Entwell Origins: Anya Read online

  Entwell Origins: Ayna

  A Book of Deacon Sidequest

  Joseph R. Lallo

  Copyright © 2015 Joseph R. Lallo

  Cover By Georgi Slavov

  g-manbg.deviantart.com

  Table of Contents

  FOREWORD

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  FROM THE AUTHOR

  Foreword

  This story is the first experiment in what may become an ongoing side series for the Book of Deacon setting. Entwell, the setting within a setting where some of the finest wizards and warriors of the world dwell, has captured the imaginations of quite a few readers. The larger than life personalities found there have attracted countless emails and comments asking what the Entwell residents are doing while the rest of the story is going on, and how did each of them find their way to their current positions.

  I love to think about such things, so as a project between releases I started jotting down notes and scribbling ideas for an Entwell-centric novella. Part of it was to be separate flashbacks to the history of Ayna, Calypso, and Solomon. Once the Ayna story grew unmanageably large, I decided to spin it off and give it a try as a standalone. Thus, the novella you are now reading was born. It was first distributed as a free gift to my newsletter subscribers, so if you like the story, consider signing up! I produce a few newsletter previews a year, not to mention spreading the news of books as they become available.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Far in the north of a war-torn world was a forest the size of a small sea. The locals called the place Ravenwood, and though it stretched over much of the icy reaches of an empire called the Northern Alliance, it was home to many things few would imagine might survive in such a frigid place. Sprinkled among the pines and firs were breeds of oak and maple that kept their leaves long into the iciest months. Flowers thought far too frail to last a single frost found places to flourish. Some said magic was to blame, others that nature simply finds a way to thrive in spite of itself, but for those who knew where to look, the truth was undeniable. Honeysuckles, roses, lilies, and more bloomed in defiance of the year-round chill. And wherever these flowers were found, there could be found something still more rare...

  On a crisp spring morning, the leaves of an oak stirred. As the crust of frost crackled from a broad leaf near to the trunk, a tiny head peeked out from behind it. It was a fairy, her hair a chestnut brown and her eyes pale lavender. She was young, just a few years of age, though for her race that placed her firmly in adolescence. She blinked at the brightness of the sun and timidly ventured a few steps farther.

  For the chilly climate, one would imagine her clothing to be woefully inadequate. She wore a simple dress of pale yellow, fashioned from flower petals pounded into a sort of fabric. It was nearly as light and delicate as the gossamer dragonfly wings fluttering lightly on her back. The dress couldn't have done much to ward off the cold. She tapped forward along the rough bark, her tiny feet bare, yet despite the bite to the air she didn't so much as tremble. To a fairy, the forest held many dangers, but cold was little concern.

  Her eyes fixed on the clearing in the distance where her favorite rose bush beckoned to her, promising a breakfast of nectar. Already she could see the lowest flowers rustling, no doubt her family drinking their fill. She glanced to and fro, biting her lip and twisting her face in a mixture of eagerness and uncertainty. When she was satisfied, she buzzed her wings to speed and darted forward. The very instant her feet left the branch, a trilling tone whistled out from a bush at the foot of the tree. The sound might have been dismissed as a particularly complex bird call by most listeners, but for the little fairy it was an angry reprimand, the voice of her father.

  "Ayna, you come here this instant!" he chirped in their elegant, lilting language.

  He burst out from a nest of leaves and twigs. The nest was tucked away in the thick of a bush at the foot of the tree, hidden such that even the sharpest eyes wouldn't spot it. Anya's father was dressed in a tunic and loincloth of oak leaf, and if human he would have been an imposing figure. His shoulders were broad, his build stout. Though he was no larger than the size of an open human hand, he still towered over the girl when he buzzed up and hung angrily before her.

  "Where did you think you were going, little Ayna?" he fumed.

  "I was only going to the rose bush for breakfast," she said sheepishly, eyes to her feet.

