Magic Banquet

by A. E. Marling

  “You said you wished I didn’t have to serve you, Aja. I could be free, if that disgusting lamp is broken.”

  Aja blinked. “The oil lamp?”

  “It’s in the kitchen now,” the djinn said. “If you try to go there tonight, I’d be compelled to stop you.”

  “Then how can I reach it?”

  The djinn’s chest and head snapped to the side to align with her feet. She darted away without answering, a streak of fire painted over the night.

  Eleventh Course:

  DRAGON STEAKS

  SERVED WITH UNICORN WATER

  The magic carpet skimmed over a lake in the Skiarri Mountains. Peaks of black rock and gleaming snow reared their craggy backbones. Drifts of white sifted into slopes of darkness around the water’s edge. The reflection of the mountains shimmered in the lake like ghost lights, breathtaking, with a touch of blue.

  Aja had only seen ice before on sale in the bazaar. Its coldness was precious. The mountains might as well be covered in silver rings.

  “I’m going to run to their tops,” she said, “and roll down in all that expensive snow stuff.”

  “Better not.” The swordsman gazed up into the mountains with a forlorn look. “In that thin robe you’d turn into the next ice statue.”

  The carvings of gods were melting, and the carpet channeled their rivulets into the lake. The divine figures shrank to emaciated beggars, then transparent skeletons, then nothing. Burned away by an orb of heat left by the djinn. While the carpet glided over the lake, the djinn had gusted away downslope. Holding her ornate key, she had headed toward a strange building. It looked like a tower twisted around itself in a knot.

  “That’s the Mindvault Academy,” the empress said. “I’m going there to study, and I heard that gravity there loops around like a kitten chasing her own tail. Oh, no! Would that mean I have to say songs backward?”

  The swordsman chuckled with a wince. His eyes glistened at the strange tower. Then he pressed them closed with his fingers like he was trying to put them out.

  “What is it?” Aja asked him.

  “Only that I used to live there.” He tried to smile but failed at it. “With Janny. With my sister. She was training in all the enchantments.”

  Aja could tell something horrible had happened to his sister even before he said it.

  “She fell into the sky.” The swordsman turned away from the tower’s color to the endless white of the mountain range. “I know I shouldn’t look for her. I know she’s gone too far, but I can’t help thinking about her.”

  Just like Aja’s parents had lost her, whoever they were. Or maybe it was worse. They could be gone forever, her father, her mother, and the swordsman’s sister. They might all be too far.

  Aja clasped the swordsman’s hand, as much of it as she could hold.

  “Don’t you worry. My fate is bright,” he said with a weak grin. He sniffed, then patted her arm. “I lost my sister, but I won’t lose everyone. I’ll find Hiresha. I’ll protect the empress.”

  Aja wondered if Hiresha was the name of his sister. Before Aja could ask, the djinn returned.

  She came from the academy with the Chef. He strode from the lakeshore onto the side of the carpet. The rug dipped down for him. He carried two silver platters. The entrées were concealed by dome lids. They were curved mirrors of metal that stretched the reflection of Aja’s face.

  “When I was a young man drunk on hope,” the Chef said, “I stayed up a night and a day cooking a lion cutlet in butter. I sold the house in which my family lived for the truffle that would make the meal transcendent.”

  He let go of one covered platter after another with a reverence. Each levitated above the carpet.

  “I indebted myself to prepare a meal for the caliph, to win a position as the court chef. My entrée would infuse the caliph with the lion’s savage strength. The flavors would expand his consciousness and open his eyes to new realms of pleasure. I was certain to win.”

  The Chef clasped the lid’s dragon-design handle. He made a fist, and Aja leaned in to smell whatever delight awaited inside. But the Chef let go without revealing the dish. He paced.

  “The caliph himself judged the dishes. He had high birth but low taste. The caliph wanted only a tin-pan grease-monger to fry his favorite childhood treat. He could have had adventure, culinary triumph. Instead he chose syrup balls. My lion masterpiece was not even tasted, except by the flies.”

  The Chef made a gesture like sweeping crumbs from his hands.

