Varis Lodd, librarian knight, hammered a mooring ring into the trunk of a darkelm tree. With deft precision, she looped the tether-rope through the ring and tugged at it to make sure it was secure.
With the Windhawk fastened to the tree, Varis settled in for the night. She sat down on the low branch and checked that her golden copperwood armor plates were firmly in place. Next, she reviewed the kit on her person. Flight goggles and chopping axe, compass and medicine box, sky-crystals and a full water bottle. Her sword, knife, crossbow, and ammunition hung from her belt. She checked her backpack and found a leadwood pencil and her treatise-log.
Varis rummaged through the bags attached to the prow of her floating skycraft, where she found her telescope, hammock, repair tools, and cooking equipment. Once she was satisfied, finding that none of her gear was missing, she hung up her hammock and fell asleep.
Screams broke the silence. Varis shot upright, almost toppling from the hammock to the treacherous forest floor below. It was still dark out.
Probably just the death of a leafgobbler, Varis thought.
Nonetheless, she was too anxious to go back to sleep. She dismantled her hammock and brewed a kettle of pinecoffee.
Where is Loruwa?
Varis was writing a treatise as part of her duties as a librarian knight, entitled A Study of Banderbears' Behaviour in Their Natural Habitat. She was trying to decipher the language of banderbears at the moment. But, she hadn't been able to get close enough and had lost track of the female banderbear she was following. Loruwa, the banderbear was called, which roughly translated to "she who hides in shadow".
Varis didn't feel confident—for she was only a callow youth eager for her father's approval. Being the High Librarian's eldest child, great things were expected of her. Failure was not an option.
I'm a Lodd… I cannot fail.
A look of surprise marked her features as she heard woodwolf howls echo throughout the valley. Varis snatched at her telescope and focused on torchlight in the distance. Torches and woodwolves were a rare combination and only meant bad things
"Blasted slavers," she cursed under her breath. "I won't let you barkslugs drag Loruwa to the Foundry Glades."
To confirm her suspicions, Varis decided to approach the illumination and ruckus. Varis could postpone her studies. If she was right, Loruwa needed her.
Varis loaded her crossbow with a barbed quarrel coated with firenettle extract. Her eyes narrowed and her brows furrowed in concentration. Then, she crouched and leapt to the forest floor without a sound. Wisps of dank fog wreathed around her, obscuring her vision.
Varis was consumed by fear and her heart began to thump. As she crept forward, her piercing blue eyes darted around her lethal surroundings, scanning for any sign of the accursed woodwolves amidst the foreboding darkness enshrouding the Deepwoods.
A pair of banderbears far in the distance exchanged solemn, heart-wrenching yodels that rang out across the lush landscape. A gladehawk on the prowl screeched as she dispatched her prey, a plump snowbird. The comforting percussive serenade of the mating calls unique to woodwasps lulled the denizens of the Deepwoods to sleep – and carelessness, for the night was the time of the hunt. The nocturnal flora and fauna of the forests were as numerous as the predators of the day, and just as deadly.
Voices and the unmistakable grind of gnashing teeth were carried on the night breeze—distant but urgent. A chill travelled down her spine.
"Did you eat well, boys?" a man's voice, very faint, sneered before letting out a sinister cackle. "Those weak Free Gladers didn't stand a chance, isn't that right?"
Eat well? That doesn't sound good.
"Nylus, Euphemia," the man said to his two companions. "You haven't uttered a single word since our close call with that mangy banderbear."
Are they talking about Loruwa?
Before Varis had set off on her treatise-voyage from the Free Glades, the High Master at Lake Landing, Parsimmon, had warned her of the slavers Nylus and Euphemia Trellis. They were a nasty married couple with a sadistic streak. The third voice had to be their employer, Turgesh Sykkant, renowned for his cruelty.
The voices and snarls faded as the slavers moved further away from Varis. She wasn't closing the distance, so she picked up her pace. Brambles, branches, and thorns lacerated her face. The roots of a redoak tree made Varis stumble.
But I have to kill them all, she decided. As long as the slavers lived, they were a threat.
Varis tracked the woodwolves and slavers into the darkness, blacker than woodink. Though young, she was athletic and her tactical and tracking skills were legendary amongst the librarians. The bloodcurdling howls scared Varis and quickened her heartbeat, but she pressed on, driven by a desire to protect the defenseless.
After a certain point, Varis could no longer hear the slavers or their ferocious woodwolves. On the periphery of a clearing in the dense forest, she caught sight of a set of pawprints. Varis knelt down to inspect them. The size and the impressions of sharp claws were distinctive – whitecollar woodwolves.
She pictured the beasts with her mind's eye. In the moonlight, their sumptuous white fur around their neck shimmering, in stark contrast to the woodwolves' menacing presence. Yellow eyes swimming in pure malice and rows of countless sharp teeth, mouths slavering and dripping saliva. Their malevolent barks were exceeded by their visceral brutality.
As she entered the clearing—enclosed by summerwood trees and blanketed by spicy ironwood pine needles—Varis came across the woodwolves' meals. They had eaten well indeed. She sniffed the air but couldn't catch their scent. The beasts were long gone.
