At my mother’s command, all of us placed our packs in front of us and flipped the flaps open.

“Any good stew starts with the broth, which I have brought.” My mother said, reaching into the big black pot and pulling out a lid that had been concealed by the upturned lip.

Fragrant steam wafted out from the bubbling brown liquid, filling the cave with a rich scent that melted away the last remnants of the cold my mother had made me perceive.

The sound of the violent lightning that my mother was somehow making us all hear had died down and a question came to me. “Is all of this,” I gestured broadly, meaning the walls and everything they contained. “Happening in the city?”

“No, my little Delpha. Most of the citizens of Erosette are gathered around The Red Mother’s pot in the heart of the city, listening and watching her and Dreamtongue make their stories come to life.” She answered, looking at me through the thick steam.

“Then why the snow and lightning? The fissure and all?” I asked.

“As I have said, Dreamtongue’s Night is my favorite. This first time I participated in it meant much to me and I wanted to give you the feeling of really being there. It was a pale imitation, but I wanted to show you what being near a Split truly felt like.” Through her tired eyes, I could see how much she meant what she said.

My mother had done all of this for me. In hindsight, the werelights and the maze, the tournament and ale, she had probably done it all for me.

Knowing that, made the desire I had to go into the city and experience the real version of Dreamtongue’s night feel all the more wrong. I should not want to lay my eyes on The Mother in Red as bad as I did. I should not want to explore the streets of Erosette arm in arm with Anna the way I did. By the looks of her, my mother had pushed herself to her limits the way I had with the pillow and she had done it so I would feel a little less like the imprisoned thief that I was.

Beauty and space aside, the manor on the hill was a prison still. Anna and Arthur, my mother’s efforts, the well house, and my small interactions with the guards made it all too easy for me to forget that fact.

It was more than I deserved and I was still dreaming of breaking out and running off, just like I had done when I took the black gate to the mortal plane.

“What are Splits? You said they are tears in reality, but what does that really mean?” Anna asked my mother.

“You are a very good listener Anna. Chaos, which is what we call everything outside of Zenithcidel, is exactly that. Chaos. It is volatile, ever changing, a Split is formed when a section of reality can no longer hold itself together.”

“Are they related to Shifts?” I asked, flickers of cracking sky and a huge pink moon running through my head.

My mother raised an eyebrow at me. “Where did you hear about Shifts?”

Fuck. I had said too much. Scrambling, I strung together an explanation that would not expose the fact that having full access to The Well was something I had enjoyed for months. “It was in a memory. I was a maiden in a library and there was a book on a table that mentioned them.”

“Oh. I see,” My mother nodded. Phew. “They are related in the manner that morning rain is to a hurricane, but any explanation further than that is beyond my understanding.”

From where he had hung his face over the pot, taking lungfuls of the enticing steam through his nose, Arthur spoke up. “Are there schools to learn all of this? You’ve got magic people, but the boys and the girls are at war. There are all these places and all these terms, but none of it makes sense when you think about them together. How does anyone know what's actually going on?”

My mother cracked a tired smile. “There are the Loreiumns in Don Terrisabia, but without a black gate it would take you several years to reach the border and that’s only if it is still in the same place it was when I last visited it.”

“That’s what I mean,” Arthur threw his long arms up. “How can a place not be in the place it always was?”

“I do not know the how or the why, dear, but I trust the Mothers. All of us do. They know all and use that knowledge to shield us from chaos,” My mother said and snapped her fingers. The bands of her aura that held the packs closed crumbled to dust and she let out a sigh. “A good stew is just like a story. I have brought the broth, the blank pages we will write our story on. Anna, open your pack if you will.”

Anna listened, pulling the cinched canvas open with her fingers. I leaned over, trying to see what was within the pack.

“What have you found?” My mother asked.

Anna brought her full hands back out. “Potatoes and carrots?”

Already cut and cubed, orange chunks of carrot were interspersed amongst a bunch of fat potato chunks.

“Now, why would I have given you those? What role does root vegetables play in our stew?”

Arthur looked at his sister. “She looks like a potato, so it makes sense that way.”

“Shut up,” Anna said before answering my mother’s question. “I don’t know, they get mushy while they are cooking?”

“They ground the stew, thicken it, and root every other element together. They are the substance that the other ingredients stand upon,” My mother said. I didn’t know if it was because of the tired way she was speaking or if her metaphor just didn’t work for me, but I couldn’t not make the connection between Anna and the potatoes. “Dump them in, dear. Arthur, you are next.”

