The quiet creaking of the saddle was drowned out by the trills of starlings and the convulsive cries of jackdaws. An intoxicating smell of humus rose from the rotten leaves, and the sun's rays, breaking through the withered foliage, blinded the eyes. Mavka Tharya, weary from the long journey, shook herself, rubbed her eyes and bit her lip in an attempt to cheer herself up. She traveled this route for more than three days, with a couple of short breaks for restless sleep. Her stomach growled loudly. Her horse Goleufa bucked, shaking its mane braided into thin braids, neighed indignantly and froze abruptly. Mavka would have almost fallen face-first if she hadn't grabbed the saddle in time.
Tharya dismounted with a loud curse, leaping off in a single motion. As she looked around, she saw the ancient road of browned brick, now overgrown with weeds, stretching ahead. However, thin paths branched off from the main road, disappearing into the wildness of the Forest. There was no wind, no birdsong, and no sound of animals under the ancient treetops.
"By leaf and petal, I can't endure this any longer," Mavka exclaimed. She stretched her shoulders with a sharp movement, causing her vertebrae to crunch loudly. After tying her horse to a nearby tree, she disappeared behind a bush to relieve herself. As Tharya tucked her shirt into her pants, she heard the faint sound of approaching footsteps.
People blink slower than Mavka takes out a dagger.
"Who are you and why are you following me?" she threw the unlucky spy into the withered leaves and put her knee to his throat. The tip almost touched the man's eye.
"I don't... Please have mercy! I didn't intend to! I was just following orders! I beg you!" shouted the young Carf, no older than nineteen. His light green skin glowed emerald in the dim light of the branches.
"Whose order?" Putting the dagger in the sheath on her boot, Tharya grabbed the spy by the chest and pulled him to his feet. Shaking off the leaves, Mavka walked around him and grinned. "Aren't you too young to go out on patrol alone?"
"N-n-no, my lady Mavka, I don't..." Bowing awkwardly, he perked up and, throwing back the tangled blond strands from his narrow face, proudly announced: "I am the vassal Zenova, I was ordered to guard the sacred Grove."
"Yeah sure. Why are you following me? We have always been here, and we do not need the help of filthy traitors."
"My lady, I am not a traitor, I..." Zenova blinked rapidly, his hazel eyes glistened with moisture. "I am ready to give my life for the sake of the great Thongrong."
Mavka sighed heavily, straightened the two-handed sword on her belt and, taking a couple of steps back, looked at the unlucky spy with a heavy gaze.
"And I thought that nowadays all the carfs serve the Usurper," she spat contemptuously at his feet and walked up to the horse. A Spotted Rowan Thrush landed quietly on an alder branch and bowed its head, carefully studying the newcomers.
Goleufa snored and buried its heavy head in her shoulder, as if indicating, "look in that direction." Tharja turned and noticed a swaying shadow in the dappled darkness of the forest. The air began to tremble, filling with a barely audible piercing whistle. "Quickly, on the road!" Zenova hesitated, and Mavka had to grab him by the collar and drag him onto the road. The shadow was approaching, and the plants that its blurry edges touched turned into dust before their eyes.
Goleufa galloped for half an hour, lathered and snoring from the sharp blows of the leather whip. Zenova quietly whined, tightly clutching Mavka's back. Finally, the horse stopped, wheezed, and raised its head, forcing the passengers to dismount.
"My lady, what was that?" Zenova was paler than any young leaf, but he tightly clutched the hilt of his saber with his thin palm.
Tharya was about to answer but changed her mind. She waved her hand, drank the last water from the flask, and the horse snorted nervously, kicking its hoof. It didn't immediately allow the owner to pull up the saddle.
Carf, on weak legs, hobbled to the overgrown roadside and sat down in a heap of leaves and spruce branches under a spreading maple. The forest around them was thinning, and a flock of sparrows rustled in the thorny raspberry thickets.
"What, vassal, are you scared?" Mavka looked at him intently, noticing his brand new uniform and the shiny buckles of his soft boots. "So whose orders were you following?"
"Mr. Finn assigned us to patrol the Grove, to protect travelers: rebel raids have become more frequent recently..." he bit his tongue and swallowed hard: "And you, actually..."
