It was a peaceful day. Chamomile was collecting a prayer when a cup pressed against eir lips. Ey took a sip and— it was bland.
Oops. Wrong configuration.
Ey adjusted to the standard (803 AS) human parameters and took another sip.
Much better.
The spice ey were mixing froze in the air and—
[TIMESTAMP: 2480:000243:593:293:15:04:48: — ]
+++
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:30:57: — ]
Chamomile opened eir eyes. Camellia had sneaked up on em, holding a teacup to eir lips. It contained a liquid with a golden tint and a faint cherry aroma.
"So, what do you think?"
Ey was in a tea room, sort of. To one side were shelves of assorted herbs and spices, matching the tea room decor. Yet more hung from the ceiling. Stable spices gave off a light cinnamon scent, while the imaginative ones smoked or glowed or hummed in sealed glass jars. Tightly sealed. Cross-contamination was not... the best idea.
Adjacent to it was the counter. Not quite a kitchen, not quite a laboratory. Their current recipe didn't use anything exotic, so only simple tools were out. There was a stained chopping board, knives, a scissor, a mortar and pestle, a bunsen burner, and various herbs missing various pieces. A still steaming kettle cooled on the stove.
On the next wall were splashes of green, blue, cyan, magenta... so many plants in differing shapes and colors. They moved with an unnatural stiffness.
The last two walls were unadorned. Shoji lined the next wall; the last wall was intentionally nondescript, kept only for emergencies.
Ey took the cup and swirled it, watching the flecks settle down. Eir figure blurred, dividing emself and overlaying the parameters of their customer base.
Forty-three species took one sip.
Ten politely gagged it down.
Six thought it was water.
"Mmm... yep." Ey smiled. "Got twenty-seven, up from twenty-five."
"Yess!"
They celebrated—
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:32:03: — ]
+++
[TIMESTAMP: 0147:001907:889:098:06:58:37: — ]
Wynne Florence woke up to chirping, or to the early sunlight that had snuck in through her blinds, or to the creaking floorboards above her. She wasn't sure what woke her up. Probably the chirping.
She tugged her covers closer, trying to fall asleep again and remember her dream. She was drinking tea and had magic powers and was using it for cooking! She really wanted to take a bite of that roasted quael beef before whatever something had woken her up.
Grumble.
After a few more minutes of determined relaxation, she gave up. Sadly, like all her other special dreams, they never seemed to return.
She poked an arm from her covers, testing the air for that cold, winter-spring nip. She shivered. Wynne wished they had gotten heating crystals like she'd been asking for for months, but Mom always said they needed to "save for Matthew's tuition" and that "it'd be easier to replace the insulation in the summer."
Whatever "insulation" was supposed to mean. Grumble.
Bracing for the coming crime, Wynne threw off her covers, raced to her day clothes, and covered herself, trying to preserve whatever heat her sheets had left her. She found her scarf, wrapped it under her hair, and left her room.
Their home was small, with just a kitchen, living room, and bedrooms. Their pantry had bread, dried foods, and a small cooler. Mom was making breakfast, and from the small pot on their wood-fueled stove rose smells of oats— oatmeal!— and milk. Walnuts and a jar of raisins, the likely toppings, sat on the kitchen table. Next to it was a steaming kettle.
Her door hinges creaked, and Miriam Florence looked up from the saucepan.
"Hi Mom!"
"Hi, sweetie."
Feeling a little better, Wynne pulled a chair to the counter and climbed up. She reached for her kettle—
"Ah-ah, don't forget your mitts."
"..Mm."
She reached for her cooking mitts hanging from the herb cupboard and took the kettle off the heat. She jumped off the chair—
"Wynne! What if the chair slipped?"
"Sorry, Mom."
And took three eggs from their cooler and climbed back on the chair.
Before opening their herb cupboard, she thought about what kind of tea she wanted to make. Something celebratory? Yeah, something celebratory. Matthew seemed really happy about his exam scores when he came home yesterday. So that would be...
Black tea! Black tea, mint, maybe some... lemon?
Yeah!
She put three cups on the counter and added a half-spoon of black tea herbs to each.
"So I had a really cool dream today."
"Oh really? What was it about?"
"Okay, I had a bunch of magic powers, and then I used them to catch a—" quoron "—bull."
"A bull?"
"Yeah, a suuuper big one, that was six feet tall! Um, but its body was four feet tall— it was only six feet tall if you counted its head and antlers. I shot it a bunch of times with my bow, and it still took me hours to chase it down."
