Magic Banquet (3 page)

The empress spoke first. She talked about
mercury and cruel mothers. Aja thought the empresses didn’t always
make sense, unless it was in a musical way. The other guests told
their stories. The swordsman introduced himself while Aja ate a
tasty grape with its seeds replaced with anise spice. She missed
his name and was sorry for it. He sounded honest, if a bit
silly.

The man with the bad leg never gave his
name, not that she heard. He didn’t talk about himself at all, and
his voice had a rough sadness to it. Old Janny spoke with coarse
jolliness, her bright turban bobbing. The tightness in Aja’s face
eased enough for her to grin.

They all waited for her to speak. What could
she say to all these well-dressed, well-fed adults? They would look
down on her. Aja turned to the empress and told her about an alley
cat named Hyena. The other girl smiled, and the rest of the guests
made welcoming noises.

Maybe this was right. Maybe Aja should stay
the night.

The lord spoke last. He didn’t sound like a
good person. Being close to him made all the sweet things Aja had
eaten turn cold and rocky in her belly. She mustn’t stay long.

In a glittery dark glove, the lord lifted
his elixir. “A toast for the Midnight Banquet.”

The other guests raised their glasses. The
swordsman frowned, then enclosed his drink in a fist. The empress
clasped hers between both hands. Everyone glared at the last
chalice on the rug, Aja’s. She scrambled and held it up as they
did, but she wouldn’t drink any. Not a drop.

The lord’s glass cast a slash of red light
over his face. “A dinner to die for.”

First Course,
Part IV:

The Chef

A blasting hiss surprised Aja. Steam
could’ve been escaping from a pot, or from between a dragon’s
fangs.

Firelight surged within the warehouse’s
darkness. A stairway lit up. A door had swung open to a kitchen.
Flames clawed from the chinks in a brass stove as if trying to
break free. A silhouette of an ogre clomped up the steps, followed
by what looked like a child wearing a broad hat.

Aja set down her elixir and edged away from
the kitchen stairway. The glass had sent a chill from her fingers,
up her arm, to her heart. The Banquet was dangerous, and she would
slip away. After a few more mouthfuls.

The empress scooted close to Aja. “Which do
you think is the Chef? Big one or small?”

Before Aja could answer, the larger
silhouette loomed into view. He was a monument of a man. Not fat
but massive, a thickness of flesh wrapped around his chest and
limbs. His fingers had the girth of knife handles. An expanse of
skin glistened down his open vest to the cummerbund around his
waist. His clean-shaven head shone. He appeared to sweat oil.

The djinn kneeled to him, holding herself to
the floor with her fingers. He strode by without a glance. To Aja,
he seemed familiar with the djinn but unprepared for the empress.
She scurried up and embraced half his torso. Her arms only reached
so far.

“I love you for cooking that egg,” she said.
“Eating it, I felt I could grow wings. Thank you! Thank you! My
name is Ryn. What’s yours?”

His black slats of brows angled upward.
“Welcome, Ryn. Welcome, all with open minds and hungry hearts. This
Banquet I create for you.”

He lifted the empress back to her pillow
with one arm.

“You wanted my name,” he said. “I am called
many things in many lands. Tonight, you may call me the Chef.”

The lord raised his elixir. “To the Chef,
the general of the Banquet. May your every foray bring
satisfaction.”

The Chef bowed his head in recognition. “For
this course I steamed dart frogs, the living jewels of the
rainforest. Each is stuffed with oracle truffle, the buried
treasure of the northern woods.”

He waved, and the smaller figure shuffled
forward from the shadows. It didn’t have a broad hat after all but
held a platter above its head. The creature’s face had no features
except for bead eyes. Its flesh looked wet and brown like clay. The
stumpy hand that carried the platter was fingerless.

The sight stung like the bite of a horsefly.
Aja fell off the back of her pillow.

“No need to upset your stomach,” the Chef
said. “It is only a golem, a servant of clay. Most useful about the
ovens. Can carry twenty times their weight, but meek as unseasoned
lamb.”

