Badgerblood: Awakening

by S. C. Monson

  “You must train first, learn how to control the shifting,” Hysoph said. He stood in front of the dais, eyeing Kor. “Reclaiming the throne will not be easy.”

  “It may be easier than we think,” Martt countered. “Before I came here under the guise of recruiting mercenaries, I went to the Isle with Leon to investigate the breakout. Rimak claimed Kor died trying to escape, said he jumped from the parapet.”

  “I’ve returned from the dead before,” Kor said. “Leon will be wary.”

  The commander nodded in agreement. “We will have to be careful. But with a bit of planning and your abilities, the crown will be won.”

  “We’ll need help.” Kor fingered the pendant at his neck. A strong pulse came from it and a thought nudged him. He wasn’t sure if it was a good one, but it wouldn’t let him rest. “There’s a girl…” he began.

  Peter grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Only one?”

  Kor ignored the comment, but he couldn’t keep the stiffness out of his tone. “Len—that is, Princess Allinor of Tilldor. I’m not sure how, but I think she can help.”

  Hysoph smiled broadly along with Peter. “The Lady is already here.”

  ****

  Kor jogged down the marble stairway at the back of Hysoph’s wooden palace. He paused at the base and glanced around. Allinor hadn’t been in the guest quarters or anywhere else in the palace his grandfather had suggested looking. So, he’d ventured outside to try his luck there.

  The meadow before him was empty. Withering patches of yellow marred the cropped grass where it was still recovering from winter. Beyond loomed the broad, towering trees of the Borwood Timberland. The forest’s reach was massive. From Nalkara, it stretched south into Perabon, then Tilldor. Kor made his way toward the trees as a cloud slid over the sun. He hunched his shoulders against the cold and wrapped his fur-lined jacket more tightly around him.

  The forest mor ferns grew thick against the Timberland’s border. Their typically deep, mulberry purple was dull and dusted gray from the winter thaw. Kor peered into the trees as he drew closer. The forest’s atmosphere felt heavier and darker than he remembered, even for a winter recovery, and he wondered if that was due to the differing locale.

  Apart from that, the forest looked similar here in Nalkara as it did in Perabon at winter’s end. Bearded winter lichen clung to borwood branches in flowing, hairy bunches. The usually icy white strands were blue-gray, shriveling and dropping away with the change of season. The dying lichen gave the rich russet trees a bruised and battered look.

  A scream rent the air. Kor started back from the forest border, then saw the culprit, perched on a bare borwood branch, high in a tree. The small, plump bird had an emerald beak and orange and nut-brown feathers. It fluttered away with a series of rolling clucks that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

  Kor snorted and allowed himself a grin. Screaming hens. He’d almost missed the flying pests. Almost.

  “They said you were searching for me.”

  He spun. A young woman in a velvet, wine-red cloak stood behind him, looking rather more queenly than he remembered. Wavy auburn hair was plaited around the back of her head like a crown and a silver, pearl-studded hair vine adorned the braids. At her side, a dagger with a jeweled hilt was sheathed in a gem-studded scabbard. Beside the dagger hanging from the belt was a traditional braided kotash-fur and cockerel-feather charm. She twisted a gold band around her forefinger and peered anxiously at him with bright amber eyes.

  “You’re a bit bonier than when I last saw you,” Allinor said.

  Kor pursed his lips at the increasingly unoriginal description and tilted his head. “I have been starving in a mine for the past few months,” he said philosophically.

  The young princess chewed her lip. “If I hadn’t wandered into the Timberland after that flower, you’d still be…”

  “Blundering around like a pirating forest hermit?” He meant it in jest.

  But she blushed and glanced away. “No, that isn’t—” She sighed, then started over. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

  Kor remained silent. He was curious. Hysoph had told him little apart from the fact that she had arrived the week before with her mother on business. And Rhoswen didn’t know that Kor was here.

  Taking a quick breath, Allinor lifted her chin, like a criminal confessing some horrendous crime. “I’m responsible for your capture.”

  Kor’s eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise.

  “Oh, I didn’t tip off the soldiers,” she said, allaying his fears. “That was the tavern owner.”

  Tib, the gutter-rat. Kor’s hands curled into fists.

