The Nordic Historian: Battle of the Celts

By Pete Kemme

Throughout history, power struggles between secret, sorcerer tribes have controlled the rise and fall of world civilizations. Warrior sorcerers, aided by Manipulators, Spanare, and Betrayers, infiltrate society and dictate the fate of nations and empires.

Only rarely in a century does a tribe discover the most powerful type of sorcerer—a Historian, who can unlock the secrets inside of the tribe's artifact, the ultimate source of their power. After a hundred years of searching, the Nordic tribe stumbles upon their young Historian with college sophomore, Adam Dietrich. The Celtic tribe, an age old enemy of the Nordics, also learns of his existence, and dispatches two Warriors to murder him and thus prevent the Nordic rise of power. The Celts, experts in controlling nature, attack by morphing blades of grass into flying, edged weapons, and Adam barely escapes with the aid of the Nordic Warrior, Gorin. Gorin then introduces Adam to the underground Nordic city, and reveals the Nordic quest for world peace. At the same time, Nuline, a young Celtic Historian, wrestles with her deadly powers and her tribe's thirst for unending, brutal war. Her fear turns into rage when she learns Adam is behind the death of her lover, a Celtic Betrayer. Meanwhile, Adam is haunted by visions of past Historians, yet nothing is revealing the location of the Stein—his tribe's artifact. Time is running out when Adam leads his new friends into a trap, and comes face to face with Nuline and her Celtic Warriors.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pete Kemme
• Release date: Feb 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311565891

Pete Kemme

I had been a police officer with the Grand Rapids Police Department for 17 years and am currently a security manager in the private sector. Witness Tamping is based upon my tenure as a detective on the Family Services Team from 2004 to 2014. Although the characters in that book are fictional, cases in the book are based upon my years of experience investigating sexual assaults, child abuse, and domestic violence. The rest of my books come from my connection to West Michigan and my family's travels out of the country, as well as my deep understanding of people arising out of my years as an investigator.

Book preview

507 AD - BATTLE OF VOUILLE

The young Frankish boy stared down at the severed arm lying in the dirt. He studied the white knuckles and sensed the tight grip the hand still had on the long sword. The smell of rotting flesh filled his nostrils even though the battle had only recently ended. He slowly scanned the piles of bodies around him, wondering which one the arm belonged to, but it was impossible to focus. He had never been this close to battle before, and even though this one was over before he was called to the front to meet his king, his stomach turned at the sight, and more vividly, the smell of death.

The canopy of tall trees blanketed the earth with deep shadows, making it even more difficult to concentrate.

He stumbled over another maimed body and recognized the markings on the shield to be Frankish. He wondered if he would know the soldier. Maybe he was from the same village.

More morbid curiosity.

He found himself bending to see the face, but it was covered in blood with slabs of flesh hanging off to one side. A Visigoth sword had cut through the soldier's face in at least two places.

Bile rose into the boy's throat.

He heard the victory cheers in the distance, guiding the way to his king. He relied upon the faraway din for his bearings because his escorts were too busy rummaging through the dead bodies for any treasures they could find, and were barely paying attention to the boy, let alone ensuring his safe travel.

He wiped the sweat off his brow. He was sweating for fear a Visigoth soldier would spring up at any moment from the heaps of death to thrust a sword through his heart. Or maybe, instead, take a swipe at his head, aiming to decapitate him.

None of these thoughts settled his stomach.

The moans and mumblings of the wounded overtook the distant cheers of the victors. He wished with his entire being the fallen warriors would accept their fate and the sounds of the dying men would cease.

A man stood up just a few yards away from the boy. He was leaning on his sword and the boy could not tell if he was a Frank or a Visigoth. The boy quickened his pace to increase the distance, and soon he was running through the woods. He did his best to navigate, but tripped many times over severed limbs. Blood splashed up on his legs from the large pools as if he were a child splashing in mud puddles in his front yard.

His ears hurt from the screams of the dying soldiers, and he knew they would kill him if he turned around. He ran even faster until he slipped on some moss covered in blood. It caused him to stumble for many feet, but this time he fell hard onto the ground, ramming his head into the helmet of a dead Visigoth soldier.