Instead, her senses were overwhelmed with the scene before her. Varis was struck by the appalling smell of death and ferrous stench of blood. She gagged, and then a spluttering coughing fit seized her. Varis swore. Under the dim gaze of the moon, her silent tears glittered. This didn't stop her.
In front of her was a broken cart, coated with splattered blood. Baggage was strewn across the ground – clothing and food for the most part. A dead hammelhorn lay on its side, its guts spilling onto the grass and turning it red. Beside the wagon were a lifeless couple mauled beyond recognition, flesh shredded and entrails ripped out, peaceful in each other's arms. They might've been slaughterers or fourthlings but Varis couldn't tell. She hoped they'd been killed beforehand.
Varis had never seen something so terrible before. Her tears kept streaming down her cheeks and began to cloud her vision so she wiped them away with the back of her hand. The sight of the murders became too much to bear, and so Varis turned away.
In her peripheral vision, something on the ground caught her eye. Massive pawprints—far larger than the woodwolves'—were preserved in the dirt.
"Banderbear!" Varis exclaimed. "Young, female… Could it be Loruwa?"
Varis set out to find the banderbear, Loruwa, and communicate with her. If Loruwa knew where the slavers and woodwolves had gone, Varis could exact revenge for the senseless killings.
Varis followed Loruwa's tracks away from the clearing as the sun began to rise. Rays of warm sunlight filtered through the trees and cast the glades of the Deepwoods in brightness and shadow. The heat grew and sweat formed on her face. She wiped her brow.
Varis came to a rise in the forest and stopped there for a moment to get her bearings. She opened her copperwood telescope and followed the banderbear's pawprints. They continued down the muddy slope to a banderbear nest—woven from gladegrass and snagwood—nestled beside a babbling brook. Varis scanned for Loruwa but the gentle creature was nowhere to be found.
Perhaps she's inside. I need to get closer.
Varis collapsed the telescope and returned it to her flight-suit. She started down the muddy slope but it was too steep. She slipped and came crashing down into a fetid puddle, smacking her head against a sharp rock.
"Son of a barkslug!" she said, spitting out a stream of water.
Varis produced a vial of medicine and downed it in one gulp – for most water in the Deepwoods was full of diseases and parasites. Her head felt hot and her vision swam. She put a hand to the side of her head and found her gladewheat-hued hair sticky with blood.
The smell of her blood brought back images of the victims, forever burned into her mind. Varis dusted herself off and sat against an ironwood pine. Her eyes welled with tears and she began to sob. Her whole body shook.
After regaining her composure, Varis found woodsalvia leaves in one of her flight-suit's pockets. She chewed them to make a healing poultice for her gash. She applied the purple substance, which stained her fingers, and bound a gladecotton bandage to the wound with woodmoth gauze.
Varis got up and made her way over to Loruwa's nest. She popped her head in, but instead of finding the banderbear, she came across a far more interesting creature. Her jaw dropped. A young fourthling boy, swaddled in threadbare barkfleece blankets, slept on a bed of spongy barkmoss.
The woodwolves were still out there and Loruwa was gone. The child was likely the orphan of the murdered couple. It was her duty to protect the innocent. Varis strode towards the boy and knelt down. The foundling had curly jet-black hair, a button nose, and flushed cheeks. Her heart melted and she smiled – the boy was adorable. Varis lifted him into her arms and left the nest.
"Sleep, little one," she whispered. "You're safe now…"
By Earth and Sky, what am I to do with a young'un in the Deepwoods?!
As Varis carried the foundling, she retraced her steps. When they passed the site of the murders, she cradled the child's face to her chest and made sure he saw none of the grisly scene. Getting closer to her skycraft, she avoided the serrated thorns, ducked under the low branches, and stepped over the redoak's roots. Upon returning to the darkelm, she climbed up to her camp, the foundling in her arms. Varis gathered her gear, untethered the Windhawk, and set a course for home – the Great Storm Chamber Library in the sewers of Old Undertown.
During the long flight to the secret librarian base, the foundling woke up once. Varis cooed when he blinked up at her with large blue eyes and reached out his delicate hand to touch one of her four braids.
The child giggled. Varis was speechless. I mustn't panic.
"Who are you?" he said.
"Hello, little one," she said. "I… I'm Varis Lodd, librarian knight."
"I'm hungry, miss."
"Of course – I have just the right thing."
Varis took some dried erlberries from a flight-suit pocket and gave them to the young'un, who wolfed them down. She offered him water and he accepted.
"What is your name, child?" Varis held back tears. His parents are dead.
"Rook," the foundling responded after much thought.
"What were you doing out there in the Deepwoods?"
"I don't remember." Rook's eyes went wide. "Where are you taking me?"
"Do you know what happened to your parents?"
"No…" Rook began to wail.
"It'll come back to you," Varis said. "I'm sure of it. For now, you should sleep… We'll be home soon."
Her other questions were left unanswered as he could only recall his first name. Varis rubbed Rook's back to calm him down and began to hum a soothing lullaby, the only thing she remembered about her mother, Xenia. Soon, he drifted off to the land of dreams. Little did she know that the young'un she'd found—Rook Barkwater—was destined for greatness.