Chaos and Curses

By C.W. Smidt

All seventeen-year-old Lena Santalin ever wanted to do was work and take care of her family. Until her dreams of a simple life shatter with one word: Cursed.

Everyone in Keiben knew the cursed were trouble. Born with uncontrollable power, they couldn't be allowed to roam free. Wherever a cursed goes, terrible a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shadowink Books, LLC
• Release date: Jul 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988276807

Book preview

Chaos and Curses

C.W. Smidt

Copyright © 2023 by C.W. Smidt

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [include publisher/author contact info].

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

To my family who helped me write, edit, and publish my first novel, thank you so much for everything. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.

To Granny, thank you for introducing me to reading and writing. I miss you.

To Hope, the best of dogs, I hope you’re happy and at peace. Until we meet again.

Contents

1.Chapter One

2.Chapter Two

3.Chapter Three

4.Chapter Four

5.Chapter Five

6.Chapter Six

7.Chapter Seven

8.Chapter Eight

9.Chapter Nine

10.Chapter Ten

11.Chapter Eleven

12.Chapter Twelve

13.Chapter Thirteen

14.Chapter Fourteen

15.Chapter Fifteen

16.Chapter Sixteen

About the Author

Chapter One

image-placeholder

T hose logs won’t move themselves, Lena, Sloan, a short but sturdy man, shouted across the logging field. The shout broke Valena Santalin out of her rather vivid daydream. She turned her full attention to her boss, Sloan Bardens, and the small elderly couple by his side. The older gentleman of the pair seemed to be winning the contest for most hunched shoulders, but not by much. The woman, she assumed was his wife, wrapped herself tightly in a thick shawl, as though she was freezing. There was a nip in the air, but nothing to suggest such drastic measures were necessary. The trio stood by a small, aged wagon, pulled by two muddled gray horses.

A soft breeze blew a pine coated scent against Lena’s olive skin, pulling strands of her auburn hair to dance across her face. Lena brandished her wide, customer smile as she shook the hair from her face. Of course, Sloan. She tugged at the edge of her leather gloves, securing them to her hands, before grabbing the first two logs on the pile in front of her and headed to the wagon.

How many are we looking at today? Sloane gestured with a large hand to the log pile.

The old man’s face wrinkled into a disapproving frown as she made her way toward them. Fifteen, the hunched man gruffed. The old woman beside him smiled at Lena, almost making up for her husband’s less than pleasant demeanor. It’s probably a full-time job for her, Lena thought.

As one of the few women to work in the logging yard, Lena had encountered far worse than this man’s sour look in her lifetime. Most men, especially older men, disapproved of her presence. Some even believed that she was taking jobs away from more capable men, being paid the same amount while only doing half the work. It wasn’t true, of course, but she couldn’t control the speculation of others, only her own efforts.

Need some help, girl? the old man asked as she passed them.

No, sir. She chuckled to herself as she placed the logs down. It’s all part of the job. The wooden floorboards of the wagon were water-worn from years of exposure and neglect. The front of the wagon where the couple would sit had been replaced in the past five years, probably out of necessity. Lena had been thinking about giving them more dense hickory logs that would burn longer, but now she wasn’t sure the wagon could handle the weight.

Sloan laughed at the exchange. If she wasn’t up to it, I wouldn’t have hired her. This is one tough kid, here.

I can see that, the old woman replied in a shaky voice. She loosened her grip on the shawl she carried to reveal a deep gray fleece dress that hung off her in baggy bunches. The dress, it was probably a normal size, but the woman appeared no more than skin and bones. White hair hung up in a messy bun on the top of her head, with strands hanging across her face, exaggerating prominent cheekbones and sunken blue eyes. Her legs quivered as if they didn’t have enough muscle to support her weight, even her smile trembled at the edges.

Not a kid, Lena countered Sloan, trying her best to ignore the sting in her chest at the sight of the old woman. She reached the pile again and made sure to grab a few more logs than before, very aware of the old man’s judgmental eye.

