ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY-THREE: Thanksgiving V
New
August 5
[Corrections:
I’ll be editing the Alden travel timing and logistics of the last few chapters slightly before they’re posted on Royal Road. Nothing that changes the plot, just details for the sake of making it work better, but I didn’t want anyone who noticed the discrepancies between Alden’s movements in this chapter and his planned movements in previous chapters to get confused. This chapter has it right, and I’ll be adjusting the others to reflect it. Plus I looked up better recipes for roasting turkeys and realized that the one I’d referred to previously made my fictional turkey cooking mentions wrongly timed.
Scheduling:
Next chapter on the 11th. See you then!
Notes:
I may retitle "Thanksgiving I-IV" on revision and then let this one be the only one called "Thanksgiving."
This has been a really fun section of the story to write. ]
ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY-THREE: Thanksgiving V
*
One on-stream bite of a grilled bell pepper to satisfy the fans pestering Jeffy for a glimpse of him. One nod at Konstantin, who was at the bottom of the staircase, scraping mashed potatoes and pieces of a broken bowl together while Søren apologized. One loud groan as he glanced at his social media account and saw all the requests for information about the heartwarming thing the teenager with the heartbreaking story was doing.
One piece of origami paper collected from his desk drawer. One shouted conversation out of his bedroom window to the swarm of people who’d gotten involved in cornucopia decorating. He would not be flying that thing to Matadero later unless it shrank by half. They’d been told.
One warning to Haoyu and Lexi about the questionable nature of the potatoes that would soon be arriving. One strong handshake from Mr. Zhang-Demir. And one final flight down to F with a load of supplies for the NesiCard man.
“Even Artonans love pizzzzzzzaaa! Maybe!”
One thought so crazy it would never have crossed his mind on a less ludicrous day. One frown as he stopped and stared at Post Drop #1301— a graduation capstone project gifted to F City by Indah Juliana.
He tried to target it with his skill.
And he felt the pull of it, that little weighted point in the universe that marked the location of his entruster. There was something oddly fragile about his sense of it, like it was halfway in between reality and a daydream. But it was there.
He pressed his lips together. He watched the Post Drop until his eyes started to burn from dryness.
“I am not prepared for this, and I can’t think through it right now. But thanks for the pizza.”
A toilet flushed.
Not normal, Alden thought, striding away quickly. Not my business. Not today.
He flew fast toward Apex and Boomtown.
******
Alden parked the Nine-edged Son on the roof of the building where Natalie, Hadiza, and Emilija lived and tried to tame his hair with one hand while he hurried downstairs. Their dinner party had started twenty minutes ago, and feelings of self-pity were occasionally breaking through the noise in his head.
All the magic food will be gone. I bet there was magic food I could have eaten, and I missed it.
He hurried down an acrid-smelling hall—not that unusual given the neighborhood—and knocked on their door. A moment later, Natalie opened it for him. Warm air hit him and the stench was blown away by a bouquet of food smells that might have been wafted in straight from heaven.
Natalie was dressed casually in her pink overalls. Her hair was up in a bun, and she was wearing a pair of tiny earrings shaped like a fork and knife.“You made it!”
“I’m sorry I’m late. And I should only stay for half an hour or so. The chef at Matadero is going to need a hand dealing with all of it.”
“You’re good,” she said, shutting the door behind him. “That’s enough time to eat and meet everybody.”
Alden took in the group that made up “everybody” while he followed her over to the fancy range. The apartment was decorated for a party, and teenagers were sitting all over the furniture and floor. But it was quiet except for the sounds of spoons scraping bowls and the music coming from the television on the wall opposite the kitchen. It was showing a recording from this morning’s Thanksgiving Extravaganza in Atlanta. A high school band was playing on top of a float that looked like a storm cloud while performers dressed in silver to represent raindrops used the aerial silks hanging from the float’s underside.
It was a cool show, worth watching even if someone had grown up with more Anesidora-level holiday spectacles, in Alden’s opinion. But nobody was looking. They were all too busy having sacred experiences with the food in their bowls.
“Everyone seems to like the soup course,” Natalie said proudly.
On top of the stove, a large pot held what was left of a velvety golden soup.
“It’s vegan!” she announced.
I know it is. He stuck his face over the pot and took a deeper whiff. “Natalie, it smells like you somehow melted comfort. I know you know that, but—”
“I don’t mind hearing compliments.” She bumped him with her shoulder and reached for the ladle. “I am really glad you came. Emilija was posting threats on your pigeon picture earlier, and she saw your ‘Please No More Food’ message go up. So she stopped talking about how you should be forced to live on bread and water and started snooping on you instead. To see what was going on. Hashtag Matadero Thanksgiving is trending! There was a video of you flying to F a little while ago.”
“How did I look?”
“We couldn’t really see you. You were hidden by so many supplies. And what about that guy in your program? Emilija found his page. I don’t like him. Is he a Rabbit-hater?”
Alden glanced over at Emilija, who was sitting with her back to the dishwasher and her eyes closed as she licked the back of a spoon. She had a yellow maple leaf pinned to the front of her green dress. Other artificial leaves, looking abnormally lovely, hung from threads attached to the ceiling.
“You good there, Emilija? You know spoons aren’t edible, don’t you?” he said.
She opened her eyes just wide enough to glare at him. <
Alden snorted, then looked back at Natalie. “As far as I can tell, Winston’s mad at me for existing in the same school as him, and he’d sell his soul for fifteen minutes in the spotlight. I don’t think he’s actually got convictions about Rabbits, ranks, or anything like that. He just constantly obsesses over how his fame level compares to everyone else he meets.”
“Forget him then! Look at the star of the show before you eat your pumpkin orange soup.” She bent down to peer through the oven door and motioned for him to join her.
Alden’s nose being so close to the vent as he admired the oven’s lone occupant was a blessing and a curse.
“Are you really going to preserve it until the wizards show up at Matadero for dinner?”
