Gabrielle and the War of the Gods Read online

  GABRIELLE‘S ADVETURE

  THROUGH TIME:

  BOOK 3

  GABRIELLE

  AND THE

  WAR

  OF THE

  GODS

  http://zachchop.com

  ZACHARY CHOPCHINSKI

  Gabrielle and The War of The Gods

  Copyright © 2016 Zachary Paul Chopchinski

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  For information address Books & Bow Ties Publishing, 4844 E. Michigan St, Orlando, FL. 32812 www.zachchop.com

  The Curious Tale of Gabrielle/Zachary P. Chopchinski- 3rd ed. Printed in the United States of America.

  June 2021

  Published by Books & Bow Ties Publishing

  Orlando, FL.

  ISBN-

  ISBN-

  Edited by Megan Cutler

  Cover design by Molly Phipps

  Author photo by Jessica Verge Photography

  Praise For

  GABRIELLE

  AND THE

  WAR

  OF THE

  GODS

  “OMG this is intense.”

  -YA Book Madness Blog

  “Bravo Bow Tie Author! You knocked this one outta the park and have earned a fan for life.”

  -Author Jessica Jesinghaus

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Writing a book comes with many steps and it takes a bunch of people to get a final product out.

  I want to thank everyone that has dedicated their time to my journey. A special thank you to Jordan White and Jonas Lee for putting up with me and answering all of my questions.

  Without you guys, I would simply be another guy with a bunch of cool ideas. It’s all of your hard work that has gotten me where I am today and I thank each and every one of you for that.

  Bow Tie Author out!

  I’d like to dedicate this book to my wife Layla, because without her these books don't happen.

  No really…

  MORE FROM ZACH

  The Gabrielle’s Adventure Through Time Series:

  The Curious Tale of Gabrielle

  Gabrielle and The Hounds of Arawn

  Gabrielle and The War of The Gods

  Gabrielle and Arawn’s Penance

  The Hall of Doors Series:

  Webley and The World Machine

  Webley and The World Machine Coloring Book

  Kip and The Grinders

  Arija and The Burning City

  Ypsilon and The Plague Doctor

  Van and The Demon Army

  Kip and The Bloody Red

  Adal and The Time Travelers

  Maza and The Pyramids

  Molly and The Hunted

  The Tinkerers and The Golden City

  Other:

  From Now On: The Last Words Anthology

  PROLOGUE

  The cannons had been firing for nearly two days. The salted essence of perspiration and putrid death stung the soldiers’ noses as they awaited the rising sun.

  Although the sun wasn't quite up yet, the stagnate hot air singed the necks of all those scattered about Gettysburg. The heat from their weapons burned the calloused flesh of their hands.

  A small squadron of young soldiers huddled in a mass in the shadows of a small grouping of trees. They sat in solemn silence in the morning shadows watching the sun begin to crest the horizon.

  Their Sergeant, Cullen Howard, stood atop a large rock at the head of the group. He looked to them, his face scrunched in a scowl as nearly a dozen faces peered back at him with hope in their young eyes.

  The eldest among them was not more than nineteen, yet age was not important in war time. These children became men the moment the government decided it was time for the youth to die for a cause that may not have been their own.

  Sergeant Cullen’s heart no longer fluttered in times of war. He’d been through the mill many times and had come out a changed man. This was his profession now, and he’d seen enough battle to know he was good at it.

  With distant yelling and the sound of explosions, the battle would soon be upon them. Per his orders, once the sun crested the hill, he and his men were to charge into the Confederate ranks as they approached.

  In these last moments before certain death, Cullen imagined what his men were thinking. Former lives, far away from the Hell of war, back where they could be the young men they once were, tending to the lives they rightly should be tending to.

  Not here.

  Not now.

  Not like this.

  One set of eyes, not quite dead to the world yet, crept through the mass of emotionless faces. Clinging to what little life and happiness they could, a young private looked to his Sergeant with baby-blue eyes.

  A well of life sprang forth and the Sergeant felt the acidic taste of bile creep up the back of his throat as he pondered the likely outcome for this young blue eyed private.

  To protect what little humanity he had left, Cullen refused to get to know any of his men, to protect his spirit as best he could.

  The young soldier’s face softened and his lips parted as if he wished to speak. “W-what do you say, sir? Is it time to kill us some Rebels?” he asked in a false, forced bravado.

  Cullen had heard this tone many times before. This was the tone of a scared child, attempting to sound toughened and ready for the fight. “Where you from, private?”

  “Ohio, sir. You?” he asked, excitement laced in his voice. It was subtle, but the boy was looking for strength in the hour before his likely death. He wanted a connection that reminded him he was not in Hell, merely at the gates.

  Cullen ignored his question.

  “Sir, why don’t you ever talk of home? We don’t even know your name for Christ’s sake.” The soldier’s eyes went wide as the words spilled from his lips.

  Cullen had not intended to think of home. He never did like thinking of his life before battle. With all he’d seen, all he’d done, he knew he couldn’t face the man that he once was.

