Badgerblood: Awakening

  Praise for Badgerblood: Awakening

  From Early-Access Readers

  “Badgerblood is full of intrigue, magic, and adventure. I found it difficult to put down and could hardly wait to see what new pursuits befell Kor. If you enjoyed reading books like John Flanagan's Ranger's Apprentice or Brandon Mull's Fablehaven you'll enjoy Badgerblood. S.C. Monson's writing style captivates the reader from the beginning, leaving the reader wanting more. I look forward to reading future Badgerblood books.”

  —Coreen H.

  “Badgerblood was a fun read from start to finish. S.C. Monson has done a great job crafting an original fantasy novel with rich descriptions and a gripping plot. With Badgerblood’s plot woven around an original fairytale, S.C. Monson’s writing style reminds me of Megan Whalen Turner. Shannon's writing flows well and is full of witty dialogue.”

  —Michelle R.

  “Dive headfirst into this world of mystery, action, intrigue, and a dash of romance, and you’ll turn pages faster than you thought possible!”

  —K. Laursen

  “I was wanting more as I finished the final page of Badgerblood! S.C. Monson's writing drew me into the imaginary world of Caderia. The fight scenes were tastefully done with plenty of excitement and intensity. S.C. Monson’s writing was creative, descriptive, and well-paced. With twists and turns in the plot, I was eager to discover what would happen next and would keep reading chapter after chapter. I highly recommend Badgerblood to any reader who enjoys fantasy and adventure. I look forward to discovering what will happen next in the Badgerblood series!”

  —Haley J.

  “Badgerblood was a great surprise! It wasn’t predictable and after each chapter I kept wanting to know what was going to happen next! I look forward to reading more of S.C. Monson’s work!”

  —Paige S.

  “There are many fantastic ideas in this book, from innovative details in world design to interesting plot twists. Written for young adults but entertaining for all, Badgerblood…created an effortless movie in my head. Filled with intrigue, it kept me engaged all the way to the end—and beyond! I can't wait for the next book!”

  —Michelle E.

  Badgerblood: Awakening

  Book One

  S.C. Monson

  Copyright © 2021 S.C. Monson

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  First Edition: 2021

  Written by S.C. Monson

  Edited by Melissa Frain

  Cover and logo design, cover and concept art, map design, and photography by Steven Monson

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Praise for Badgerblood: Awakening

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Art & Map

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  Leave a Review

  Free Short Story

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  About the Artist

  For Steven,

  the other half of my pendant

  Art & Map

  The Western Kingdoms of Caderia

  Book One

  S.C. Monson

  1

  Kor knelt in mulberry-colored ferns, squinting to see his target clearly. The stag’s rich russet coat blended in with the massive borwood tree behind it. A grin touched the corners of the young man’s mouth. Easy, he thought, nocking an arrow to his bowstring and drawing back.

  It was a masterful shot…in any other forest. But this was the Borwood Timberland.

  A scream rent the air.

  Kor jolted and leapt to his feet. The arrow ripped through empty space where the deer had been standing just moments before. It thunked into the tree beyond, quivering on impact, and the target bounded into the undergrowth unharmed. A fresh supply of meat and provisions, gone.

  The forester groaned. Judging by its size, the deer would have lasted through the next season, perhaps longer. He could hunt through winter if needed, but winter in Perabon meant rain, sleet, and kyrfrost—all of which made hunting a miserable task.

  A soft, rolling cluck sounded overhead, like laughter.

  At the sound, Kor clenched his jaw and raised his eyes. Titan-sized borwood trees rose around him like sentinels guarding an ancient, overgrown prison. Their wide branches pierced the cobalt sky. And perched on one of the massive limbs high above was a tiny, round bird. It fluffed brown feathers in a dignified manner and clicked its orange beak as though mocking him. Kor snatched up a handful of twigs and launched them in quick succession. The bird fluttered lightly from the branch, easily evading the projectiles, and uttered a taunting squawk before flying away. Kor glared after it.

  Screaming hens were mischievous forest birds, dropping debris on victims at random and screeching to scare away predators and prey alike. They acted seemingly without reason. This particular hen had sabotaged Kor’s hunt once already, just after dawn. He glanced briefly at the sky, massaging the muscles in his drawing arm. The sun was far past its zenith.

  Slapping dirt and fragments of rotting leaves from his staghide pants, he trudged through waist-high ferns to retrieve his arrow. He braced one foot against the mammoth borwood trunk and pulled.

  The tree, a massive species unique to the Borwood Timberland, was wider than Kor could reach and taller than he could see. Eager to assert itself over the puny man before it, the tree clung to its prize. But Kor had met with the stubbornness of borwoods many times before and he pulled all the harder. The long stone tip finally came free. He stumbled back, shaking the arrow at the borwood indignantly. A creaking groan of protest seemed to emanate from its branches. Kor ignored it. It was only a tree after all.

  Another scream split the air. He spun, eyes burning with anger as he nocked the arrow to his bowstring and drew back. Taking aim, he searched the high canopy of leaves overhead for the hen.