“Of course. This is a Natalie Choir skill debut. I’m not going to let it sit out losing its crispy, juicy glow. Give it to me perfect, and I’ll get it to them perfect. Promise.”
She looked pleased. “It’s heavy.”
<
“I can handle a turkey,” said Alden. “I wouldn’t mind borrowing a bag or something, but I definitely won’t let anything happen to it.”
“Make sure the wizard from Bunker Street has some,” said a voice from behind him.
He straightened and looked around to acknowledge Hadiza. She was on the other side of the kitchen’s island, empty bowl in one hand as she reached up to tap the thread holding one of the leaf decorations. It took on a glimmering quality, like it was catching the light in the room exactly right.
“Ro-den. That guy’s name is Worli Ro-den.” The tattoo on Alden’s chest was gone now except for the concentric triangles. When his arm was down by his side, they weren’t noticeable. “I’ll make sure he gets some. Are you three really all right after that?”
“We’re fine,” said Natalie.
<
A few people were staring at their dishes like they couldn’t believe the soup was gone. One boy in a fedora was watching the girl beside him finish hers off so intently that Alden wouldn’t have been surprised to see him reaching over to stick his spoon in her bowl.
<
“No way!” said Alden, blocking the pot as she approached. “Do you know what kind of day I’ve had? Let me have firsts before you get seconds!”
******
The soup tasted like a trip to a pumpkin patch he’d never been to, on a cool fall afternoon he’d never experienced. Natalie was either improving or she’d put more oomph into this one to make up for the lack of the entree she’d planned. By the time Alden licked his bowl clean, the other guests had recovered from the appetizer glow and started grazing on the side dishes and desserts.
They were all delicious, but not in the magical way.
I guess a room full of people eating in utter silence wouldn’t be much of a party.
The television was louder. People were milling around and introducing themselves. Alden recognized a few of the guests as fellow Rabbits from intake; the others were an eclectic mixture. It was a group just shy of thirty people, and Alden was the only Talent Development Program student.
But he wasn’t lonely. Everyone knew he was stopping by on his way to #MataderoThanksgiving.
“So you’re the one who had a teleporter acci—”
“You’re from that video with Aulia Velra and her granddaughter! Man, that was—”
<
“You’re the globie who’s been inside the cube! And at a time like this. What—”
“Yep,” Alden said in between bites of the few vegan offerings. “That’s me.”
Please. My time is limited. Just let me eat in peace and pretend this is all I have left to do tonight.
Actually, at any other time he would have been interested in this guest list. The people here were different from the students he usually spent his time with as far as interests and ambitions went.
Other than the Rabbits, he talked to a third year Healer Hadiza had befriended who was trying to get her first comic book published, a second year Polar Brute who was stoked about the fact that he’d gotten approval to travel with a university group in Antartica next year, and a Meister who played a giant drum weapon. Her passion was xenocultural studies. She and the Brute had met Natalie at a club for people who were extraterrestrial travel enthusiasts. Alden hadn’t even been aware there was such a club on campus. They were all looking forward to a video talk that had been scheduled with a lortch village for next week.
He watched the time he’d allotted himself for a “relaxing” meal tick away while he stood in the corner by a broom and dustpan, shoveling apple pie into his mouth. A pair of Wrights—one of them the fedora guy, who lived next door with his parents—had corralled him here to ask questions about the nonagon. Alden’s answers had been less knowledgable than they’d hoped, but they were sticking around to explain their own current projects to him, as if his possession of a magical vehicle made him one of their kind.
“I’m a LEW,” said the fedora. “And so is she. We’re both in our workshops half the time.”
“LEW?” Alden asked after swallowing another mouthful of pie.
“Longterm Earth-based Workers,” said the girl. She was short, and the orange stars on her bobble headband were waving just below Alden’s nose.
“Oh. I hadn’t heard it abbreviated like that. You’re both doing work with your powers already?”
They’d said they were finishing up high school classes and heading to uni next year. The fedora was a student at CNH, and the bobble band was at Naya Din on the bayside campus, which was closed at the moment due to water damage.
Alden hadn’t expected them to have Avowed jobs. So far the only high schoolers he’d met who got summoned frequently were Rabbits and Lute.
“There have been way more Wright assignments than usual,” said the fedora. “I don’t mind as long as it doesn’t last forever. I make equipment storage cases. Not the most exciting thing, but I do have to customize each one for the object going inside it. A lot of unusual tools and weapons end up in my hands for a little while.”
“And I make automated process panels for drudgery chests,” said the girl.
“Those are…?”
“Amazing!” said Natalie. “They’re amazing.”
She’d somehow gotten away from a group that was trying to persuade her to use her skill while smearing jam on a buttermilk biscuit. To create a super biscuit they could use as a prize for the limbo game they had going on.
She helpfully grabbed Alden’s paper plate and tossed it toward the trashcan. It was the most evil thing he’d ever seen her do. He’d been planning to get that last crumb.
“Drudgery chests are like little factories you can teach to do repetitive jobs for you. Like if I had one—”
“There is no way I can get you one,” said the Wright girl.
“—and I wanted to chop a thousand onions, which is a horrible job that makes a person cry—”
“Even if you cry for days, I can’t get you one.”
Natalie’s smile was so sunny Alden was surprised the onions didn’t chop themselves for her. “I would only have to chop three onions inside the drudgery chest—”
“More like twenty.”
“And then all I’d have to do is keep giving it piles of onions and it would be an onion-chopping professional!”
“They’re really not for cooking,” the Wright said, keeping her eyes on Alden like she was afraid to look too hard at Natalie. “Of course they could be; but there’s only one I know of being used that way, and adding onto it has been my mother’s hobby since she was my age. She’ll probably sell it to the Artonans eventually. They’re highly sought after. Not because they’re the best at every automated task, but because you can re-instruct them to do whatever you need at the moment.”
“You mean have the same device chopping onions in the morning and then frosting cupcakes in the afternoon?” asked Alden.
“See! He thinks it’s a kitchen tool, too!”
