Chapter 3
The three sorcerers offered the child three gifts: a staff of white wood, a scourge of black iron, and a cape of golden silk. His mothers took these things and locked them away, until the child Turin was old enough to study the arcane.
-Book of Law and Promises
“Aye, Cardinal, Memue!” When we came down, Graggi was at the table near the stairs, like he was waiting for us, “Come have a drink. I’ll pay for the first.” I looked at Memuenta, hoping he would reject Graggi for both of us, but, to my horror, he sat down.
“Sap whiskey.” Mem said, just above a whisper, “with hot water.”
Graggi slammed his chalice on the table, producing a loud sound, “Man of refinement! I like him! What will it be for the mighty red wizard!”
I stood by and searched the room for Sareash. It was hard to see anyone through the crowds. “Um, just the hot water.”
“Aye, pacing yourself I see. Will you sit?”
I hesitated, then finally relented, “Yeah, sure.”
“See, it’s good to have friends and drinking buddies. I bet you’re wondering why I’m here and not home with my family in Ek-Klek?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.” I really don’t care. Where is Sareash?
“Nephews and nieces always come to see me on the Eve, and to be honest, they’re all nags. I’ve no interest in spending time with them, not when the ale and company here are so good!”
Wow . . . is Graggi a scumbag?
“As a dwarf, you see, I can’t just tell them not to come. Family is so important to my people and-”
“Help.” Memuenta whispered in my ear, “Drathe is waiting for me. Get us out of this.”
I was shocked. Memeunta was relying on me!
I won’t let you down, Mem!
“Of course, I want to appear respectful, otherwise when the Klek Story Festival comes along, guess who won’t get an invite?” Graggi went on.
Think, Cardinal, you’re a silver tongued sorcerer, a master of time and wizardry and trickery. There’s got to be a way out of this.
“Cousin Jerrel’s casserole turns my shits right to stone, but she does not accept constructive criticism.”
Think of a sentence, Cardinal. Think of some words. Be creative. Be polite but firm. Come up with an excuse.
“I think it’s those mountain herbs she puts in it, but you know it’s a ‘secret family recipe’.”
Cardinal, say something. Say anything. Free yourself from this nightmare.
Before I knew it, I was performing subtle arcane hand gestures, muttering arcane words beneath my breath.
Gravity bomb.
I conjured the littlest tiniest gravity bomb, but even the littlest tiniest gravity bomb was big enough to flip the table.
“Troll shit!” Graggi yelled as his chalice crashed to the floor in front of him and its contents poured out onto the stone.
I pretended to be shocked, “Wow! That’s crazy! What even happened? I don’t know! I’ll go get a . . . uh . . . thing to clean it up with.”
And then I ran for my life.
Memuenta ran too. I saw him disappear into the crowd.
I made my way over to the hearth to look for Sareash.
If I’m honest, Rinbah caught my eye first. Her swira was not as luxurious or flashy as the ones worn by the others, it was a simple shade of green with lightly colored ribbons, and she had green ribbons in her dark hair. It was simple, but, well, she was an elf, and her shape was elfish. The women’s variant of the swira was a kind of gown or robe. It reminded me of the yukata that Japanese girls wore in anime, but there was a hood and a veil with it, and both were decorated. Hers was in plain shades of green, with leaf patterns, and she had her veil down, emphasizing her shy, honest face. If I wasn’t with Sareash, and I was a braver man, I would have asked Rinbah out. Though she absolutely would have rejected me. Elves live ten times longer than humans, Sareash once told me. That was one reason a certain dark elf I used to know treated us dismissively. That’s what Sareash thought. However, speaking of Sareash, she was there shining for everyone to see. She was the Christmas star tonight. Her swira was blue and pink, with patterns of butterflies on the long sleeves. To my (only mild) disappointment, Sareash had opted to show less skin than Drathe. She’d laced her gown tighter up top, cutting the exposure off just below her collarbone. If the savage in me was disappointed, the lover was not. Her long hair was done up in a raised ponytail that swooped her like a cape, her hood halfway lowered, and her veil was dark and translucent. She had painted her face with makeup, strokes of pale blue around her eyes, spread like wings. She was beautiful. Utterly breathtaking. I gasped.
She was sitting next to Drathe, holding a glass of something, smiling and laughing rambunctiously, and I could have watched her just being herself for hours.
Maybe this is enough. I can escape. I can diminish myself, my fear, and hold onto this moment. Onto Sareash. Until it’s time to face the terror beetles again. But no. I know this can’t last, know it won’t last. As long as I can remember, ever since I’ve been here, there’s been a cycle; everything falls apart in the end. I don’t heal, I don’t grow. Magic Dragon Christmas doesn’t change that. I won’t rest.
-Sareash
I slowly peered behind me, and there was Cardinal. He was dressed to kill, in a clean, manly swira. Call me old fashioned, but nothing gets me going like a good swira. I’m a material girl on the inside, and still just a child in love with the holidays. Right then, I wished I could go over, wrap my arms around him, claim him as my own, keep him beside me all night, to tell me how beautiful I was, and what a fine night it was, and other boring, girlish things like that. But Cardinal and I weren’t like that, not yet. I didn’t want to get drunk on draconic spirit and act in a way that would be strange for both of us.
So, I simply waved to him. I saw his dark eyes light up. “Cardinal! Come sit here!” I gestured to the seat next to me. Suddenly, Drathe was there. She squeezed up against me, holding my arm as Cardinal approached. “He can’t have you. I have you.”
“Drathe,” I laughed, “I care for you, but not in that way.”
“I see.” She pretended to be hurt, “Just because I don’t have a pike, I’m not right for you. Temeriah, this is twelve-forty-nine not twelve-hundred. You can love anyone you want to.”
“Drathe, you just aren’t my type.”
“Oh, okay. My skin isn’t dark enough for you, is that it? What do you have against your own kind?”
“What about Menuenta? Won’t he be sad if we run off together?”
“True. He can’t live without me. He’ll probably take his own life, but that simply means you’ll have one less romantic rival, sister.”
“It’s uncomfortable when you pretend to flirt with me while calling me sister.”
“It’s the year twelve-forty-nine, everything is allowed.”
“Not that.”
Cardinal made his way past the blazing hearth in the middle of the floor and finally reached us. He looked on at me and my little parasite and didn’t know what to do. I shrugged.
“Guess I’ll just sit here.” Cardinal sat next to Drathe, where there was an empty seat. Okay. Whatever.
“Cardinal, Temeriah and I are forming a suicide pact. Would you like to join?”
“Drathe, what?”
Cardinal nodded, “Sure, why not. I long for the sweet embrace of death.” He laughed. Drathe and I just looked on at him worriedly.
He saw our confusion. “Sorry. Um. In America . . . We joke about wanting to die.”
Drathe said, “What’s America?”
“Oh, the region of Homule he comes from.”
“Right. Um. Everyone wants to die in Homule. The economy is bad.”
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