In a colony called Founder, Marta has spent her entire life believing a lie.
World War ll is not over.
There are still soldiers fighting for the purification of the races. Those born without the correct Aryan genetic code for blonde hair, blue eyes, white skin, are being massacred.
Founders Untouchables believe they are the lucky ones. They have not been killed, they have been spared, for no other reason than the compassion of their Furher.
There are colonies all over the world like Founder. Breeding grounds for the cause, dependent on the generosity of Patrons.
Men and Women like Marion, Founders single Patron.
Lara is Marion’s niece. She discovers the secret of Founder, and is immediately placed under attack by an Aryan nation. Fleeing to Founder for her life, she unwittingly becomes the face of a rebellion. Forcing Founder to confront the present, and face a new reality.
Marta, Founders single Royal Untouchable, can’t allow that to happen.
Founder is complete at 82.000 words.
Sample from Founder
The beach is empty when I arrive, the sun barely rising. The sky is alight with the dawn, and I decide to lay on the small patch of warm sand, listening to the waves lap at the rocks. Coral pink, hazy purples, floating on the blue backdrop. For a moment I let myself be free and imagine I am far from here, with Henrik maybe, and our children. I am building our home in the clouds when a giggle rips across the beach. Impossible dreams. I sit up, my hand at my forehead, pressing against my skull. She is never up this early, but I see them, Henrik stiff and upright, walking toward me through the trees. There’s my mail tube in his hand and Jul is hanging on his arm, her free hand fluttering over him. Adjusting his collar, smoothing his hair, rubbing his back. She runs to approach me, happiness radiating from her.
“Oh Marta! I’m so glad you’re here first! I have something to give you.” This is not what I expected and I’m sure my face betrays me. My mouth open in astonishment, my eyes burning with hatred. I push my hands against my knees to stand, Henrik does not acknowledge me in any way. She is reaching for his pocket, kissing him on the cheek. A paper flutters out, it’s a picture, torn from a magazine. I adjust my features into one of indifference.
“The dog, Marta.” She hands me the scrap.
I study it carefully. A thin girl, thinner than anyone in the Untouchable camps, in another sparkly dress. Sequins I think they’re called, the word floating into my consciousness from one of my many conversations with Jul. Her hair is everywhere, more hair than I’ve ever seen on a person. The head disproportionately larger than her body, and completely ridiculous. In her arms is a dog, a toy really, an accessory maybe. It’s all so confusing.
“Yes, it’s a dog,” I tell her, trying to hand back the paper.
“No Marta,” she is laughing now, speaking slowly so I can understand. “You will get this dog for me, in Manacapuru.”
“The village?” I echo back at her.
“Yes, the village. This princess has a dog, and I want one too.” She is pouting at me, a hand on one hip.
“You want me to bring back, this dog, for you,” I say, pointing at the magazine picture.
“Yes. Good. We understand each other. I have to go back to bed. Honestly I can’t believe I even came all the way over here, but I couldn’t trust Henrik to deliver such an important message. She is teasing him, pinching his butt as she says this.
It secures a small reaction from him, a grimace, like he is in pain.
”It’s why I had the Führer put you on the mail run. Who else could I trust?” She laughs to herself again, whispering something in Henrik’s ear. He shakes his head at her and she slaps him lightly. Sticking her tongue out as she storms off, a silky wave of fabric floating behind her.
He finally meets my eyes, my own hurt reflected there. Sad and beaten, my heart aches for him. I forgot there must be pain in this for him too. I open my mouth to say something, anything to him, but he holds a hand up to stop me. His fingers are splayed wide, his palm white. I close my mouth tightly, and he grimaces before turning away and running after her.
I push the breath out through clenched teeth. My brother has arrived down the beach, loud and obnoxious. There are men with him, carrying large bundles in their arms. Jacobs voice condescendingly authoritative, ordering them to load the supplies. It’s something they’ve done a dozen times before without his help. The boat is bobbing in an inlet created by the rising water. We’re lucky it’s rainy season, or it’d be another day of hiking to the water. This tributary to the river only available six months of the year. Guns and ammunition, food and supplies are loaded. Extra gasoline for the motor.
I do not move to help. I am like a stone, hard, silent, watching. Gripping the paper in my hand.