Banging rattled the door. As Azarel sat up, tendrils of dreams swirled and escaped. The door shook again, banishing all thought of recapturing them.
"Anyone home?"
Azarel hopped down from her bed atop the cold brick fireplace. She reached the window in a few steps and pulled aside the rough curtains. A handful or so of men in Lasaral uniform were outside, mounted on rangifers that dug with antlers in the fallen leaves and dusting of snow, searching for lichen.
"In the name of the Qins, open this door!"
Azarel walked to the shelf with the pots and dishes. Barely visible behind them, she found the knife with its wooden handle painted red, the one laced with poison, and turned back to the door.
She took one step. Before she could take another, the bar on the door broke in half. The resounding crack made her jump. The door swung in, revealing a young man with thick dark brows and several-day stubble. Behind him was an older man, his small eyes drowning under puffy lids and bags. A scar bisected his face.
The young man's gaze landed on Azarel. His eyes widened slightly, as though surprised to see her. He tipped the leather visor of his fur hat.
Azarel tightened her grip on the knife she held behind her back.
"Are you Azarel?"
"I am." Her words sounded strange to her ears, and her throat felt raw, as though from long disuse.
"You are? But...," he trailed off. Then, smiling brightly, "Can we come in?"
"You already did."
The young man glanced at the door and then back at her, and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about that. I thought no one was home when you didn't answer."
"I was sleeping. What is it you want?"
The young man walked into her hut and the older man followed.
"Wait for me outside," the young man said, turning around. He fingered the belt at his waist that kept the warmth in.
"Are you sure?" The other's voice was low and raspy.
"Go, I'm sure."
The older man inclined his head and glanced at Azarel.
The daylight dimmed for a moment. Dread overwhelmed her, making it hard to think. His gaze carried through the space between them and brought with it his malevolence. Not anger and not hatred. Nothing so passionate. Simply a quiet, calculating malice.
Azarel shuddered.
He broke their gaze and was gone out the door. The room brightened again, the pressure lifted from her chest, and she could breathe easier.
The young man pushed his sat on her one rough bench and glanced up at her. From him, she sensed only excitement and urgency. Her own blood picked up speed in response.
"You can't imagine how happy I am to find you. I wasn't even sure we'd be able to," he said, his words coming out as puffs of white in the cold room.
"You haven't answered my question."
"Of course. Why I'm here. Again, I apologize for the door. I'm Shaunn Diamonestesh, and I was sent here by Qin Yacoba, Co-Ruler of Lasaral, Lead Co-Ruler of Frosland, to summon you to Lasaral to cure her sister, Qin Daxia."
"I haven't heard of a Yacoba or Daxia," Azarel said.
"Really? They've been Qins for some time, after the death of their father and then their older brother."
"I suppose I don't get a lot of news here." Her fingers ached and she relaxed her grip around the knife. She sensed no malice from him and his relaxed pose suggested that he intended no harm.
"Why did you come to find me? You have doctors and priests closer by," she said.
"We've tried everything. Truthfully... you are our last resort. Don't take offense. It's simply that we weren't sure we would be able to find you. If you do come and succeed, there will be significant compensation, to make it worth your while." He smiled the kind of smile used to getting its way. Too confident, considering she had yet to give her answer.
The memory of the scarred man's ill will was still fresh. He would kill her, given the chance. Shaunn seemed oblivious to it, and thus would be poor protection.
And too, she wanted to go back to sleep. She wanted to close her eyes and dream again. She didn't remember what those dreams were, but she woke up content. She knew the forgotten dreams were more pleasant than this cold lonely hut.
Images flitted through her mind. Old people, young people, children, men, women, all coming to her with that same desperation, begging for her help. Azarel had helped them all, not for the compensation they offered. It pleased her to see the ripples of her actions spreading out, changing the world.
Herbs lined her shelves in stone and glass and clay containers. Dried branches of them hung on her walls. She did help those in need. If she left, those who came to help wouldn't find her.
"I can't come with you."
Shaunn's smile faltered but he forced it back in place. "If you don't come, Daxia will likely die. Her father and brother already died of the same ailment, and nothing had aided them. And we've found nothing to aid her, either."
Despite his smile, she sensed desperation underneath it, growing now in the face of her resistance.
