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

by Michael Anderle

  Logan led them on a side street that bypassed the middle of town. Claire couldn’t help feeling guilty at her relief in passing fewer people, but it was rather creepy to see these inhabitants and hear little sound to note their passage. She couldn’t believe how much of a difference in atmosphere she saw between this town and her own city of Hafox.

  After a few more turns, they reached a street with a few shops along the sides. Logan veered off the road when he saw the grocery store and glided across the empty lot in front. Her father had told her these empty spaces were for ancient machines to gather while waiting for their owners. It had always sounded like a fantasy tale to Claire.

  An older woman looked up in surprise as the two crossed the threshold, ringing a bell that had seen far better days. She glanced between them several times in awe and amazement…and more than a hint of fear, causing Claire to grow uneasy. She stood back and waited while Logan stepped forward to greet the woman.

  “I was told you could direct us to Andrew Cormack?”

  The woman blinked, the many lines on her face drawing in. “Andrew Cormack?” She looked puzzled as she repeated the name several times with her withered lips. Finally, her eyes cleared. “Ah! Old Andy!” She nodded eagerly.

  As she gave Logan the directions, Claire couldn’t help noticing odd mannerisms about the woman in front of them. She came across both old and young, her mannerisms those of a younger person while her movements were those of an older person.

  Even though they hadn’t bought anything, the lady thanked the two weary travelers for coming in several times, her fingers fluttering nervously in the air. Claire was just relieved to leave the shop as they stepped back out. She rolled her shoulders a few times to release the tension and sighed as she jogged to catch up with Logan, who hadn’t stopped moving.

  “Hold up.”

  The increasingly infuriating man slowed slightly but continued down the street, following the directions the woman gave. Claire glanced at him once she caught up. Logan’s face was concerned, and his eyebrows were drawn.

  “You thought that was weird and creepy too, right?”

  He tilted his head to look at her, blue eyes steady but concerned. “There was something off, yes.”

  Claire shared her observation that the woman seemed both old and young at the same time. Logan’s face cleared. “Yes, that was what I sensed. She was also nervous and afraid, but she didn’t lie.”

  “I saw that too, but it didn’t make sense. You aren’t that scary.”

  She saw a flicker of amusement on his face as they turned onto another street. “I’m not scary?”

  “Ehh.” Claire shrugged and brought her fingers together to indicate a small amount. She was pleased to see more of a smile on his face, even if it was still tiny.

  “I can be scary.” He spoke so matter of fact she wondered how often people actually talked to him about the subject. Probably not that often.

  “Oh, sure, you can beat a guy. You took care of that thug easily enough. But scary?” She scoffed.

  He stopped suddenly, causing her to halt her own fast walk. He looked more intense than amused now. He took a step forward, almost but not quite into her personal space, and his eyes flashed and bore into her.

  “I have tried to maintain a level of civility over the last years, but make no mistake, Claire.” He bit out the words, and he seemed wilder. “I can be as scary as any bastard you’ve ever come across.”

  The intensity and growl in his voice as he pushed his face closer to hers made her believe him. Part of her was scared at what she saw in his eyes and wanted to shake. Another part of her rose up and wouldn’t allow her to do anything but stand there in front of him and fake a yawn.

  “All right, you’re a scary bastard. Are we close yet?”

  He sniffed all of a sudden and peered at her in slight confusion, then he snorted and turned down a shaded street with only a few houses.

  “You have no sense of self-preservation.”

  She remained silent this time as she followed him.

  She wasn’t entirely sure he was wrong.

  Chapter Seven

  A few minutes later Claire followed Logan up the lawn of a small home that seemed typical for this town, patched with any spare material from times past that could be found. The result was an interesting if eclectic mix of style.

  They stood on the small porch waiting for an answer to their knock, alternately eying each other and glancing away. Logan stood rather stiffly, as if he regretted the point he had made moments ago. Claire shifted back and forth on her feet.

  Claire heard a soft, “I’m sorry.” Her glance flew up to meet his melancholy blue eyes. She didn’t have a chance to ask what he was sorry for before the door opened beside them.

  They turned to face the figure standing in the doorway. He was short for a man, only an inch or so above her own height, but he had a presence that made him seem taller. His untidy gray hair flopped down, obscuring his eyes for a moment. The voice that sounded through his gray beard was gruff, but kindly all the same. His posture indicated that he was used to standing straight and tall, though his age now made that difficult. He looked like a faded version of his younger self.

  “What are you young people doing here?”

  Claire’s mouth worked, but she couldn’t speak. Thankfully, Logan came to her rescue.

  “Claire has come to see you.”

  “Claire?” His once-strong hand impatiently moved his hair out of his eyes, revealing dark-gray irises that looked familiar.

  They were her father’s eyes.

  The eyes she had inherited widened as she gasped. The older man looked at her with both happiness and alarm.

  “Who are you?” she whispered, almost afraid to ask.