  “You still have kin? A sweetheart?” Cullen ignored the boy’s outburst, doing his best to feign a smile. As the morning air brushed across his teeth and gums, he felt a sensation of wrongdoing. A smile before a fight was never a good sign.

  A growing confidence crept across the boy’s face. “Most of my kin is still there. I have three brothers in their own battles somewhere. Hoping to find a pretty gal once I get back home. After I’m done with these Rebels, that is.”

  Cullen’s stomach churned at the thought of this boy’s family at home, waiting for him. A chill shot through him as he noticed the young soldier was still looking to him, a youthful smile across his cheeks.

  The Sergeant wrung his sweaty palm around the shaft of his rifle. He walked over to the boy, gently placed his hand on his shoulder, gave three firm pats of reassurance, then made his way to another rock.

  Against his better judgement, the young soldier made him think more fondly of home. His life before the war. His love. He often liked to think he did this for her, yet something told him that was a lie.

  All his life, Cullen was disgusted at the thought of people being taken, and when the opportunity presented itself to free slaves, nothing was more important to him.

  With a tight grip upon the fore end of his rifle, he let his left-hand fall to his side and dig into his pocket. Once his fingers found the ruffled edges of paper, he
withdrew the contents, revealing an old photograph.

  The photo was of the only person he had left to care about. Her beauty projected from the faded photo like star fire. Cullen’s cold eyes danced across the face of the woman. Her eyes were so warm, her face soft and her gentle smile still brought a quickening to his heart; the only way he could tell that he still had one. Reverently, he ran his thumb over her face, pausing at her chin.

  A nearby shot cracked through the silence causing his men to jump. Cullen put the photo back into his pocket before any of the others could see him in his moment of weakness.

  “Fall in!” he commanded, his voice coming over the ensuing battle just out of sight.

  With a cascade of stomps, his squad fell into line, standing straight as statues, hands firmly on their weapons.

  This was the moment that would either kill his men, or turn them into the killing machines he demanded of them.

  Cullen’s gaze swept over the line of boys, their expressions an unsettling mixture of fear, rage, hopefulness, and all accompanied by the same dead eyes.

  All but one pair.

  “The moment has come. The moment where, once again, we are required to charge into the inferno, kill those Secesh bastards, and make our way home! Many of our brothers have fallen, and it’s now our turn to make the Rebels pay for what they’ve done. They like killing and enslaving human beings, and are willing to die for that cause. I say to you, it’s about time we grant that request!”

  They were ready.

  Ready to fight, to kill, and to die.

  Bile raced up Cullen’s throat as he once more found those blue eyes looking at him. His life be damned, this boy was going to make it home. “On my orders, men. We charge into the unknown to battle evil. May God be with you, and your rifles fire true!”

  Cullen turned to face the hill. The glistening dew shimmered in an amber hue as the sun ran down the side of the hill. The time was now.

  “Send ‘em to Hell!” he shouted as he signaled his men to charge. Though his squadron was small, their boots thundered as they pounded the ground towards the hillside.

  Cullen crested the hilltop and brought his rifle to the ready. The rest of his men followed suit as they rounded the hill and feted a few paces ahead of him, dropping to one knee with rifles up.

  Time stopped.

  In that frozen moment, an instant turned into an eternity, all Cullen saw before him was death and killing. A sea of bodies strewn about the endless battlefield.

  Men stepping on the corpses of their fallen brothers, wanting only to survive. Crimson stained the hillside and in spite of all the shooting, cannons, and explosions, all that could be heard were the screams. In those screams, there were no allies or enemies. All are allies in death.

  Cullen glanced at his men. Rifles out, faces sighted in, rigid and locked, waiting for the next order. He was proud to have these men at his side.

  A flicker of panic ran over him as he remembered the young blue-eyed boy. He shot a frantic gaze around until he saw a glint of sapphire from the side of a sight. “Watch for the boy—” he whispered to himself.

  A whirring stabbed his ears, and like the movement of a clock, the gears began to turn, life came back and the battle no longer sat frozen in time. A group of Rebels charged at the hill.

  “Hold fire. Don’t engage ’till you can smell the sweat of their brow!” Cullen commanded, noticing the shaking start to develop in his men. Their adrenalin was pumping into every part of their bodies and soon they would be able to do what they came there to do.

  “Fire!” He brought his rifle to his cheek and took aim at a soldier directly in front of him. Their eyes locked in an animalistic instinct of hatred and distain. With a light squeeze, a thunderous commotion emerged as a wave of smoke and fire washed over the advancing soldier.

  Mists of pink and red sprayed through the air as the faces of their enemies went blank, and the life flooded from their expressions.

  “Bayonets. Fire at will. Make ‘em regret takin’ arms!”

  Cullen took his rifle in one hand and pulled his revolver from his belt. He drew back the hammer and took aim at a soldier that approached one of the boys reloading his rifle. The shot hit the enemy soldier in the side. Drawing the hammer back again, the Sergeant found another soldier making his way past the line.

