Airlean Tales

Azalea rose when it was still dark.

She dressed warmly: a heavy cloak lined with fox furs, ribbed knit thermals beneath a woolen dress and waxed trousers, fleece gloves embroidered with wildflowers. She pulled on fur-lined socks before she slipped into her windsoles. The shoes hadn’t been made for snow, but keeping the ability to springstep was more important. Her feet would just have to be a little cold.

She left her armor on its rack. Traveling light would be essential in a long trek through snow, and every creature in the Noadic Range would be powerful enough to blitz right through metal plates. Mobility had a better chance of saving her life than protection.

Azalea tried to think of other significant things that her da would bring on longer excursions to the woods. A flintstone. A knife. A pouch of numbroot salve and fresh bandages. Flasks of water—less important, as snowmelt on the Noadic Range was safe for drinking.

She had just finished bundling up her warmest sleeping roll when a light, springy knock sounded on the door. Odd. Who would come calling at such an hour?

Azalea opened the door and was met with a young girl in hempen dress, eyes wide and owlish beneath rich chestnut hair. It took her a moment to place the face; it had been a while since she had last seen it. But after a second, she was certain. This was the young, sprightly aide who managed send-offs and rankings for the Hunters.

“Sasha,” she said, recalling the name. “Hello.”

Sasha blinked. “Um, hi.”

Silence.

“Why are you here?” Azalea asked uncertainly.

Sasha shrugged. “I don’t know. Nicky told me, ‘Hey, go to this house and be yourself for a few hours.’ And I said, ‘What, organize or clean or something?’ And she said, ‘No, be a nuisance.’”

Azalea frowned. What cause did Nicolina have to dispatch her aide at this time of the morning? To the residence of a resigned Hunter, no less? Azalea was no longer part of the guild. Nicolina owed her nothing.

“Well,” Azalea said awkwardly, “I’m afraid that I must be heading out soon, so…”

Sasha’s eyes blew wide open. “You’re leaving?”

“Well, um—”

“Say no more! I get it now. I’m supposed to buy Nicky time to talk you down!”

And Sasha pushed through the threshold, shut the door behind her, and planted herself right there, spreading her limbs out like a marooned starfish.

“Ha!” she said triumphantly. “Now you can’t go anywhere!”

Azalea stared at the brazen slip of a girl. She found herself shrugging, unbothered. “Alright.”

Sasha’s eyes were on her back as she returned to packing. “That’s it?” said the young girl hesitantly. “You’re not going to knock me out? Kill me? Take my purse?”

A scarf, a length of thin cord, cinnamon-glazed cashews and spicy crunchpeas purchased at the market. “Of course not,” said Azalea. “That wouldn’t be very Hunterly of me.”

“But you’re not a Hunter anymore.”

“Oh.” Azalea added a small pouch of salted jerky. “That’s true.”

“So you tried to quit? Poor Nicky.”

“I didn’t try, I did quit.” Azalea glanced at the slight figure planting herself in the doorway. “And you shouldn’t call the guildmaster ‘Nicky.’ That’s very rude.”

“I think it’s ruder to quit just before the final Storm without two weeks of notice,” Sasha replied, which was difficult to refute.

So Azalea didn’t refute it. She stashed a roll of thread and a sewing needle, and lastly pocketed a small compass.

“It’s hard for Nicky, you know,” Sasha said presently. “Sending people to die every day. I don’t know what exactly is going on, but maybe you should rethink it. She’s already lost so many people close to her. Like the previous guildmaster. She was his Support, you know. She handled the paperwork while he went out to fight. But then one day, the Great Storm happened, and he never came back. Nicky waited so long for him. She did the paperwork and kept things running until everybody started calling her the new guildmaster. I mean, I assume this is all true, I wasn’t actually around when that happened. I was four years old and just ate and burped a lot. Hey, are you listening?”

Azalea had unlatched the window and pushed it outward. She closed her eyes at the gentle morning breeze, feeling the coolness prickle on her skin like dewdrops.

“Just feeling the breeze before I go,” she said.

“Oh, okay,” said Sasha. Then: “Wait a minute.”

But Azalea had already vaulted out the window, windsoles swelling to cushion her fall. She landed gracefully and trotted off to the main gate at an easy pace.

“Hey!” shrieked Sasha’s voice from above. “That’s cheating!”

