31st of Sifdras - 5th Kaldros

  I spent the rest of the day yesterday in the Library’s reserved reading room for Marblbrook’s students, taking ample notes on Dinwold and a few other texts I found regarding the wildlife within the Eldwood. What I found was quite astonishing. I learned that the creature I encountered is actually a rare ancient beast from the time before the sundering and is more colloquially called the Beast of the Eldwood. It is so rare to encounter this relic of antiquity, that most scholars only reference folk tales and legends in their descriptions of it. It makes me uneasy that I just happened to stumble upon this elusive beast of raw power and magic.

  I only take a break for lunch with Cira and Vesa. It is so good to see Vesa outside of class again and she brought her new roommate, Fara, for us to meet. I am vaguely aware of what to expect panthara women to look like from regularly seeing Natsumi in Alchemy, who is mostly human with peachy, smooth skin and slight feline structures in her build. This is not the case with Fara, whose midnight dark fur covers her entire body, but still wears clothing over her sleek, bi-pedal feline frame.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Serea,” Fara intones with smooth, almost sultry tones as she takes my hand in greeting. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  My face falls at the comment. “Really? What have you heard?” I ask, trying to steady my voice.

  Fara pauses for a microsecond, fur tufted ears giving a subtle twitch before she breaks into a sharp toothed grin. “So you hear the strange things they say about you, then.” She laughs easily, patting me calmly on the shoulder. “Not to worry about any of that spilled milk, deary. I only meant that Vesa has told me a lot about you.”

  I release a held breath as Cira interjects.

  “Spilled milk, indeed,” Cira points to Vesa, “What were you thinking telling Munsa to give us a warning about tall, dark, and insufferable? You know that girl can keep nothing to herself.”

  Vesa shrugs haplessly, “I didn’t tell her to tell you. I was talking to Fara at lunch over the weekend and she overheard us talking.” She shakes her head, pulling her ink dark hair over one shoulder. “She must have heard Fara talking about the other student staffers.”

  Fara knuckles her whiskers thoughtfully, a glint in her bright brown eyes, “So what did she end up telling you? I’m interested to see how far she pulled the truth.”

  “A bunch of hot air, of course.” Cira says, leaning back hard on her chair, crossing her arms sullenly.

  “She warned us that he is dangerous and that we should keep our distance.” I report more calmly than I feel.

  “Nya!” Fara laughs, but is silenced by Vesa, whose flat expression tells me this is no laughing matter to her. “Sure, sure. I suppose outside of the Court, he is likely very dangerous, with his family and status. But here, he is just another scribe. The same can be said for a great many scribes here from prestigious families, but the only status symbol here is how many years you have been studying.”

  Confusion creases my forehead, “We are talking about the same tattoo-covered beast, right? He seems more likely to have a criminal record than social prestige.”

  Both Fara and Vesa exchange a look. A few of them actually, as if they are speaking to one another without ever making a sound. Finally, Fara gestures toward us as an invitation to Vesa, who smiles in an appreciative way.

  “The short answer,” Vesa leans in toward me and I meet her halfway so her whispers can reach me, “is, yes. Anyone who is from, has visited, or has heard more than a whisper about Horora, knows about the Duskwood Syndicate.” Something about that name tickles my memory, but she continues before I can place where. “They call themselves a family of merchants and I suppose they are on the surface, but underneath all the bureaucracy, they are black market thugs.”

  I stiffen at her mention of thugs, recalling where I had heard the name in passing from a group of merchant ship sailors staying in the Broken Tree during one of our visits to Tranmere. Back then, they had only named it by “The Syndicate”, but I suppose if it was as infamous an organization as Vesa claimed them to be, would they have really needed the other descriptor?

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “So,” Cira cuts in softly, sitting up straight, not needing to lean in to hear Vesa’s explanation, “he’s a thug.”

  Vesa raises a finger to correct her, “One might call him a ‘Prince of Thugs’ then, since he is the standing heir; the eldest son.”

  I bury my face in my hands. No wonder he seems like such a menacing beast! I think with a frantic sense of despair. It is coupled closely by a groan, the external whine of having to endure his presence for three more weeks.

  “This family isn’t known for shape shifting, are they?” Cira asks blandly.

  “Desert sands, no!” Vesa leans back, exclaiming with a chuckle. “It’s the tattoos. They’re like a badge of honor to them, though they use them more as a write of passage to go and do anything they want.” She pauses, a question on her face. “Why do you ask?”