  "Oh, you're heading to the rose bush? I didn't realize you'd plucked me a leaf yet," he said, his tone mocking.

  "Father..."

  "Perhaps you should pluck me another," he continued. "I'll have that one. Good and dry. It's practically ready to drop on its own."

  "Fine!" Ayna said.

  She pivoted in air until she was facing the branch and set her eyes on the leaf. Her father buzzed to her side and watched with his arms crossed. Ayna let her hands drop to her sides and tried to gather her mind.

  For as long as she could remember, she'd tried to gather the wind to her will. It was a tradition for her race, a rite of passage. On the day a fairy could coax the wind into pulling a leaf from the tree, he or she was considered grown. Mastering the wind, even to that small degree, was enough to help a fairy stay safe. A breath of wind could hide scent. It could confuse predators, foul the flight of birds. Each of Ayna's brothers and sisters had done so by the time they were her age, and thus they were free to explore. Anya had yet to do so, and until she could conjure a breeze at will, she had to remain in the safety of the home tree.

  Ayna twisted and turned her mind this way and that, tugging it in the directions she believed might influence the breeze. Alas, she had no way of knowing if she was doing it properly. The cruelest part of this rite of passage was that she would receive no instruction. Fairies had a natural affinity to wind. They were expected to learn to manipulate it in the same way that they learned to fly, or another creature learned to walk. In time, with practice, it would come. Neither her father, her sisters, nor her brothers would utter a word of advice to aid her.

  By now she should have learned it. She could sense the wind expertly. If she shut her eyes and let the world fall away, she could feel the flutter of every leaf, the breath of every creature. She could feel the ripples on the stream and the waving of each blade of grass. On the day her youngest brother had plucked his first leaf, she'd known he'd gotten the knack even before he did. The unnatural motion of the breeze as it fell under his control blared in her mind like a trumpet. But she'd not once seen the wind answer her call in the same way. It was like learning to listen but never learning to talk.

  For a full minute she tried, and her father waited. Finally his patience ran thin.

  "That's enough, Ayna. Back to the tree, where it will be safe."

  "But father!"

  "Back to the tree!" he growled, a puff of wind swirling from behind him and forcing her back slightly.

  Sulking, she did as she was told. He fluttered along beside her as she returned to the branch she'd practically claimed as her own. It was virtually clear of leaves, low enough to be below the canopy but high enough to give a clear view of the forest around her. Sometimes it felt like the view from that branch was the closest she would ever come to seeing the rest of the woods.

  "Your mother will bring your breakfast, like always," he said, his voice held carefully even. "We can bear your burden until you are ready."

  Ayna shook at the word. Burden. She'd been hearing it more and more as the months rolled on without any hint that she'd found the secret that should have been second nature.

  "Ah. Here is your mother now."

  A fairy woman approached, a curled rose petal in her hands. Her hair was longer and a shade darker, but
at first glance it was clear that in a few years she and Ayna would be virtually indistinguishable. Her dress was the vivid red of rose pedals, and she had an idle smile that faded when she saw Ayna's father's expression.

  "What has she done now?" she asked wearily.

  "Your daughter was planning to leave the tree."

  "Did she pluck a leaf?"

  "No," Ayna moped, taking the petal from her mother.

  It was filled with nectar. Ayna tipped it back and let the delightful sweetness dance across her tongue. Ayna had heard from her grandfather, who had brought the family to the north before she was born, that the nectar here in Ravenwood was the sweetest he had ever found. It was the only nectar she'd ever known, but she couldn't dream of a better meal. Rose nectar had always been her favorite. Fine was the morning that they were able to drink from the rosebush.

  Her mother released a put-upon sigh. "If you can't share in the foraging, at least you should do as you're told. You needn't make things more difficult. Remember your great-grandmother?"

  "What if I am like Gram?" Ayna said. "What if I never figure out how to control the breeze?"

  "Then you will stay in the tree, and you will watch your nieces and nephews for as long as you are able, like she did," her father said. "And if you do end up like my grandmother, at least you'll be safer."

