Blackthorn

By Charles Falconer

For a small cub lost in a big world, being saved by a young boy makes up a close friendship. Then Blackthorn discovers the boy is a human--a people alleged to kill lupine elves on sight. Blackthorn's pack's teachings prove wrong, and the cub's greatest danger turns out to be from some of his peers he thought he left behind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9781662487989

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Blackthorn

Charles Falconer

Copyright © 2023 Charles Falconer

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 978-1-6624-8799-6 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-8798-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

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29

Prologue

About the Author

1

Early fall. All across the Long Valley, the seemingly endless heat of summer gradually faded like the once green foliage. This changing of the seasons brought with it the Bloodstone pack returning to their winter quarters. Within this semipermanent encampment, they would ride out the White Cold hunting and fishing, gathering wild food and plying the crafts they had performed for centuries.

Bloodstone's claim stick still stood before the only opening in the camp's protective prickly brush stockade. Behind this barrier, a circle of tightly woven nest huts sat in the shadow of the ruins of an Old One's Great House. It was here seven cycles ago that the cub, Blackthorn, was born.

Now well into cub-hood but too young to hunt anything more than small game, Blackthorn lived in the pleasant haze of indolent youth. For the most part, mistakes were still tolerated, and much of his learning was still a game.

In the Bloodstone pack, there were many teachers. Tasks like weaving, leather-craft, or the preserving of meat and vegetables, even pottery and metal working, was taught by parents, relatives, or friends. Pack Elders taught history and pack traditions, which were essential links to their past. Here were lessons dating back to the Dark Days, now nearly a millennium before. Even in the simple existence of a lupine elf pack, there was much to learn. The world could sometimes be a dangerous place.

Now most of the older cubs, including Blackthorn, were happy to demonstrate any newly acquired skills to younger cubs. Even here, there was an exception with a cub named Hopper. Anything she learned was considered a secret or even a power she could hold over other cubs. All she learned, she never practiced. Hopper expected others to carry her load. In the busy lives of the Bloodstone pack, she was a piece of driftwood floating downstream.

Lodestone and Falcon, Blackthorn's parents, were weavers and jewelers by craft. This meant that they were also skilled in making fishnets and arrowheads. Often, these added responsibilities made them busier than many in the pack. Then they were hard-pressed to keep up this their ever-curious and rambunctious cub. Lupine elves possess almost boundless energy, but a cub could oftentimes run his or her parents ragged. Blackthorn was no exception.

Soon after their return to camp, Blackthorn's parents began weaving repairs into the willow branch walls of their family's winter home. They would nest comfortably through the White Cold within their oversized basket. Blackthorn assisted his parents in the patching as much as he was able. The cub was not yet strong enough to pull the weave tight enough. He was happy to be useful, gathering and sorting reeds and thin flexible branches needed for the task.

<You have half the forest in your mane.> Laughed Lodestone in the telepathic voice of lupine elves.

<Ah, Mom,> sent Blackthorn in response as he ineffectively raked at the leaves and grass blades adhering to his fur.

Lodestone reached out and lovingly claw combed her son's raven black mane and brow burns into some semblance of order. The entire time, Blackthorn fidgeted and twitched at his mother's unwanted attention.

<Why don't you go play for a while, son,> suggested Falcon. It would be good to have the boisterous cub out from under paw for an hour or two.

<Okay.>

Blackthorn was gone to scratch an itch that had been pestering him all afternoon. For the tumult and hissing laughter of many of the pack's other cubs could be heard all across the colony, many times Blackthorn looked up from his chores to see them hard at play. Never did he miss an opportunity to join them.

A game of Catch the Rabbit was already in progress. As it was not generally a team sport, anyone could join in or retire any time they wished. Blackthorn gleefully dove right in.

A half dozen eager cubs pounded across a grassy field, each determined to be the one to intercept and snatch away the rabbit pelt cape a lone cub wore over her shoulders. Then they could be the elusive rabbit. The cub that was currently it was not going to allow that to happen as she ducked and dodged a complex pattern on the way to a safe zone warren at the forest's edge. The rabbit was almost always Hopper. She was as intimidating to the younger cubs as she was demanding and bossy to her peers.

