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

by Michael Anderle

  The mystic stepped into view, his face contorted. “What have you done?”

  Adaire concentrated on the ground. Before she could do anything, a sword punched through his chest. The mystic stared down at the blade. As blood soaked into his clothing, he crumpled to his knees.

  It took a moment for her brain to catch up to what had happened. She lifted her head from the mystic.

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” Troy smiled, stepping over the mystic’s body.

  "You were right; things got better when I stopped fighting." She stepped through the gate to freedom. “Time to go home.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Dark Society might catch her eventually but not until she returned home a final time. Afterward, she would be ready to die and join Calum in heaven or hell.

  The journey across wild terrain was long, but Adaire strode onward with a single purpose.

  When she reached the road leading to the summer isles, a landslide blocked the way. Adaire coaxed the rocks and earth to part long enough to let her through. She was tired, but being so close to their place kept her going. She had no thought about what would happen once she reached her destination.

  Nothing matters.

  She’d run out of food two days ago. Once she got to where she needed to be, she could sleep and dream of Calum.

  Beyond the landslide, it was easy going. There was a cracked and broken road to follow, with small lochs to the left and mountains on the right.

  She didn't stop to watch a pair of ospreys hunt over the clear water or the stag that stood meters away. His nose sniffed the air before he turned and moved into the trees.

  The road took her to the place she'd only visited in dreams for the last six years. It hadn't changed.

  Her eyes were blurry, and at first, she thought the little shape on the bank of the loch was another deer. Then it stood, unmistakably human.

  Her heart banged against her ribcage. What if it was one of them who had come to take her back?

  Then she saw a flickering fire, and the figure started toward her. Something about him was familiar, but she dared not believe. If it weren’t him, she wouldn't survive the second loss.

  “Calum?”

  Despite her exhaustion, she started to run. The bag fell from her shoulder, bouncing in the dust on the road.

  It might be a dream or a ghost, but she didn't care as long as he was here with her. Now, she couldn't see for tears, but firm and very real arms came about her, tight as a vice. She cried into Calum's chest. The smoky smell of him was real. When she could see again, he was the same as in her dreams, except tired and maybe a little older.

  "I thought you were dead," he said into her hair.

  “They told me you’d died.” Her words were an accusation.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He pulled back to look at her face. “I almost drowned when a wave took me out to sea. It was bad. I swallowed more water than a fish and couldn’t swim any farther.”

  She traced his face with her hands.

  “The sea spat me out. I woke up on a beach, sunburned to a crisp.” He turned his head, so she could see that one side of his face was darker than the other. “I was so afraid for you. But if I’d reached out, the mystic would have known and used you to get to me.”

  “You trusted me to come here.”

  “Aye, I know how strong you are.”

  They kissed then, and it was better than their dreams.

  Author Notes Lucinda Pebre

  Thank you for reading my story. I really hope you enjoyed it because I want to write many more. You can find out more about me and what I write at lucindapebre.com

  I have no idea how to write Author Notes. Yes, I’ve read enough of Michael’s to know what’s expected, but somehow that doesn’t make it any easier. I understand that this is my chance to talk to the good people who have read my story, but I doubt what I have to say is interesting enough. Still, here goes.

  I’m someone who loves to write. Well, of course, I do, else I wouldn’t have spent time creating this story. But it’s more than that. Sometimes I cannot work out what’s in my head without a keyboard under my fingertips, and when it’s really bad, a pen in hand. So, to be given the opportunity to write in the KGU, where I’ve been immersed for a lot of my spare time, makes it really difficult to be able to adequately express my gratitude.

  Not only have Michael and the team made it possible, but they have also supported the process and been incredibly encouraging to us fans attempting this journey. Then, as if that weren’t enough, there’s the chance for our little stories to be published. Perhaps you can see why it’s so difficult to say, “You’re awesome.”

  This was my first attempt at a short story, and it wasn’t easy. I struggled with the word limit and found that I had to do the unthinkable and plot. But like anything that takes you out of your comfort zone, I learnt so much.

  I wrote the end before going back to the beginning. It reminded me that as a child I always read the end of a book first to make sure the ending was worth slogging through the rest. Sad endings and cliffhangers were always discarded, and that hasn’t changed. Fortunately, listening to audiobooks has gotten me out of this bad habit.

  When Adaire came to live in my head, she was fully formed. She’d had it rough and could have been a tragic character, but instead of sinking into depression when she lost Calum, she focused on beating the odds in true KGU style.

  It took me some time to decide where to set the story. In the end, I chose Justin Sloan’s Hidden Magic Chronicles because I love Justin’s writing and four books were not enough. The series ended far too soon, making it the perfect setting for this story.

  Once again, thank you Michael and Justin and all the others who have somehow managed to create a warm and supportive community. I’m so glad to have been a part of it. Long may it continue, now onto the next story.

  Lucinda

  Haiku From The Kurtherian Universe

  Pod-docs and implants,

  Etheric energy too.

