Hackii's Arc

Chapter 3 of 7

Hackii woke in his lavender nest before dawn. The dark moon would rise tonight. He had his summons, but he came empty-handed. A fool arriving with nothing would be laughed from the court. He needed a gift. In his study of Waspwood's laws, he had read one old line again and again: the queen prized the hollowfruit of youthfulness above all things. Find it, bring it, and she might look at him twice. But he had no idea where it grew. He rose and searched the wood. He found streams, thorns, and mushrooms, but no rare fruit. The sun climbed. His hope thinned with the light. Then a white shape stepped from the ferns. A wolf, no taller than his knee, with fur like frost and eyes the color of deep ice. It sat and studied him without fear. Hackii went still. He knew fae things wore soft faces to hide sharp teeth. "You smell of smoke and lavender," the wolf said. Its voice was calm, amused. "A strange man to stumble through her wood." "I seek the hollowfruit of youthfulness," Hackii said. "For the queen." The wolf tilted its head. "Frostwhisper, I am called. And I know where it hangs." It rose and turned. "But knowing is not giving. Follow, and mind your feet." Hackii followed. Frostwhisper led him through a gap in the thorns he had walked past twice. The path dropped into a shaded hollow. There a low tree grew, its branches heavy with bright pink fruit. Each one shone round and swollen, dotted with purple at its center. The air smelled sweet and old. "One fruit," Frostwhisper said. "No more. The tree marks greedy hands." Hackii reached up. The branch bent easy. He twisted a single pink fruit free and held it to his chest. His heart pounded. He had it. He had his gift for the queen. "Now the price," Frostwhisper said. Hackii turned. "You said follow. You said nothing of a price." "I said knowing is not giving." The wolf's ice eyes fixed on him. "I want the thing you carry that is not yours to give. Your name. The queen does not know it. Give it to me, and I let you leave with the fruit." Hackii's grip tightened. His name was the one thing he meant to hand the queen himself. But dusk was coming, and the fruit was in his hands. He had no time to bargain. "Hackii," he said. "My name is Hackii." The wolf's mouth curved. "Hackii." It said the word slow, tasting it. "A fair trade." Then it slipped back into the ferns and was gone. Hackii stood alone with the pink fruit warm in his hands. He had won his gift. But he had given his name to a fae who was not the queen. And a name, once given in Waspwood, could be carried anywhere.