Hopper's cape and light-gold mane streamed out behind her as she wove an intricate course to evade her pursuers. Despite Hopper's rude taunts and imaginative threats, Blackthorn determinedly gave chase. She easily evaded one of the cub's clumsy tackles, bowling over a second cub with vicious pleasure. With a burst of speed, she raced for a tree that was one of her two burrows. The rabbit pelt's dangling rear legs impeded Hopper's feet a little. Even so, she bested all that came hunting her.

A final cub, Red Oak, failed in a low tackle. She tumbled heavily in the rough grass, gritting her fangs in pain. She was slow in rising, and when Red Oak walked from the field, she was limping. Not even the recipient heeded such a minor injury for long. Red Oak had succeeded in touching the rabbit, a fete no other could or would claim that day.

Two adults weaving fish sieves nodded to each other their approval of Hopper's evasion techniques. These were Bronze and Cocoa, Hopper's parents. In their eyes, their daughter was a standard all other cubs should strive for. They were correct in one aspect; Hopper made a slippery quarry much to the other cub's chagrin.

<Frog catchers!> the haughty cub taunted as she deliberately slowed her pace. Three cubs, Blackthorn among them, fell for her deception. Hopper ducked and ran in an unexpected direction back across the field. Blackthorn's legs tangled with another's as they tried in vain to match Hopper's maneuver. Both sprawled painfully.

<Blackthorn! You lump!> scolded Dancer as he irritably brushed back his sweat-darkened mane. He was frustrated at being thwarted in what he believed to be an easy catch by the missteps of a clumsy younger cub.

<Sorry.>

<It's okay.>

Dancer frowned and sped off, slipping a bit in the crushed grass. There was no hope in him catching Hopper now.

Blackthorn massaged his right calf, bruised in his fall. From the trees above, Hopper's safety zone several bright-yellow birds, no larger than the cub's hand, flew off for environs not so occupied with noisy cubs. Blackthorn's gold-flecked emerald eyes followed their flight. There was more than a little envy of them for their wings.

A number of adults had gathered to watch the game. Many sent telepathic encouragements either to the quarry, the hunters, or both. Blackthorn waved to his father, Falcon, who was among the crowd.

<Get her, cubling!> he sent cheerfully.

While Hopper was too far away for Blackthorn to ever catch her, the emboldened cub made an effort. It was short-lived. A stone embedded in the hard soil caught the cub's foot, severely stubbing a toe. As the cub went down with a startled yelp in the distance, Hopper leaped over one final hunter to reach the safety of her burrow. She stood there, panting and making rude gestures. Reluctantly, the other cubs returned to the field's center to rest a few minutes and plan new strategies. The game would resume in a little while.

<Are you all right, son?> asked Falcon.

Blackthorn nodded as he examined his throbbing toe. There was more damage to it than the cub felt. Even its claw was broken. The ragged remains would fall out in a few days as the replacement grew in. Bleeding had already stopped as a healing began. The cub had successfully stifled anything more than his first yelp. He was loathed to whimper now. He was seven and not a baby anymore. Besides, the other cubs and his father were watching.

<Is it bad?> asked Dancer upon seeing a smear of blood on Blackthorn's foot.

<I'll live. Thanks.>

Dancer gave his friend a hand up.

<You up for another game?> he inquired.

Blackthorn shook his head. <I need to heal for a few minutes.>

He flicked away the sweat dripping from the points of his brow burns and went to sit under a tree. With luck, there would be a few sweet vernaxus tubers in the shade beneath it. Blackthorn enjoyed digging up, peeling and chewing them for their sweet sap.

Restart was delayed. The adults gradually drifted back to their tasks. Behind them, the youngest cubs fidgeted, impatiently waiting for the action to resume. Among them was Mouse, a late cub who had appointed himself to be Blackthorn's little brother.

<Blackthorn!>

The cub so-called sighed inwardly at being spotted. To Blackthorn, Mouse should have been more aptly named flea.

As an excuse for failing to acknowledge Mouse's call, Blackthorn intensely foraged about for vernaxus. The plants abounded but were now only coming into their late blooms. The tasty swelling of their rhizomes would not occur for several more weeks. Now their sweetness was only for the bees to enjoy.