  The scream came again—human and feminine.

  Eyes wide with disbelief, Kor slowly let out the tension on his bowstring. For as long as he could remember, he had lived and hunted in the forest, and for as long as he could remember, nearly everyone else stayed out.

  A guttural growl rumbled the trees around him. Goosebumps prickled his skin and his palms grew clammy. “Borlan.” He turned to leave, flipping the arrow over his shoulder and slipping it into the quiver on his back.

  Another scream, followed by a roar. Kor hesitated, then dropped his ch
in to his chest with a heavy sigh. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together. Two rules. Only two rules, Kor, and you’re about to break the second. “Blast.”

  He sprinted toward the sound, bow in hand. Wide, ribbony fern leaves whipped at his thighs as he ran. He skirted a shattered wreck of a branch that had broken from a borwood tree, and vaulted a smaller fallen limb. The rest of the way was mostly clear, except for the thick purple ferns and occasional snaking roots.

  The borlan’s growls grew louder as Kor drew closer and slid behind a tree. Kor pressed his back against the bark and forced down deep, steady breaths. Then he sidled along the trunk to peer around its enormous bulk. A few rods away, the borlan stood on its hind legs, forepaws planted on a borwood tree. Matted chestnut fur covered its broad back; short spines curved out through the shaggy hair at uneven intervals, and trailed down the back of the forelegs.

  It snarled and snapped up at the high branches. The lower trunk of the tree was mostly bare of large limbs. Kor followed the beast’s gaze up the small nubs and spindly twigs protruding from the bark to an enormous bough. A young woman stood there, clinging to the tree trunk, just out of reach of the creature.

  Safe, for the moment.

  The borlan reared back, slamming foreclaws into the tree and shredding blocks of bark. It pushed off and hurled itself again and again at the trunk. Under the attacks, the tree seemed to groan and shudder. Kor drew back instinctively. He knew it would not fall. Even so, a shiver of fear went down his spine at the sight—the borlan, nearly four men in height on its hind legs, shaking a tree unfathomably taller. He gripped the spiral pendant under his shirt. A constant, almost imperceptible tingle came from the bone piece, bolstering his courage and strength.

  The borlan dropped to all fours and dug at the base of the tree, sending chunks of bark and moss flying. Kor moved quickly, quietly, keeping an eye on his surroundings as he edged around the borlan. When the beast’s side was angled toward him, he crouched behind a borwood tree and slipped his supply pack from his shoulders to better free up the quiver of arrows on his back. He drew an arrow and poked his head around the trunk. A chill breeze blew past. With it came the unmistakable musky odor of the borlan. The breeze tousled Kor’s hair, tugging gently as though urging him to flee. Kor ignored it.

  He eyed a spot behind the borlan’s right foreleg—not a deadly shot, but the best he had under the circumstances. An arrow there would collapse one of the beast’s three lungs and slow it, if only a little. More importantly, it would turn the beast toward Kor.

  With the borlan facing the tree as it was, its heart, the most vulnerable spot in its body, was inaccessible. The heart was located closer to the front of its nearly bald, leathery chest. Behind the heart, under all the fur and muscle on its back, grew a bone plate. That bone was impenetrable, even for Kor’s vristone arrowheads. But the hardened cartilage growing over the front of the heart was not. Kor’s stone-tip arrows were just long enough to penetrate the chest hide, muscle, and cartilage, and still pierce the heart beneath.

  He just needed the beast to turn.

  Another breeze tugged his locks. Kor tossed his head dismissively, as if warding off a pest. With a careful breath in, he drew back on the bowstring.

  Only two rules. The thought pestered him, though he tried to ignore it. Stay away from the heart of the forest, and never hunt borlan.

  He released.

  Another good shot. Or it would have been, had the beast not moved at the last moment. It rose on its hind legs, staggering to the right with the movement. The arrow lodged in its lower back, missing the lungs. An enraged bellow hammered Kor’s eardrums and shook the forest. Kor stumbled back at the concussive sound and tripped over a root. As he tried to regain his balance, he stepped hard on an unusually spongy section of ground beneath the ferns.

  The ground gave way.

  His foot plunged into a tangle of vine-like roots below and the bow flew from his grasp as he sprawled on his back on the forest floor. He jerked his foot, trying to free it from the roots, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Several rods away, the borlan twisted to bat at the arrow. The feathered end of the wooden shaft broke off. Kor scrambled back, wrenching again at his root-tangled foot, trying to reach his bow. A root around his leather boot snapped, but that was all. His foot remained ensnared. He glanced up, breath catching in his throat as the beast turned round, beady eyes on him. The spines on its back and forelegs popped out farther as it dropped to all fours and charged with a deafening roar.

  2

  Kor threw himself back, stretching as far as he could to reach his bow. One finger hooked the bowstring and he yanked it toward him. Drawing an arrow from his quiver, he let loose a hasty shot at the borlan’s face. The creature dropped its head and the arrow bounced off its hard, bony skull, only nicking the flesh. It grunted, as though amused at Kor’s attempt.

