.”

  "Okay, but since there’s no way to test your theory until it happens," she sat up, "I'm going to help the little ones get ready for bed."

  Calum shook his head. "It's risky this early. He might be around."

  She gave him a look over her shoulder. "I know, but what isn’t risky?"

  He started to get up. “I’ll go.”

  “No, I won’t let him take anything else from me.” She could see by the look on Calum’s face that he was afraid for her.

  Before they could set off for the river that served as their washroom, rain began to drum on the roof. Adaire shared a look with Calum. There was little chance Scroat would risk getting his perfumed curls wet.

  Two girls and a boy were small enough to need help. They still cried for their mothers at night, so the earlier they were asleep, the better.

  It was funny how just when she was feeling sorry for herself, she was reminded there were people worse off.

  As Water Clan, Edan and Aila's spirits were bound to show up to cause mischief at the river. Since Leanna's was wind, hers was likely to join in as well. Adaire didn't care. It was nice to see the children forget for a short time.

  Adaire use
d to have a spirit, indicating that she would develop magic when she was older. It was the only reason she hadn't died with the rest of the clan. Since she came from a fire clan, everyone presumed she would develop fire magic, but it had never happened.

  There were times Adaire had tried to hide her spirit because it wasn't like the others. Rather than light and golden, it was a drab, dark creature with enormous owl-like eyes. Also, instead of flying, both its feet were firmly stuck to the ground, and it never showed any affinity for fire.

  At the time it hadn't mattered what it looked like, because everyone knew spirits weren't real. They were a promise of the magic to come. But later, when her fire magic never materialized, she wondered if there was something wrong with her.

  Nothing Scroat had done made any difference. Fire burned her flesh as if she had no magic at all.

  Calum said her magic would come in its own time, but it never had. Now, at sixteen, she was too old to hope.

  For whatever reason, their captors only wanted children who were going to develop magic, which was why they had murdered her baby brother. He'd been too young to have developed a spirit when the raiders came. In some ways she was lucky Scroat took an interest, else she'd have been killed before now.

  Adaire remembered how he had studied her until it made her squirm. "Whoever would have thought nature could have produced white-blonde hair with hazel eyes, hey, Troy?"

  "Yes, Laird."

  She’d only been ten years old but had known not to cry in front of him. It had been the first time she’d thought of herself as different.

  "She has a spirit, so her magic will come out." He waved his hand in Adaire's direction. "She stays."

  Just like that, she'd been allowed to live.

  Chapter Three

  The guards came at dawn to take Calum along with six other children.

  "Stay alive, and stay away from him," Calum whispered. "I will find a way to get in touch."

  Children were expendable in this place, so they both knew it'd do no good to fight.

  For the first time in three years, Adaire hadn't been able to stop the tears. She stared after the wagon until Troy, one of the guards, took her arm and pulled her away.

  She struggled, but it was weak and half-hearted.

  He gave her a serious look. "Stop that, or the others will expect me to clout you."

  Curiosity penetrated her despair, and she stopped. "Why wouldn't you just do it?"

  "I should." He screwed his face into a vicious mask.

  He wasn’t serious. Adaire knew because she’d become a master at reading other people’s intentions.

  "Things will get better if you stop fighting," he told her.

  "Was that what you did?"

  Troy considered the question. "Could be."

  "You don’t sound like the others."

  He scratched his beard. “Ah, it's true, I'm not from these parts." He looked across the river as if his home were on the far side. "My people came to your land for reasons you wouldn’t like."

  Even with his shaved head, it wouldn’t have occurred to her what he was if the other guards hadn’t complained about him.

  "They call you ‘Barskall.’”

  “It’s true. Where I come from, we eat children.”

  “That’s a lie,” she said with more conviction than she felt. “That’d make you no better than him." She looked at Scroat, who was surveying the tearful children from a balcony.

  When Scroat’s eyes caught hers, they lingered too long.

  Troy glanced at Laird Scott. "You want to watch yourself there."

  She balled her hands into fists. “Tell me how I can do that, exactly?”

  He shrugged and scratched his beard again. She couldn’t see the point of facial hair if it itched so much.

  "Come on. I'm to take you to the barracks."

  The last three children and Adaire stayed in the shed for the rest of the day. When the daily rations came, she let the others eat her share while she laid on the mattress and counted spiders’ webs. Adaire wondered if it were possible to die from numbness. Eventually, she fell asleep.

  She dreamt she was home, just outside the village. Morning light glinted off waves to her right, while the loch on her left was as still as glass. Gentle green slopes rose to dramatic jagged rocks above. It was more beautiful than she remembered, but she wasn’t interested in the view. Calum sat at the edge of the loch.