The boy lay frozen, waiting for the sounds to die down.

He did not know how long he laid there before the screams transformed back into the sound of the wind. The wave of panic calmed, and he realized nobody was after him. There were no screams. All was quiet. He opened his eyes, only to stare into the cold, black eyes and the ashen face of the dead soldier. However, the fear and panic did not set back in. The bile settled back into his stomach.

The death around him took an air of serenity. The souls around him accepted their fate and drifted away peacefully. Only the quiet, lifeless bodies remained.

He was alone, truly alone. He stood up and could no longer hear or see his escorts. He was unsure of the direction of his king, as the roaring cheers had also deadened. The boy set off in the path he had been running, hoping he was on the right course. Fortunately, he did not walk for long before the darkness lightened. Soon after he could feel the sunlight coming in from the edge of the forest.

He sighed in relief when the sound of the Frankish army could be heard again. He estimated they were only a few hills past the forest edge. He emerged from the last line of trees and felt the sun warming his face. He drew a long, full breath of the open air. He climbed atop a fallen tree and could see the waves of soldiers in the near distance, over the rolling hills.

As he took in another deep breath, a piercing pain coursed through his body. He almost fell over and it took several steps to keep his balance. He looked down and saw the tip of an arrow sticking out from the right side of his upper chest.

This time, the blood dripping was his.

He had to make it to his king.

Clovis, King of the Franks himself, had summoned the boy for a very special reason—a reason only the two of them shared. The Warrior king and the boy Historian were united in a special bond none of the soldiers around them could possibly begin to understand.

He had to survive or his tribe would be doomed. He marched as steadily as conceivable over the first small hill, but collapsed upon reaching the other side. His energy was sapped and his hopes for the future were dying along with him.

The wind blew cool air on his face.

His breathing slowed and he could barely hear the shouts of the escorts as they approached. He never opened his eyes, even when the men raised him up and carried him away. It was not until they placed him back down up against a tree that he finally opened his eyes.

The army rumbled all around him.

His vision was blurry, but the familiar shield of his king came into view. Next, he saw the flowing, brown, Germanic hair of Clovis blowing in the wind.

My king, the boy muttered.

Clovis knelt down and whispered into his ear.

The boy understood and spoke no more. It seemed like hours before he saw Clovis again. Perhaps it was. In the meantime, guards placed him in a small tent, removed the arrow, and bandaged his wound.

When Clovis entered the tent, he waved out the attendants and walked over to the boy.

You are brave and have no idea how glad I am to have you here. I need to tell you why I summoned you. I have found it.

The boy smiled back at him. I know.

How could you know? It was only after I killed Alaric that I saw the… He paused. He was aware the boy had powers he did not himself possess—powers he was only beginning to appreciate. Clovis looked over his shoulder to ensure nobody came into the tent before pulling out the tiny artifact. He examined the various holes in the stone, and could feel the power within his body surging with the stone's closeness. However, he needed the boy Historian to unlock the true power. The survival of their tribe depended on it.

Another tribe, one from the Far East called the Xia, had been pushing Clovis' people west for over a hundred years, and the normal humans—menneskes—had no idea of the power the Xia possessed. The Xia Historian had unlocked the power of their own artifact—an object the boy told Clovis was a stick or staff of some kind which harnessed the power of fire.

The stone in Clovis' hand, a stone forged long ago, was the key to the stability of the Nordic tribe.

What power did it harness?

His eyes fell back upon the boy, but the life was fading fast. He quickly checked the bandage on the boy's chest and could see the blood soaking through. Please look at it. Clovis struggled to keep his voice low.

Menneskes could not know about the tribe's existence. It was forbidden within all tribes. Therefore, he held the stone close for the boy to examine.

Tell me. Tell me what power is here. How do I unlock it?

The boy mumbled something and Clovis leaned in to hear.

Color? What do you mean? I don't understand. Clovis put his other hand on the boy's shoulder, gently shaking him. What do you mean by color?