  “I could have despaired. Instead I chose to surpass myself.” His nearly closed eyes gleamed in motes of intensity. “I’d not cook for the rich but the bold. Not for lazy eaters but visionaries. My Banquet wouldn’t be bound by man’s laws, only by his most desperate appetites.”

  The empress tipped toward Aja, leaning close to speak in her ear. “So that’s what he wants. Only to cook.”

  “No matter who he hurts,” Aja whispered back.

  The Chef tore the lids from the platters. Steam erupted in blasts of meaty aroma. Aja gasped. Zings tumbled down her neck and bounced across her chest in crisscrosses.

  “I serve you dragons,” the Chef said. “Eat them and become like unto gods.”

  Mists of delicious heat billowed from two cuts of meat. One entrée rested on a hoard of rose petals. Veins of golden fat ran through flesh dark around the edges and, at the center, crimson.

  “A fire dragon from northern caves.” The Chef cut off a strip, then pointed his knife at the second platter. “And a river dragon from the Vale of Flying Water.”

  Meat as pale as cream lounged in a pool of lotus petals. The yellow flowers blended to pink at their tips.

  The Chef asked Aja, “Fire dragon or river?”

  “Mustn’t we balance the meats?” Aja asked. “A bite from one dragon, then the other?”

  The Chef cradled a wedge of fire dragon with his knives onto Aja’s plate. He cast her one of his disapproving no-eyed glares, but the corner of his lips crinkled into what might have been a smile. “With meat as potent as dragon, you must balance with an equal power. To that end I serve the steaks with multiple drinks. The first is unicorn water.”

  The djinn placed a crystal decanter into the air, where it floated. A pink liquid sparkled within.

  “‘Unicorn water’?” The swordsman looked worried. “How do you juice a unicorn?”

  “Haven’t you heard?” Janny asked with a chortle. “‘Pink as unicorn piss.’”

  “No, it can’t be that,” Aja said. “How could anyone drink pink pee?”

  “The unicorn water defines purity,” the Chef said. “And this, now this bottle is liquor with essence of djinn.”

  The blaze-eyed woman beside him snapped her fingers outward to reveal a vial. It resembled a bottle of perfume, except quivering with storm and fire. The djinn’s own face looked no more peaceful. Her skin bulged with bubbles of anger that crept upward to her crown.

  “The djinn,” the Chef said, “rests in such a bottle, leaving a magical residue. Liquor then absorbs the power over years of storage.”

  Janny plucked the vial from the air. “Just a sniff in here. Where’s everyone else’s bottle?”

  “One bottle is enough for six guests,” the Chef said, “if you share evenly. Grand dining requires goodwill, and selfishness can spoil an entrée as surely as overcooking.”

  “Selfish-yes!” Janny stroked the liquor vial. “There aren’t even six sips in here.”

  “Their potency must serve. No more of it exists in the worlds.” The carpet leaned under the Chef’s footfalls. He strode off it, down the snow-swept mountain, and out of sight.

  Aja ripped her gaze from her plate of fire dragon to speak with the djinn. “Starlight on Dunes, does the Chef make you sleep in that tiny bottle?”

  The djinn did not answer. Her reflection in the lake looked more like a flickering blue flame than a woman.

  “I’m so sorry,” Aja said. “A light like yours shouldn’t be in so small a
space.”

  A knife scraped over a plate from Janny slicing her steak. “So, a bite of this then a nip of that? Not so scary.”

  Aja had to taste the dragon. After passing on the last course, she needed to eat. But she rarely got what she needed. The other guests, they couldn’t be so used to hunger. It was up to Aja to protect them.

  “We should be sure before we taste anything,” Aja said.

  The swordsman knelt before her plate. “What’s the battle plan?”

  “The Chef served me fire dragon.” Aja cut off a sliver of the meat. She picked up the horn-shaped decanter. “This is the unicorn water. The two should balance each other out.”

  She tipped a drop over the plate. A puff of pink misted up from the meat. The unicorn water had boiled away too fast to see.

  The swordsman asked, “Did it work?”

  “I don’t know,” Aja said.

  Solin tapped the unicorn decanter with his crutch. “You’d have to drink the whole glass to balance one bite.”

  “Then we must have to eat both dragons together,” Aja said. “Would you cut me off a bit of river dragon? Thank you.”