"Mavka Tharya, your royal nephew and my people have a truce, don't be afraid. We don't care about politics, we have our own path. And if you met a rebel, you would already be lying in the thicket with your throat cut."
The blackbird landed on the worn bricks of the road and, making a sharp lunge, grabbed a large rhinoceros beetle. The crunchy sound of chitin was nearly drowned out by the lively forest sounds.
"What kind of creature was there? At the Academy, they told us about the creatures of the Grove, but I thought these were all fairy tales," Zenova jumped to his feet and began to hit his calves with his palms, driving away the ants.
"Fairy tales, all sorts of them," Tharya grinned and patted the horse's neck. "Yes, there is some truth in each of them. Let's see, vassal, how you behave, and perhaps I'll tell you. Let's go, I could use your help. And without me, little bird, you won't get out of the Forest.
Zenova humbly walked behind the large figure of Mavka, every now and then returning his gaze to her dark turquoise hair, braided into a dense, heavy braid. She just laughed it off and shrugged her shoulders to all his questions. Goleufa continued to snore, but obediently followed his owner, waving his bushy gray tail.
After half an hour, the dense forest gave way to sparse thickets of bushes, and eventually, tufts of browning grass and lumps of clay. A stream crossed the meager field, prompting the travelers to stop to freshen up and fill their flasks.
... "And that's how I ended up at the Academy. The Vicegerent himself came to the presentation of diplomas and personally put a medal on me for success!" the carf shared enthusiastically. "Mother is very proud of me. In our family, only a few managed to leave the village; as you may know, it's not customary for us to leave our homeland."
"Vassal Zenova, I know more about your homeland than you do. I've been there more than once or twice. I won't say that the memories are pleasant," Tharya squinted in the sunset's rays, shading her eyes with her hand. "Little bird, do you see the tower ahead? I'm going blind, what a shame."
Zenova frowned as he looked at the low round tower peeking out from behind the thick stone wall. Ancient masonry surrounded the building, a small woodengate was concealed by a curtain of grapevines. A flock of pigeons circled above the flat roof.
"My lady Tharya, why have we come here? The Library has been empty for ages," the carf looked at her incredulously. "It was looted about two hundred years ago. The Vicegerent once wanted to restore it, but the people rebelled, claiming that it would be a waste of money."
"People would be more willing to spend money on golden palaces, right?" Mavka chuckled and patted a new friend on the shoulder. "And what did they teach you at this Academy? Isn't knowledge the greatest wealth?"
Soon a dirt road branched off the main road towards the gate. Rosehip bushes had been planted on both sides in the past, but now they grew haphazardly. Shy sparrows perched on the bouncy branches adorned with scarlet fruits and called to each other in hushed tones.
"Remember, little bird, you have to think for yourself, or else you'll give it up to someone else..." Tharya paused and looked at him from beneath her blue eyelashes. "In general, you can't believe everything they tell you."
"Yes, my lady," muttered the carf, gazing at the dilapidated walls surrounding the tower. The last rays of sunlight touched the canvas of loach on the sandstone masonry with orange fingers, caressed the wrinkled bunches of grapes above the gate, and vanished over the horizon. "Does anyone else live here?"
Tharya led the horse to the gate and tied it nearby using a bronze hook with a beak-shaped knob. The flower carvings on the wood had been corroded by termites and time, but the inscription on the doors still read: "Essence."
"Essence?" Zenova began to brush off dust and cobwebs from the patterns in search of other letters. "My lady Tharya, what does this mean? Whose library was this?"
"What, didn't they tell you that at your Academy, little bird?"
The sun had already set, and not a single ray reflected on the smooth blade. Blood stained the ancient patterns. The young carf sobbed, flapping his wrists like a bird, his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the cracked ground. The scarlet streams were quickly absorbed into the withered tree.
"Forgive me, vassal, and thank you for your help," Mavka turned the young man onto his back, straightened his arms and legs, and closed his eyelids. "It's better this way than in the next campaign of the Vicegerent."
A trio of blackbirds soared into the sky from a nearby briar, screaming shrilly. The woman straightened her shabby vest, belt and sheath before pushing the door. Due to its age, the door was warped and didn't give way immediately. Wood scraped against stone tiles, the echo of the semicircular vault intensified the ominous sound.