The lord said, “Quite so. Harmless, until
they begin their killing rampage.”

“I never lose control of my servants,” the
Chef said.

“Then we share that in common,” the lord
said.

An expression flinched over the Chef’s face.
Anger or fear, respect or envy. The emotion flared over his face,
then vanished.

“My lord,” the Chef said, “I gather
ingredients from across the lands to craft the Banquet’s thirteen
courses. No other mortal can match these culinary marvels, from
ambrosia to dragon steaks. But I worry the fare will still not
satisfy your particular tastes.”

“I do not dine for food, but for the
company.” The lord swept a gloved hand at the guests.

Old Janny shuddered. The swordsman
positioned himself between the empress and the lord. The guest with
crutches didn’t look up.

“So serve on,” the lord said. “Sate my
curiosity.”

The golem’s feet clumped, but the thing held
the tray steady, presenting first to the lord. Bright frogs covered
the platter. He picked a red one with blue legs.

The Chef said, “The truffle stuffing adds a
depth of flavor to the frog. As well as visions. Oracles eat this
fungus to open their minds to the future.”

The empress clapped her hands in glee. “You
mean I’ll see my next presents now?”

Just how young was the empress? Aja sat up
straight next to her. They were about the same height.

“Perhaps,” the Chef said. “Maybe much more.
Each oracle truffle is worth more than an elephant with gold-plated
tusks.”

Aja’s stomach quivered. If she ate something
so valuable, no one could say she was worthless.

The lord cupped his stuffed frog in his
palm, staring eye to eye with it. “Mankind esteems the future in
every way, except in deed.”

Aja’s eyes darted between the lord, the
empress, and the Chef’s plate of frogs. Just a few bites, and Aja
would know if she would be a scholar or an adopted princess.
Perhaps even a jeweled enchantress.

The golem offered the frogs to Old Janny.
She picked a yellow one.

The cripple who sat beside his crutches
cleared his throat. He kept his eyes on the carpet as he spoke.
“Hunters rub their arrows on frogs like those. That’s why they’re
called poison dart frogs.”

Old Janny yelped, losing hold of her frog.
It landed on the paisley patterns of her dress.

The Chef said, “Dart frogs gain their toxins
from the plants they eat in the rainforest. Those raised in
captivity are harmless. Feeding them only fruit sweetens their
skin.”

“That’s well enough, then.” Old Janny picked
up her frog. “You scared another wrinkle onto my face.”

“You may choose which courses to eat,” the
Chef said. “But you’ll never have a second chance at any of them in
this lifetime.”

“Chef…” The lord picked up a faceted wing
from the rim of a plate. It flashed green. “…are these what I think
they are?”

“Yes, faerie wings,” the Chef said.

The lord arranged a wing on either side of
his frog as though it could fly. “Are they to be eaten?”

The Chef shook his head. “They are a
lustrous garnish.”

Old Janny grasped her face and squeezed the
folds of her cheeks forward. “But there’re hundreds of them.”

The Chef shrugged. “I’ve found no better use
for faeries.”

“Nor is there one.” The lord raised his
glass to drink.

Aja had never heard of a faerie, or a golem.
Two discoveries, and the Banquet had only begun. All the newness
purred through her. Soon she would get to eat a fruit-sweetened
frog, bright as paint. How many people could say they had done
that?

The empress chose a green frog with black
spots. “He’s prettier than my jewels. I couldn’t eat him.”

“Good.” The swordsman lifted a red-speckled
frog to his lips. “You should let me taste mine first.”

She shoved the frog beneath her veil.

“Ryn!”

When the plate came at last to Aja, only two
frogs remained. One blue frog looked like he had hopped under a
scribe’s quill, and ink had dribbled down its back. The other had
black stripes and yellow sleeves and pants. Aja would’ve hesitated
to eat anything so beautiful, except for their delicious scent.

She lifted the speckled blue one to her nose
and inhaled its perfume. “What is that smell?”

“The truffle,” the Chef said.

“Like a yummy cheese.” The empress crunched
triumphantly.