  “They probably heard the stupid rumor about him from last year.” Fara purrs confidently. “Let me guess, Munsa told you that he turned into a bear.”

  Even though it is a statement, Cira and I still nod in confirmation before I add, “She also said that he hurt someone.”

  Fara hums derisively, “Well, that part is true, but the one about him turning into a bear, or some other animal, is the most common rumor about him since he became Blackclaw’s staffer and it’s complete scat!”

  My head whips up, “What did you say?”

  “The rumor about the bear is bogus.”

  “No, no. He’s Blackclaw’s what?”

  “Oh, that. That’s not a rumor. Each of the faculty chooses one or two scribes to help them with classes and administrative functions.” A devious smile graces her dark, feline face. “Blackclaw chose him after the incident last year and it has been a riot to watch him squirm!”

  Cira and I glance at Vesa when Fara seems too wrapped up in her own amusement.

  Vesa obliges us with a roll of her eyes, “Fara is Professor Moonshadow’s staffer, so she sees all the staff pretty regularly.”

  “How can you be so giddy being around him?” I snap at Fara, interrupting her daydream, a look of pure shock in her large, inhuman eyes.

  “Well,” she starts lazily, leaning an arm on the table, “he hates the work they make us do, for one, and his complaining has no end. Besides that, it’s kind of fun to test his limits. He says some hilarious things when he has an itch he can’t scratch.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I mutter grumpily, “He doesn’t call you by stupid nicknames, I’ll bet.”

  “Nicknames?” Fara appears genuinely confused. “Like what?”

  I make a face but can’t bring myself to say it. Cira apparently has no issues though.

  “He calls her ‘little mouse’ and refuses to call her by her real name.”

  Both Vesa and Fara try to hold in their mirthful grins. They both fail miserably as they giggle to one another, still trying and failing to restrain themselves.

  I groan and Cira sighs, exasperated. “Just what is so funny about this?”

  Vesa starts apologizing through fits of strained laughter, which is more than Fara does when she collapses on the table in a shaking heap of her arms. “I’m—I—I’m sorry. It’s just…I never thought that… I mean,” Vesa dissolves into incoherent fits of laughter again.

  “Oh, just spit it out!” I grind out, irritated.

  Vesa visibly calms herself. “Okay, okay, Serea.” She takes a final calming breath, “It’s a title more than a nickname and it’s very popular among, we’ll say, the lower class units around the streets of Horora.”

  I shake my head rolling my eyes. “Why is that funny?”

  “Because, Serea, dear,” Vesa is trying very hard to keep the smile from her face, “it is a term of endearment as the mouse is the most valuable member of a crew.” The silence doesn’t last for long as Vesa seems locked in an infinite giggle loop.

  Cira has a hand over her eyes, but she is in no way laughing about this news. The words hit me then. “Endearment.”

  “You can’t be thinking…” My voice trails of, but Fara is there to pick it up.

  “Oh, yes! He definitely likes you!” Fara’s voice becomes icy and gleeful, “And I am going to give him so much shit for it.”

  There are so many things wrong with that statement. Calas doesn’t like me! He likes to torment me, maybe, but me? Never! A thousand other reasons pop into my head why that just can’t be true, but then one stands out that puts the smallest sliver of doubt in my heart. I bite my lip as the image of his concerned, questioning expression at the lectern comes to mind.

  My heart pounds in my throat at the thought, but I swallow it back down, quashing the small possibility with vehemence. There is no way in all the cosmos that Calas Duskwood likes me!

  This thought persists throughout the day today, making it impossible to concentrate on a word of Dr. Featherspeaker’s lecture on basic healing techniques and spells. As the minutes pass slowly into hours, I begin to dread the thought of seeing him in class tomorrow. The anxiety bleeds over into other more irrational thoughts about running into him before then, like in the Halls of Equity.

  The most frustrating part of this creeping dread that threatens to consume my every waking thought, is that I know, intrinsically, it is completely illogical. With every new circumstance my mind makes up for me, the other more rational side of me is always wondering why this obsessive dwelling even exists in my brain. What purpose is there to thinking about situations that will literally never happen?

  I still have no answer as another impossible scenario pops into my head. The sigh that escapes me is despondent. What in the sundered World Tree is wrong with me?