The boy did not respond.

Clovis put the stone back under his shirt and shook the boy with both hands this time, but the life had disappeared from his eyes. The boy Historian—and the secrets to unlock the power of the stone—were gone.

CHAPTER 2

2013 AD - GRAND VALLEY STATE UNIVERSITY

DOWNTOWN GRAND RAPIDS CAMPUS

Papers filled the air in the midst of the slow-motion action. One young man fell backwards over the stadium chair into the lap of an attractive blond sophomore. The chain reaction of the crash forced a total of four students to topple over, spewing their binders, notebooks, and pencils across the other students who thought they were going to avoid any interaction by sitting in the far back of the class.

The cause of the crash, a gangly, blond-haired young man, stood standing. He took the brunt of the impact with his nose, helping him to snap upright instead of tumbling end over end. The victims of the impact were also late for class, but had walked in quietly, attracting little if no attention. The instructor was already well underway with his warnings of the upcoming exam when Adam came running in at full speed. Now the entire class was frozen, staring at Adam as he stood in the doorway, his possessions mixed in among the chaos.

Oh my God, you're bleeding! one girl shouted out.

Adam looked puzzled until he felt his face under his nose. At first, it was a small trickle from his right nostril, but it quickly turned into an all out pouring of blood out his nose and over and through his fingers. He ran again, this time down the hall to the nearest bathroom.

It took him darn near fifteen minutes to get his bloody nose under control. He spent the rest of the hour trying to get the stains out of his plaid shirt. He scrubbed at it in the porcelain sink, but merely managed to create a wet patch of diluted red over the entire front of it. He stood there in his gray t-shirt, scrubbing, and never noticed the man standing in the doorway.

Are you ok, son?

The voice startled Adam and he dropped his shirt into the sink. Professor, I didn't see you there. I'm sorry I was late, and for...you know, disrupting everything.

Are you ok? he repeated.

Yeah. No. Not really. Adam hung his head down and resumed his cleaning.

Why don't you meet me in my office when you are done in here. It wasn't as much a question as it was an order. I took the liberty to collect your things. He sat the pile of papers and books down on the edge of the nearest sink, and the tall, bearded man turned and left .

Adam stared at himself in the mirror. His nose was swelling and he could already get a sense of the bruising which was coming. He wondered if he should get an x-ray to see if his nose was broken. He never liked his face, and now it was turning uglier, literally by the second. He looked down at the stained shirt and opted to throw it in the trash on the way out of the bathroom.

He had never been in Professor Barth's office prior to that day. It was at the far end of the faculty hall, next to a closed door, where he found an unadorned plate reading Professor Barth, College of Liberal Arts and Sciences.

He thought about turning and running away. The feeling of running had been growing inside of him over the last year, and with each increasing stressful situation, that urge grew ever stronger. It came to the point that now the simple act of dealing with an offended professor called upon the desire to flee.

He forced himself to knock lightly, hoping nobody was inside. The echo of his gentle tapping faded, and after a pause to be sure, he turned to leave. He did as he was asked and it was not his fault his professor got sidetracked. He thought maybe Professor Barth stopped at a vending machine or was flagged down by another student.

Open the door, Mr. Dietrich.

Even with the muffling through the closed door, Adam recognized the warm, cultivated voice. He sighed and slowly turned the knob.

The office was not at all what he expected. After all, an elderly history instructor should have a cluttered, dusty office filled with books and oddities. Instead, Professor Barth's office mirrored a showroom at a Design Quest store with the trendiest of Scandinavian furniture. The modern colors and shapes, and the minimalist feel, was contrasted by the kind smile Professor Barth had on his face as he waved Adam to have a seat in an egg-shaped plastic chair.

Adam placed his books on a nearby, smoked glass desk and awkwardly sat down.

You should put some ice on that. Professor Barth rose from his chair to get a better look at Adam's face. It appears straight, so regardless if it is broke or not, it should heal up nicely. You might have some bruising appear, but that won't last long.