“The smell of rainforest soil,” the man with
the crutches said.

“A basket full of mushrooms.” Old Janny
smacked her lips.

The lord inhaled. He had not yet eaten his
frog. “Decadence and mystery.”

Aja showed her frog to the empress. “Look at
the one I picked.”

“Oh! I’d trade you, but it’s too late.” The
empress patted her belly. She turned to the swordsman. “Any
prophecy bubbling up in you yet?”

Friends traded with each other, didn’t they?
They ate the same food together. Yes, by the end of the Banquet,
Aja thought she could be best friends with the empress.

Aja’s mouth still burned from the roc egg.
Her throat was parched from avoiding the elixir for so long. The
frog’s color was the blue of oasis water, and it smelled soothing.
She stuck out her tongue and dropped the frog on top.

The world washed away under the power of
flavors.

When she blinked back to alertness, the Chef
had gone. The empress lay with her head on the swordsman’s knee. He
slid her onto the pillow, and she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes
were glassy.

“What are you seeing?” Aja asked her.

No one answered. The empress’s eyelids
closed and opened again. Her hands trembled and clenched her
midsection.

Aja did the same. Something stabbed inside
her, and her chest lurched. Her fingertips tingled. Had they gone
numb? She couldn’t feel the carpet when she ran her hand over it.
Something was wrong. She had to get away, had to hide.

Aja crawled off the carpet. Her muscles
slackened. She sagged and splayed across the floor. The stone
drained her warmth and left her cold.

Aja saw nothing. Then light crashed over
her. The visions began with thunder.

Wind flowed through her, gusting, chilling,
thrilling. Her robes rippled as she lounged in front of glass
statues of kings. Glistening men were lit by moonlight.

Stars above and crackling lightning below.
Aja guessed she was on top of a mountain because she went as high
as a thundercloud. No, she flew. She soared on winds of joy.

This was no dream. Most of her nights were
full of emptiness and hunger. This flying was new, this wonder, if
only it could last forever. The thundercloud rumbled as she lifted
a blue star to her mouth. She ate it, and the storm roared.

A grinding ache of death. Her freedom
flattened, and joy turned to terror. She was struck down, pressed
back against the warehouse floor. Aja quaked, trying to speak, to
move, to escape. It had to end. Please, make it stop.

Other visions flashed by, darker places,
scarier times. They had but one thing in common. Everything
depended on Aja. People needed her help, even the empress.

Am I so important?
She hadn’t been
anything before the Banquet, before she ate the jewel frog. Staying
would let her taste even more treasures.

The visions parted in a gasp of clarity. The
prophecy left her gagging.

The djinn lifted Aja back onto the carpet,
beside a girl in a blue veil, the empress. Aja reached but could
not move her arm. The empress’s eyes stared at nothing.

“If Ryn dies,” the lord said, “I’d have to
answer to the empire.” His hands seemed to have warped, his fingers
sharpened into spikes. His coat sleeves ended in dripping holes
gnashing with black fangs. “If Janny or the sword-head dies, I’d
answer to a certain enchantress. I’d rather face the empire.”

Old Janny held her turbaned head. The
swordsman slumped beside the empress, trying to stay upright.

The djinn said, “The frog toxin complemented
the truffle and heightened the visions.”

Aja said,
Help me.
No words came out.
Her rolling eyes turned from the lord to the swordsman.

He swayed and spoke with a croak. “The
Chef—he told us the frogs were safe.”

“You people always hear what you want.” The
djinn started clearing platters. “The Chef promised only that the
frogs could be made safe. Not that they were.”

The Chef had tricked them. The betrayal
frothed and fizzed in Aja. She had to vomit. She couldn’t do more
than gag. The hanging lamps spun away from her.

“Bring your master.” The lord’s sleeves
stretched into chomping maws. “He’ll cure them or gain a new
outlook on digestion.”

The djinn beckoned a plate to levitate after
her. “The next entrée will cure them. Ash from the Tree of Life is
used as a thickening agent.”