  “But your luck may have rubbed off on me,” Allinor continued haltingly. “That is, I may have drained it.” She twisted one of the flaring sleeves of her dress with a hand, looking miserable. Her next words came out in a confused jumble. “I have this ability—really it’s more of a curse—and I’m impulsive. That gets me into trouble. My ability gets me out, but drags others in. They get hurt—like you—if I’m not careful or I don’t protect them—”

  Kor held up a hand to stem the verbal torrent. “Slow down—Allinor, is it? Or should I call you Len?” He eyed her steadily but she didn’t meet his gaze.

  “My father used to call me that,” she said, explaining the nickname.

  He hesitated, surprised the name was not a full-out lie and had such personal meaning. Then he settled on her title, fearing the overuse of the nickname might somehow disrespect her father’s memory. “Well, then, Princess,” he began awkwardly.

  “I prefer Lady,” she said, interrupting him. “It’s less formal. But really you can just call me Allinor,” she added hastily, blushing.

  “Alright…Allinor. Your ability?”

  “It confused me, too, at first,” she said, the words coming out in another nervous rush. “I thought Eliker was just being nice, but then Merrick mentioned it, and my mother said I had it… Anyway, I’ve been practicing using it intentionally and I think I’ve improved.”

  Exasperated, Kor waved a hand. “Improved in what?”

  “Charm—an ancient vein of magic running only in my father’s line,” she said. “Not very many people believe in it anymore or even know what it is. And there aren’t many records of it. I think they burned in a fire after the last full charmer died. Full charmers are rare, you see, so I’ve been learning on my own. Usually, some sort of contact is needed for it to work. Eye contact seems to work well enough for me.”

  At the explanation, Kor’s jaw dropped. Things that hadn’t made sense before, made perfect sense now—the mindless pull he’d felt when meeting her gaze that first time in the forest, the darts that had stuck in and actually affected the borlan, her escape from the beast in the first place. Eliker’s comment tickled his memory. We think she’s a charmer. The miller had used the word occasionally in reference to his late wife. Kor had always assumed he was referring to her personality. “Magic,” Kor said under his breath. Find the girl. Charm will bring victory.

  Allinor was talking again. Her tone had grown more serious and confident. “I owe a debt,” she said. “You saved my skin; I tried to save you and failed. Merrick and I forged a pardon after your sentencing—he thinks you’re his brother.”

  “Half brother,” Kor said, more stonily than he’d intended.

  She nodded. “Anyway, I put my charm into the pardon, and we succeeded in freeing the miller and his daughter, but King Leon—”

  “Eliker and Serah?” Kor practically leapt at her. She jerked back, but he gripped her shoulders, holding her in place. “They’re alive?”

  Allinor turned her head to one side and leaned away warily. “They’re back at the village under constant guard, but yes, they’re alive and well.”

  Kor narrowed his eyes.

  “I’m not charming you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she said tartly. “But I might, if you don’t release me.”

  In that moment, Kor realized he was gripping h
er quite tightly and standing rather close. And she smelled faintly of oranges and wintergreen. It was a pleasant scent. He let go suddenly with the realization, almost shoving her away, and glanced at the forest. “They’re not dead then?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Thankfully, no.” Allinor seemed to be avoiding his gaze as well as she smoothed the wrinkles from her unadorned, pale mint dress. It fitted nicely over her torso and flowed out slightly, ending just above her ankles. “When we failed to free you, I promised myself I would do what I could to make it right. I came seeking King Hysoph’s aid and offering the use of my charm in return. Now that you’re here, I offer it to you.”

  Kor’s thoughts went back to his friends—Eliker and Serah, alive. Why had Martt let him believe they were dead? Of course, Kor had never named the miller and his daughter and Martt had been trying to goad him into a duel—into shifting.

  “I understand if you don’t want to accept,” Allinor said, breaking the silence.

  He glanced at her briefly, remembering her offer and flashing a distracted half grin. “No, I’ll need all the help I can get.”

  At this, Allinor let out a little breath and seemed to brighten. “With King Hysoph, your badgerblood, and my charm, reclaiming Perabon shouldn’t be too difficult,” she said lightly.