"Bring her here, and I will see what I can do."
Shaunn stood. The tension in him overrode all other emotions.
"Do you jest? We can't bring her here. She's too ill." He sounded outraged. His cheeks were red under the stubble, as though she slapped him, and he gritted his teeth. "And she's the Qin!"
Azarel held his gaze. His entitlement strengthened her resolve to go nowhere with him. "I am not coming with you. You can bring her here, that's the best I can do for you."
"You leave me no choice but to arrest you. You are coming with us, and you will help Daxia, like it or no."
Azarel shook her head, and held the knife before her. "I am not going anywhere with you."
"I don't want to hurt you," he said and took a step toward her. His hand hovered on the hilt of his sheathed sword.
"And I don't want to hurt you," she said, standing still, knife ready. She meant it. He was young and impulsive, and he only acted this way because he wanted to help the ill Qin. But she didn't pity him enough to come with him.
At that moment, the silence was rent by the shouting of men and the lower tones of finxes. Azarel and Shaunn both glanced at the door. The panic, fear, and pain carried over the distance.
She ran outside, Shaunn following. The soldiers had their swords out, warding off the finxes that outnumbered them. The finxes flew above the humans, each several heads longer than a man, covered in wiry black fur, long clubbed tails writhing through the air. Their black leathery wings cast great shadows below them.
One of the men screamed and toppled from his rangifer.
The swords sliced through the air, reflecting the sunlight sharply. One caught a finx and the animal howled and rose higher. The men were banding together, slowly moving toward the trees. Once they were in the trees, it would be safer, for the finxes' wingspan was too great to allow them entrance. Then, they would put their bows to good use and the finxes would be at a disadvantage.
"Stop!" Azarel shouted.
The fighting continued. Inhaling deeply, Azarel raised her voice. She willed that word to cover the distance between her and the finxes, to reach them, to have her be understood.
"Stop!"
The word carried, spread. Its volume, and the force behind it surprised her. All in the clearing - man and animal - turned to her.
The finxes hovered just above reach, their wings beating the air with enough force to lift her hair. She concentrated on pushing the awareness of the men's fear out of her mind, and focused on an image of light, a sense of calm. She nurtured it and it spread within her, pushing its way through her limbs and out. She willed it to reach the finxes.
The finxes hungered to rip the men apart and watch the red flow, taste its salty goodness, let its heat warm their stomachs. Their fury at the men overrode that hunger. The finxes would keep her safe from these humans who came with threats and anger.
"Go now, all is well," she whispered. She willed the calm to convince them. Their tails cease their agitated writhing and the largest of the of the finxes called out hoarsely, a sound akin to speech. Then they all lifted into the air and flew west, toward the mountains there, where they made their lairs.
The men all stared at her. When she opened herself back up to it, their fear hit her at once.
A moan from the man on the ground broke through the silence. His hood had fallen back, revealing bright orange curls. He clutched at his shoulder and blood seeped through his fingers, staining the transparent layer of snow that covered the ground.
"Get him inside," Azarel said to Shaunn, who had come up beside her.
She went too, inhaling deeply, holding her breath, savoring the freshness of the forest on the brink of winter. The sky was grey and bright; tense, as though gathering itself before unleashing a torrent of snow.
Her chest grew tight and she thought of the dream that she no longer remembered. It had been a warm dream. Here, all was loneliness and solitude.
She tried to remember how long she had slept, but failed. The last thing she could remember was the music of ice melting from millions of frozen branches, heralding spring. There was no doubt that now it was fall. She didn't know what that meant and it was too unpleasant to think about. She hoped that after she patched orange-hair up, they would leave. Then, she could let oblivion reclaim her, taking the questions, and worries, and loneliness away.
The men entered the hut and Azarel stepped in behind them. She could feel the scarred man's malevolence fill the tiny space, pushing at her.
She turned to him and his gaze was already on her, small eyes narrowed.
"It's a bit...cold in here," Shaunn said, his eyes lingering on the fireplace.
The fire had gone out at least half a day ago, for the grey bricks held no hint of warmth in them.
Azarel shrugged. She had no explanation for how she had slept here with no fire. She didn't know herself. She wasn't cold, despite only wearing a shirt and pants, and she left it at that.
"Start the fire," she said.