  Chaos surrounded him, but Cullen remained cold and with a steady hand. His next two shots also found their marks, sending two more soldiers back from the hill.

  In the calamity, Cullen had nearly forgotten the young soldier he vowed to protect. His sharp gaze was timely as he found the young boy, fighting off two Rebel soldiers who were trying to pry the rifle from his desperate hands.

  Cullen raised his last shot to one of the men. He pulled the trigger and the back of the soldier’s head exploded.

  The young boy was on his back trying to fight off the second Rebel soldier when Cullen brought the tip of his boot up against the attacker’s jaw. The crunch of bone and flex of dislocation was almost sickening. Cullen brought the butt of his rifle down on the face of the Rebel soldier; silencing the threat for good. “Stick close to me. Today’s not your day to fall, soldier.”

  The blue-eyed soldier looked to his superior, grateful and in shock of what just happened. “Sir—”

  “It’s Cullen, son.” He stepped back and handed the young boy his rifle.

  “Cullen…” The soldier trailed off as if the word was foreign, before snapping back to attention. “The name’s Sam.”

  Another group of soldiers sounded their charge.

  Cullen bent to pick up another revolver that had fallen to the ground. Holding them by the barrels, the heavy pistols now became bludgeons.

  As the enemy approached the top of the hill, Cullen ran in front of Sam to cut off the first two attackers. Using the pistols, he knocked away the first soldier’s rifle and brought the handle of his revolver down on his forehead. Sam thrust his blade into the second soldier’s stomach.

  Cullen sucked in a deep breath. His lungs burned from exhaustion, his heart thudding in the corners of his vision.

  Six more Rebel soldiers charged at them.

  Cullen patted the boy on his shoulder and then took off towards the enemy. “Run, Sam!”

  Cullen had never experienced this level of savagery before. He didn’t know where this sudden bout of rage had come from, or why he felt such a strong need to save the blue-eyed Sam. All he wanted was to fight to protect Sam, the thought consumed him.

  The next attacker threw himself into Cullen’s chest and the two fell to the ground.

  Sam raced to his sergeant’s side, swiping the barrel of his rifle at the next man in line. The sharp blade jetted outward, cutting at the Rebel soldier’s chest.

  Cullen brought both fists up into his attacker’s throat, knocking him away. As he rolled to his stomach, ready for the fight, a bayonet exploded from the Rebel’s ribcage. Sam stood behind the kneeling man, a ferocious expression ravaging his face. For a moment, the nice and simple boy was lost and replaced by the face of war.

  Sam ran to his fallen protector as Cullen sat for a moment, in a daze. Cullen studied the chaos, trying to locate any more of his men. Bodies littered the hillside, both Union and Confederate.

  Thousands of steps caused the ground to rumble and shake. From the distance, Cullen heard the call for a charge from a Confederate line. They were going to assault the hill in full force.

  With a moment’s realization, he knew that they didn't have enough men to thwart the attack. They were going to fall.

  “Sam, they’re coming!” Cullen yelled, pointing to the flank. A group of nearly fifty soldiers broke their line at full sprint toward the hillside. His heart sank at the sight of the savagery that would soon fall on them.

  Cullen stood tall, his gaze fixated on the approaching doom. He shoved his hand into his pocket to find his one reminder of home. The textured photo made him smile as he withdrew i
t from its dark home and gazed once more at the face of his love. A tear rolled down his cheek as he turned to look at the fallen men that surrounded him.

  Cullen thrust the old photograph into the young soldier’s palm. “Sam, take this. Find her.” He turned to the battlefield and drew back the hammers on both pistols.

  The advancing group of Confederates were at full charge up the hill.

  Cullen took a shaky first step toward uncertainty. A strange sensation of peace settled in his chest. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but he felt like this was the only choice he could make. This boy would live, and find his Hazel. He must. Something deep within his soul told Cullen that he had to protect her.

  “Sam! Run!” Cullen yelled over his shoulder as he charged toward the enemy, both pistols raised.

  Sam stood paralyzed. A look of unbridled horror plastered on his once soft face.

  “Now!” Plumes of fire and smoke shot from the barrels of Cullen’s pistols as he gave one last glance over his shoulder to the boy that would live to see another morning.

  Cullen screamed as he ran at full sprint into the mouth of the beast toward his death. His eyes stung from the smoke as rounds tore from his hands and ripped through his enemies.

  In his final moments, time stood still for Cullen. He held the thought in his mind of Sam finding Hazel, of him taking care of her and making sure no harm came to her. It was this thought that became his last. Cullen was able to die in peace.

  I

  Life flew back into Gabrielle like the scream of a horror movie. She wouldn’t have known she was lying on her back if she hadn’t immediately sat up gasping for air.

  Gabrielle coughed as she brought her hands to her throat.

  The last thing she remembered was awaiting her death by guillotine as the French commoners watched and cheered