Elf Puncher

by Simon Archer

  “What? No.” I coughed, intending to readjust my voice, but she stepped farther from me. “No, really, I’m not. I just had a tickle in my throat. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re not ill,” Deity said as she took a cautious step back towards me. “I just stopped by because I made too many pumpkin muffins, and I thought you would like some of the extras?”

  She made her statement into a question as her voice rose a little at the end. It was adorable to see her face contort into a wary expression. Like she was actually nervous that I would say no. Didn’t she know I could never say no to her?

  “Absolutely!” I said, surprised even by my own eagerness. I took a mental step back and told myself to dial it down. “I mean, sure. I’d take some.”

  I pushed off the wall and opened up my arm, indicating that she should enter the house. Deity pushed her hair behind her ear and carted her basket inside. I walked a bit ahead of her and lead her into the kitchen. Nerves rattled my body as I walked. My thoughts were entirely absent, save for the continuous notion that Deity was in my house.

  Suddenly, I saw every crack in the wall, every spider web I left untouched, and every stain on the wood. It wasn’t a pigsty by any means, but for some reason, my humble abode dulled when imagining how she might see all of its flaws.

  “This is your house?” Deity asked.

  I couldn’t tell if the question was going to turn into a compliment or an insult, so I simply answered with a shrug. “It was my parents’.”

  “It’s lovely,” Deity said with a smile.

  I sighed. “Thanks. They built it together. They liked to say their sweat, tears, and love hold up the walls.”

  “That’s sweet.” Deity giggled. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful, but if I had a big house like this, I probably would spend all my time in the… kitchen.”

  The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Right as she announced her wish to me, Deity walked through the doorway into the vast kitchen. It had long, wide counters perfect for prepping all kinds of meals. There was a bowl built into the counter that connected directly to a well below. It gave me easy access to water. The oven tucked into a stone fireplace, the intricate design ascending up to the ceiling. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling, dusty from not being used.

  However, the most impressive part was the windows. Three large windows lined the wall across the counters, giving the chef an inspirational view of the pastures that lay beyond. It let in enough natural light but was positioned, so the sun never pierced the room directly. There was a table for four with matching chairs pushed up against one window, where my family ate our meals every day as I grew up.

  Deity stopped in the doorway, and the basket fell from her hands. I stooped low and scooped up the basket in my arms. Deity didn’t even notice. She walked forward as if in a trance. Her fingertips trailed behind her, touching every surface with awe.

  She tested the faucet, gasping when water sprung forth. She stuck her head in the oven and called up the chimney. Her voice echoed the whole way up. When she popped back out, Deity offered me an award-winning smile. I tried to return it, but I probably just looked like a fool holding her basket.

  The cook wandered over to the windows, jaw hanging open. She reached out and almost touched the glass but then pulled away at the last second, like she was afraid it would electrocute her. Her head spun to me, her eyes wide with wonder.

  “This is all yours?”

  “Yeah,” I said lamely. “You always knew I lived on a farm.”

  “I didn’t know how big of a farm. Or how beautiful,” Deity said as she turned back to the window. She reached up and touched the base of her neck with one hand, fiddling with something that wasn’t there. Catching herself, Deity quickly lowered her hand and shook it out at her side.

  I wondered briefly what she reached for, but decided against asking her. Instead, I continued to watch her watch the fields as they blew gently in the breeze.

  “What I would give for a view like this,” she whispered, so soft I barely caught her words. “What I would give to bake in a kitchen like this. The one at the Blue Water Inn doesn’t have any windows and mine at home… well, it can hardly be called a kitchen.”

  As I noticed the longing in Deity’s eye, I recognized it. It was the personification of the feeling I had when I thought about wanting to fight. She was staring at something she thought was unattainable, nearly impossible. A thought struck me. While I still wasn’t sure I could accomplish my goal, I could help Deity achieve hers.

  “Why don’t you bake here?”