Dawn was cold and colorless over a quiet Mythaven. Only a precious few were on the streets so soon after the frenzy of a surge. Azalea passed by a fruit seller and a metalworker, then a baker rushing to light his ovens for the day’s first rolls. Then the roads were quiet until she found Echo standing by the main gate, cloaked in his usual grey-green and smiling indulgently.

“Well, you’re looking cozy,” Echo said. “It’ll be awhile until we hit the Range. Are you sure you won’t cook in your own cloak?”

“That’s my business, not yours,” Azalea said. She was, in fact, extremely warm, but she hadn’t packed a lighter set of clothes, wishing to shed as much weight as possible.

“But it is my business,” said Echo, folding his arms. “I can’t have you swooning all over the road in the midday heat like some pampered princess. Actually, maybe I can. That would be quite a humorous sight.”

Azalea glared at him and pulled off her heavy cloak, bundling it under her arm.

“Oh well,” Echo said. “Maybe some other time.”

He began to turn to Mythaven’s main gate, but Azalea’s hand shot out and gripped his arm. She felt him jolt under her touch, saw a flash in his eye. His fingers skittered towards his knife, but then he stopped and breathed out through his teeth.

Right, she realized, releasing him. Do not grab an underground mercenary without warning.

“Sorry,” she said aloud, “but there’s something I wanted to address. The issue of payment.”

Echo gave no indication that anything had bothered him. With a lift of his eyebrow, he was back to humored and blasé.

“Backing out already?” he said easily. “I’ll admit the price is a bit steep for a civil servant’s income.”

“Not that,” said Azalea. Amount no longer mattered to her—not when she was likely to die anyway. “I want to discuss the timing.”

“Meaning?”

“If I pay you up front, then there’s nothing stopping you from slitting my throat in the night and going on your merry way.”

She expected Echo to feel insulted, but he only nodded sagely. “Very true.”

“So,” Azalea said, emboldened, “I’ll pay you half in advance, and half before I enter the Noadic Range. You’ll still get your full payment before I die, and I’ll have some insurance that you’ll follow through on your word.”

“You do realize,” said Echo with a hint of humor, “that I could still slit your throat in the night, rob you, and make off with your money.”

Azalea opened her mouth. Azalea closed her mouth.

“Yes, of course,” she said warily.

Echo barked out a laugh. “Little Red, you are absolutely not cut out for making these kinds of deals. There are fifty different ways I could betray you, and you have safeguarded against none of them.”

“Surely there aren’t fifty,” Azalea muttered.

“I could kill you in your sleep, lead you into a trap, guide you in circles to scam you for room and board, steal your purse, slip poison into a meal—no, no, at this point, you’d best just blindly trust me. Less embarrassing for the both of us.” He nodded towards the gate. “Now, off to Maple Point before we lose any daylight, and I’ll receive the full payment thereafter.”

He set off at a brisk walk, and Azalea sullenly trailed after him. As usual, he was correct, and she hated it.

“Well,” she muttered, “what could I have done instead?”

Echo waved a hand. “Oh, all sorts of things. For one, never carry the money on your person. Keep it at a bank or a safehouse. Then offer the pass phrase as payment.”

Azalea perked up, intrigued. “But then…how would the mercenary know that it will work? Couldn’t I lie about the pass phrase and keep the money for myself?”

“Ah, now you’re learning.” Echo smiled darkly. “You could indeed. But in that case, you’d best hope that all your loved ones are already dead. Or they will pay the price for you.”

From the look on his face, he didn’t seem to be talking about money. Azalea shut her mouth and turned back to the road, deciding that it was better for some secrets to be left unknown.

They reached Maple Point at midday. It was beautiful at this time of the year, when all the trees liked to flower in hues of orange and golden red.

The town walls had seen some damage, bits of it fallen in here and there, large sections black with ash, the gates pounded in until they threatened to snap. But the town proper was unscathed, not one tree felled and not one brick overturned. Karis Caelute had protected it impeccably, and even the festering animal corpses piled outside the walls could not dampen the mood of Maple Point’s citizens. Many of them turned and waved cheerily to Azalea, recognizing her from the six years she had spent in the town, but she could not idle around to chat. She gave them a polite bob and continued on her way.

The Fairwen residence was small but idyllic, a diminutive cottage with one bedroom, one washroom, and one common area for cooking and dining. But what it lacked in estate was made up for in a beautiful, decently sized lot of tilled rows and planters, every inch blooming with an assortment of flowers and produce that warmed the soul. Caring for a garden had been good for restoring Anna Fairwen’s health and awareness, and it had also blessed her family.