“You’ll have to take it up with the Artonans if you want a drudgery chest, Natalie. There’s low supply for one of the components. I’m on a waiting list just so I can put one together for my own personal use. They provide me with everything I need to fulfill orders for them, but otherwise…”
“I’m not making any personal projects right now either,” said her friend. “Not because I can’t get supplies, but because I’m getting sick of making cases. Last thing I want to do in my free time is make another one.”
When Alden left them, they were arguing about the Wright who’d made the bomb that the SAL boat had been smuggling off the island and whether or not he had known where it was going when he created it.
He stood across the island from Natalie, watching her garnish the turkey. It was on a glazed platter that was such a biteable candy apple shade, he was sure Hadiza had hit it with her skill. “Thank you so much again for doing this. If everything else is ruined, at least we’ll still have the traditional dish.”
She didn’t answer, and he realized her eyes weren’t closed in momentary thought. She was actively using her power on the citrus wedges she was nestling around the bird. He watched her lips move as she mouthed a word.
Laughter, he decided.
She’d said before that Cook of the Moment required her to focus on her own memories. Her own moments. As the skill developed, she’d get more control over the flavors and the feelings her food evoked.
Maybe laughter always tasted a little like cake batter in Natalie’s head, and she would be able to inject a hint of that into a lemon if she wanted.
I would absolutely eat a cake and laughter flavored lemon.
She was taking a while with each piece of fruit.
He reached into one of his back pockets and pulled out his piece of origami paper from earlier. It was currently a diamond with a couple of protruding triangles. He’d stopped folding here, since this was the last part of the design that wasn’t easily ruined. While Natalie focused on a kumquat, he pulled up the instructional video he’d been watching in brief bursts this afternoon and finished his inadequate contribution to her holiday.
“Okay,” she said a couple of minutes later, opening her eyes.
“It’s done?” It looked glorious, but it had looked glorious even before she started on the garnish.
“It’s done.” She stared down at it. “What if they don’t like it?”
“I’ll snatch it away from them and bring it back here to appease the beasts you live with.” He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with scent. Emilija’s right. Taking it away from them after they smelled it cooking all day is a crime.
“They’re going to love it,” he assured her. “And here. I made a replacement for you.”
He set the origami turkey on the countertop beside its more edible relative. It was a perky looking little thing with an upturned beak. And just as Alden felt a flash of pleasure at how neat the paper animal looked, it slowly tipped over onto its back.
“Oops.” Before he could reach over to set it upright, Natalie grabbed it.
“Oh my god! He’s precious! I love him.” She held the turkey in her palm, and it tipped over again.
Alden scratched his head. “Sorry. He must be heavy in the rear. I’ll make you a better—”
Natalie glared at him and cradled the turkey to her chest. “No. Take it back. He’s perfect.”
“He’s got a tail so big he can’t stand up straight.”
“He grew those giant feathers to impress the other turkeys. He’s doing his best.” She righted the turkey again on its tiny paper feet and watched it fall over once more.
They both looked at it for a second and then burst out laughing.
“I’m going to name him,” Natalie said breathlessly when she’d recovered enough to speak. “I’m going to name him something!”
“You should name him Big Butt.”
“He wants a noble name.”
“King Big Butt.”
She threw a kitchen towel at him, and he caught it.
“Hey,” she said. “You know how Verna was just saying there was only one place using a drudgery chest for cooking? It’s a big one her mom made. More like a drudgery room. It’s usually set up to make a meal of the day all by itself, and you can watch through a window. Do you want to come see it with me sometime?”
“Yeah, of course. New magic stuff is always cool.”
“Great! I’ll find out when it’s open again and let you know.” She smiled at the turkey and made it a nest in the kitchen towel. “There you go. He’s totally upright now.”
“Just needed a prop for his massive butt.”
“His name is Wobble.”
“Wobble?”
“Wobble Gobble.”
Alden nodded. “A truly noble name.”
******
The flight of The Turkey Express was a remarkable experience. Alden would have preferred an unremarkable one, but he tried to act like he wasn’t freaked out by any of the things that happened after he left Boomtown.
Like former-Instructor Rao meeting him in the common area on his final, final stop by the dorms so that she could deliver a clove-studded ham. All her Avowed profile information was written on the aluminum foil that covered it. So that he could memorize it and then casually mention it in conversation to the Artonans he met.
Or like Principal Saleh falling through the ceiling to land between the two of them and inform Rao that former faculty members shouldn’t be lurking inside Garden Hall to bother students and insist they take their pork résumés to Matadero.
“I’m sorry about all of this,” Alden said when Rao was gone. He shifted his grip on the large shopping bag that Hadiza had given him for easier turkey hauling. “I thought I was asking a few friends for help, but everything got crazier than I planned.”
“I’m here to add to it,” said the Principal, passing him an accordion folder. “But at least it’s not food. Let’s try and keep the next few holidays on the calendar simpler.”
“I will.”
“By the way, about twenty students are outside trying to attach a plant creation to Hn’tyon Esh-erdi’s flying device.”
“Yes. They’ve only got two minutes left, then I’m leaving no matter what stage of the operation they’re at.”
“Don’t drop it on anyone.”
He was just glad the Cornucopia of Earthly Vegetation was slightly smaller than a golf cart. It was kind of amazing for a blinged out salad horn, but he’d been afraid it was going to be bigger than the Grant Park Christmas tree by the time Jupiter and all the others who’d gotten involved were finished.
Just before he boarded the nonagon, an older girl he didn’t know grabbed him by the shoulders and said, “Say bloom,” in an accent he couldn’t place.
“Bloom?”
“No. In Artonan.”
He opened his mouth.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Not now! When you get there!”
Which bloom? He knew three words for it. He guessed he’d go through them all.
Standing in the garden, he smiled for a hasty photo with everyone in the vicinity who’d contributed. He saw Colibrí, the uni instructor from his interview committee, coming down the pathway toward the group. But then Principal Saleh was talking to her. And the picture was taken, and he was up in the air.