Adam noticed Professor Barth jump back. He wasn't positive he was seeing things properly, The swelling in his nose caused his eyes to water some, which obscured his vision, however, the man clearly twitched. Adding to his suspicions, Adam swore Professor Barth's eyes narrowed and that he seemed to be staring at something other than him.

My birthmark.

He should have surmised it earlier. It's not like it was the first time somebody found his birthmark interesting. He normally kept the odd-shaped mark hidden under his long sleeve shirts, but it could now be seen protruding out from the shorter sleeve of his gray t-shirt. He shifted his shoulders in an attempt to cover the red mark and the movement snapped Professor Barth out of his trance.

Professor Barth quickly changed the subject. So Adam, it seems like you are having quite the bad day?

It's nothing. Just a little bloody nose.

In the bathroom a few minutes ago it appeared to me maybe there is more on your mind. Is there anything you want to talk about?

He had plenty to talk about, only he didn't know where to begin to explain his troubles. However, Adam was not up to sharing his personal problems with a man he barely knew. No, I'm fine sir, was all he could muster to get out.

Are you sure? I am also an academic advisor and anything we talk about would remain strictly confidential. Professor Barth sat back down in his leather gliding chair. You know, I really am as old as I look.

I wouldn't say you are old, Professor.

I have lived a long life.

I guess I don't see what you are talking about sir.

My point is I have seen a great many things. I just might be of assistance to you if you want talk.

Adam looked up at him and could see the sincerity in his eyes. It would probably feel good to get his problems off of his chest.

Perhaps another time.

I'm good.

Are you sure?

Yes, I'm sure. Adam stood up and grabbed his books and edged towards the door. Thank you for your concern, but I don't need to trouble you any further. I promise not to be late tomorrow.

Ok Adam. Just know my door is always open...well figuratively speaking anyway.

Thanks again Professor. Adam rushed out the office and back down the hall towards the auditorium wing.

CHAPTER 3

Adam realized he had nothing to run from and the warming sun of the late afternoon refreshed and calmed him. His anxiety had been getting worse and he was becoming frustrated at how easily he was affected lately.

A few more deep breaths and his heart rate fell back down to a normal pace. The only issue bothering him now was the sad state of affairs his 1998 Cavalier was in. He walked past a newer, black Honda Civic before he reached his car, and wondered what it would be like to have enough money for a car built in this century. His family never had any money, and now that his mother was constantly ill, they struggled even harder. Supplying her alcoholism was nowhere near as draining as the school tuition bills—his scholarships only went so far.

You are going to make me so proud, she would say. It will all be worth it.

He sat his books on the roof of his car and fumbled for his keys. He inserted the car key and unlocked his door. Just as he started to raise the door handle, his cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number. Nobody other than his mother called him on his cell.

Hello? He answered suspiciously.

Adam, listen to me very carefully.

The voice sounded familiar, but he wasn't able to immediately place it. Who is this?

I'm sorry. This is Professor Barth. You have to listen to me right now. You have to come back inside the school, but don't cross back through the parking lot in the direction you came.

Excuse me, Professor, but this makes no sense. What is going on?

Adam. You are in danger. I am looking out the window from my office right now and I see you standing by your car. There are two men coming your way from the auditorium entrance. Do not let them see you. I want you to walk north into the parking ramp. Come back to the school from the other side of the parking ramp.

Professor, you have to be mistaken. Why on earth would I be in danger? Besides, why don't I just get into my car and drive off?

I don't think your car is safe. I know one of these men. There is a high likelihood your car is wired with some type of explosive.

Look, I have no idea why you are doing this. I normally have a great sense of humor, but this is ridiculous. No offense, Professor, but I think I am going to leave. I know I disrupted your class, but this is kinda weird and is making me feel uncomfortable. He could not wrap his brain around the conversation. He tried, but nothing made any reasonable sense

"Adam. There is no time. I am not joking and I can explain things further once you are inside. Just do me a favor and walk to the parking ramp. Please, whatever you do, do not open your car door. You have to trust me. I have no reason to mess with you. The men