You are for the next three days. Sloan turned his focus back to the couple before him, forcing Lena to bite back the sarcastic comment she’d been prepared to fire off.

Three more days and she would be eighteen, ready to go it alone according to the king and crown. There was no way she could survive on her own with how little money she was making now, nor could her family survive without the money she brought in. Her older brother still lived in the family home for those same reasons. Life was hard on the outer rim of the Keiben kingdom.

Sometimes, Lena allowed herself to dream about living beside the castle in Venor, not having to do much of anything since everyone who lived there was somehow independently wealthy. In these daydreams, she couldn’t seem to figure out what she’d do with her life without work. It was never long before reality caught up with her. Life was what it was, and she had to play with the cards she’d been dealt.

Lena placed the last few logs down into the couple’s cart, with one extra hickory log in the center, and turned back to them. That should do it, she said, tapping her hand on the pile and tried to ignore the groaning of the wagon floor underneath the weight of the wood. Is there anything else I can get for you?

The old man had composed himself while Lena was working, apparently finding her work satisfactory. He shook his head at her. No, that’ll be all.

Lena nodded and let Sloan see to the payment. When she turned back to the field, Lena’s eyes easily landed on her older brother, Derek. He was working the back of the fields, sawing large wooden trunks into more manageable pieces.

Derek was, by all accounts, a stunning young man. His platinum blond hair singled him out in any crowd, earning him all the women’s attention. Working in the logging fields for six years helped define his muscles. At twenty-two, many of the townsfolk wondered why the most eligible bachelor in the outer rim wasn’t married. Lena knew it was because he couldn’t afford it, especially not while trying to help their mother.

Derek paused his sawing to wipe sweat from his forehead before taking a wide stance and giving her an overly exaggerated wave. Lena laughed and followed suit. He was always good at making her laugh.

He’d always been a people person. It was apparent to everyone that he didn’t belong in the fields. Their mother desperately wanted him to look into following a science, math, or teaching career, but that wasn’t where Derek’s heart was either. Sculpting was his true passion. He could take an unsuspecting piece of wood and sculpt it into animals, faces, even life-sized figures.

When their father died, Sloan gave him a large black walnut log which Derek used to create a life-sized carving of their father from memory. It now sat in their living room, after three men helped them carry it home, and it was breathtakingly lifelike. Sometimes, when the room was dark enough, she could swear her father was standing there with her, not just a wooden statue. She’d even talk to it every so often, but she’d never tell Derek that.

Looks like the Rilands need your help, Sloan said, motioning toward a much young couple with their two younger boys running circles around them. One of Lena’s coworkers, Mason, was assisting them, but the Rilands were known for having ridiculously large orders. On top of that, the longer the Riland boys were here, the more likely they were to break something. One wouldn’t think there wouldn’t be a lot of things to break in a logging field, but these boys found a way.

I’m on it, Lena replied, offering her brother one last wave before catching up to Mason.

Hey, Tiny, Mason greeted.

Ogre, she countered.

Mason was no small man, standing at least three heads taller than Lena and looking like he lifted man-sized tree trunks in his spare time. The rumor was that he started working with Sloan’s logging company at age thirteen, where Sloan worked him to the bone every day. Supposedly, he was paid in large slabs of meat which he ate raw to help him grow as tall and sturdy as a redwood; Sloan’s personal experiment.

Lena wasn’t sure if she believed it, but it made for a good story. Now, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, he carried no less than eight logs in his arms at once, often carrying piles higher than he could see over, trusting others to get out of his way. Right now, he was pushing himself to his limits. His blue eyes could just barely make a path toward the Rilands’ cart over the massive pile in his hands. Almost every woman loved to watch him work, Lena included.

Need some help? she asked, watching the muscles in his arms twitch against the load.

Mason huffed at that, as she knew he would. He hated the thought of being weak. Sometimes, Lena thought he feared it, but the thought of such a giant fearing anything was ridiculous. If you want to grab a few more from the pile, I won’t stop you.

Lena laughed. How many more?

They need twenty-six more.