He waved goodbye to Haoyu. He waved hello awkwardly to the drones filming him. He flew at low altitude through Apex so that the cornucopia wouldn’t kill anyone if the tarp and tape they’d used to pin it down failed. And he waved some more any time he spotted someone on the street or in a window waving at him.
This is surreal. I want a nap.
He cradled the turkey in his lap and almost cheered when he left the coast and the drones behind. He shoved his driving hand forward and zipped toward Matadero.
The approaching sunset tinted the sky.
“System, call Kabir!” he said, lifting his voice over the wind. “Kabir, I coming. I got the turkey!”
“I see you coming!” Kabir shouted back. He had a frenzied look on his face and a butcher knife in his hand. He was using it to hack his way into one of the coolers Haoyu’s dad had wrapped. “I’ve been checking our hashtag to monitor your progress.”
“I hate the fact that people can do that! I’ll be there soon!”
“It’s almost time!” said Kabir.
“I know!”
“We can do it!”
“If not, at least it will be over!”
He could tell they understood each other perfectly.
******
“Blossom,” said Alden in Artonan. “Flower. Bloom.”
Hundreds of tiny purple buds spread their petals. Kabir’s hand slapped against his in a high five before they both rushed for the elevator.
One cornucopia left in the lobby of the residential area, covered in rainbow vegetable carvings and garlands. Sparkling thanks to someone’s spell impression. It was stuffed to bursting with Earth fruits they’d taken from the crates the Artonans already had lying around.
“I’ll light the candles,” said Alden as they reached the cafeteria again. His turkey bag was still preserved.
“I’ll put out the cards,” Kabir replied.
The Wrightwork candles someone had sent earlier were spaced around the edge of the room at regular intervals. Kabir had been working hard while he was gone.
Autumn Evening Picnic Set. Alden crouched to hold his hands over the wick on top of the first chunky black candle. Let’s see what you look like.
And let’s not flub the casting, he thought wryly. Kabir’s not paying much attention, and I can always blame the candle itself, but still.
His fingers moved. He pretended he was lighting a promise stick.
The command his authority gave for this was so familiar, and it seemed to grow easier every time. He wondered if it was him, getting stronger and more used to making this particular demand. Or if it was everything else, growing accustomed to listening to him and answering him.
A flicker.
One enchanted candle, dimming the corner it sat in instead of brightening it, casting the shadows of trees against the ceiling and walls.
Alden watched a ghostly leaf fall from a branch.
“Good candles,” he said.
“Keep going!” Kabir called. He had the accordion file Principal Saleh had given Alden, and he was spreading the cards it contained around the cafeteria tables. They were from the preschool children who attended Celena North’s daycare while their parents worked or went to classes. The handprint turkeys and indecipherable drawings joined the few, more-legible notes sent by adults.
Alden went to light the next candle.
The work didn’t end. They just ran out of time.
Just before nine o’clock, Kabir spied the first large group of wizards teleporting in thanks to the viewing spell he’d set up downstairs.
“They’re here!” he bellowed. He’d gotten louder and louder as they approached the finish line. Alden didn’t know if he was pumping them both up, or if it was a side effect of the illegal champagne that Aulia Velra had somehow managed to have delivered by helicopter while he was away.
Standing in the kitchen, Alden looked down at the floor. There were still a few mystery boxes that had come through the TC to open, still a few final touches to make things perfect.
Kabir ran by with yet another chafing dish. The wizards could easily heat their own plates of food with a spell, but they were trying for proper temperatures anyway.
We’re done?
He studied all of the containers. None of them seemed to be from individuals. Lots of packaging from businesses.
Yeah, we’re done. This can all go into the freezer later.
Showtime.
[Porti-loth,] he texted. [Second meal is ready. It’s special.]
[Hn’tyon Esh-erdi…]
[Hn’tyon Lind-otta…]
[Drusi-otta…]
[Zeridee, we’re having a Thanksgiving supper. You should come fix a plate, and we’ll save it for when you’re allowed to eat Earth food again.]
He freed the turkey from its bag carefully. Represerved it.
Then he went to stand behind the long buffet Kabir had made by shoving tables together. Dead center, facing the elevator. For the first time, he had the chance to see it all arrayed in front of him. The tables had white cloths. The candles were doing a lot of heavy lifting on the atmosphere front.
It looked really overambitious all of a sudden. Wrong. Like if he were throwing an amazing party for the species that was obsessed with parties, he should have gone bigger. And since he wasn’t doing that, he should have gone smaller, with his original vision. Just the food and the gratitude.
What if they think it’s lame? What if they’re tired and annoyed by it all?
His mouth dried up.
Then his eyes landed on the creamed spinach from Mrs. Long. He’d already set aside the letter she’d written to the two knights, so that it wouldn’t get lost. And there were the stuffed peppers from Haoyu’s mom. Bobby’s salad. A mound of cheese muffins from someone who was living in one of the temporary housing domes on campus.
A ton of food had been relegated to the fridges and freezers. They’d put out the dishes from the people they knew and the ones that fit in with the potluck spirit.
Everyone meant well and donated. They’re all going to ask me how it went. What if it goes wrong?
One new terror crossing his mind at the worst possible moment. “Am I supposed to say something before the meal?”
Kabir had just dashed by with a piping bag full of whipped cream. “What?”
“Like a speech? I don’t have to give a speech, do I?”
Kabir stared at him. “Well, I’m not giving a speech.”
“Does there have to be a speech? I can’t just drop the turkey and run away. Can I?”
“Of course not.”
“But what do I say? Me standing here in the center makes me look responsible for all of this. Like I’m in charge.”
“You are responsible for all of this…don’t look at me like I just hurt you by saying that! It’s the truth!”
The elevator arrived. The door that led to one of the cube’s staircases opened at the same time.
As the first bunch of chattering wizards walked in, Alden froze like he’d been hit with a spell. They were looking around with curious expressions.
“This is the Thanksgiving?” he heard one of them say.
“Shadow trees.”
“Hello, Kabir!”