A brilliant thought shattered Blackthorn's disappointment. Bees! Honey! The very thought made the cub's craving for something sweet almost painful. With a natural hunter's patience, Blackthorn stood quietly among the masses of blue gray flowers, watching the buzzing insects take their fill of nectar and bright pollen.

<Blackthorn! There you are!>

The cub so-found sighed aloud this time as Mouse slogged ineptly through the vernaxus. Bees scattered in annoyance at his clumsy feet.

<What'cha doin?>

<Watching bees.>

<Why?>

<Because bees will lead me to honey.>

That was something Mouse could relate to.

<Ooo, can I help?>

<Sure, just stand there.>

Mouse obediently stood. While he did, Blackthorn took careful note of the bees' direction of arrival and departure. With Mouse at his heels, he crept of into the brush as stealthily as any cub was able in pursuit of his goal.

2

Never had Blackthorn ventured this way. Only two cycles ago, he was not even allowed outside of camp alone. Now he was adventuring into unknown territory. He was thrilled.

Blackthorn ascended a gentle and even slope. It was dotted with ancient yet evenly spaced trees. Above this was an unexpectedly level plane. Blackthorn looked all about in fascination. He knew all this was the work of the ancients.

<Ooh, this is a scary place,> sent Mouse as he grabbed Blackthorn's closest hand.

The elder cub was a little apprehensive himself as he stood amid another evenly spaced forest of ancient trees. He saw that some of them held fruit or nuts that he did not recognize, and none of these were disturbed in the least by the local fauna. The pack never harvested them. It was to the cub's senses a bit spooky.

<There is some sort of ward in this place,> Blackthorn assured both himself and Mouse.

<Is tha…tha…that bad?>

<Not for us.>

Here was a whole new world only a few hundred yards from the pack's winter quarters. Blackthorn and Mouse strode about in wonder as to why they had never come here before.

<Do you think we could eat some of this fruit?>

Mouse's desire for sweets outweighed his fears. He jumped up and swatted at a low-hanging pear. It fell to the grass. Both cubs watched it lest it move. Blackthorn prodded the pear with a toe.

<It might be okay. We'd better ask our parents.>

Blackthorn ran a hand over the sharply squared edges of a tightly fitted wall stone. Never had he beheld an artificial structure of such magnitude. He was intrigued enough to momentarily forget his original mission.

With thoughts of both bees and honey set aside, Blackthorn and Mouse traced patterns in the dry set wall's joints. Blackthorn committed the strange boxy profile to memory. As with the fruit, he would ask his parents about the place when he got home. For now, it was to explore and discover.

What the lupine elves had stumbled onto were the already well-explored remains of some ancient noble's manor house. It was one of many that existed during the world's feudal age. Then dozens of petty kingdoms and city states ruled the land. Human overlords and Elvin mages controlled this broad valley before the Dark Days drove men east and elves west.

A stone statue lay on its back, half buried in loam. Mouse squinted his brow at it, trying to decipher its eroded features.

<That's an elf,> sent Blackthorn knowingly, though the deteriorated stone offered no definite details. It could have been a statue of a man.

None knew man's fate, but the elves' once royal line had long degenerated into many small rival clans. They now carried on a primitive existence, fighting among themselves in the western mountains. The elves' once formidable magic was now no greater than sleight of hand as they eked out a living in permanent exile. For reasons long forgotten yet still enforced by the packs, elves were not allowed to return to the fertile lands of their ancestors.

Blackthorn's pack, the Bloodstones, was one of many packs tasked in being guardians. They had no travel restrictions. Lupine elves laid claim to all the border lands from the permanent White Cold of the north to the endless warm seas to the south. Their daily concerns centered on evading predators, general wilderness hazards, and sometimes the avoidance of stagnant and dangerous magic left behind by the retreating elves.

Even though several years would pass before his awakening, Blackthorn could sense the vague stirrings of ancient magic deep within the ruins. Whether the manipulative radiations were benign or not, he was unsure. Blackthorn only thought it wise he should avoid those areas the emanations were coming from.

A bee droned past Blackthorn's nose, reminding him why he came here in the first place.