  We want it all now!

  Vampires and werewolves

  are not natural allies.

  BA says, "Who cares?"

  Blood of Patriots and Tyrants

  By Logan Caird

  This story is different than my others because the mayor in the story, Doctor Fernand Genillon, was the actual mayor of Fismes when the Germans invaded in 1940. He was among those who worked tirelessly against the invaders and helped people escape before he and thirteen others were arrested by the Germans and shipped to concentration camps.

  In his case, Buchenwald concentration camp on Ettersberg Hill near Weimar, Germany, over seven hundred kilometers from his home. Those fourteen people, as well as all the others involved in resisting the Nazi occupation, were real French heroes and deserve our praise. I did my best to honor them while using the name of their city, and their mayor, to tell my tale of resistance against oppression. Vive la liberté!

  Blood of Patriots and Tyrants

  Fismes, France, June 5, 1940

  Fabien Léonide Bouchard heard the rhythmic clinking of a pickaxe on brick from within his coffin. Each thunk drew them closer to finding him. Fabien stirred and pushed at the lid of his resting place.

  He licked his cracked lips with an equally dry tongue and pushed again and again, timing his efforts against the lid to match the impacts of pick on brick as best as he could.

  With one final shove, the seam broke, and the top slid away. He sat up in the small chamber. Whoever was working on the other side of the brick wall had gotten far enough that lines of light gave Fabien a clear view of the room. Dust covered every surface.

  The mortaring tools and extra bricks in the corner could barely be seen beneath the layer of dust and mud. Water must have leaked into the room at some point because everything had mud on it.

  His arms and legs only slowly responding, he climbed out of the coffin and stretched before looking himself over. His clothing was spotles
s, far too clean for the chamber he had hidden in. Only his shoes showed any signs of having been in the mud that covered everything else.

  He glanced at the thickest part of the mud and started toward it but stopped and shook his head.

  The pickaxe broke through a brick. Small pieces of it bounced across the room, one hitting Fabien's shoe. He flicked it away and called, "Careful. That almost hit me."

  Fabien could hear someone run out of the room and up the stairs. He shrugged and returned to his coffin, breaking one side off to turn it into a makeshift couch. He sat down on it to wait, wiping some of the mud off his shoes in the interim.

  Only a few minutes later he heard someone slowly descend the stairs. A light shone through the hole in the wall and moved across the room. When it reached Fabien, he lifted one hand and waved.

  The light jerked back, then returned and settled on his face. He squinted from the brightness but held himself still.

  A shocked voice said, "Fabien?"

  Fabien stood and gave a deep bow. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir."

  "I thought you were dead."

  Carefully sitting back down and resting his hands where they could be easily seen Fabien said, "I've been in hiding. Took some time away from the world to try to deal with things after the Great War. I don't mean to be rude, but your name?"

  "Uh...yes, I am Doctor Fernand Genillon."

  Fabien said, "Ferd? You became a doctor? But you hate blood!"

  "Yes, and the mayor. Fabien, it has been twenty years since I saw you, but I swear you look exactly the same. I don't have time to be polite. What are you?"

  Fabien stood, and the light followed him. He ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. "That's rather complicated."

  Voices from up the stairs called for the doctor. Doctor Genillon snapped off the light and said, "Remain silent. I'll return when I can."

  He nearly ran up the stairs, and quietly and carefully closed the door.

  The still-bricked-up chamber around Fabien dropped back into darkness. In the building above a handful of people ran around quickly and then all went still.

  There was a banging on the door. Loud. Insistent. The muffled voice of the doctor called out that he was coming and one set of footsteps moved across the building.

  Fabien returned to his coffin/couch.

  Above, a voice snarled something in German. Fabien jerked back to his feet and shot across the room to the opening in the brick wall.

  The voice said in thickly German-accented French, "I said, I do not care about your French patients. One of my men has broken his foot, and you will treat him. Now."

  "Of course, sir. I'm sorry I do not speak your language. Please, right this way," said the doctor.

  Someone stumbled and slid their way across the room above Fabien's head and then dropped heavily onto a couch or bed. The rest of the sounds were so muffled that even with his enhanced hearing, Fabien could make out little. A sudden grunt, then an exclamation of pain.

  Sometime later the doctor said, "Keep him off that foot for at least a week, preferably longer. May I return to my other patients now?"

  The Germans did not respond, but Fabien heard them cross the room and slam the door on their way out of the building. Those upstairs waited an interminable length of time before moving, only doing so after someone whistled in mimicry of an owl.

  The doctor came down the stairs, stopping at the base when he saw Fabien's face pressed against the brick wall. Fabien asked, "What happened? We defeated them."

  "It didn't last," the doctor replied. "Listen, Fabien, I do not care what you are. You could be a demon, an angel, or any manner of creature. At this point, all I know is what I remember of you when I was a child. You cannot be worse than what waits above, so I am going to tell everyone that you went into hiding when the Germans took Fismes over a few weeks ago and apologize for not telling them you were in here."