“The Thanksgiving!” someone else chirped. “I was told the goal of the event is to eat one of everything.”
“Look! Drawings made by human children.”
The preschool artwork was apparently worthy of everyone’s attention. They were still exclaiming over it when the doors opened again.
Alden felt his tension ratchet up to new heights as more wizards poured through, and then he spotted Lind-otta, Esh-erdi, and Porti-loth. And he suddenly relaxed.
Lind-otta was watching her partner fondly while he bickered with Porti-loth about healing groves. Esh-erdi was wearing the same outfit he’d had on when he and Alden had had their talk after his rescue.
Boe’s back. I’m out of my squishboot. I got to visit with Stuart.
I learned a hundred things while I was with him at the Rapport, and I’m going to see him again soon. And meet a mind healer. I’m weaving a friendship. I have a magic earring now. And choices.
So much life lived in just a few days.
So much life he’d almost missed out on.
Esh-erdi spotted him and started toward him with a smile. Lind-otta was with him.
“Hello, Alden,” she said. “I’m glad to finally greet you.”
Her brown hair hung below her waist in triple braids, and her wide-set eyes were a pale caramel color.
“Is this the Thanksgiving?” Esh-erdi asked. He was studying the platter in Alden’s hands.
“It is,” said Alden, looking between the two of them.
No need for some dramatic speech. That’s not the right thing.
“This is from my friend Natalie. A lot of people wanted to share what they could even though I didn’t give them much time to prepare. They wanted to say thank you. So did I.”
He let his skill end so that hers could take over.
One turkey.
A smell that called to mind warmth, laughter, family, and friends was unleashed into the room. Lind-otta smiled. Esh-erdi clasped his hands together in front of his chest, looking delighted.
Alden watched as heads rose from their perusal of cards and their studies of candles and turned toward the feast table.
“Thank you.” He said it loudly enough for his voice to be heard by everyone who had arrived in the cafeteria so far, but his eyes paused on Porti-loth and then stayed on the knights. “Thank you so much for coming when we needed you. We all hope you enjoy the meal.”
******
******
Notes:
Wobble Gobble — falling over a lot
Emilija — leaving the following message under a photo of pigeons walking in a straight line: “Alden Thorn can’t be trusted around birds. He probably fed these to wizards after he took their picture.”
..
ONE HUNDRED SEVENTY-FOUR: Compatible with Loungewear
New
2 days ago
More wizards arrived over the next few minutes. Alden answered questions and accepted compliments while he showed off the spread. Kabir was explaining the sweets.
People circled the table, making approving comments about the fertility of the planet and the efforts of the ones who’d provided the food. A woman was taking pictures of each dish, and someone else was doing the same thing with the cards.
“The shadow trees?” Alden said in reply to a man wearing a lime green auriad around his neck who’d just asked about the poetic intent of the candles. The shadowy branches on the ceiling were swaying in an unfelt breeze. “I think it’s likely that they were designed for beauty. For showing the way some trees look at the end of summer. But you would have to ask the Avowed who made them to know for sure.”
Then that wizard moved on, and Alden was trying to explain the difference between lettuce and cabbage to the next one.
“Drusi! Come see the Thanksgiving!”
At the sound of Esh-erdi’s voice, Alden turned and saw a wizard with two large beige bags, one slung over each shoulder, approaching. That’s Drusi-otta?
The votary did vaguely resemble her cousin. Her short braid was the exact same shade of brown anyway. Her outfit was also brown, and its relatively simple style—loose high-necked shirt and harem pants—might have made her seem drab in comparison to most of the wizards around them if not for the fact that she was heavily embroidered and jewelry-laden.
Bracelets clacked and jingled at her wrists. Chains, beads, and cord hung around her neck. Stacks of rings shone on every finger.
If she was an assassin, thought Alden, she wouldn’t have to use a spell. She could just backhand someone, and the weight of the jewelry would knock them out cold.
He was pleased to put a face to a name. “Hello, Drusi-otta. I’m glad to meet you in person.”
She whipped something out of a pants pocket and passed it over the table to him, one of her necklaces coming treacherously close to a bowl of venison goulash. “Hello. These are for your convenience. They work in the same manner as stickers.”
Stickers?
Drusi-otta had said that particular word in English, and Alden definitely knew what stickers were. So it was confusing to be handed a stack of half a dozen small paper packets with no image on them. He opened one and found it full of a nest of what looked like gray thread.
“Thank you. But what are they?”
“Quick embroidery,” she said.
“Not as appropriate as doing it yourself by hand,” Esh-erdi added. “Or having a needlesinger do it. But good for when you’re in a hurry.”
Instant commendation patches?
Before he could worry too much about whether the votary had been judging him for walking around undecorated, Esh-erdi announced, “I’m hungry, and I think everyone has had enough time to gather.”
“Alden,” Lind-otta said, “are there any human traditions that need to be observed with the eating of the meal?”
He shook his head. “Everyone should have fun and eat whatever they like.”
The next thing he knew, Esh-erdi was leaning over the table toward Natalie’s turkey. He ripped off a whole drumstick and presented it to his partner. She accepted it with a delicate-looking hand and a dignified nod, then turned to face the majority of the Artonans present.
Everyone quieted down.
Is she going to say something to them?
Lind-otta bit into the drumstick like a wolf. Alden thought he heard the bone crack. Then the knight swallowed, smiled with juice dripping down her chin, and loudly announced, <
The sentence was in some language or dialect Alden didn’t know. But he understood from the cheering and the eager rush toward the food that she had just officially rung the dinner bell.
******
“That one is blackberry cobbler. Heating it up and adding some ice cream would be customary…or you could mix it with the duck instead. Unusual choice, but probably fine.”
Alden watched Porti-loth stuff the duck cobbler into his mouth. Sweet and savory is a thing, and he does look happy.