<C'mon.>

Grabbing the wandering Mouse by an arm, he followed the swift insect. Shortly thereafter, they came upon the hive. It was accessed through a notch in the crumbling mortar of a half-toppled pilaster. Blackthorn tested one of the stone slabs. It refused to budge. Blackthorn's ears folded flat in disappointment. The hive was a fortress.

<Help me.>

Mouse did eagerly. Even with both cubs straining, the stone wouldn't budge.

Other entrances were searched for, but none was found. Nothing was available to pry up the stone. (Not that Blackthorn would, for he had prior experience with bee stings.)

<Well, come on.>

<What about the honey?> pleaded Mouse.

He was almost in tears.

<We'll have to get help to get it.>

Blackthorn hopped lightly from the wall, retracing his steps back to the field where he started. The cub was not about to give up on his find. He was just altering his strategy.

*****

The rabbit and hunter's game wound down. Hopper had eventually allowed herself to be caught. By then, everyone was too tired to continue playing.

Blackthorn, seeking recruits, strolled over to a group of panting, sweating cub relaxing in the shade.

<I found a beehive,> he announced proudly.

<So?> sent a cub. It was clear he was not interested.

Two others, Dancer and Cricket, raised inquiring brow burns. These had already leaped from bees to honey.

<Where?>

<In a stone,> answered Blackthorn. Behind him, Mouse nodded vigorously.

<And how are we supposed to get to the honey if it is inside a stone?> asked Hopper sarcastically as she barged her way into the group.

This time, her minion, Cricket, nodded.

Hopper smirked, hands on hips and with jutted jaw. Her dark covetous eyes betrayed her apparent lack of interest. Blackthorn was prepared.

<We can pry the stone up with a branch or something. There's enough vernaxus blossom honey in there to feed the whole pack!>

<That means there are enough bees to sting us all to death!> sent Hopper.

Despite her dire warning, the others were still game. Mouse for one would do almost anything for sweets. After a bit more posturing, Hopper gave her apprehensive approval as well. Her assistance and expertise would come at a price. Hopper knew she would not receive what she considered her fair share of the spoils if Blackthorn's expedition succeeded without her essential presence. The other cubs, especially Blackthorn, would never hear the end of her scoffing if they refused her supervision and failed.

Under Hopper's orders, a spear was selected for use as a lever. Several baskets were procured to carry both honey and comb back. Hopper gave the spear's shaft a critical eye, assuring herself that it would be strong enough. It's hammered iron pommel might even be an asset.

<Lead on,> she sent, already believing herself in charge. Hopper would take over the leadership and claim first rights to the honey if it looked like they would succeed. With Cricket's help, she would trounce any cub that dared to disagree.

Innocent of Hopper's scheming, Blackthorn proudly stretched to his full two feet in height. He led his team deep into the five-hundred-acre wilderness.

*****

Upon his second exploration, Blackthorn now could see the plateau was also a part of the manor house's massive structure. The elf lords, or the mysterious humans before them, were indeed powerful to move and shape so much soil and rock. Time and the elements could not diminish the ruins' awesome symmetry.

<How did this place come to be?> asked Mouse. He was now quite fascinated by the place as it was deemed safe for exploration.

<It's the ruins of an Ancient's den,> answered Cricket.

At nine years of age, Cricket was the eldest of the Bloodstone's cub pack. His shrewd dark eyes glittered, eager to impart all the knowledge he possessed on the subject of Ancients or any relic they left behind. Cricket was proud to be the apprentice to Acorn, a pack Elder and official Chanter of History.

The cub's route was a little different this time. Here, part way up the artificial slope, was evidence of a fairly recent excavation. The overburden beside a long narrow trench only had a scattering of weeds and grasses upon it. In the hole itself was a taint of archaic magic.

sent Cricket, who was old enough to scent such things. <It is almost worn out.>

The cubs lingered at the site, pondering its implications much to Hopper's annoyance.

<About the honey?> she sent impatiently. Hopper poked at one of the dirt mounds with the point of her spear.

<Hey! Look at this!> sent Dancer.

Bits and pieces of corroded iron and bronze lay in a jumbled heap behind one of the dirt mounds. What the metal had been