  "Why?"

  "Because your great-grandmother was bigger than you, like your father. And do you know what being bigger and stronger does? It gets you noticed. Fairies who fly high get caught by hawks. Fairies with great magic get caught by mages. The way a fairy survives is by not being seen. The small and weak are the best at not being seen, and that makes up for what they lack. It is nature's way. If you never leave the tree, at least we'll never have to teach you about things like elves..."

  "But I want to know about elves. I've never even seen one."

  "You don't want to know about them. And as long as you don't pluck a leaf, I won't ever have to tell you about the pointy-eared devils," her father said. "Now you stay in the tree. We'll all be back for supper. Try not to make any trouble."

  With that, her mother and father flitted off for the day's foraging. Ayna was left to sit, watch, and blindly try to capture her birthright in the conjuring of the breeze.

  #

  Ayna lay on her branch, eyes gazing into the distance as the full moon painted dappled patches of light upon the icy ground. As she watched the night drift by, the rest of her family sound asleep in the bush below, her stomach churned and grumbled. It had been a poor day's forage, and since she'd not had to spend any energy gathering nectar, Ayna once again got the smallest share of what they'd found. She understood why it had to be that way, but it didn't make the hunger pains go away.

  She always looked forward to the peace of the night. A long day of foraging made for a very sound sleep. Her father was nearly as skilled at feeling the wind as she, and as a result whenever she drifted away from the tree he would come darting back to see that she returned to the branches. While he slept, though, there was freedom. If she was careful to keep quiet, she could steal a few precious minutes of exploring without the others finding out. She was always cautious. Though she'd not plucked a leaf and therefore had not been told of all of the dangers beyond the tree, she knew all too well the sorts of things that could make a meal of even a skilled fairy. Her uncle had been caught by an owl, and not a year ago her grandmother had been snapped up by a fox.

  Her stomach rumbled some more, and her eyes lingered on the rosebush in the distance. A voice in her mind challenged her. Surely she could make it to the bush and back. They never drank it dry, because in a storm it was the only food close enough to reach safely. If she could flit out to the bush and back she'd be able to take the edge from her hunger, and maybe see a few new sights. It was farther than she'd ever gone on her own before, but not by much...

  Ayna stood and moved with swift care along the branch, pacing out to the very end. She buzzed off toward the bush before her fluttering anxiety and better sense could change her mind, the thought of the sweet nectar and a full stomach driving her forward. It didn't take more than a moment for her to reach the first bloom. One by one she darted from flower to flower, trying to find one heavy with nectar. If it was particularly full, she could probably take a bigger sip without it being missed. Sadly, most had only begun to refresh themselves. She made do with dabbing a finger into each flower and licking it clean.

  When she'd taken as much as she dared, she found her stomach felt just as empty as before. For an instant, she considered venturing out and foraging on her own, but she banished the thought. Her family had done their best and found little. There was little hope that she'd do any better without even being taught how to do it. She stuck her face into a bloom for one last lingering whiff before returning home, but a strange scent mixed with the flower's aroma seized her mind. It was subtle, but she knew it wasn't her imagination. She raised her head and floated up into the air, taking a long whiff of the breeze.

  The scent was intoxicating. It was the warmest, sweetest thing she'd ever smelled. Her body almost moved of its own accord, facing into the breeze and flitting toward the wonderful aroma. Distantly, she knew that she was moving quite far from her tree, but she knew that she would be able to find it again, and this was too much of an opportunity to let slip. In a thicker part of the forest, she found the source of the heavenly smell.