It had been around an hour since Lind-otta went feral on the turkey leg, and now the situation was shifting from everyone eating dinner to everyone having fun in their preferred way. For some of the Artonans, that meant methodically tasting all the food that was left. Others were pulling out wands, potions, and auriads to make improvements to the cafeteria so that the meal could morph into what Alden suspected would be a debauched all-nighter with a loose Thanksgiving theme.
He was content with the role he’d ended up with—food describer for the knights’ table. Porti-loth sat on his right, listening to Alden make suggestions and then ignoring them.
The lady who sometimes took naps in the cafeteria was on his left, periodically asking him for his opinion on “human matters.” She’d lulled him into a false sense of security by wanting to know easy stuff at first. At what age had he learned to ride a bicycle? What purpose did fake fingernails serve? Hummingbirds—didn’t Anesidora need some of those to brighten the place up?
Then she’d hit him with a question about how he would feel if the Triplanets demanded that the population of powerful Avowed be split into at least one more community on Earth so that they couldn’t all be taken out by a single disaster. Lind-otta had rescued Alden by changing the subject, and now the questioner was yawning while she picked just the peanuts out of some pad Thai.
Roaming wizards stopped by the table frequently. Drusi-otta kept disappearing to take care of quick errands. Kabir had been sitting with them all, but now he was standing on top of a chair across the room, holding two bottles of champagne over the top of a tower of glasses he’d decided to build after Momo-neen and one of her friends asked about drinking traditions.
Can that really be called a tradition? Alden watched as the golden wine bubbled and foamed, spilling its way down the tower of glasses.
It was kind of cool anyway. He’d never seen anyone do it before. He’d also never seen a face quite like the one Momo-neen made when the waterfall ended and she tasted the drink for the first time. Her eyes widened, her forehead wrinkled, and her lips disappeared into her mouth like they were trying to escape.
“It must be terrible!” Esh-erdi said, standing up. “I want some.”
People had started singing. One very short wizard was volunteering a boomy rhythm for others to match while he danced around performing a blinding blue and green light show with a pair of wands. Alien hookahs were appearing. Lind-otta glanced at her cousin, and the votary nodded.
Alden watched as she opened one of the bags she’d brought and started pulling out cases, bottles, and pouches. She left some on the table and then walked around the room distributing the rest. Everyone seemed very excited to have it.
Better quality party potions?
“None for you,” said Porti-loth, squinting at him.
Or else I will force you to drink more mud, his face added.
The sight of the potions did make Alden take an inventory of all the people in the room. Still no Ro-den.
Zeridee wasn’t here either, but she had thanked him for inviting her. She’d said she was going to stay away since she wasn’t allowed to eat Earth food. He suspected it was half that, half whatever discomfort she might feel being surrounded by wizards when she was trying to make the class shift.
Alden watched the party develop for a while longer. Esh-erdi was over at the buffet now, drinking his champagne while he studied the turkey carcass. Every bit of meat and skin had been devoured. The citrus wedges were gone, peel included. Other than the knights sharing the drumstick with each other, everyone had gotten just a tiny piece.
Watching them all enjoy it had been a fascinating contrast with the scene Alden had witnessed at the girls’ apartment earlier. The Artonans had a lot more variety to their technique. Porti-loth had quietly held a piece in his mouth for five minutes, with his eyes closed and a smile on his face, before swallowing and diving into the rest of his meal like nothing had happened. The group Alden was beginning to suspect were big humanity geeks had let Momo-neen taste a tiny sliver of turkey. Then they’d consulted her and held a lengthy discussion before enacting a full Thanksgiving scene at their shared table while they consumed their own pieces.
They ceremoniously carved one of the ducks and then passed a plate they’d filled with different breads around. Alden was sure they’d consulted a comedy he’d seen once as their source because they each slid something off of their own plate onto a distracted neighbor’s at every opportunity, which had been a gag in the movie.
And then there were the wizards who just casually ate the turkey. Or those who laughed and laughed while they clung to their colleagues and shared kumquats.
He concluded that the Artonans had much more experience with magical comestibles than the bunch of teenagers who’d gotten dazed and dumbstruck over the soup Natalie had made. They had preferences about how they enjoyed their enhanced food and, seemingly, the know-how to control their own reactions to it.
I need to practice eating more, thought Alden. Increase my food appreciation level. It’s the obvious thing to do.
Esh-erdi waved Drusi-otta over to join him and a dour-looking wizard with lines of tattoos running across the backs of his hands in their examination of the remaining turkey bones.
What on Earth are they doing?
His confused expression caught Lind-otta’s attention. “He’s consulting them because he wants to <
“Powder it?”
“For later. It’s a shame to let any of her artistry go to waste. Nobody will ever make it exactly the same way she did on this night. Not even her. That is the nature of the skill, and it is worthy of appreciating.”
She was sitting sideways with her feet and back supported by spells that seemed similar in effect to the one Stuart had used to provide the two of them with cushions during Alden’s visit.
“She’ll be happy everyone enjoyed it,” Alden said.
Porti-loth had gone to try the champagne. It turned out it was a controversial beverage. Half of them liked it and the other half thought it was a crime against fruit. The booming light show guy was passing the healer a glass.
“Are you happy, Alden?” Lind-otta asked.
He looked back at her. “I’m pleased everyone liked the meal. I wanted it to be special for you all. I’m a little tired, though.”
“Since Porti seems unwilling to let you have a wakefulness potion, I suppose I should encourage you to sleep.”
“I feel like I should stay and help Kabir clean after all this.”
She shook her head. “You’re underestimating the amount of cleaning…and overestimating that man’s chances of seeing the party’s conclusion.”
She nodded pointedly toward the corner behind Alden, and he turned to see Kabir, his shirt unbuttoned, demonstrating a dance move that had been popular several years ago.
“You might be right about that.”
“Go sleep,” said Lind-otta. “It will be taken care of by others.”
Alden winced at the sound of breaking glass.
“That will be taken care of by others, too,” the knight said.
“All right.” He rose from his seat. Just one thing left to do.
It took him forever to fix a tray of food. Having left the knights’ table, he had become fair game for everyone else. And as the host of “the Thanksgiving” everyone wanted to make sure they said something to him.