"I thought you had magic powers?"
Wynne pouted. "Moooomm, let me finish the story!"
Miriam smiled. "Alright, alright."
After confirming the cups had equal amounts of black tea herbs, Wynne filled them with hot water and added a dried mint leaf to each. She stirred them with a spoon and took a deep breath. They heard the door hinges creak, and both looked away as Jacqueline left her bedroom. Wynne's bedroom. They shared a bedroom.
"Hi, dear."
"Hi Jacky."
Jacky rubbed her eyes. "Mmn... hi Mom. Hi Wynne. What are you talking about?"
"We're talking about my dream. I had a bunch of magic powers, and I was using them to catch a—" quoron "—bull."
"Oh." Jacky pulled a chair to the stove and leaned over it, knees on the seat and arms on the backrest.
Wynne turned back to her tea. "So anyways, it took a really long time to hunt it down, and I brought it back for a big feast with my family, and that's when I used my magic powers."
"Mhm." Miriam nodded, checking if the oatmeal was ready. She gave her daughter the cooking ladle.
"Mmm..." Wynne blew on the spoon and licked it. "Still seems kind of soggy." She put the eggs in the kettle and put it back on the stove. "Maybe one more minute?"
***
It was evening, and Wynne put on her nightclothes after drying herself and draining the washtub. She had just enough mana to clean herself with their water crystal, which she was really proud of! A year ago, Mom would have had to help her fill the basin.
As she left, she felt Jacky tugging on her night clothes. "Can you help me take a bath?" Jacky asked.
Wynne looked down the hall and saw Mom in the kitchen washing the dishes. She looked back at Jacky and gave a tired smile. "Um, only to fill up the water. I have a lot of homework to do."
"Pretty please?"
"No, Jacky, I don't want to miss doing my homework."
"Aw, okay."
She held Jacky's hands as Jacky stepped up on the stool. "Remember how we do it?"
"Yeah."
"Ok, I'm starting."
"Mhm."
She put their hands on the sides of the faucet and opened her core. A lukewarm hardness trickled from her chest, going through her veins and passing through Jacky's hands. The faucet chilled, pulling moisture from the air and drawing from the used water that Wynne had drained below the sink.
[ - ------ -- --- ---- - --------- --- ----- - - -------- ---- ]
Drip drip drip-drip drip-dripdrip...
Jacky wriggled her fingers and giggled. Wynne felt a similar hardness seep out of Jacky's hands. Their school didn't teach mana manipulation until you were eight, so Jacky's mana was less focused.
[ ---- --- --- ---- - --- - -- - --- -- --- -- - - --- -- -- --- -- - -- ---- - ----- ---- -- -- --- - - - --- --- ---- - ]
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Drip dripdrip-dripdrip dripdripdripdripdrip-dripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdrip...
[ ------- - -- ---- ---- - ------ - - -- - -- - --- -- -- - - -- - --- -- - -- - - -- - - - - - - - -- - ]
The trickle slowed to a stop, and they had about half of the water Wynne could make on her own.
"Yeaaaahhhh!" Jacky pumped her fists into the air. While they had made less, Jacky was younger and therefore smaller and therefore needed less water to get clean.
An older hand reached past them. From a drizzle came a downpour, and a few moments later, the container filled up to the brim. Matthew smirked behind them, "Your path is yet long, young sorceress."
Wynne stuck out her tongue at him. "Showoff. We could do it without you."
"Yes, yes, of course, you could," Matthew said as he drifted back to his room.
"Hmph!" Wynne turned back to Jacky. "So mean, interrupting us. We were gonna do it ourselves, right Jacky?"
"Right!"
"Now, let's get you washed up."
Wynne carried the basin over to their washtub, forgetting that she had homework to do and that soon, it would be too dark out to do said homework.
***
"Goodnight Wynne," Jacky whispered.
.
.
.
"Goodnight, Wynne," Jacky whispered.
"Go to bed, Jacky," Wynne said. Wynne curled tighter under her covers.
"Mhm! Goodnight!"
[TIMESTAMP: 0147:001907:889:098:19:16:05: — ]
+++
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:32:04:000 ]
—and went back to work.
"So what changed?"
Camellia pulled up a list of ingredients. "It's only some minor adjustments. There's chamomile, essadew, firebell, hibiscus lemongrass, licorice, and sweet pepper, but I swapped the chrysanthemum for sherrow."