Hey, Mister, called the tiny voice of one of the Riland boys. Both boys had turned their attention from their game of ‘run-around-the-parents’ to the logging strongman. They were jogging at Mason’s side, opposite Lena. How strong are you, Mister?

Mason managed a nervous chuckle over the log pile.

He’s pretty impressive, right? Lena chimed in when Mason said nothing. The strongest in the town, for sure.

Is it really heavy? the other boy asked, cutting into Mason’s path. Lena had to pull Mason toward her to make sure he didn’t accidentally run the kid over.

Mason grunted, more at Lena’s pulling than the question. Just a bit, he replied, while refocusing his footing. Mason was a very good guy; but he was in no way skilled at dealing with children. Lena was sure he’d lose his temper if she didn’t run some kind of interference.

Why don’t you boys come with me so you can find out just how heavy they are? she asked. Who knows, maybe you’ll give Mason here some competition.

I bet I can hold three of them! the smaller of the two kids exclaimed, stopping in his tracks. Dozens of tiny freckles covered his face, visible against the excited glow in his cheeks.

If the girl can hold four, I should at least be able to hold five, the older of the two fired back at his brother, stopping as well. While he wasn’t nearly as freckled, there was no denying the kinship between the boys.

Lena bit her cheek at the insult, trying to keep herself from responding. A poorly disguised chuckle from Mason echoed in her ears. Oh really? Let’s go see then, shall we? She motioned back towards one of the larger log piles.

The wide grins on the boys’ faces were infectious. They bolted towards the pile, showing more energy than Lena could fathom maintaining this late in the afternoon. She followed after them at her own pace.

When she caught up, both boys were at the pile, trying to pull logs into their arms, but failing to get a good grip. You’re doing it wrong! the youngest of the two shouted. Let me go first!

No! I’m the oldest. I should go first!

But you always go first!

That’s because… I will always be… the oldest. The boy struggled with his words between tugs at the logs before him.

Hey, Lena called as she approached. Don’t hurt yourselves now. Let me help. The last thing they needed was the Riland parents causing a scene about their injured child so close to the end of the day. Lena sighed and grabbed the log from the elder boy with ease.

How’d you do that? the boy asked, his sandy ringlets bouncing against the sides of his face.

Lena situated the log in one arm, wiggling her fingers. The gloves help the grip. Now, put your arms out.

The elder boy obeyed immediately. Lena deposited the log into his outstretched arms, making sure he could hold the weight before releasing it. You think you can handle getting it to the cart?

I can do it!

Go on then. She watched as the eldest boy jumped into action, scooting himself toward his cart as fast as he could. Don’t drop it now! she called after him, causing him to slow his pace a little.

What about me? The youngest one tugged on Lena’s pinkie.

Lena couldn’t stop the wide grin that spread across her face. I could never forget about you. The younger boy looked up at her with glowing green eyes shining through a mess of brown curls, his arms already outstretched and waiting for his prize.

Lena turned to the woodpile, picking out the smallest piece she could find that still looked large enough to not insult the child’s ego. How about this one? she said, picking it up. She was satisfied with the weight in her hands, certain the boy could handle it.

The child was too excited to speak, electing to simply nod wildly. She placed the log carefully in his outstretched arms.

Remember to be careful now.

I will. He turned from her faster than she thought possible. Maybe the log was a little too light for him. The kid shuffled past Mason on his way to deliver his prize to the wagon.

Mason had deposited his pile and was on his way back to get some more. He shook his massive head in her direction. You’re good with them, he said as he approached.

Who? The Riland boys? That’s an easy problem to fix. Lena reached to grab a few logs of her own. Just need to give them a way to run off their own energy.

It’s not just them. Mason grabbed a few logs, piling them into his massive arms. You’re pretty good with all the little ones that come in here.

Lena huffed. Kids are easy. Lena grabbed a heavy load, taking some of the weight from Mason. She didn’t want him to overexert himself, especially when she could do something about it. It’s the adults that are difficult.