Wasn’t it just the other day when they were all acting like they were afraid to talk to me?
He added a mooncake to the tray while a pair of wizards tried to hint something to him about how their young twins were absolutely fascinated by humans and they supported their cultural curiosity and what did Alden think of that?
“I think that’s good,” he said, a cloud surrounding him as he pulled the top off the cooler that held the ice cream and dry ice. The wizards went away so happy, he worried for a second that he’d given his human stamp of approval to something he didn’t understand.
They seemed nice, so I doubt whatever it was could be too out there.
He selected a single serving carton of White Chocolate Pretzelmint, then headed for the elevator.
He remembered Ro-den, just a few days ago, pressing all the buttons. Telling him he could have twenty floors and then nothing.
“I suppose a conversation must be had since you insist on it…if you’ll tell me what things you would like me to apologize for…Take the easy road for a few decades, won’t you?”
“I should spit in his food,” Alden said as he stepped out onto the hallway at the top floor of the residential section.
He didn’t. He hadn’t even done what he’d planned to do when he first realized Ro-den wasn’t likely to show up, which was deliver a crumb of Natalie’s turkey and absolutely nothing else.
He gets a whole smorgasbord. Matadero Thanksgiving isn’t about my issues with a single wizard. So…
He’d even kept the turkey chunk preserved in his shirt pocket since he’d cut it off the bird. It would be hot and fresh.
Now, where’s his room?
Dropping preservation on the turkey and targeting Ro-den to find him was an option, but not an option he liked as much as just knocking on every door in the long hallway.
He got started on the job. About halfway down, the sound of a door opening drew his attention. An Artonan was backing out of one of the rooms.
On television, the wizard usually wore somber gray or brown, but tonight he was wearing a coat in a cheerful egg yolk color with gold embroidery, and matching jewelry pinned up his hair. So Alden’s first impression was of an alien he didn’t know, in high spirits and dressed up for the party.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Can you tell me where Worli Ro-den’s room is?”
It was only when they were a couple of paces apart and the sound of his own name was coming out of the man’s mouth that he realized who he’d just asked for directions.
“Alden,” said the wizard, looking him up and down.
“Ambassador Bash-nor.” Alden’s heart had stopped beating, but he was smiling. Because smiling was the default social nicety, and his face was stuck.
What is he doing here? Is he supposed to be here? Am I supposed to say something about what happened or say nothing or call Drusi-otta to come punch him with her rings or—
“How wonderful to meet you unexpectedly. I’ve wanted to apologize to you for the trouble you endured at my residence,” the ambassador said. “That must have been very frightening for you.”
“I’m fine,” Alden replied automatically. “An apology isn’t necessary.”
Yes it is. He’s the bastard who was so petty he didn’t talk to me about my evacuation status just because he didn’t want to have to say congratulations to a Rabbit. He thinks Alis-art’h commended me because she was focused on people like him.
His shock at the encounter was fading. He tried to read the situation…and found he couldn’t.
Bash-nor’s tone of voice was a mystery. It felt like it fell somewhere in between warmth and bored recitation, in a valley that Alden was unfamiliar with. Was it intentional? Careless? An Artonan vocal quirk he hadn’t encountered before that he was interpreting completely wrong?
“No,” said Bash-nor. Two narrow strands of gray-brown-pink hair—a color that reminded Alden of earthworms—hung in front of his ears. “I must say I’m sorry. I blame myself for overestimating the ambassadorial assistant’s <
The tone was still uncomfortably obscure, but at least the words themselves were clear enough.
“Zeridee-und’h did well,” Alden replied. “It was the Avowed who were to blame. She fought bravely to protect me. She did her best.”
Bash-nor’s smile was understandable, too. It was so patronizing that Alden’s hands tightened on the tray.
“Such an <
He lifted a hand, flared his fingers in and out rapidly, and a sharp metallic-looking thing appeared hovering over his palm. It looked like a crown made of icepicks. Alden was pretty sure it was a spell effect generated partially by his rings, but he couldn’t swear it wasn’t a solid object.
“Would you still say I had fought bravely and done my best?”
Alden’s eyes were fixed on the icepick crown. It disappeared suddenly and he blinked, refocusing on the ambassador’s face.
“It doesn’t matter,” Bash-nor said dismissively, that hand flicking through the air as if he were shaking the spell off. “I’m only relieved you have survived our failings and our foolishness.”
He looked at the food Alden was carrying and raised an eyebrow “For Ro-den?”
“Yes.”
Bash-nor kept one eye on the tray and pointed the other toward Alden’s face. “Loyalty and care are qualities that any wizard would appreciate in a servant. But don’t burn yourself out, as humans say, by giving those qualities to a <
Does he expect me to reply to that? None of the replies in Alden’s mind right now felt safe considering Zeridee’s warning about Bash-nor’s nature.
Intolerant of slights from people weaker than him. Be a normal Rabbit.
“One of my friends asked me to make sure he tasted what she’d cooked.” Surely that was neutral enough.
Bash-nor groaned. “He’s made such a <
He gestured behind him.
“Your little Thanksgiving idea is so <
“A party…um..”
“All the rumors are true,” Bash-nor said in English, his tone finally shifting to one Alden fully recognized—a conspiratorial whisper.
Alden shifted his weight, trying to think of something to make the interaction even slightly less awkward. Does he think every Avowed hears rumors about him the second we set foot on Anesidora?
“Unfortunately, I’m a busy person right now,” the ambassador said. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
Leeeeave. You’re scary, confusing, and cringey at the same time. Why do so many people like hanging out at your house?
Bash-nor started to step past him then stopped. Alden’s muscles, already tense, stiffened even more. High on his bicep, his auriad tightened so much it felt like a tourniquet.
“There’s no way to unmake the terrible experience you had, but here. Buy yourself something to warm your mood.”
He walked on.