  At the base of a stout fir tree was a small clay pot sitting in a larger, shallower dish of water. She drifted to it, buzzing in the air over the dish of water, which was strangely warm. The pot was a bit taller than she was, and it was strong with the scent she was after. Just inside the lid was a thick row of bristles with a small gap between it and the wall. She touched the bristles. They were fairly soft, and gave easily enough. At the tip of the bristles an amber substance glistened in the moonlight. The stuff was sticky, but certainly the source of the aroma. Before she could stop herself she licked her finger. It was a symphony of flavor. The most glorious thing she'd ever tasted. The stuff put all of the other nectars she'd tasted to shame. So much sweeter, so much heartier and thicker. She peered down into the jar. At the bottom was a thick layer. Enough to eat her fill and come back to do it again for days. It would be a tight squeeze, but she could certainly slip past the brush to climb inside. A tug at the bristles confirmed that it would be simple enough to push past in either direction.

  Out of habit and caution, she decided to be sure that there was nothing about. A slow scan of the surroundings with her eyes didn't turn up anything, but she knew better than to trust her eyes alone, especially at night. She opened her mind to the motion of the breeze. The forest around her was even more still that it usually was. Even the usual squirrels, mice, and birds were quite far away. But there was one group of creatures. They were large, breathing slow and steady. The group of them hidden in a cluster of bushes a fair distance away, near a crackling, smoky flame.

  The presence of these strange creatures terrified Ayna. She made ready to bolt for her home, but the rumble of her stomach and the lingering flavor on her lips made her pause. She'd seen deer, fox, wolves, and the like. All of them were quite fast, but she knew she was faster. The only thing that could catch her without surprising her was a hawk or an owl, and the creatures in the bushes certainly weren't birds of prey... she would keep her mind open, continue to read the breeze, and the instant they drew closer, she would fly away. There would be no catching her. The sticky stuff was so lovely and thick, it wouldn't take more than a few mouthfuls to set her hunger to rest and give her the first well-fed night's sleep in far too long.

  She buzzed up to the edge of the jar and carefully slid herself over the rim, easing along its smooth inner wall and feeling the sticky bristles smear themselves over her back and wings. It left a gooey layer that she made special note to wash away before she slept, lest her parents grow suspicious. Suddenly her legs slipped and she slid the rest of the way into the jar. Her hands sunk wr
ist-deep into the stuff before touching the bottom beneath it. It was beautifully warm, oozing between her fingers as she slid her legs down to the side to plant her feet in it.

  Her mouth already watering, she took a double scoop of the golden syrup and stuffed it into her mouth, letting it glue her jaw shut for a few delightful seconds while she savored it. The joy of tasting it was still buzzing in her mind when she realized the breathing she felt was quickening. And now it was drawing closer.

  She stood and reached past the bristles to the edge, stickily grabbing it and hauling her feet out of the clutching grip of the goo. The bristles dragged a second coat of the stuff across her back as she hauled herself up, and the breathing was quite close now. She grinned. If this was as fast as these creatures could run, she would lose them the moment she was in the air. She stood on the rim and fluttered her wings to life... but they waved ponderously through the air. They weren't moving fast enough for her to take flight.

  A hot knife of fear cut through her as she realized her mistake. The stuff that had coated her wings was too heavy. She frantically tried to shake it free but the syrup that had been so beautifully thick and hearty sliding down her throat was clinging tight, only tiny blobs of it flicking off with each flap of her wings. Behind her she could hear the heavy thud of footsteps as the creatures grew nearer.

  Ayna knew she had to escape, and if she couldn't fly that meant she'd have to run. She tried to leap clear of the dish, but unused to doing so without her wings to assist she fell short and splashed into the warm water. After floundering for a second she reached the edge and pulled herself out. The water drenching her body loosened and thinned the stuff sticking to her, and with a mighty effort she was able to work her wings fast enough to fling some of it off and just barely get airborne, but her wings still felt stiff and heavy. Her flight was a drunken and slow, lurching through the air and bouncing across the ground. Fear drove her wings faster than they'd ever moved before, launching free streamers of the stuff and gradually returning her proper agility. At that moment, she felt something enormous and billowy rushing through the air, flapping almost like the wings of an eagle. There couldn't have been an eagle! She couldn't have missed that!