  His hands trembled as he started to reach out to her, then jerked them back. He blinked to stifle the tears that began to flood his eyes. Stepping back, he motioned for them to come in.

  When Claire entered, she got the sense of time standing still. The whole room was a mismatched collection of furniture and belongings. It was a relatively small house with the living room, kitchen, and eating area all in one large room, and what Claire supposed were a bedroom and bathroom off to the side. A fireplace graced the living area. She placed her staff by the door and took her backpack off, setting it by the wall. Logan followed suit.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  There were few options, only a cushioned chair that was obviously used often and a short bench. Toward the back was a chair by the small eating table. Claire took the short bench, leaving the cushioned chair for the man they had come to see. Logan hesitated for a moment, then brought the chair from the table over to sit between the two.

  Claire quietly stared at the elderly man as he lowered himself into the cushioned chair. He cleared his throat, looking nervous as he tugged first on his tattered sweater, then on his faded and worn pants. Finally, he looked up at Claire and flinched as his eyes connected with hers.

  “You look so much like your father,” he began tentatively, as if he wasn’t sure how she would react. “I had almost forgotten.”

  “How do you know my father?”

  The older man opened his mouth a few times before shrugging.

  “I’m his brother.”

  Claire’s mouth dropped open. “You’re my uncle?” Beside them, she felt Logan becoming more alert and focusing intently on the older man, whose mouth moved self-deprecatingly.

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re…”

  “Old?” He raised his gray eyebrows in amusement.

  She flushed. “Well, yes. Older than my father looked, anyway.”

  He sighed. “That’s a long story.”

  She crossed her arms pointedly. “I have nowhere else to be.”

  He took a breath, sadness growing on his face. “I’m assuming your father is dead. He wouldn’t have sent you here otherwise.”

  Claire flinched at his words as she struggled with her emotion
s. “Yes. All of them are.”

  He looked startled. “All of them?”

  She jerked a nod, and her body stiffened. “Father, Mother, and my…brother James.”

  Her uncle’s face crumbled. “I’m sorry to hear that, Claire.”

  “Mother taught me how to use a spirit candle to see Father. He told me to come to you.”

  The man snorted. “Spirit candles aren’t real, girl. That magic was all you.”

  “What?” Her eyes went wide, but she shook her head. “Please just tell me what’s going on. Why did you never come to visit us even though you aren’t that far away? Why did my father tell me to come here after he died? What is this task he talked about that only I can do? Does it have to do with that magic? And why is this town so creepy?” Her voice rose with each question until she was almost shouting at the end.

  Her uncle stilled, then swallowed before answering. “All right. It has everything to do with your magic. It’s all the same story. Just…understand that this is difficult for me.” He eyed her appraisingly. “I think it might be difficult for you too.”

  “Please.”

  His shoulders slumped, then he took a breath to begin.

  “Your father and I were brothers.” He paused for a moment. “Your father was the oldest, then our brother Wyatt, Grace, me, and…Julian.”

  He swallowed and asked Logan, “Would you mind getting me some water, boy, and for you both if you’d like?” He gestured to the kitchen.

  Logan nodded, then rose to move toward the kitchen while Andrew—Andy?—continued.

  Claire raised a hand before he could begin speaking. “I’m sorry, Uncle.” His eyes lit up for a moment, then faded at her next words. “I can’t help noticing you are speaking of them in the past tense.”

  His eyes looked grief-stricken and regretful. “That’s because they are all dead except one. And he’s dead to me.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “What happened?”

  Her uncle hesitated, his hands trembling. It took a moment for her to realize it was anger.

  “Julian killed them with his magic.”

  Chapter Eight

  Claire gasped. “He killed all of them?”

  Andrew closed his eyes as he collapsed back into the chair and nodded. “Mother and Father too.”

  Logan walked back with three chipped and repaired cups that looked salvaged. He distributed them, and they drank for a time.

  Andrew placed his cup on the small table next to him. There was nowhere for Logan and Claire to put their cups, so they held onto them as the story continued.

  “Did your father ever tell you of the time when the magic began?”

  Claire thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Only vague mentions.”

  “Your father was born around the time the magic began. We children were born a year apart.” He snorted. “Mother had her hands full with us. By the time Julian came into the world, the magic was at its full strength.”

  He took another swallow of water. “We never knew why. Maybe it was just the way the magic worked, but our town had a surplus of children around the same time. Beginning with your father and ending with Julian, dozens of babies were born to the residents. Our parents struggled to provide enough food for everyone, so we had difficult years for a while. It wasn’t until the older children reached the age of five that the adults began to notice that these children were…different.” He paused.

  Claire thought her uncle looked haunted by what happened all those years ago.

  “How were they different, Uncle?”

  He blinked and turned his head to meet her eyes. “They saw spirits.”

  “What?” She straightened, moving her arm forward before remembering she still held the cup. She took a gulp of water and cleared her throat. Talk of magic had always made her nervous. “How could they do that?”