Shaunn took out a lighter and turned to the stack of wood by the fireplace.
Azarel turned back to the scarred man, who still watched her. He never took his eyes off her and she felt his gaze even with her back to him. He seemed calm and composed, but she felt much more simmering there, where no one else could see it.
"What's your name?" she asked him.
"Gerth."
"And your friend, here?"
"Thom."
"If I cut the coat off him, do you have anything else for him to wear?" She had nothing she could offer him in the way of replacement clothes, and a man without a coat was a dead man.
"No."
"Then you better help him out of it, and his shirt too. Carefully." She slid the poisoned knife into her belt.
Azarel took the herbs needed, and a stone bowl and pestle. After the water had boiled, she washed the wound, and applied the poultice of dried herbs, tying the tourniquet tightly. Thom gritted his teeth throughout, her work punctuated with his escaped grunts.
Azarel rested her hand top the bandage and closed her eyes. The wound was hot. Her fingers began to tingle. She allowed the feeling to grow and it spread, the tingling becoming painful, the pain reaching into her, reverberating through her very bones. Azarel forced herself to breathe evenly and willed her body to absorb it all.
She heard Thom exhale and opened her eyes.
"Better?" Azarel asked.
"The pain is gone," he said. His words suggested gratitude, but she sensed his wariness that built as she worked.
"It's time for you to leave now," she said, turning to Shaunn. Thom's fear mingled with Gerth's simmering malice. It was too much for the small space, difficult to shut out. She wanted them gone, as soon as possible.
"You better pack, we're not leaving without you." Again, Shaunn's right arm hovered on the hilt of his sword. She thought it was more of a reflex; she knew he had no intention of harming her.
"I already gave my answer."
Shaunn gritted his teeth and she felt the anger in him rouse quickly. "Are you going to call those monsters down again?"
"They're not monsters. They're highly intelligent animals. And I didn't call them down, they were here of their own accord. And finally, to answer your question, no. I don't think they'll be back."
"Good. You're still under arrest."
His words grated on her, and she felt her hands clench into fists. She forced herself to relax them. "How do you plan to make me help you, once we're there?"
"Hopefully by the time we get there, you'll come to your senses. And if not, I'm sure Yacoba will think of something. My job is to get you there." When Azarel didn't respond, he added, "I didn't want to have to do it this way, but I'm not leaving here without you."
He crossed his arms in front of his chest and squared his legs. His lips were pursed in determination. Azarel could see he meant it. He would tie her up and drag her out, if he had to.
"Will you gather what herbs you think you might need?" He asked.
“What are her symptoms?” Azarel resigned herself to going. If she pushed the issue, she risked having the finxes come back. She didn't want anyone else hurt.
Shaunn smiled, clearly relieved. “She is weak, sleeping a lot, lately especially. Similar to her father and brother, who both died of it.”
“How many others are affected?”
“No one else has been.”
"And you don't think that's strange?"
Shaunn shrugged. "I don't know." He held Azarel's gaze for a few moments. "If you're implying that they were poisoned -"
"I'm not implying anything. I'm simply asking questions to get more information. So far, you've told me very little."
"I didn't mean to offend you. I was just trying to say that we did consider this possibility and all of the Qins' food was tasted, and other precautions taken. Besides, the Quins are well-liked."
Azarel shrugged in response. That didn't mean very much.
"So...you will pack your things, whatever you need?" Shaunn asked.
"It seems I have little choice."
"Thank you," Shaunn said. "We will wait outside."
“Wait,” she said. The urgency to have at least some part of the puzzle resolved overtook her.
Shaunn paused and turned back.
"What's today's date?"
“Day She, first week of Meresht,” he replied.
First week of the month of fall. Where had spring and summer gone?
Azarel nodded and they left.
The small rectangle of space that was the entirety of her hut seemed to expand, again, once Gerth was gone.
When she'd packed, she glanced about the room. In part, she hoped she would heal the Qin and return soon. But a small part of her hoped she'd find a reason not to return. She'd been awakened from the comfort of dreaming oblivion to an-ever present loneliness and confusion. She didn't remember how long she had slept or or her past, and that frightened her. Perhaps out there, somewhere, there was something that could spark her memory.
She left, something in her sensing that she might never see her home again.