“Charming place,” said Echo. “Thriving tomatoes. I ought to ask for tips.”

Azalea could not tell whether he was mocking her or not. She ignored him and pushed through the threshold.

They were met with a splendid spread on the dining table. Hearty stew with carrots and boar meat, clam-dotted creamy pasta, nutmeg bread filled with raisins. Fresh fruits and vegetables from the garden were abundant, painting the table in vibrant color. At the end sat a platter of sweets—ginger cookies, chocolate-dipped berries, and honeyed candies.

“Special day?” said Echo, examining one of the ginger cookies. “Or exceptionally large appetite?”

Azalea didn’t respond for a moment. The sight of the feast filled her with horror, the delectable scents curdling into nausea at the bottom of her gut. Despite her heavy garb, she was cold all over.

“I’d completely forgotten,” she whispered.

Echo glanced at her. “Forgotten what?”

She stared at the feast plated on the table and swallowed the lump in her throat. “It’s the anniversary of my brother’s death.”

For a moment, Echo said nothing. The silence lay heavily on Azalea like a shroud. How foolish of her to have forgotten, how disrespectful. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come. Her parents had borne enough grief for the day.

The door to the garden swung open, and in tromped Aleks Fairwen, just as big and broad as she remembered. He moved to deposit a bucket of forest mushrooms in the kitchen, but stopped at the sight of his daughter by the table.

“Aza,” he said softly.

Seeing him in the flesh was like a knife to her gut. The flecks of grey crawling in his hair, the weight pulling on his back, the lines digging deeper into his brow. Her da had been slowly aging while she’d been busy with studying, training, fighting. Too busy to write, too busy to visit. Now she saw the evidence of all the time she couldn’t get back.

“Da,” Azalea whispered. She tried to straighten and dust off her skirts, looking capable, looking presentable. “I—I’ve come to, to…I mean, I…”

It was disconcerting to look into meadow-green eyes that so closely mirrored her own, piercing and knowing, light and sharp as blades of grass. She wondered if he was disappointed in her. If he would scold her for being so silent and busy, never visiting home, never caring for her mother.

Words left her. Azalea stared at her da, tongue-tied.

Silently, he opened his arms.

She couldn’t help it. The Wolf’s presence be damned, the Storm above be damned. She ran and threw her arms around her da, folding into his embrace.

“There, there,” he murmured, running a hand through her hair. “My little girl.”

Something in her shattered, and she pressed her nose into his shoulder, hiccuping in strangled sobs. She hadn’t let herself realize just how tired she was, how haggard and run ragged. She hadn’t stopped in what felt like ages. Her manawell may not have overburned, but she was spent. Beyond spent.

Azalea sank onto her da’s arms, craving the warmth and surety that she always found there.

“We can speak later,” Da said, brushing back her hairline with callused thumbs. “For now, sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow, Aza.”

Oh, more than anything, she wanted to. How she would adore to curl up in her soft, fleecy cot, surrounded by fragrance jars of vanilla blossoms and wild lavender. But every day she lingered was another day closer to the Storm.

“I can’t, Da,” she said, drawing back. She sniffled. “I can’t stay. I only—”

Then the garden door opened again, and in stepped Anna Fairwen.

It had been so long since Azalea had seen her ma up and about that she’d nearly forgotten what it was like. There was a healthy flush in Anna’s pale cheeks, a lovely blue dress swishing about her hips. Her golden hair poured down in waves from beneath a sunhat. Blue eyes smiled in a brilliant sparkle, clear as the sky.

So much improvement. For years, Ma had only lain in bed and stared into nothingness, her eyes blank and unseeing, broken by losing her son. To see her like this, vibrant and alive, the doctor and the garden and the country air doing her much good, made Azalea’s heart ache sweetly.

“Oh, ’Zalie, sweetie,” she said brightly. Azalea nearly cried again at that. It had been years since Ma recognized her. “You’re just in time. There was a bloom of strawberries, perfectly ripe, and I’ve got some milk from Mrs. Emel’s cow. We’ll have fresh strawberries and cream, your favorite.”

Azalea’s eyes watered. Her ma was so happy and beautiful and healing. “Oh, Ma,” she whispered. “Ma, I would love to. I’m sorry, but I really can’t stay. I just came to offer my greetings.”