  “Oh no,” Deity said she turned back to face me, hesitation in her eyes. “I couldn’t possibly.”

  “Why not?” I held out my hands and gestured about the kitchen. “I mean, it’s not like it’s getting used. I hardly cook. Or bake. A kitchen like this deserves to be used, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely, but you should use it, Rico,” Deity argued. “It’s your kitchen. I don’t want to impose.”

  “You’re not imposing if I’m inviting you to use it,” I replied.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out my ring of keys. I took the one to the front door off of the collection and placed it on the counter. The metal clinked against the counter and rippled through the room before I slid it closer to her.

  “Take this,” I commanded lightly. “It’ll let you in the side door, there. You can come over whenever you want. Day or night. Close the kitchen door. I don’t care if you lock it to make you feel more comfortable, but you are welcome to bake in here as much as you want.”

  “Rico,” Deity said, her voice breathless. “I don’t know what to say. You’ve never even tasted my pastries.”

  “Well, that’s an easy fix,” I said as I stuck my hand in the basket.

  I pulled out a fluffy brown and orange muffin. Without a second thought, I took a bite. The flavors of cinnamon and pumpkin burst in my mouth. The dough was light and airy, with the right amount of crispness you expect from the top of a muffin. I put a hand to my mouth as I chewed.

  “Are they bad?” Deity asked, worriedly.

  “Bad?” I said with a full mouth. I swallowed before I spoke again. “They’re incredible.”

  “Oh, thank Walden!” Deity said, a hand on her chest. She chuckled deeply. “I’ve never screwed those up before. You had me so worried.”

  “Sorry,” I replied sheepishly, “but they’re amazing, Deity.”

  “Thanks,” she said as she looked at her shoes. I could see the red blush as it crawled up her neck tattoo. Suddenly, she looked up and caught my eye with such an intense gaze, I wanted to glance away, but she captured me, and I held on with all my might.

  “Yes,” she said with no more clarification than that.

  Still mesmerized by the second bite of muffin I’d taken, I had to think back to what she was saying yes to. “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, I will bake in your kitchen,” Deity affirmed. “I’m an early riser though and like to start the day off baking. I hope that will be okay.”

  “I wake up early, too,” I confirmed. I gestured out to the window. “Have to feed all the animals.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Deity said with a definitive nod. “I will be here at the crack of dawn tomorrow.” She walked to the doorway and stopped. “Thank you, Rico.”

  “No problem.” I pushed the words through my last bite of muffin. Some crumbs spilled out of my mouth and onto my shirt. I tried to catch them, but I was not nearly as successful as I was when I caught her basket.

  Deity laughed, and my heart swelled, despite my embarrassment. “Enjoy the muffins, Rico,” she said. Then she disappeared into the hallway, leaving me to finish the gift she’d left me.

  Little did Deity know that she had given me so much more than just delicious muffins. I saw the resolve and the joy in her eyes when I told her she could use this kitchen to do what she wanted. Then she took my offer with only a slight hesitation. The woman saw an o
pportunity and seized it.

  If she could do that with something as simple as a kitchen, then there was no reason why I couldn’t do the same.

  I picked up another muffin and bolted for the door. My legs carried me out to the barn, sprinting the whole way. I flung open the barn doors and looked about for Barth.

  The elf was sitting on a tiny three-legged stool. He milked one of the cows, though, hands moved with tentative and uneven movements. The cow’s pained expression told me he was squeezing too hard, and Barth was about to get a nasty surprise if he didn’t let up.

  “Barth,” I warned, but it was too late.

  “What?” the elf said as he released the utter, letting it snap back with a wet slurp.

  The cow mooed and raised her back leg. She quickly kicked the bucket, causing milk to splatter all over Barth. The elf sat frozen with stiff limbs as white liquid dripped from his elbows, nose, and eyelashes.

  I snorted with laughter as Barth dramatically rung out his beard.

  “What do you want, Rico?” Barth grunted.