Alden stood still, facing the end of the hall. When he heard the elevator doors opening, he slowly turned to see Bash-nor—hair-jewels winking in the light—stepping into the car. He didn’t glance back to see Alden. His smile was gone, his expression distant and irritated.
As if Alden had vanished from importance just that fast.
When Bash-nor was finally gone, he made himself take a slow breath. Then he took in the System notification for another second before banishing it.
[Argold Received: 300,000]
******
“Back already, Bash? I can’t wait to hear what magnificent thing you’ve found in the past few breaths that might tempt a more potent wizard to follow your <
“I brought you food,” Alden interrupted in a neutral voice the second the door opened a crack. “My friends wanted me to thank you for helping with the Bunker Street problem.”
“No,” said Worli Ro-den.
Alden stuck his sneaker in the crack just in time to prevent the door from shutting. Then he blew on the piece of turkey he’d dropped on top of the savory food plate before knocking.
The smell was enough to make his own mouth water even if he should have been used to it by now.
Ro-den’s tattoos creased as a surprised look crossed his face.
“Are you sure you don’t want it?” Alden asked. “Because there are many people downstairs who will be grateful if I arrive with another piece. They’re trying to grind the bones now.”
He waited, staring at Ro-den’s tattooed forehead. If he said no again, that was fine by Alden. He’d made the offer and even provided a free sniff.
“Set it down on the table.” The door swung, and Ro-den stepped aside to let him through.
Just drop it off. No chatting.
Alden was determined to avoid eye contact, not that it was hard when the room was full of so much else to see.
Despite the professor whining about the size of the place, it was twice as big as Alden’s room in the hospital. There was even an area that had probably held a sofa and other seating originally. But it felt cramped because Ro-den had absolutely filled the whole space with supplies and work.
Even the closet—it was missing its door, and it had been stuffed with cabinetry that the professor must have traveled with. There was a section that looked like an old school, library card catalog with tiny windows set in the faces of the drawers. Alden saw motion behind more than one of them.
Ro-den seemed to be sleeping under a mountain of his clothes. Two of the smart boards from his LeafSong office were behind the largest work surface, which Alden assumed was the table he was supposed to leave the food on. A giant ball made of bright blue tubing was there with a pair of glowing wands sticking out of it, like an abstract commentary on yarn and knitting needles.
He set the tray beside the tubing ball, careful not to touch anything.
“The turkey is traditional for Thanksgiving,” he said, still carefully neutral. “A Ryeh-b’t named Natalie Choir made it. She has a skill called ‘Cook of the Moment’. She and Emilija Navickaitė and Hadiza…”
He trailed off as a large bug buzzed past his ear and down, landing on the corner of the tray. Sand colored, dark markings on its wings, whitish patches where the bulbous eyes would have been on a…
Grasshopper.
A tattooed hand closed over it.
“You have those here with you,” Alden said.
Ro-den had his hand cupped to his chest. Alden could hear the sound of the bug’s wings beating. “I always have a few around.”
“That’s nice.”
“They bother you?”
“No. Why would they bother me?” Alden cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from the hand with the Thegundese grasshopper in it. Where was I?
“They—my friends—had trouble on Bunker Street, and they saw you on the news, catching the people who threatened them. So. They say thank you. That’s all. Enjoy your meal.”
He strode for the door, remembering something halfway there. “I almost forgot. Your ring is in my room. I’ll go get it.”
Then our sharp break will really be done. He hadn’t been wearing it since their last conversation anyway.
“Keep it,” said Ro-den from behind him.
“I don’t want it.”
“Then sell it. Or give it away.”
Two big tippers in one night.
He could fuck around with the enchantment on the ring for practice if nothing else. And it was easier not to stand here arguing over its ownership.
“I hope you like the food. Bye, Ro-den.”
******
That night, he dreamed the lost-Kibby dream again, only with a side of normal grasshoppers mixed in among their demonified brethren. One of the live bugs kept eating the demons, growing larger every time. Eventually, the absurdity of a horse-sized grasshopper bouncing after him ruined the horror element of the nightmare and woke him up.
Sweaty sheets are such a fucking travesty, he thought, throwing them off. They completely ruin your chances of conking out again.
“Thanksgiving ended up so weird,” he told the empty room. It was now officially the day after.
I could go online and see what people are saying about Matadero Thanksgiving. He discarded that terrible idea as soon as he had it.
I could look up that little shit Winston and see if he’s apologized like I told him—
He stomped that one out of existence, too. Yesterday had been so high drama.
All I wanted when I woke up was simple stuff.
Today he had gym. He could possibly go to convo class with Kelly the grad student as well, but maybe he’d give his fame time to cool off instead. That would be a smart thing to do.
Who am I kidding? I just want to play with my earring for as long as I can. And…
He rolled out of bed and put on his sweat pants, his complimentary hospital socks with the grippy bottoms, and a plain blue t-shirt. Then he sent a text to Boe and Jeremy informing them that Matadero was compatible with loungewear.
They wouldn’t be awake yet, especially on a Friday off from school, but he looked forward to doubling down on the claim when they called him later.
He went to the cafeteria.
“They did clean,” he said, thrilled at the sight of a spotless room. “And…they re-floored it.”
Some people might find sod flooring in the middle of a building impractical. Those people had no sense of adventure. Alden was betting that the tree candles and drugs and the camaraderie of celebrants had somehow made this all seem like The Thing to Do at the end of the night.
He strolled across the blackish green grass, and when he reached the kitchen he found it just as clean and grassy.
Cool.
It took him a while to find everything, but it was all still there.
Fresh lima beans, ears of corn, a specific variety of sweet onion.
“System,” he said, as he looked at it all spread out on one of the counters. “Is it okay if I film a cooking video in here?”
[Yes.]
“Thanks.”
He set up his tablet. The place where he positioned it was only marginally important, since the Artonan device could do multi-angle filming.
“Hi, Kibby!” he said, holding up a tomato. “This is an Earth plant. I’ve got a recipe from my grandmother, and I’m going to cook it for first meal. It's called succotash.”
******
******