  The swordsman served her.

  Solin grimaced at her. “Don’t try to eat two dragons at once.”

  “I think we have too.” Aja gripped a chopstick in each hand and pushed the two morsels together.

  “Bam!”

  Where the meats had been, soot stained in a star shape. Part of the plate had cracked off leaving a porcelain crater. Aja held two broken chopsticks with smoldering ends.

  The swordsman had leaned away from the explosion. Aja might not’ve been so quick, but Solin had yanked her back. Chopstick splinters stuck out of his arm. Aja picked them out and dabbed away the blood with a lotus petal.

  The swordsman looked from the plate up to Aja. “Fireworks won’t be as fun inside us.”

  “I agree,” Aja said. “Maybe the fiery liquor will balance out the river dragon.”

  “It won’t,” Solin said. He had propped up his head on three fingers. “They’ll turn you to ooze.”

  Janny clenched a mouthful of meat between chopsticks. “The Chef said—”

  “I learned of dragons.” Solin glanced to Aja.

  “The Salmon of Knowledge,” Aja said. “I thought you washed away those memories.”

  “Not all.” Solin dragged the palms of his hands down his cheeks. “I’ve seen hunters poisoned by dragon meat. Some of them, women. Hearts stop. Insides burn out. Stomachs swell with mist, and burst.”

  Janny threw down her chopsticks.

  Solin cut a slice of river dragon and served Aja. “Only dragon meat can balance dragon.”

  “We tried that.” Aja pointed to the blackened part of her plate.

  “True.” Solin drummed two fingers on his temples. “Eating one bite of one dragon then the other would be too much of a shock, from fire to river. It’d kill you.”

  “Then there’s no way to eat dragon either?” Aja dug her fingers into her thighs, rocking with hunger and need.

  “I think that’s what the drinks are for. Yes, a lick of liquor after the fire dragon, and then you can eat river dragon.” Solin pointed from the vial to the horn-shaped spiral of crystal decanter. “Next you’ll need a swallow of unicorn water and another bite of fire dragon before you turn to mist.”

  Aja was grateful Solin’s salmon knowledge would save them. “So the drinks ease the way,” she said, “between bites of dragon.”

  “What?” Janny pressed her hands to either side of her head. “This meal is too complex. Thinking about eating it is giving me a bellyache.”

  “It is dragon,” Aja said. “Shouldn’t eating it be a challenge?”

  The swordsman asked, “You sure about this, Solin?”

  The master of crutches cut the next steak for himself. “I’ll take the first bite.”

  Aja gripped his hand. “Wait. Let’s pour you some liquor and unicorn water first.”

  “In what glasses?” He waved, and, yes, the carpet had no cups. Each guest had knife and chopsticks but not so much as a spoon to hold liquid.

  Janny called for the djinn to bring glasses.

  The djinn did not move. “Sharing a glass builds camaraderie, or so I’m told. Especially when your lives depend on it.”

  Janny rubbed her hands together. “We’ll be passing around drinks faster than a greased waterwheel.”

  She set the vial in front of Solin. Aja did the same for the unicorn decanter. Solin snapped up a piece of dragon between two chopsticks. He hesitated with the white meat in front of his mouth. The other guests leaned in, all eyes on him. Aja wished for him to be right. The meats wouldn’t dissolve him, or cook him. They mustn’t.

  Solin flicked the dragon in his mouth and ground it with his jaw.

  Eleventh Course, Part II:

  Dining with Fire

  Once Solin survived a few cycles of food and drink, the other guests could not long resist their steaks. Chopsticks clattered. The vial and decanter flew from hand to hand. On one bad pass, Janny dove between two plates for the catch. Utensils flipped through the air, then floated back to their proper places on the rug.

  Aja preferred using only her knife, and she ate dragon skewered off the tip. She started with fire. The dark meat had been cooked only lightly, or perhaps heat had little power over it. The dragon’s blood squeezed out between her teeth. It ignited her tongue. Flames of paprika and pepper danced in her mouth.

  A flash fire spread from Aja’s belly. Her blood fumed, and in her eyes the night lit with curtains of red and orange.

  “The djinn liquor.” Aja panted and fanned her open mouth. “Pass it!”