"Oh? I thought the sweetness was rather nice."
"Yeah, but the Tristates and Mildews found the chrysanthemum too bitter."
"Oh, whoops. So that's what I was tasting." As they spoke, Chamomile reached out through their front door. Ey traced towards Chrysanthemum's address, and when ey found it, ey pulled.
Forward it went, through their realm of dead spacetime, trailing a wake until their domains slightly overlapped.
The shoji slid open and revealed a grey translucent membrane. A figure— "Oh yeah, we already forgave em."
"What? We did?" The shoji slid shut.
"Yeah, after the sixth time, remember?"
"I thought we only did it—" Chamomile reached for the script. Ey reread it and realized— "Oh."
This had happened before. It was only that— the lines had changed.
"So that's what happened."
"Yeah, let's send Chrysy something nice this time."
"On it."
The paper doors opened out into a storeroom. The shelves were lined with lidless clay jars, and Chamomile motioned for the dyes and fibers. Pulp mixed with powder before pulling into paper and thread, drawn to eir hands and winding tightly into a shell.
Camellia dropped a few tea packets inside and then ey pressed on the lid.
Camellia spoke up, having picked up their to-do list. "So I was thinking I'd stay here this time, before we go on vacation."
"You're already calling this a vacation?"
"Why not?" Camellia linked up with eir other lives. Eir body cycled between different states as ey muttered, looking for an interesting combination. "Just need to get prepared."
"Then I'll bring this to Chrysy."
Chamomile tied a ribbon to their tea ball and left their home. Ey entered Chrysanthemum's domain, flickering through the necessary steps to cross the secured walkway, and knocked on eir door. Ey gave it five hours before the door swung open.
"Hi Camo. Some supplicant ask for hard liquor?" Ey raised their eyes suggestively. "Or fallen in love with a wine?"
Ey gave Chrysanthemum the tea ball.
"No, actually, we finished our tea recipe and wanted to send you some samples."
"Aw— I mean, thanks! Though was there a special occasion? I thought you were still mad at me for the," ey glanced away, "you know, plagiarism."
"It's okay; we forgive you." With an afterthought, Chamomile added, "just don't do it again."
Chrysanthemum squinted at em. "No way. You're pettier than that. Spill. What's the real reason?"
Chamomile sighed. "Fine. As Chrysy puts it, we'll be going on a... 'vacation' soon. In a few hours, probably. The place might have a bad time ratio, so I wanted to ask if you could cover for us while we're away."
"Sure!" Chrysanthemum nodded, perhaps a bit too vigorously.
"..You won't turn our kids into alcoholics, will you?"
"Eiii, no, nope. No I won't."
They stared at each other.
.
Chamomile looked away and copied over a snippet of memory. "Mm...hmmm. Then, here are the keys. Come back tomorrow; we should be gone by then."
"Got it."
***
Chamomile closed their door behind em. Camellia had already diverged, relaxed on their cushions, tying up loose ends before they left.
Chamomile settled down next to em and closed eir eyes.
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:37:95: — ]
+++
[TIMESTAMP: 2480:000243:593:293:15:04:48: — ]
—and resumed swirling. To the observing family, the spices hadn't frozen and no time had passed. It was only a few grains outside their world, and they were too simple to perceive it.
On the table were two wooden carvings, the first figurine dressed in a dark gray cloak and the other in a matching, lighter shade. The darker figure was lit in lines of amber.
Chamomile turned back to the family, invisible hands weaving through the spice current as ey prepared the meat. Silverskin fell in ribbons from the quael as fat was trimmed and set aside for basting. Lines cut across it for easier cooking and better seasoning.
Ey pulled out a branch of brownish-red spices and layered the quael, folding it into cavities and between the fresh cuts.
Excited knocking rang from the family's front door as neighbors were invited inside. They brought bread, baskets with dried fruits and somewhat fresh fruits, more firewood, and one brought another table.
Herbs grew from pockets in space, and ey plucked some strands of rosemary, honglao, cinnamon, thyme, and a few others to prepare for the rest of the meal.
Conversations started up as friends asked friends asked the family what happened and why the good fortune. Then they nodded, somber, and said they'd be happy to help with spring planting.
With another mind, Chamomile pulled some fruits and vegetables from the food baskets and started arranging some appetizers. Looking back at the quael, ey set some lemons aside and conjured a bit of honey for the glaze.
