Chapter 29: A Taste of Things to Come

VANTRA smoothed her purplish-red hair back from her face and regarded her reflection in the mirror attached to the inside of the wardrobe. She never had much use for over-styling her tresses, but the soft waves suited the look she wanted. Would Kenosera like it?

Amused at her thoughts, she closed the door with a soft click. A lad brought word that Nareh postponed the meeting until the next day, and by the excitement running through him, something more than a barbeque was going on. He handed Laken an envelope then scampered out the door, clutching a courier’s bag.

Laken tore open the letter, and a surprised, bright smile lit him when he read that Jare wanted him on rotation guard duty that night. Too many would see him as a fallen ghost who did not deserve the honor of being near a syimlin, let alone guarding one, but the Light-blessed never insulted or demeaned him, just accepted him as one of them.

And if an assailant underestimated him because he only had one arm and no legs? Well, he trained to take advantage of attacker skepticism, and it would be they with a spear through the gut, not he.

She smoothed the soft violet sundress, then tugged at her flower-bedecked wrist bands. She had seen them on the isle of Naphiz during a refuel stop, and the bluish-purple fabric blooms enchanted her with their soft shimmer. Kenosera noticed, and presented them to her with a chest-tingling smile. She had not had the chance to wear them on their journey to Tempest, and now seemed the time to don them and feel pretty.

The night would be a relaxing affair with good food and laughter, so no need to dress to impress—or so she told herself. The mini-Joyful already knew her, and from first impressions, Mera and Tally’s family did not appear over-concerned about perfection.

Fyrij chirped at her from the bed, where he snuggled into the fluffy blue pillows and basked in the softness. He sounded sleepy. Too sleepy.

“You better not snore the entire night,” she warned him. He twittered, noncommittal, and she sighed, scooped him up and snuggled with him. “They’ll have a lot of fruit, but don’t get me sticky, OK?”

He beamed at her, and she kissed his nose before setting him on her shoulder. He immediately pressed against her neck and tangled with her hair. A gentle introduction to the barbeque crowd and noise would help his confidence, but she had no idea how to go about that.

She answered the door after the polite tap-tap; Kenosera and Yut-ta waited for her, excitement bursting from them. The nomad dressed in the knee-length shorts and rib-hugging vest the pirates favored, a chain necklace dangling to his breastbone, and Yut-ta sported calf-length pants and a bright purple sash tied around his waist, rings marching down the crest of his beak and decorating his eyebrows and ears. He must have stiffened his hair, as the strands stood at a 45° angle pointing back, unmoving.

Kenosera’s smile widened as he viewed the flowers; she grinned, shut the door, and took his hand, a little bud of happiness blooming in her chest.

“Kjaelle said there’ll be more than just the family,” Yut-ta told her as they headed for the living room. “Windfruit were spotted just north of the island, and that starts a holiday called the Windfruit Blessing. The flying flowers visit each Windtwist Island, bringing Weather’s blessing with them, and they’ve just arrived at Tempest. She said they dip into the sea between Windhaven and Respite to collect water, and it takes about three days from first spotting to refill. For the first two days, beings celebrate, and on the third, thousands go to the beach and watch the spectacle. If nothing happens, they consider the blessing complete, and have a huge celebration along the shore.”

“That sounds fantastic.”

“We’ll get to go,” Kenosera said, eager anticipation lightening his step. His enchantment with local traditions strengthened with each place they visited, where he soaked up ideas with glee, unconcerned about the disapproval of his far-distant, tradition-bound family.

Lorgan spoke with Greyshen and Kjaelle, the Lord of Pineapple in a chair, legs crossed, amused about something. Salan bounded to them, sat, then stuck his nose at Fyrij and whuffled. The little caroling chirped, flapping his wings, then hopped onto the vulf’s broad forehead.

“Just make sure he’s unstickified before we go to bed,” Vantra said. She knew he would stuff himself on fruit, and knew she did not want to sleep with his fur sticking to her face. Salan barked brightly in assurance and his tail dusted the floor before he popped up and trotted to Kjaelle. Kjaelle ruffled his cheeks and kissed the top of Fyrij’s head, then winked at her.