  “I need a drop.” The swordsman pulled at his robes to circulate air. “Soonish. Now!”

  “Me, too,” the empress said. “The river dragon made me thirsty.”

  “That’s unicorn water you need,” Aja said. She made rolling motions for the djinn essence, but it passed to the swordsman first.

  The tips of Aja’s hair smoldered. Even the scent of burning hair could not overpower the blazing taste of dragon.

  The lake could cool her. The carpet skimmed over the liquid-mirror stillness. Aja leaned and shoved in a hand, splashed herself. The chill of the water never touched her. It burst into steam on her brow.

  The swordsman tilted his head back as if to swallow the entire bottle.

  “Don’t!” Aja gripped the back of his neck. “Just a taste.”

  He touched his tongue to the top of the vial, then slapped it into her hand. “Sorry. Almost did for us all there.”

  Aja twisted out the glass needle of its lid. Janny had been right. There wasn’t enough for too many full sips. Sparks whirled within the liquor, and Aja’s throat rebelled. I need to cool off, not more fire. She should jump into the lake. Then the snowmelt water would boil. That would never do. She tapped out a drop of djinn essence onto her tongue.

  After the dragon, the liquor tasted cold. Like water from an oasis, stumbled upon by a traveler with feet scorched by sands. The chill burned off, and Aja belched with a puff of smoke.

  The liquor had cooled her just enough that she dared a bite of river dragon.

  Her skin had turned the color of red clay. Her knife with the meat slipped in her sweating hand. The blade nicked her lip, but that didn’t slow her. The white meat slipped over her tongue. It crunched between her teeth like ice.

  Her senses reeled. She flew, swept away in a waterfall that bombarded her with beads of coolness sliding over her skin in streaks of relief. The meat quenched her. Its flavors swirled around in a deluge. Each droplet spraying in her mouth tasted of mint with a fizz of licorice.

  The spice of the meat started to drown her. She spluttered, flailing a finger toward the unicorn water. “Please!”

  Janny availed herself of a swig from the decanter. She rammed the crystal stopper back in, twisted, threw the container.

  She missed.

  Aja stretched her arms out, reaching for
the decanter like a girl fallen into a well clutches at a rope. The crystal container hit her fingertips. Her hands snapped closed, but the decanter flipped out of her grasp and into the lake.

  “Splash!”

  “That was a bad sound, wasn’t it?” the swordsman asked. Tears streamed from his eyes outside his apparent control.

  He and Aja peered over the edge of the carpet, at the pink glow fading beneath the surface reflection of stars.

  “We can’t lose that.” Aja managed to choke out a few words. “We’re all lost.”

  She threw herself into the lake. Swimming couldn’t be so hard, could it? She had taken more baths in sand than liquid, but she clawed her way downward. She beat at the water. Nothing mattered more than reaching that decanter, that narrow vessel of glass which spiraled to a point in the shape of a unicorn’s horn.

  The decanter’s glow faded in the lake’s darkness. Aja couldn’t swim faster than it sank. The frigid water clamped around her like the cold-blooded coils of a boa constrictor. Every muscle in her body contracted into paralysis. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

  The swordsman sped past her. He had stripped to his loincloth. His paddling feet cut through the water, and his arms churned tiny cyclones of bubbles. The dark depths of the lake closed around him.

  Not breathing was a torment. She knew she needed to escape. The lake’s silver surface waited above. Had to reach it. She could only drift and feel the magic of the dragon steak wash through her. A slamming, sluicing, pummeling. Ow! Ow!

  Her fingers blurred. The ends leaked. No, she told herself she was seeing things. She was mistaken in the drowning gloom. Her skin was not really softening into liquid.

  An icy destiny filled her. She would become the lake. The peace of the water would be hers, and parts of her would flow down crannies in the mountain. She would be hidden in dark places and shine on the leaves of growing corn. All was as it should be.

  No, no, no it wasn’t. She had to stay as herself, to be Aja.

  A pink beacon shone from the lake’s darkness. A hand clutched the decanter, and lines of light flared from it with each stroke. The swordsman swam to her. He had it, the unicorn water. That bottle held all Aja’s hope. She thawed herself enough to grasp his shoulder.