  A sluggish breeze seeped from the forest at the words. It coiled up Kor’s body and tugged at his hair as though beckoning him. He thought he heard words in it—Your destiny lies in more than a crown. This time they felt like a desperate appeal. The breeze sank back, withdrawing into the trees, the grass shuddering in its wake.

  Allinor touched Kor’s arm. “You do have the gift…?”

  He looked at her.

  “I’ve heard the legends about shifters,” she said, “but could never be certain if they were true.”

  Trying to ignore the foreboding in his chest, Kor forced a smile. “Oh, they’re true,” he said, reassuring her. He turned away from the forest and fingered the pendant at his neck. “I’m proof. I am Badgerblood.”

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  Hi there! Shannon Monson here, author of the 3+ years-in-the-making Badgerblood: Awakening. Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed the book as much as I loved writing it.

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  Reviews like yours will enable us to reach more readers, and for a husband and wife, self-publishing duo just starting out, they would really help us along. In return, we will continue striving to provide quality, family-friendly YA books and art. Thank you for your support and thank you for being part of our dream!

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  Acknowledgements

  I would be remiss if I didn’t thank those who, with unwearying faith, encouragement, and feedback, helped bring the manuscript and me to a better place—something worthy of being called a book and a writer:

  Melissa Frain, editor in chief—for the wisdom and insight that improved the writing and rescued Merrick from a rather awkward encounter;

  Steven Monson—for the sacrifices, prayers, and faith that moved this mountain; Dave and Ellen Eldredge—for believing that I could and raising me to be the woman I am; Susan and Dan Monson—for believing and loving the story even when nothing seemed to be progressing;

  Jon and Kim Monson—“I am an…writer” in part thanks to you. Don’t give up on your dreams; DE and ME (Darren and Michelle Eldredge)—for helping nail down the opening, saving me from commas, preservants, and satisfacations, and being awesome enough to believe my mistakes that worked were actually intentional;

  Benjamen, Eilidh, and Lauren Eldredge—for your enthusiasm and help with beta reading;

  The Eldredge Clan and Monson Fam—for loving and embracing such a crazy, fractured being and inspiring me to keep going;

  Coreen Hurst—for helping shape the purpose of the pendant and thereby improving its halves; Kaydee, Cody Laursen, & co—for camping, hiking, adventuring, pendant-printing, and still believing even after two beta reading rounds; Michelle Robinson—for beta reading twice and not giving up on the story, though the carrot pouch will always remain a mystery; Matthew Robinson—for your enthusiasm and advice about the Hes/Shes sentences; Paige Schmid—for your wisdom and perspective that helped shape the story; Jason Spencer & co—for your encouragement and enthusiasm when the story was still developing, and for being the best neighbors; and several others whose sharp eyes and gentle ministering greatly improved my life and the story.

  About the Author

  S.C. Monson graduated from BYU-Idaho with a Bachelor’s in Elementary Education, which is completely beside the point.

  In her youth, she wrote several short stories, including one about the Big Bad Wolf, three little pigs, and an intervening Batman—and one long story she should have ended, but didn’t. Among her siblings, she is famous as the Earthquake-On-A-Stool Yahoo Girl. (It’s a hair-raising tale.)

  Badgerblood: Awakening is her first self-published YA novel and the first of a series.

  Due to her parents’ love of adventure, S.C. is an American born abroad in Germany and raised in places like Turkey and Italy.

  She currently resides in southern Utah. When she’s not writing, music-dallying, or listening to audiobooks, she’s battling mutant ants and plotting escapades with her superhero husband.

  Stay in the loop with contests and future books, and receive a free short story exclusive by joining her mail list at scmonson.com.

  About the Artist

  Steven Monson graduated from BYU-Idaho with a Bachelor's in Graphic Design, which, in this case, is completely relevant.

  As the lead web designer for a company in Idaho, he has designed hundreds of websites for small businesses across the United States.

  He is the brain behind all the Badgerblood book cover and concept art, logo and website design, and marketing.

  Mr. Monson currently resides in Utah. When he's not drawing, working on a web design, or story troubleshooting with his wife, he can be found going for walks, photographing beautiful scenery, and planning his next adventure with the missus.

  Learn more at scmonson.com.