“Tally’s set up a little bowl for him to splish in. He should be sugar-free, if wet, by the time we retire. If we retire.” She laughed. “The last time we visited during Windfruit, we stayed up the full three days and watched the fireworks at the end. But, of course, we’re ghosts.”

“I’ll nap, as long as we don’t miss the good parts,” Kenosera said.

“Joy fills the air, a delightful tingle to breathe in,” LP said, rising from the chair. He dusted at the buttons to his light grey, knee-length vest; he, like the rest of them, chose sleeveless, but instead of shorts, he wore loose pants and sandals. “The view from the bridge is fantastic.”

“The Light temple acolytes cast a special spell to illuminate the area where the windfruits drop,” Kjaelle said. “It’s breathtaking, the sparkly gold in the air mixed with the windfruit’s neon glow.”

“Neon glow?” Vantra asked.

“The waters here have bioluminescent bacteria,” Lorgan told her. “The windfruit fill their containers with the glowing water, and since they suck up the glow, they too, glow. The legend says Weather loved the sea-bound flowers, and to save them from extinction, created flying vases made from rainwater. The height keeps them out of most beings’ hands and preserves them for future generations. All they need to do is refill their vases with seawater.” He tapped his chest. “I got to see them descend from the bridge once. I can see why residents of the isles think they bring Weather’s blessing.”

“The ranch hosts a party for the three days,” Kjaelle said. “So we’re going to meet a lot more people than you might expect.” She scratched Salan behind the ears. “Which is why he wants to watch over Fyrij. No one will get near our darling unless he says so.” The caroling fluttered his wings, twittered, and settled down, kneading the vulf’s fur.

The yipping of puppies reached them, and a tumble of five poured into the room, followed by Mera. The balls of fluff wagged and hopped and ran and bumped into tables and did not listen when the Light acolyte ordered them to behave. They had no reservations in obeying Salan’s bark, however, and bowed their heads with whines.

Mera shook her head, her hands on her hips. “Salan, the puppy herder,” she said, without her typical joy. Kjaelle waded through the pups and hugged her; she buried her head in her shoulder briefly before pulling back, her entire being drooping. “You don’t mind?” she asked.

“Of course not,” the elfine murmured. “Why would we?”

“I just . . . can’t stay in our room.” She squeezed her friend’s arm and motioned for them to follow her. “We thought the windflowers would arrive later this week, but it’s fortuitous, they showed up just as we did,” she said, raising her voice. “The ranch always hosts a three-day party, and we invite everyone from the surrounding neighborhoods to celebrate with us. We sometimes get the more urban folk, too, because they’ve heard about our event and want to see farm animals and fields. There will be enough ruckus, the wild animals who have moved up from the Yomble tend to stay clear. We might have a primate trying to snag some food, or a bird or two taking an interest in the fruit, but there shouldn’t be any larger creatures or reptiles. Still, be cautious if you near the trees beyond the fences.

“You can sit where you want, wander around, talk to people. The patio attached to the main house is for family and close friends, and it’s where Qira and Katta are going to be. It’s quieter, so if you need a break from the festivities, take it there.”

Salan barked and took off, Fyrij flailing and hanging on, and the puppies joyfully followed.

“He knows where the food is,” Kjaelle said, lips pursed. Mera laughed and they headed for the party.

The main house had a humongous back yard. Vantra would have called it a field, but the barbeque pit, childrens’ play equipment, the giant, mist-producing fountain and tended grounds made it seem more homey.

Random trees sprinkled the area, surrounded by flowery bushes. Dangling from thicker branches were bug zappers, and from the sudden blue sparks, they had a busy time of it. Dirt walkways wound around everything, lit by ground-level electric lights protected in metal casings. Wicker chairs accompanied grated fire pits, each one with weights attached to the legs to keep them stationary when the gusts increased.

Towering, wind-blunting trees ringed the yard, their long, droopy, purple-flowered branches breaking up the winds before they reached the celebrators. The soft shuddering of leaves provided a constant, calming drone.