“Surely it can wait an hour for strawberries and cream,” said Ma insistently. She tilted a woven basket in her hands, proudly showing Azalea the fruits of her labor: fragrant and fat and gorgeously red, the finest strawberries anybody could ask for. “Don’t they look delicious?”

Azalea swallowed, close to caving in. “They do.”

“Anna, love,” said Da with a hint of humor, “the strawberries will keep for when Aza gets back.”

Azalea flinched. Any sense of appetite vanished.

Ma took a closer look at her daughter, absorbing her woolen dress, her waxed trousers, her fleece gloves. “Where are you going, ’Zalie? You’re all bundled up and cozy.”

A ball of panic was beginning to gather in Azalea’s chest, but she shooed it away. “Oh, here and there,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “You needn’t fret.”

“She’s heading to the Noadic Range,” said a cold voice behind her. “So best say your final goodbyes.”

Azalea jolted and turned around. She had been so caught up in a flurry of emotions that she’d nearly forgotten about the Wolf’s presence. He was watching them now with his arms folded across his chest, his face as cold and unmoving as ice.

How dare he say that? she thought numbly. So sudden, so insensitive…

“The Noadic Range?” said Ma, confused. Uncertainty flickered in her beautiful blue eyes. “All the way up north? That dangerous place?”

“No,” Azalea blurted. “No, I don’t—this man is saying nonsense.”

“Is he?” said Da. Those piercing green eyes made her shrink.

“Well, I…” She was trapped. “I…I am heading in that direction, yes…”

“You’re leaving,” Ma whispered. The clarity in her eyes was misting over. Distant, confused. “You’re leaving us.”

“She is leaving,” Echo said, blunt and unapologetic, “and the journey is especially perilous. She likely will not return.”

No. Azalea’s steps stuttered towards her ma, but Anna backed away to the wall, pulling her sunhat over her ears. The shadows flickered eerily over her face, pronouncing the wild, roving look in her eyes.

“The wolves,” Ma whispered. “The wolves are taking her. Oh, Aleks. We’ve failed them.”

“Anna,” said Da. “Wait, love—”

The basket fumbled out of Ma’s hands as she staggered for the bedroom. Bright, ruby red strawberries spilled across the ground, crawling leisurely towards the cracks in the wooden flooring.

Da shot Echo a dark look that could have quailed bears, then turned to Azalea. “Do not leave,” he said. “We’ll talk about this. Do not go until we’ve had a word, Aza.”

He vanished around the bedroom door and shut it softly behind him. Anna Fairwen’s muffled sobs eked through the wood.

Azalea’s hands began to shake, her mind an endless blur. She was blind with anger, frozen with fear, nauseous with guilt, emotions too many and too severe to name all at once, each consolidating into a horrible skein in her throat that she could not unravel. She stared at the fallen strawberries, the forgotten pail of forest mushrooms, the banquet on the dining table.

She tore out of the house wordlessly.

The air cut against her face, but she ignored it. She heard footsteps from behind and Echo pushed in front of her, his expression still stony.

“Hold on, Little Red. He said not to go.”

She shoved him away from her, hard. He stumbled against the garden gate, but righted himself just as easily. She walked on, her feet finding the road out.

Echo pushed forward. “Red—”

Azalea turned on him harshly. “You had no right,” she said, her voice low and trembling. “None at all, Wolf.”

He met her gaze evenly. “On the contrary, Red. You had no right to keep the truth from them.”

“You were cruel.” Ma had been healing. All that progress, gone.

Echo shook his head. “They’ve already lost one child,” he said. “They don’t need another to disappear. Without answers. Leaving them to hope, to wonder, until the decades have spilled on and that feast on the table is for two, not one.”

“They wouldn’t have cared.” Tears stung at her eyes and she angrily rubbed them away. “If you hadn’t said anything, they wouldn’t have cared at all.”

Echo’s mouth tightened. “You don’t believe that.”

“Why did you even bring me here?” she cried angrily. “For more misery? So you could see me suffer?”

“To show you, Red, that this mission comes with a heavy price to pay,” he said softly. “And perhaps, after seeing it, you would rethink your decision.”

Azalea had enough. She turned north and stormed away. Nothing could stop her. Not even the Wolf’s cruel schemes.

Echo watched her disappear around the corner. He sighed, ran a hand over his head, and strode after her, giving her enough space to cry in peace.