  The old man spread his gnarled and wrinkled hands. “Magic.”

  Claire tightened her hand on the cup. “I don’t understand.”

  The old man leaned forward, gray eyes like her own staring at her. “I told you earlier that spirit candles aren’t real. Ever since our town showed everyone it was possible to see spirits, those looking to make money have sold them. It’s the magic inside you that makes them work.

  “All of the children born at that time developed the ability to talk to spirits, and a few of the adults too. It’s where the rumors of being able to talk to spirits came from.” He spread his hands. “We did nothing to gain that magic except be born.”

  Logan finally spoke up. “Where did it go wrong?”

  Andrew sank in on himself and brought his hands up to cover his face. Claire couldn’t help but feel sorry for what the man was reliving, but she had to know. She waited, hoping he would continue on his own.

  Finally, he lowered his hands, revealing a tear-marked face. “Some of the children couldn’t handle this ability. They went insane before they were even ten years old, unable to tell what was real and what wasn’t. They became stuck in their minds and grew almost catatonic, not responding to anyone. More than a third of the children were affected this way.”

  Claire felt horrified, and she shuddered. Logan began watching her out of the corner of his eye, face stoic and blank except for a tightening in his jaw.

  Her uncle continued, lost in his memories and oblivious to her reaction. “Some of the children handled the change well and were able to use their new abilities to contact those who had been lost. They were the lucky ones, at least at first,” he whispered.

  She straightened, not liking the look in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “A few of the children were strong in this new magic, with Julian being the strongest—possibly because he was the last born, at the height of the dawn of magic.” He shook his head slowly. “Even now I still don’t know what caused him to make the choices he did. As Julian grew in power and understanding of his magic, he also grew in cruelty, becoming utterly dismissive of anyone else’s opinion or their right to choose for themselves.”

  Claire began to ask a question, but his next grief-stricken words stopped her cold. “He was only five years old the first time he killed.”

  Claire and Logan both straightened in their seats. “Who was it?” Claire whispered.

  “Grace.” He took a big breath and let it out. “We didn’t realize it until later. Much later. It devastated our family. Mother and Father withdrew into themselves after she died, which wasn’t good in the long run. Maybe he could have been stopped if they had paid more attention.

  “Every so often a child would die, throwing everyone into confusion and depression. One by one, the adults all grew prematurely old. It wasn’t until your father was fifteen that we realized their state wasn’t a result of mere grief, but something crueler and more sinister.”

  Andrew met her eyes. “Several years later, your father figured out what was happening and put together the pieces that led to Julian. By then, it was too late to reverse the damage and many people in the town were dead.”

  She blinked, trying to understand. “But what was he doing? How did he kill them all without anyone knowing?”

  He just looked at her, and she sensed he was reluctant to tell her for some reason. Logan had been still and quiet the whole time. She glanced at her traveling companion, curious as to his thoughts, to find him watching her. She felt she could almost see the thoughts moving through his head one after another, although they were so quick she was certain he was purposely squelching them.

  Oh, yes. She no longer thought him creepy, but Logan Markham definitely had secrets. Secrets she wanted to know.

  Her head went back toward her uncle as he began to speak, breaking the connection between her and Logan.

  “He was using the magic all of us had been given.”

  Claire tried to focus her thoughts, but it was difficult. She shook her head to clear it. “The spirit magic? How could that be used to kill someone? It’s only used to see dead people.”
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  She was shaken to the core.

  “Everyone has a spirit, especially those who are still alive.”

  Epilogue

  Claire stood outside the house later, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the quiet town and listening to the silence. So that was why there were hardly any people in the town, and why they all looked so much older. This strange magic, the magic her father and his siblings had acquired, had been used to steal their spirits. Their life and energy.

  The same magic that flowed through her.

  She felt more than heard someone move closer to her over the snow. From the pace, she expected her newfound uncle.

  “Is that my task, then? To stop Julian from using his evil magic to kill everyone?”

  Suppressing a shudder, she turned to see Andrew’s eyes droop in weariness and fear, but he shook his head.

  “It’s what you do with the magic that makes it good or evil. But no, my child. I fear your task is much greater than that, though dealing with Julian will be a large part of your near-future.”

  His eyes met hers and she froze, chills sweeping her that had nothing to do with the cold weather. Her uncle was afraid for her, but he was also afraid of her.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry, but nothing will ever be the same for you again.”

  Author Notes S.E. Weir

  I had this idea for a short story in the Age of Magic shortly after the last Fans Write Volume came out. I clipped along writing it, and around the time Claire knocked on Logan’s door, I realized this story had more to tell than a short.

  I kept writing; I just couldn’t stop. It unfolded before my eyes, and every word I wrote pulled idea after idea as to what Claire’s world would be like in the Age of Magic. I have story ideas and character arcs for at least three and a half books; this story you read is just the start. I eventually had to set the story aside as another one was being called out, which I hope you will have in your hands very soon.