“That smells good,” Kenosera breathed, glancing at the barbeque pit. While the sunken area had a spit with a pig rotating round and round over flame, it also contained smaller fires, grey brick ovens, cold storage, shelves with raw produce, breads and containers, and counters where a myriad of beings chopped and prepared dishes. A glass dome protected it, which allowed natural light in and kept dirt out of the food.

“Wait until you taste it,” Mera called. “There’s a reason Mica stuffs himself into senselessness every time he visits.”

“And why Katta and Qira’s bellies grow two sizes during the course of the night,” Kjaelle laughed.

They avoided a growing crowd of locals, several laughing and gossiping while keeping a watchful eye on the children cavorting in the play area. A swingset, a sandbox, a beanbag toss, and a plastic gym they could clamber over and slid down sat within a brick ring. A drinking fountain, likely meant to keep the kids hydrated, seemed the most popular attraction; they filled soakers with water and sprayed each other, giggling and shrieking hysterically.

A pang of nostalgia hit Vantra; this was the first place she had visited in the Evenacht that reminded her of modern, everyday Talis. That, combined with the fact both living and ghostly children had a grand time, pricked tears. She rubbed at her chest and hoped no one noticed her sorrow; the celebration was one of joy, not one of remorse for kids who died too young and needed care as they grew into their afterlife selves.

They rounded a hedge, granting a full view of the patio. It sat between the two long wings of the house, a dark wood colonnade holding up a shallow-domed glass roof with gutters to funnel rainwater into pipes. Bushes in white pots with blue designs nestled within sapphire tile rings, and rough sandstones created a central walkway. In the grassy patches between the bushes, white wicker furniture surrounded mini-fountains, which looked more like bird baths than misters, but ryiam-heavy, cool haze drifted from them. Most already had occupants, several waving brightly painted fans containing landscapes and long-necked birds as they talked in cheerful tones.

A man waved and headed for them, his smile as warm as his sunset-brown skin. His tight curls rose straight above his head in a flat top, grey at the temples fading into black. Thin-rimmed, round glasses with rosy lenses sat low on the bridge of his nose, giving him a scholarly yet alternative vibe. Two golden earrings adorned the cartilage of each ear and gold-beaded bracelets wrapped around his wrists, matching the shimmery, short-sleeved button shirt he wore. Black, knee-length shorts and leather sandals completed the look.

“Welcome to Zephyr Ranch,” he said, his voice a rich, warm baritone. “I’m Redaun. I’m sure Nareh already told you, if you can’t find Tally or Mera, I’ll be around to answer questions or point you in the right direction.”

“Thank you,” Vantra said. The others murmured assent as Kjaelle hugged him.

“From me to you, I wish better tidings came with our arrival,” she told him.

“Me too,” he admitted. Mera hmphed, but he ignored the interruption to pat Salan on the shoulder. “Welcome back,” he said. “And is this Fyrij?”

Fyrij popped up from his shivering hunch, raised his wings and sang, happy at the recognition.

“We’ve a special treat for you. The sweetplumes just came in, and I’ve been told carolings love them. We’ve set aside an entire one just for you.”

Fyrij danced, then warbled and gripped Salan tighter as the vulf took off down the patio.

Kjaelle introduced them, and his smile widened. “We’ve set aside seating toward the back for the mini-Joyful,” he said, turning to follow Salan. “It’s quick access to the house, in case anything goes amiss. Not that we expect it, but, well, much of the last year hasn’t been expected.”

Mera hmphed again, and he cast her a mournful look but did not elaborate.

Family called out to Mera, who waved and smiled stiffly back as they headed for the mini-Joyful. They took up the last four seating sections, lounging in wicker chairs padded for comfort, fingerfood and drinks set on low, heavy wooden tables within easy reach. The plants changed from flowery bushes to tall ferns whose fronds arched over the seated, providing a canopy. Four fountains pumped mist into the air, and the atmosphere held the essence of rich, sugary flowers and spicy barbeque. She touched her nose; and she thought Leeyal had delightful mist flavors!