Desolation reigned all around: carts lay in wreckage, stacks of snow decayed, and rusted forged fire baskets were hidden in thickets of ivy and morning glory. The small courtyard appeared abandoned for centuries, but Mavka did not notice any traces of destruction.
"That's funny, Ghoevin, the old cheat, you didn't lie," Tharya smiled and approached the low steps in front of the tower's entrance. "Well, let's see why the little bird shed his innocent blood."
The tower's door had been knocked down, the jagged opening was filled with darkness and mustiness. Mavka found a fairly dry torch in the guard's closet at the gate, lit it from the flint on her belt and ventured into the darkness. The half-rotten wooden steps spiraled upwards creaking and crumbling under each step. After a good half hour, Tharya finally reached the room at the very top. Sneezing from the dust, she used her shoulder and the hilt of her sword, to knock out a round hatch in the ceiling.
Mavka expected to find shelves with ancient tomes, piles of candles, and ancient instruments. Instead she found an empty round room with loophole windows. The stained glass windows, faded with time, refracted the torchlight, scattering gem-like reflections on the withered boards.
"Holy tree, how can that be?" Tharya pulled herself up and climbed out of the hatch into the room. She fiddled with the wrought-iron torch basket, but only managed to light the remaining logs. The room was empty.
Mavka searched every board on the floor and every brick on the walls within her reach. But it was all in vain. Was it all for nothing?
Tharya wearily sat down and leaned her back against the wall. Several stained glass windows were missing pieces of colored glass, but the smoke and soot remained. Mavka coughed and her eyes watered. Patting her pockets, she exclaimed with joy when she found a handkerchief in one of the pockets of her old faithful vest. Through tear-filled eyes, Tharya saw the bell flowers embroidered by an uneven child's hand.
After finishing the water from Zenova's flask, Mavka threw it out the narrow window. She smashed another window with her sword, but decided to open the third one. The door swung open with a chilling creak.
The evening air rushed into the room, filled with the alarming songs of blackbirds and the smell of fallen leaves. It ignited a fire in the wrought-iron basket. Mavka took a deep breath, threw back her head, and opened her eyes.
There it was!
A faint glow of writing adorned the round ceiling. Carved in wood and filled with white, the words shimmered in the eerie light of the hearth. Tharya pulled out parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill from her shoulder bag and began to transcribe.
"Girl, you're not really skilled in calligraphy, are you?" Mavka muttered, analyzing the stranger's hasty notes. "Oh, yes, blasphemy! And perjury! I like it." After rummaging through her bag, she took out a wrinkled lemon, one side of which was already starting to grow moldy.
"That will do!" Tharya exclaimed, as she finished writing on the first parchment using ordinary ink. She then proceeded to copy the text onto the second parchment, using lemon juice as ink. With a contented chuckle, she tightly rolled both notes into bundles.
Mavkas are always prepared for battle, paying attention to even the smallest details of their appearance. They wear a wide shirt over a cotton bodice, followed by chainmail made of small metal rings, and a leather vest on top of that. Additionally, they may choose to wear a frock coat, cloak, or another layer of armor. Sometimes, they wear all of them together. However, leather pants with small steel plates are not particularly comfortable, causing excessive sweating. Nevertheless, they provide protection against many absurd deaths. The overall ensemble may appear ridiculous and pretentious, but it justifies any inconveniences in battles, especially against traitors.
Tharya concealed one of the bundles in her bodice, right between her still-large, round breasts. She even momentarily pulled aside the fabric to admire her chest and chuckled contentedly. "After all these years, the boobs are still amazing!" She tightly rolled the second parchment and tucked it into the top of her boot, in the fold of leather between her leg and the lacing.
Just as Mavka was about to leave, she paused and took out a third parchment.
She exited the tower as the sky began to turn pink behind the round fortress wall in the east. In the hazy dawn, every sound echoed sharply and ominously against the walls. Tharya, exhausted yet invigorated by her duty, grasped the hilt of her sword firmly on her belt and approached the tightly closed gate. She pressed her ear against it.
Suddenly, four uneven but forceful blows made her recoil.