Anna held her pack over the bubbling broth and a cascade of potatoes and carrots fell out, plopping into the pot like rocks in a pond.

“It’s a bunch of little jars.” Arthur said, pulling out just what he said from his pack. Reds, greens, blacks, and tans filled the small glasses.

“It is spices, Arthur.” Ms. Lao corrected her son.

“Why would I give you spices? What purpose do they serve?” My mother continued.

Anna chimed in. “Because he would be bland without them.”

“I’m not bland? My joke was way better. You’re the bland one.” Arthur insisted.

“All you do is stand around and smile. The most interesting thing about you is that I’m your sister.” Anna said, rolling her eyes.

Ms. Lao clapped her hands once. “Enough. Both of you. Ms. Aubrey is trying to entertain all of us and I will not let my children ruin it.”

Again, it struck me that next to the willfully dying Ms. Lao, my mother was the one who looked worn out.

“I gave Arthur the spices because he brings an excitement that would be sorely missed if he were not here. If not for him, I would have not broken a sweat during our tournament last night. The story I plan to tell this night was brought to my attention because of him. Go ahead, throw them all in.” My mother answered.

Was The Mother in Red spinning some metaphor to the citizens of Erosette the way my mother was to us? I couldn’t help but wonder what the point was.

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“Autumn, we’ve reached the need for the burden I had you carry.”

I opened the pack and peered down into it. “It’s full of meat.”

My mother nodded in agreement. “Why would I give you meat? What role does it serve in the stew?”

Arthur spoke first. “Because she’s skinny and needs to gain weight?”

Then came Anna. “It’s the best part.”

“Both of you are wrong,” Ms. Lao said. “The meat is the point.”

“Well said, Mai,” My mother agreed. “What is a stew without meat? What is a story without a character to be built around? The meat is your burden because without you, none of us would be here. There would be no point to the meal we are all constructing.”

Everyone was looking at me, like I was actually a piece of meat. I didn’t want to be the point. The weight my mother had placed on me through her metaphor only made me feel worse about my desire driven ungratefulness.

Just to make it end, I shook the contents of my pack out and into the big black pot without needing to be promoted. “When are we going to start telling stories?”

“We can begin now, it will take time for everything in the stew to cook into one another properly.” My mother answered, pulling a long handled ladle from somewhere beside her and dipping it into the pot. The orange flames beneath grew brighter as she began to stir.

“I would like to go first.” Ms. Lao said.

My mother passed the ladle to her. “Whoever is talking must stir the stew. If it sits idle too long it will not cook evenly.”

“When I was a girl,” Ms. Lao began, fresh streams of delicious smelling steam rising from the pot with every circle she stirred. “Before my Ba died, he told me about Thanh Giong.”

The steam thickened and swirled. Shapes formed within it and grew more defined. Rough figures outlined by iridescent light, one a little girl and the other a tall man, sat across from one another.

“Whoa!” Arthur exclaimed, a wide smile on his face.

Anna scooted closer to me, a more reserved look of wonder on her face.

I couldn’t see them, but I knew my mother’s fingers were cloaked in her aura. She was shaping the little vision while holding together everything else she had worked around us.

I wish I could have enjoyed it, but all I could think about was how little I knew and how small my power was.

Ms. Lao continued. “Invaders had ravaged the land and the King’s army could not repel them.”

The little figures in the steam gave way to dozens of soldiers, armed to the teeth with spears and swords.

“Thanh Giong was a child. Little more than a baby, but when he heard his Ba and Ma speak of the invaders, he spoke for the first time. He told his parents to bring him every scrap of food they could find. He ate and ate and ate, until he had grown into a man. After only a few days, he was taller than his Ba and was as strong as ten thousand men.” Ms. Lao glanced at Arthur as she took a breath, but her son had eyes only for steamy vision playing out over the big black pot.

Just as Ms. Lao had said, the shape of a baby stood up on its feet and grew as it moved through the motions of stuffing its little face. It grew, standing tall and strong only a few moments later.

“He rode to the battlefield on the back of an iron horse,” Ms. Lao smiled, the image her words described forming in front of her. “And faced the invaders. Where the King’s army had failed and fled, Thanh Giong drove them out single handedly.”

The shape of Thanh tearing through the armed men from before played out. He pushed them back until they disappeared and he raised his arms in triumph.

“When the battle was done, Thanh Giong climbed the tallest tree he could find and flew away, immortal.”