Laken hovered with Mica and two other Light-blessed behind Qira and Katta, chatting and laughing. She smiled at her Chosen, and he grinned and winked back, perfectly happy. She would have felt sad working during a celebration, but he took it as a sign of deep trust.

“Make yourself at home,” Redaun said, spreading his hands wide. “We’re expecting quite the crowd tonight; everyone’s been wanting to toss worry aside and have a good time. And we’ll go to the beach and see the landing; perfect excuse to go watch, as we have esteemed guests.”

Qira raised an ice-filled glass with tea. “Always a beautiful sight, but not as luscious as Remara’s ribs.”

Redaun laughed. “She’ll be happy to hear.” He raised an arm and Tally hopped into him, braid ribbons and her flowery white slipdress trailing behind her. She beamed up before they kissed, then pulled away and introduced them to the woman with her. She had soft brown skin with deep rose undertones and wide fawn eyes with long black lashes. Her wavy bob had a bright red flower keeping her bangs from her face, which matched the large flower print on her tiered turquoise, lace-hemmed capri set. Hoop earrings dangled to her shoulders, a ring decorated the left nostril of her short nose, and she had thin, multi-colored metal bracelets running from her wrists to mid-forearm. Her flip-flops snapped against her heels before she stopped and nodded at them.

“I’m Gretchie,” she said, her voice high and bright. “It’s wondrous to finally meet you!” Her smile dimmed slightly when she regarded her mother. “Nana, Zaza and Yanyan just showed up.”

Mera raised a skeptical brow. “They usually don’t arrive until the middle of the quiet wind season.”

“Zama sent for them.”

“Why?” Mera rubbed at her eyes, deflating further.

“They want to help Zama find Daidai. I told them tonight was a celebration and we’d talk tomorrow. I don’t think they listened.”

Mera shook her head. “And what do they think they can do, to help find your father?” She slapped her thigh with her hand. “I’ll be back,” she grumbled.

“Send them my way,” Qira called after her.

“I remember the last time,” she called back as Tally, Redaun and Gretchie winced.

“So will they!”

She waved as she slid the screen open and slipped through the double-glass doors.

Katta smacked him, exasperated, but the syimlin just grinned broadly. What had he done? Vantra shoved her curiosity into the pit of her stomach; she supposed she would find out soon enough.

They split, Kjaelle and LP finding seats with Katta and Qira, Greyshen with the Light-blessed and Vesh, while the rest of them plopped down across the walkway from the syimlin, at the table with a bowl, a thick towel, and a folded paper sign that said ‘Fyrij’ next to it.

How nice, to think of him! And her.

Kenosera scooted his chair close, then he and Yut-ta tried the variety of crackers and cheeses and slices of heavily seasoned grilled chicken. She eyed the spread, wishing to partake, and noticed Lorgan cast the appetizers a longing look. He claimed he never wanted to learn to eat, but the longer they traveled with the mini-Joyful, the stronger his wistfulness became to taste the delights Katta and Qira paid for.

Ranch staff arrived, carrying the first round of edibles hot off the barbeque; platters heaped high with meats, vegetables and fruits, along with tall, beaded pitchers spelled for cold, baskets of rolls and plates of pastries. Vantra stared at the beef and pepper kebobs slathered in a red sauce swimming in golden spice flakes, desperately wanting to try them since they sent Kenosera and Yut-ta’s eyes rolling into the back of their heads, but ignoring the temptation to. Now was not the time, with so many others around to witness her failure, but she hungered after the delicious looking chunks. She could not smell, but she could imagine the scent of grilled meat and veggies, and for a bite . . .

“Wanna try?”

She stared at Lorgan as he leaned across the table and selected one. She retrieved a small plate and did the same, then studied the juices dripping from it. Could she do this? Only one way to find out, so she implemented what she learned from her mouthpiece mistake and Katta. She peeked at the scholar; he raised his kebob, they clacked the ends of their sticks together, then bit.

She . . . did it! Her teeth ground into the food, and a flavorful burst of light, sweet spice, grilled meat with a hint of charcoal, and juicy peppers followed. She dropped the plate and slapped her hand over her mouth, delighted, and looked at Lorgan; he grinned widely and took another bite.