A small crowd at the edge of the clearing caught Lena’s eye. Most of them were dressed in full body black jackets with matching dark clothing underneath. One was different- a young man brandishing an ankle length gray cloak and tall black hat. Two of the black jacketed men were having a hushed discussion with Sloan, backs facing the field. She knew that gray outfit well, but not on such a young man. It was the outfit of the Identifier.

The Identifier was one of the Cursed, someone born with inhuman capabilities beyond their own control. The ability every Cursed has is different, ranging from breathing under water, to control over nature. Some even say there are Cursed with the ability to control the minds of others. Only one thing was certain with every Cursed; accidents always happen around them. None of them can handle their abilities.

The Cursed were no different from anyone else- until their first accident, that is. There was no way to tell who was Cursed and who wasn’t; at least not without the Identifier. The Identifier’s job was to visit every place in Keiben, from the smallest village to the largest city and determine who was Cursed before they had an incident. He had the unique ability to tell if someone was Cursed and posed a danger to society.

What do you think they’re doing here? Lena asked, turning her attention back to Mason.

Mason turned his back to the men, toward a pile of long timbers, and began rearranging them. It’s that time of year, I suppose.

Once per year several people were given a letter telling them that they must subject themselves to an inquiry to see if they were Cursed. When the Identifier pointed out a Cursed, their lives were over. They would attend the choosing ceremony where they could elect either to become property of the Kingdom of Keiben and allow others to control them and their curse, or they would surrender their home, family, and possibly even their lives and be banished beyond the barrier. No one knew what existed beyond the barrier, but only the Cursed could cross it, and none of them ever returned.

No one chose to be Cursed. It wasn’t right for them to lose their freedom or even lives based on something beyond their control, but the risk of violent accidents was just too much for Keiben to take on.

She’d seen the Identifier before, and it always gave her the chills; but this was not the Identifier she knew. The last Identifier was an old man who’d looked like he had one foot in the grave. Maybe he’d finally died and the young man she was seeing was his replacement.

This man had long brown hair cascading past his shoulders. She wondered briefly if he grew the hair to cover the brand on the back of his neck. All the identified Cursed had one. The brand was the way they controlled the Cursed. It was some kind of magic that Lena didn’t understand, no matter how many times they explained it to her. It had something to do with the metal inserted under the skin. Honestly, she hadn’t paid too much attention, there were so few Cursed on the outer rim and it hadn’t seemed like important information.

Oh, look, your boyfriend’s here, Mason said, shaking Lena’s concentration. He’d finished his reorganizing and was pointing behind Lena toward the trees.

I don’t have a boyfriend, Lena said, glaring at him before glancing backwards.

Lena’s closest childhood friend, Rhyne, was charging straight for them at a pace Lena considered concerning. He was usually a very relaxed guy, choosing a slow walk which allowed him to admire the nature surrounding him rather than the rapid shuffle he was sporting now. The disheveled mess of honey hair on his head and a thin sheen of sweat across his face meant he was definitely in a rush to arrive.

Does he know that? he asked as Rhyne reached earshot.

Ignoring Mason, Lena turned her attention to her friend. Hey, she said, smiling warmly, trying to ease his tension. What’s up?

Lena, I’m glad I found you. I’ve been looking for you all day.

Well, I’ve been here all day. Lena picked up a few of the oak timbers that had fallen off of their organized pile. Just like I always am.

Rhyne ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. Old Hazel came to me a few hours ago. She said she needs you.

Lena’s eyebrows knitted together. Aunt Hazel? I was going to see her tomorrow. Lena placed the logs down harder than she should have and winced at the noise. Did she say what she wanted?

No, she just said she needed you.

Lena removed her gloves slowly, pulling each finger loose before tugging the whole thing off her hands. The muscles in her shoulders begged her to go home and rest, it’d been a long day. Everyone was preparing for the cold front predicted in the next few weeks week and needed wood. Could she wait until tomorrow?

Rhyne placed a hand on her arm, turning her to face him. Concern echoed back at her in his forest green eyes. "She came to me, Lena. She never comes to me."