Tree climbed, flying flown, immortal immortalized, the vision returned to steam and my mother clapped for Ms. Lao.

The rest of us joined in, and Ms. Lao nodded in appreciation.

Delpha and the dragon was a much better story. It made sense. Nobody could eat for days and suddenly become a giant.

“Thanh Giong, wonderful.” My mother said through a yawn. The lowlight and the warmth from the fire had to be making her more tired. Even with the bad feelings I held within me, I thought I could lay down and take a nap in the cozy cave.

“It is silly. I know, but I loved it as a girl. I wanted to name you Thanh, Arthur, but your father would not let me.” Ms. Lao said.

“You should have anyways. I am as strong as ten thousand men.” Arthur agreed, his voice serious.

“And just like Thanh Giong, you’re actually just a big baby.” Anna said, smirking.

Ms. Lao held the handle of the ladle out in offering. “One of you go next. I am finished.”

“I want to go last.” Anna said, shaking her head.

“I’m not ready either.” Arthur insisted.

My mother looked at me. “Autumn? You prepared a story like I asked?”

I had not. Granted, I had not known I was Autumn for most of the day, but I could not tell that to my mother.

Despite my unpreparedness, I reached out and took the ladle from Ms. Lao. My nasty feelings and the reminder that I was indeed a prisoner still fresh in my mind had brought a memory up from my memory. I had viewed it not long after I had been moved to the manor on the hill.

All I had to do was change a few details and I was confident it would not raise any suspicion within my mother.

Again, everyone focused their eyes on me. I let them look, taking a slow moment to get my story straight.

A girl, an underwitch at least, had been locked in a tower by some crazed old man. Her familiar had arrived to save her, a much nicer version of when Sam had first shown himself to me.

I could see her, skinny with long hair, but what had her name been?

It came to me.

“I’m going to tell you about a maiden named Nova and her-“

Arthur snatched the ladle from my hands. “You took too long, I want to go.”

He started stirring, filling the air between us all with the stewing steam, and jumped right into his story. “So, there was a soldier- no- he was a warrior, a knight!”

The steam coiled around itself. Transitioning quickly from the shape of a man holding a club to the shape of a man holding a spear, it settled on the figure of an armored man bearing a sword and a shield.

Anna snickered, but I hadn’t caught what she thought was funny.

“The knight was in love with a fire princess, but before he could tell her, an old witch had come and taken her away. The witch was ugly, and lived deep in a swamp.”

A feminine shape that flickered at the ends of her hair and hands like the fire beneath the big black pot did at its ends appeared in the steam. Spindly, thin, fingers clutched her shoulders and snatched her away, leaving the figure of the knight standing alone.

“The knight rode-no- he flew into the swamp and fought the witch. He slayed her and saved the princess. They kissed and he asked her to marry him but before she could answer, a dragon came.”

At my mother’s will, the steam played out a rudimentary display of the events Arthur described. Witch slayed, the figure of the knight swept the fire princess off her feet and the two shapes met.

“You're really just making this up as you go along, aren’t you?” Anna interrupted.

Arthur denied his sister’s accusation. “No I’m not! Not all of it.”

“How can the knight even kiss the princess if she is made of fire? He would get burned.” Anna said, seemingly very annoyed at her brother’s story.

“Shit. I didn’t think about that.” Arthur snapped, his brows knit together in sudden contemplation.

My mother cleared her throat. “What happens with the dragon, dear?”

“Well,” Arthur continued. “He slays the dragon.”

“And then?” My mother encouraged.

“An army comes to try and take the princess.”

My mother gave a tired smile. “Does the knight slay the army?”

“Naturally.” Arthur nodded.

A little laugh came from my mother. “This is a very devoted knight. Is it safe to say that eventually, all the evil is defeated and the knight and the princess live happily ever after?”

With a sharp glare at Anna, Arthur agreed. “If I remember correctly, that is how it ends.”

The steam swirled and showed the figure of the knight standing hand in hand with the fire princess before an altar.

“Well done, dear. Well done.” My mother said, clapping for Arthur’s story.

Anna leaned over to me and whispered in my ear. “That was the worst story I have ever heard.”

I laughed, I couldn’t help it. Her annoyance at her brother was humorous to me alone.

“Now, no interruptions this time. It is your turn, Autumn.”

“Right, I said, retaking the ladle in my hand and beginning to stir. “I am going to tell you about a maiden named Nova and her familiar, Murk.”