She swallowed, and the flavor trailed down her throat. The oddness of it gave her pause, and she continued to taste the food as it traveled down and settled in her designated stomach. She could sense her essence licking at it, sucking up ryiam, dulling but not eradicating the flavor.

“Lorgan, how to you fix tasting your food in your tummy?”

The looks Kenosera and Yut-ta gave her sent him into rolling laughter. “For now, try shielding,” he said. “We can work on the intricacies of it later.”

“It’s going to be an experience, being a ghost, isn’t it?” Yut-ta asked wrily.

“As with all things,” Lorgan said.

Squeak squeak.

She had not heard that sound since Greenglimmer. Salan raced past, a ploofy pink ball of fluff held tight in his teeth, Fyrij twittering in alarm and flailing around, talons dug deep into the vulf’s forehead to keep from falling off. Rayva flew after them, barking and yipping.

Kjaelle popped up and ran after them, and Vantra stuffed the rest of the kebob into her mouth before following. Poor Fyrij! All his hiding, and Salan was taking him into the midst of those gathered!

“Best for them to get the runruns out before the crowd grows,” the elfine told her as she caught up. “They love this backyard because they can run full speed, no worry about ramming into a fence.”

She had not realized the ground sloped, and the grassy splendor continued on far past the house. The vulfs bounded down the center of it, fighting for control of the squeak toy, and Fyrij sang loud, flapping faster. Passersby headed for the barbeque smartly stepped to the side and skimmed the bushes that divided the area from the rest of the ranch, letting the pair take up as much room as they wanted. Ghosts and living were among them, some wearing work outfits, some in jaunty leisurewear. Even the couple in all black had bright tropical accents like hair bows and hat bands, adding a playful flair.

“Expect a ruckus for the next three days,” Kjaelle told her as they stopped in the middle of the slope. “It’s fun, but it can wear on you. From me to you, if you need quiet, no one’s going to look at you strange if you slip away for a bit.”

“For a celebration that has a religious lean, this seems quite breezy.”

The elfine grinned and chuckled. “Despite Mera’s connection to Light, her and Tally’s families are not religious. Yes, they know syimlin exist, but they aren’t going out of their way to worship them. Those who proudly do never visit, because they’re jealous that Mera accompanies Light’s avatar around the Evenacht while they pray at temples and never attract his attention.” She leaned closer. “There’s a reason for that.”

“Mera didn’t seem happy her parents visited.”

“Her mother’s the worst of the lot.” Kjaelle lowered her voice after glancing at the curious party-goers who eyed them, then the vulfs. “She wanted Mera to become a Light priestess because she could brag about that to others. In their community, it would have raised her social status by quite a bit and made her an important voice in local affairs.

“Mera could have, since she has a magical connection to Light few possess, but she wanted a family, friends, not a sterile temple where prayer was her life and a cold room her only friend. Gedall convinced her she deserved to live a bright and joyous life, so she had one. And then, in the Evenacht, she had the gall to march right up to Qira and tell him she and Tally would accompany him as guards.” She bit her lips between her teeth, sparkling with mirth. “You’ve not seen Qira flummoxed. I loved it.”

Vantra shared her smile, then gasped as Fyrij flew to her, twittering crossly. She caught him, and he tweeted at her, his little brows knit in annoyance. She settled him on her shoulder, and he hunkered down, muttering, as the vulfs continued their mad dash around the lower yard, the dripping squeak toy passing from one to the other.

“Who gave him the squeakie?” she asked.

“The kids. You haven’t met them yet because they’re running errands right now. Some beings need invitations before they show up—it’s a cultural thing—so they take those invites to them, and tack some up on bulletin boards outside apartment buildings and the local civic center.”

“So this is a huge event.”

“Yes. It’s a community-building one, which Redaun feels strongly about. Neighbors meet neighbors and have a grand time, which leads to wide support when he goes to the Windhaven city council and asks for something, like re-paved roads. Now, I want you to keep your head down for a moment.”

“What?”

“Finders just showed up, and we need to assess whether they’re typical or under the influence of the Knights.”

Oh. Oh no.