  “I want to fight,” I announced, “and I will do whatever it takes.”

  “Whatever it takes, huh?” the elf said as he wiped his face off on his shirt.

  He met my blue eyes, and his gaze made me shiver. He was double checking me. Barth wanted to make sure I understood, fully, what I was committing to. I hardened my own gaze as I opened my mouth to reply.

  “Whatever it takes.”

  10

  “You didn’t tell me it was going to take magic,” I snapped at Barth as we walked down the city streets.

  We were on our way to meet “a friend.” That’s all Barth would tell me as we trekked up and down the hilly, cobblestone streets of the city.

  It had been a week of early morning training sessions. The elf gave me a workout sequence that usually took me longer than feeding the animals. Each day, Barth took over some of the farm chores, so it mostly worked out.

  While he taught me how to solidify my stance, I taught him to milk a cow properly without injuring her. We were nowhere close to where we needed to be, either of us. Barth was no farmer, and I was no spring chicken. My size and base muscle from working on the farm helped, but it only got me so far when it came to Barth’s exercises.

  As for Deity, she came over every morning as promised. It didn’t help that Barth had put me on a strict diet the same day I invited the most talented baker I knew to use my kitchen. Often I woke to aromas I didn’t know the names of. They surged through my nose and teased my tongue. Instead of letting me indulge, though, Barth limited me to lean meats and eggs. Lots of eggs. So many eggs.

  This morning, however, Barth had different plans.

  “Put your cloak on,” he commanded. “We’re going out.”

  He didn’t give me room to argue the point. When I prodded him for information, all the elf would say is that he would tell me later. I reluctantly followed him out of the countryside and to the edge of the city. The majority of the trip was done in silence, which left me uncomfortably with my thoughts.

  The trainer had grown on me, slowly but surely over the course of these past days together. However, I still didn’t fully trust him. He was very secretive when it came to his history. Other than what I knew from news reports, trading cards, and rumors, the elf was a mystery.

  What I really wanted to know was why he was bothering with a nobody like me. I didn’t want to be his revenge project, because obviously, something had severed his connections with the MFL. Though I suspected with Barth’s tight-lipped nature, I would never learn the truth.

  “You need magic to compete,” Barth explained as if I didn’t already know that.

  “Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m human.” I gestured up and down my long body. “No magic to be found.”

  “I know,” Barth said with an eye roll. “So, we have to figure out a way to get you some magic.”

  “You’re not making sense,” I admitted.

  “It seems that way, but I promise, it will,” Barth assured me with a gruff voice. That was the last tone I would consider reassuring.

  “Why do we need magic at all?” I mused, not really expecting Barth to answer me. “We all know the training comes from the movements, the jabs, the dodges. The special move is great, but it’s such a minor part of the whole fight.”

  “The special move makes or breaks a fighter,” Barth commented. “Plus, in order to be registered to fight, you have to prove your special move to the refs.”

  “I have to audition?” I blurted out. With Joaquin, I never made it close to this far, so this was all news to me. “I didn’t know that.”

  “What?” Barth asked me, amused. “You didn’t think that they’d let any old creature with a fighting itch get in the ring, did you? Of course, you have to audition. That’s the first hurdle.” The elf then stopped and eyed me up and down. He frowned and shrugged. “Maybe the eighth hurdle.”

  “Eighth?” I said, shocked. “I’m not that out of shape!”

  “I didn’t say anything about your shape, now did I?” Barth countered. “I just said we have a long way to go is all.”

  The elf lapsed back into silence as he continued onward. Barth seemed to be looking for something as we scoured the city streets. They were bustling with creatures of all kinds, though elves were the dominant race. They dressed in colorful and elegant robes as they walked, almost glided, in and out of shops.

  Everything was walkable in the city, but some carts bumped along the roads. Some carried various goods and wares for sales, whereas others carried lazy elves. Those wealthier creatures rode above us all, reminding us of their status and what they held over us. Each time one passed, I sent a glare and a sneer their way. In typical fashion, however, no one noticed or cared.