  With still no clear shot at the borlan’s heart, Kor loosed two more arrows, one at each shoulder. The beast bellowed angrily, stopping to swat at the shafts. One last time, Kor gripped the cuff of his boot and hauled at his entangled foot. He gritted his teeth, neck and arm muscles bulging with the effort. There was a resounding crack as he finally tore free of the roots. He rolled to his feet and the borlan swept at him with the back of a spiny foreleg. Too late, Kor dove aside.

  A spine grazed his back and caught on his leather quiver. He gave a sharp cry of pain, but the sound was cut short—his stomach lurched as he was jerked off the ground and the momentum of the swiping foreleg sent him flying through the air into a tree. The impact rippled through him and he dropped in a heap to the ground.

  Dazed and seeing double, Kor lifted his head as the borlan lumbered toward him. Just a few paces away, the beast suddenly paused its advance. It glanced back over one shoulder, snarling as though struck. Pointy, tufted ears flattened against its shaggy, squarish head. As Kor’s vision cleared, he saw what had distracted it: a knobbly, oval object bounced off the borlan’s back. The projectile had come from the tree where the woman was standing. She was higher up in the branches now, tearing another burgundy-red borwood fruit from its bunch. She dropped it into a lengthy braided sling, aimed, and hurled it at the beast.

  Kor propped himself up on one elbow to reach for an arrow in his quiver, then stopped as a realization struck him. His hands were empty. The bow was gone, dropped when he’d hit the tree. The borlan turned its attention back to Kor, ignoring the pelting fruit, and struck—he rolled aside, but the beast’s razor claws scored his back and caught in his staghide vest and cotton shirt. The forest swirled around him as the borlan dragged him backward, then unexpectedly released him again with a roar, leaving his head swimming with pain. He tried to rise, but toppled on his side with a groan and curled in a ball, squeezing his eyes shut, waiting for the final blow.

  It didn’t come.

  After a long moment, Kor opened his eyes. Borwood fruit was smashed to a pulpy red mess under the borlan’s paws. It stood on its hind legs, hunching its wide, burly shoulders. Lips curled in a snarl on its boxy muzzle as it snapped at the girl’s flying fruit. She was pelting the arrow in its back now with surprising accuracy. The enraged creature swatted at the missiles with one forepaw. The other curled protectively over its heart.

  Grinding his hands into the forest floor, Kor forced himself up in the smashed ferns. A few paces away lay his bow. He dragged himself toward it. Behind him, the borlan’s snarls shifted to a thunderous growl and Kor glanced back. The girl’s attacks had ended. She was out of fruit. The borlan met Kor’s gaze and raised one massive clawed forepaw…and a snarling streak of black and white barrelled into the beast, driving it back.

  Spart. Relief flooded Kor as he recognized the animal. An hour before, his trained badger had wandered off into the trees.

  As Kor reached his bow, he drew an arrow from the quiver on his back. It snagged on the leather and he saw why as he jerked it free. The shaft had split. Two pieces of wood clung to each other by a sliver
. He tossed it aside and reached for another, fingers closing on empty air. The din of fighting animals grew louder as he eased the quiver from his back and dumped out the arrows. Every last shaft had snapped.

  For a moment, Kor stared in shock, scanning the splintered wood. Then he set his jaw in grim acceptance. Dropping his bow, he shoved two broken arrow shafts into his belt, stone arrowheads down—his backup. He drew a long stone knife from the sheath sewn inside his right boot. Thin and narrow, the double-edged vristone blade was barely two finger widths wide and tapered to a slim, needle-like point. A little light for throwing, but it would have to do.

  Gripping the unassuming leather-wrapped handle in one hand, Kor staggered to his feet. The badger and the borlan fought before him. He took a step. The injuries in his back flared up and he clutched the pendant under his shirt, feeling the tingle from it bolster his strength and courage. Forcing himself on, he took another step, and another.

  Before long, the beast batted Spart with a paw and sent the badger sailing over Kor’s head. Spart gave one last piercing yelp as he crashed into the ferns, then fell silent. The borlan grunted, seeming satisfied, then turned on Kor. It took a slower approach this time, perhaps sensing Kor could not escape in his condition.

  Or perhaps it was unsure of its step.

  Kor wrinkled his brow as he saw the animal sway slightly. Then he pulled the arrow shafts from his belt—his recourse should his knife-throw prove unsuccessful—and flipped his knife so he held it by the blade, ready to throw. There was only one way to kill the beast now; pierce its heart and it would fall without a struggle. But he feared the knife would be too light to penetrate the tough leathery chest hide from a distance. So, he waited for the borlan to draw closer.

  Fragments of shirt and vest pulled at his wounds as he settled into a crouch. The throbbing in his back intensified and he gripped his weapons so tightly his olive, sun-browned knuckles turned white. Tendrils of darkness played at the edges of his vision, eager to sweep him into unconsciousness. He staggered, nearly giving in, then shook himself. If he submitted now, he would die. With an effort, he held the darkness at bay and focused on the beast.