  Fabien nodded along with the doctor. "I assure you, I mean no harm."

  "As I said, I do not care," the doctor said as he took up the pickaxe and swung at the wall, knocking loose another brick.

  Fismes, France, The Home of Doctor Genillon

  Fabien climbed through the hole in the wall and followed the doctor upstairs and into his parlor. Some of the furniture looked familiar, but it was all slightly out of place. "You've certainly made my home your own."

  "Well, when you go missing for decades, you no longer get to decide who lives in your house."

  Fabien shrugged and opened a cabinet, took out a shoe-shining kit, and sat on a couch. He started cleaning off the mud and said, "I meant nothing by it."

  "Sorry, it has been a long month. The Germans took Fismes in days. They're using armored vehicles and machine guns this time. We barely put up a fight, and the majority of them have moved on toward Paris."

  Pulling out the polish, he applied it to his shoes, "How many did they leave here?"

  "Around a hundred men and two of their Panzer tanks. Those are the most dangerous part."

  Fabien said, "I should go look these Germans over."

  "Walk carefully, Fabien. These German soldiers are not playing around. They will kill you if they catch you spying on them."

  "Then they had best not notice me," Fabien replied with a grin.

  The doctor, frowning, shook his head. "If you insist on this, you should know that they have taken the Hotel de Ville as their base. One of their Panzers broke down when they were taking over, and they dragged it to the middle of the square near there to use as a guard post. Please be careful, Fabien. There's a curfew so they will shoot you if they see you."

  With a last flourish of the polish rag, Fabien said, "Don't worry about me, Ferd. The German's won't expect someone like me."

  He left the doctor's house by the back door and moved from shadow to shadow toward the Hotel de Ville. Each time he moved from one building to another he paused to listen. The town was quieter than it should be. Even the Fismois in the homes Fabien passed made as little noise as they could while they moved about.

  Nearing the Hotel de Ville, he climbed the side of a mercantile building. Jumping from one rooftop to another, he crossed the remaining dozen buildings. He was on the last building before the square when he saw a figure and froze.

  The German, as was obvious from his uniform, was looking down across the square from his perch on the rooftop of a building in the square and had not noticed him. The soldier pointed his gun down as he scanned the road leading to the square.

  Fabien jumped onto the same roof as him, landed in a crouch and went still.

  The soldier shifted position to get a better view down the road but did not turn around.

  Fabien crossed the roof of the building, keeping an eye on the soldier as he stayed on the far side. He didn't look away until he had ducked out of sight behind a chimney.

  From here he could see the road leading to the square was torn up. Resting there, fully commanding everything around it, was one of the Panzers. Grey and imposing, the broken tank made a statement. A German soldier sat atop of the tank looking from side to side, his rifle resting across his lap. Another stood on the balcony of the Hotel de Ville across the square.

  Two groups of ten soldiers marched into the square from the far side. They crossed near the tank, and the soldier on the tank saluted, and then they headed into the Hotel de Ville. Fabien watched the building and could see lights turning on and off within it. He couldn't make out anything more than the faint sounds of their voices.

  A handful of minutes later, two other groups of soldiers came out of the building and left the square on the near side. They looked well rested and prepared, and headed straight for the building Fabien was on.

  He squeezed as close to the chimney as he could.

  The soldiers stopped at the base of the building, and the soldier on guard across the roof from him rolled a rope ladder off the building. Someone climbed up it and took the place of the original soldier, who then climbed down and jo
gged across to the Hotel de Ville. The new soldier pulled the rope ladder back up, and the patrol left the square.

  After waiting a few minutes for them to get farther away, Fabien pulled away from the chimney and glanced down at himself. He brushed some soot off his sleeve, blowing at it to try to get the last bit off.

  The soldier spun and pointed his rifle at the chimney.

  Fabien, still out of sight, heard the sudden movement and dove off the roof. He dropped three floors and hit the ground hard. His left leg snapped with a crack, and he rolled out of the alley and around the corner, where he leaned against the wall under an overhang.

  The soldier rushed across the roof and looked into the alley, calling out in German. He scanned the area and started toward the side of the building where Fabien was hiding, yelling behind him toward the square.

  Fabien popped his leg straight and held it there, and in a few seconds, the bones knit back together. The flesh would take more time but, it would be enough. Favoring that leg, he crossed the road, moving between two buildings into a residential district.

  Behind him, German voices called out. They were searching the alley and had found his blood.

  Cursing himself, he sped up and ran through the back alleys toward the doctor's house.

  Fismes, France

  By the time Fabien got to the doctor's house he was fully healed, but his pants were stuck to his leg. He climbed the outside of the house and went into the master bedroom, where he cleaned the wound and got a new pair of pants.

  When he stepped out of the closet, the doctor was waiting for him. "Please, take my pants. I'm sure you need them."

  Fabien replied, "Mine were damaged."

  "They're covered in blood, but you look fine. Did you kill a German?"