  He climbed to his feet. "Finally! I've been waiting for ages."

  "Is this real?"

  He spun in a circle, arms wide. "It looks real to me."

  She ran to him and punched his arm.

  "Ow, that hurt."

  "It’s a dream, how can it hurt?"

  He gave her a real smile, showing two dimples, one on either cheek. Before The End, he’d had a three-dimple smile, the third on his chin. For now, she’d settle for two.

  He grabbed her hand, pulling her down to sit with him. “I think we’re in my head.”

  She laughed. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

  From the edge of the loch, they watched a golden eagle hunt at the base of the mountain.

  "Where did they take you?" she asked.

  "They split us up. All those with fire are a day’s ride away. I don’t know where the others went.” The intensity of the fire on his right increased. “You know how many bloody castles there are here in Roneland."

  He took off his shoes to dangle his feet in the freezing water. "They managed to find one that’s not much more than a ruin, the nutjackers."

  She took his hand. “This is great—more than I could have hoped for—but I need to see you for real.”

  He pulled her close. “Too right. Let’s make a new pact: to go home together.”

  Chapter Four

  In the morning, Adaire attended lessons with the other children. Then, while they practiced magic, she cleaned the shed.

  Tomorrow she would be expected to clean in the castle, and Scroat would go out of his way to find her. He hadn't done anything yet, and she made sure not to encourage him, but he gave her things. Lovely-smelling soap, a flower, and once, a pair of shoes. Afterward, she would throw the gift in the river.

  One of the guards saw her last time. "Ungrateful whelp."

  Fortunately, Troy had been on patrol. “Leave the girl alone.”

  “What do you care, Barskall?”

  The mystic watched from the castle porch. He was too far away to hear, but she could tell by the way he looked at her that he couldn't see into her head. Calum had been right.

  She'd run back to the shed, afraid the guard would tell Scroat what she’d done. After that, she’d worked even harder at avoiding him. She must have been successful because he ordered Troy to fetch her.

  Troy’s footsteps were heavy. “Sorry, but you understand that I have to take you to him.”

  It was weird how her mind refused to leave the work she had yet to complete, as if it mattered. But she put down the brush she'd just used to clean the fireplace and followed him to Scroat's study.

  He was by the window when they entered the room. Adaire knew she was in trouble, because whatever he wanted, she would not be willing to give it.

  He looked at her as he said, “You may leave, Troy.”

  Adaire made sure to stand tall. “What can I do for you?”

  “There’s no need for formality.”

  Adaire thought that formality was the only feeble thing she had to protect her.

  Scroat stepped into her space. “Call me Dale.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’d rather not, Laird Scott.”

  He was too close, smelling of the roses he kept in a big vase in the dining room. It wasn't a bad scent, but it was somehow wrong.

  He studied her face. "Bones as fine and delicate as a bird."

  Adaire dropped her eyes. Not out of respect, but to hide the fury there.

  With one finger, he lifted her chin. "I could make life easier for you if you'd be nice to m
e."

  The thought of lying with the man who had murdered her family made her feel sick. She backed away.

  Who would help her? Not even Troy would be able to do anything to stop him. The room had taken on a surreal aspect, as if she weren’t there. Something rumbled below the castle.

  "Don't be afraid. I'm not going to force you." He moved to the fireplace. "But without magic, you are of little use. Think about it."

  Adaire ran to the kitchen, which was empty. The servants had probably been sent elsewhere. She stole a sharp knife and hacked off her hair.

  The cook found her rocking in front of the fire. The old woman had gently removed the knife from her stiff fingers and swept up the white-blonde strands.

  The next day was bright and warm, with the promise of growth and new life. Adaire wondered what Calum was doing. The guards stared longer than usual, but nobody asked her what had happened to her hair. They probably knew.

  She almost charged straight into Scroat, who had been waiting outside the shed. He reached for her, and even though she told her body to be still, she couldn’t help flinching.

  "So nervous, little bird." He cupped her cheek with a smooth hand. "You try to make yourself ugly. It just intrigues me more."

  Troy’s voice came from over his shoulder. “Laird, there’s a visitor at the gate. Says you’re expecting him. He’s on the goddess’ business.”

  Scroat whipped around and, with a glare at Troy, marched off.

  “Thank you.” The relief made her legs weak.

  “What for?”

  She would go along with the pretense that he hadn’t saved her on purpose.

  Troy leaned on a spear, scanning the grounds. "Sometimes it’s easier not to fight the inevitable."

  “Is that what you do?”

  “I suppose.”

  He was as much a slave as her.

  "I want to go home,” she said, rubbing burning eyes.

  Troy let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, it’s strange how we don’t appreciate home until it’s gone.”