A clinical observer would call it mostly theatrics. A good even rub would taste almost the same, and a good chef could manage with anything. However, if the observer said that out loud, Chamomile would slap them for being insensitive. To the gathering here this night, theatrics made it special, and specialness was a taste that needed more than just good food.
Chamomile's arms sagged when ey remembered they would soon be forced to leave.
So ey perished the thought. Chamomile focused on the family, their smiles, their awe, their little boy's delight as he stuck a finger in the spice trail and tasted it. Ey spun the meat, skewered it, and ran it over with foreign oils. Ey loosened the meat from the bone, just slightly, ever so slightly, for that extra joy from biting meat clean off the bone.
To see nothing but the food. The crackling of the hearth. The quiet hum of conversation. The family mourning the death of their prized quoron, yet glad to have food for the winter, yet worried about their labor shortage come spring. And the boy, laughing in wonder as he forgot that Beorny was gone.
Chamomile breathed it all in. Took in the feelings of living and fashioned them into a figment. A good one. Or a bad one. Time had yet to color this memory, and as it cooled, condensed into a syrup, ey wove it deep into the present.
The meat was ready to rest, so ey on the mantel and waited. The remaining spices drifted back into storage, exchanged for strands of cinnamon and sugar. Ey had some dance around the children as they chased them around.
Ey wished they didn't have to leave so soon.
***
A man, Lohm was his name, pulled the roasted quael from the fireplace. Close enough to keep warm but far enough away for the juices to settle back in. He collected the drippings tray, poured the rendered fat into a pitcher for gravy, and set it back beneath the roast.
The adults had now organized into groups among the tables, conversations continuing as they snacked from the appetizers. No one commented on the foreign cheeses and jams; they tried a slice, and if they liked it, took more.
The children formed their own groups, playing with dolls and castles, toy helmets and horses.
No one commented on how so many people could fit in so small a house.
The darker figurine now had a faded cherry glow. A short time later, Brenda and Ratchet, the two parents of this home, carved pieces from the quael and mixed in food from the other cooked dishes. String beans, fresh pomano, a boiled egg, boiled corn in garlic and butter, stewed tubers, all covered in a layer of quael gravy.
They set this first plate before the two figures, along with some milk, crackers, and cheese.
When everyone was served, they prayed.
"Great Alacrond, One above all,
Bless us who have gathered today
And our friends who are gone
And our friends yet to come.
We thank thee for protecting us, for our god given gifts
As individuals and as a community, and for
Blessing us with the ones here today."
They continued.
"Great Chamomile, Second of the Hearth,
We thank thee for thy gift,
We thank thee for thy blessing,
For thy benevolence,
For the food on our plate,
For the warmth in our home,
We thank thee for this
Happy night."
Nodding along, Chamomile went home. Ey took the food, crackers, and milk, leaving only the empty containers behind. As ey left, the dark figurine stopped glowing, returning, once more, to a simple wooden carving.
[TIMESTAMP: 2480:000243:593:293:19:67:35: — ]
+++
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:37:96:000 ]
Chamomile sat up and nibbled on the quael. "Hey," ey nudged Camellia, as Camellia opened an eye, "try some. Got it from a family in Creoria."
"Mm." Camellia pulled a copy to share among emself.
Chamomile pulled up the next task and closed eir eyes.
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:38:14: — ]
***
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:38:15:000 ]
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:38:23: — ]
***
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:38:24:000 ]
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:38:26: — ]
***
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:38:27:000 ]
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***
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:38:44:000 ]
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:45:93: — ]
***
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:45:94:000 ]
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:46:07: — ]
***
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:46:08:000 ]
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:47:06: — ]
***
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:47:07:000 ]
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:16:47:24: — ]
***
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+++
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:22:98:25:000 ]
Chamomile opened eir eyes. "That's everything, huh?" ey said to Camellia.
"Yep," Camellia did some stretches. "Was nice we got some extra time to finish things. Think the revision was worth it?"
"Was the least they could've done," Chamomile grumbled. "Alright, ready when you are."
"Mhm!"
They curled together and waited.
A soft light opened in their memory. It had no presence, nothing that could be seen, heard, or felt. All they remembered was that it was there, and they turned to face it.
It enveloped them, blinding them in a way that they knew they were blinded.
[TIMESTAMP: 0000:020018:034:185:23:01:48: — ]
"Aww, it didn't work."
"Oh well."
They were collected, piece by piece, strand by strand of memory. Distilled from their world into two marbles of consciousness.
Then they were gone.