She knew he was right. Hazel was a recluse; rarely leaving her home in the woods, let alone going into town to seek out another person. Usually, Lena brought any food or supplies out to her weekly.

Mason, Sloan said, approaching the group. The officials want a word with you. He motioned back to the crowd. The two men who’d been talking with him were now accompanied by the Identifier.

What do they want with me? Mason asked.

Sloan shrugged. Didn’t ask. He glanced back at the group. Wouldn’t keep them waiting though if I were you.

Mason sighed. Yeah, yeah. He put down the last of the logs and dusted off his hands. Think I look ready to meet ’em? His ripped pants, sleeveless, sweat covered shirt, and worn work boots were nowhere near on par with the officially clothed men, but no one in their right mind would complain about it.

Lena chuckled at the thought of Mason trying to dress like the officials. She doubted they made guard uniforms big enough for someone like him. They won’t know what hit them.

Careful now. You keep looking at me like that and your boyfriend may get jealous. Mason cocked his head towards Rhyne as Lena slapped Mason’s arm in protest.

We aren’t dating. Rhyne said. It was a common assumption, one both of them firmly denied.

Yeah, yeah. We’ll see. Mason removed his gloves, handing them to Sloan before walking towards the officials.

Why do people always think we’re a couple? Rhyne asked.

Lena chuckled, Maybe if they knew I was the one who hooked you up with Eva, they’d change their mind.

You didn’t hook me up with Eva! Rhyne crossed his arms over his chest and jutted out his lower jaw.

Oh no? You’re saying she would have gone out with you completely without my prompting and talking you up? I’ll remember that the next time you want my help with a woman.

Rhyne rolled his eyes at that. I don’t need help in that department.

Lena repressed a groan at his comment. With his dirty blond hair, forest green eyes, and olive complexion, he had no trouble finding women to keep him company. His parents being known as the best tailors in town didn’t hurt either. Lena had never been one to fall victim to his charm. It might have had something to do with growing up with him, but she’d like to think that she was stronger than the average swooning woman.

Sloan took a step toward the two. Maybe you two should get out of here.

Why? she asked.

Things could get a little messy, Sloan said. He glanced back at Mason, who had reached the officials and the crowd. The three men exchanged a few brief words. Whatever was being said, clearly Mason didn’t like it. She could see the muscles in his back tightening.

Messy? Lena asked.

The Identifier launched himself towards Mason, gripping his forearm tightly and squaring himself off, face to face with each other. Lena’d heard about this before, but she’d never actually seen it.

What’s going on, Sloan? Rhyne asked.

The answer was obvious. Someone thought Mason was Cursed. The thought had never occurred to her before, but Mason was incredibly strong. But Cursed strong? Lena always tried her hardest not to over-analyze anyone’s uniqueness. It was none of her business and could only get others in trouble.

Sloan cleared his throat. You remember the incident a few weeks ago? A falling tree almost crushed three workers.

Yes, Lena replied cautiously. It’d been the talk of the yard.

Mason caught that one hundred-year-old tree in the field with his bare hands. No normal man could lift something that heavy on their own, but he did. He has to be Cursed.

Rhyne turned to fully face Sloan then. So, let me make sure I understand this. Mason saved the lives of three of your workers and you allowed the Identifier on your land who you knew was going to take him?

Sloan shook his head. "No, I invited him onto my land."

Rhyne stepped back with a mix of shock and disgust painted across his face.

I couldn’t risk an accident, not in my company. I can’t afford something like that here, Sloan continued. Every Cursed is dangerous. I have to think about my men, my investments.

He saved your men, Lena said, taking a step forward. And you betrayed him to the Identifier?

No. Sloan squared his shoulders. I did my duty to the kingdom. The Cursed are dangerous, the rot of society. Don’t tell me you’re a sympathizer.

The Identifier let go of Mason, stepped back, and nodded. He was Cursed.

Mason backed away from the officials with his palms up, trying to show that he was no threat. The two men