  “Sometimes I want to punch an elf,” I muttered under my breath, “just to see what they would do.”

  “They’d call the authorities and have you arrested,” Barth answered blandly. “Fighting is only allowed in the ring, you know that.”

  “I do,” I protested, “but you just need to look at them to know they’ve never worked a day in their lives.”

  Barth spun on his heel and stuck a pointed finger in my face. “That’s not true for all elves, you hear? Sure, it’s the majority, but that’s not all.”

  “Okay,” I said as I held up my hands in surrender. “Sorry.”

  The elf lowered his accusing finger, letting it swing heavily at his side. “I would expect someone who doesn’t want to be judged to not judge others so easily.”

  Barth continued on his way, leaving me with that truth bomb. I picked up my feet and caught up to him, though my head continued to spin the whole way. Barth had a point. All of my thoughts about the elves had been extremely judgemental, and here I was, fighting to be given a fair chance. To be seen as more than what magical properties I possessed. Maybe a little courtesy towards them was needed, especially if I expected any in return.

  Wrapped in my thoughts, I wasn’t looking where I was going, so I collided with Barth’s stiff and outstretched arm. It whacked me right under the ribs, and I huffed. I gazed about and tried to figure out why we stopped.

  We were in a small square courtyard where a tiny crowd gathered near an alley corner. I peered above their heads but couldn’t get a good look at what they consumed them. It was a smattering of goblins, dwarves, and one reptilian that circled around a smaller figure.

  “I need to stay back, but you should step up. See what the commotion is,” Barth suggested. He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head in the direction of the group.

  I shook my head slightly but listened to the elf. I left him farther back and stepped up to join the crowd. Towering above everyone, I finally had a good view of the spectacle.

  It was a gnome dancing with fire. He manipulated the small, coin-sized ball of flame like a marble along his hand. He slid it about his arms and over his shoulder. Then he flicked his wrist and caught the flame on the tip of his
nose. The crowd applauded as he balanced, teetering on purpose. The gnome, only two-and-a-half feet tall, smiled cheekily at the creatures as they encouraged him.

  The performer pulled the flame off his nose, seeming to snuff it out. However, he approached a goblin in the front of the group and popped the flame on their nose. The creature went cross-eyed trying to see the fire, but before he had a chance to catch it, the gnome took it away again. He held the sphere between his pointer finger and thumb, and within the blink of an eye, he split the ball into two.

  The crowd clapped as his act continued. I didn’t join them.

  I glanced back at Barth with a single raised eyebrow as if to say, “Why are you having me watch this?”

  Barth waved his hand at me nonchalantly, telling me to keep watching. I huffed out a sigh and turned back to the performer.

  As far as magic acts went, the whole thing was rather underwhelming. Maybe that was because I was used to the spectacles from the MFL fighters. A tiny fireball bouncing from nose to nose didn’t seem like much compared to a massive stink cloud, levitation, or secreting goo. Nevertheless, I watched the fireballs expand into as many as five as they spun about when the gnome juggled them.

  The crowd was mesmerized by the spinning flames, releasing their awe with gasps and assorted “ooh” noises. I rolled my eyes, completely unimpressed. Before my eyes completed their rotation, something caught my attention. A hazy image of the blond-haired gnome stood behind the crowd. He reached out and untied a money pouch hanging off the reptilian’s belt. The bag thumped into his hand while he shuffled over to the next victim.

  I looked from the gnome at the center of everyone’s attention, still performing fire tricks, to the faded image of the gnome stealing from the onlookers. I narrowed my gaze, focusing in on the gnome doing the illusions, and realized that he, too, looked hazy around the edges.

  Something about the pair of them was horribly wrong. There was some powerful magic in use here, and inexperienced as I was, I couldn’t put my finger on it. But I could at least apprehend the one stealing.