[MMOIPWAR] December Submissions

[Quiver]

Appropriating the name from Edgedancer, here is a topic for anyone who managed to finish this months pieces. As a "reminder" (for people doing it, or anyone who happens to read them), this thread is for story submissions only. If you want to comment on any of them, feel free to send a PM to the author, or to join in the discussion here.

 

Prompt provided by Quiver:

Happy Holidays! Write a story against a backdrop of a fictional or non-fictional holiday/celebration.

 

 

[Edgedancer]

A small cold flake with a slight silver shine landed on Caza´s face. He put his finger to his face and indeed the spot it landed on was wet, clue number one. To make sure a tasted a bit of the liquid and indeed there was the familiar burn on his tongue, even if it was a faint one.

“Erud, I think I just had my first encounter with snow.” He said to his companion.

 

The lanky man stood up from the position he took on the back of the northern sea devil and joined him at its head. “It´s water then?” Erud asked.

“Sure is, even though I wouldn´t exactly call the snow solid. The Sharpness is slightly above five by the way.”

“That´s significantly lower than the normal value of 10, then I suppose the freezing is not just the temperature. Although, I´m sure the cold is helping. By the way, are you sure you don´t want thicker clothes?”

Caza shook his head, “I´m fine.”

With a shrug Erud sat down next to his friend and studied the sea before them.

 

After a short while of studying the water Erud pointed towards something. “From the looks of it we´re getting close to the ice.”

Taking a closer look Caza noticed it as well. A bit further the surface lacked the slight movement of waves.

“Well then, time for us to get off,” said Caza as he jumped from their improvised ride. In the moment he touched the water surface he spread his Will into it, making it just as solid. Erud followed him down just a moment later.

 

Together they stepped in front of the devil. “You know Caza it´s still weird to see these things death.”

“Yeah, it´s also kind of a waste given how cute it is.”

Erud sighted, “We had this discussion before, aquatic monsters the size of a house, skin as hard as metal and fins that manage to cut through stone never count as cute.”

“But look at its face,” Caza replied as he started prying open the jaws, careful not to cut himself on the sharp teeth, “the snout is flat and it even got some kind of whiskers.”

Not bothering to retort his friend grabbed the other jaw and together they pulled them open.

 

Caza grabbed the rope in its mouth and pulled out the huge chest holding the provisions they stashed in its stomach. As soon as he safely placed the box on the water Erud opened a side compartment and pulled out a row of water bottles, their Sharpness ranging from one to twenty. The ones labeled up to four were already frozen and had pushed off their lid; the next four were also showing signs of freezing.

 

Reaching the edge of the ice field showed it to be smooth, almost unnaturally so. Caza prepared his Will and carefully stepped on the ice. It broke before he had a chance to stabilize it but he still managed to fill it. One of the shards cut into his leg leaving a little silver line on his leg. Caza ignored the cut and gave it another try. This time the ice didn´t break, allowing him to drag their supplies onto it as well.

 

Erud stepped up next to him holding on of the ice shards. “These things might have ragged edges but they aren´t sharp enough to cut you on their own, so that was probably your doing, congratulations,” he said.

“Jolly,” replied Caza with a chuckle.

They started walking towards the center of the ice-field.

 

 

Caza was growing really tired of pulling that drowned chest, then again after a week of pulling it through a frozen wasteland that probably wasn´t saying much. On top of the chest Erud had built a small fireplace, to keep the explorer from freezing to death. Apparently even the thicker clothing they organized in Wei wasn´t enough to keep him warm. Not that Caza would know, he refused the clothes to protect himself against the cold and by now his friend knew better than to try and persuade him, even if his stubbornness must make it seem like his brain corroded somewhere along the line. At least he got to the point where he managed to agree with his friend, though that doesn´t change the fact that I´m a tenacious idiot.

 

Needing a drink, he pulled out his flask, by now he switched it for one with a sharpness of nineteen. He could feel the burning spread through him, still feels worse than swallowing acid but it let him push through the cold.

 

Together with the burn the pulsing also became stronger again, like it was taunting him. They were getting closer to the spring; one after another the drowned things were acting up all over the world sending the place into havoc. 

 

A scream reached the two; there goes the chance that no one inhabited this wasteland. Telling Erud that he was going ahead, Caza rushed towards the origin of the scream, pushing his will into the snow to make sure he had a proper footing to run on.  

 

With the lack of terrain, it didn´t take him very long to spot what caused the scream, even if it was still a distance away. There was one person, probably a woman judging by the scream, chased by four things about twice as large as a human. The person did a good job of running away but eventually tripped in the snow. The thing closest tried to crush her with one of its arms, that didn´t end in a proper fist but simply a round stomp. Making a quick role to the side the person evaded the clumsy attack and kicked against its chest to push herself away. The animals arm sunk deep into the snow and it tripped.

 

As she was trying to stand up again another of the white animals swung at her with one of its stumps. Using his momentum Caza jumped and dropkicked the attacker in its side, pushing it away. He landed next to the person in a slight crouch. “Any serious injuries,” he asked her.

“No, I´m alright. Thank…” Not waiting for her full response he rushed at the next animal.

 

From closer up he could tell that they really looked like they weren´t supposed to stand on two legs. Covered completely in white fur, it stood hunched over, the thick round arms that ended in a flat round palm, just like the legs, dangled uselessly in front of it.

 

Responding to his approach it swung at him. Instead of dodging he raised his hand to the trunk swung at him and used his will. The animals arm crashed into solid air. Caza whirled around and kicked the animal right into its side. From the impact he could tell that it´s rather muscular under its fur but right now it was mostly making pained noises.

 

The fourth animal attacked Caza. The teon leaped over the white fur-ball’s head and again used his will on the air, allowing him to stand on it. Whirling around, he kicked the animal right into its face, as it was about to turn towards him. Stupefied it stumbled back, not falling down but also not making any attempts to charge at him again.

 

Alerted by the sound of crunched snow, Caza turned to see that the animal that first tried to crush the woman had stood up again and was approaching her. Not being able to get there in time he tried out a hunch. With his will ready he kicked up some snow. Multiple chunks of the stuff clumped together and hit the animal. They cut through its fur and pierced the skin, causing red stains on its arm.

 

Changing his position a bit Caza stared at the four animals. All four of them stared back at him; they had already turned aggressive but hopefully not completely insane. It took them a while but they decided to take the chance that they were offered and ran away, well they weren´t quite fast enough to call it running proper.

 

That’s a good sign for once, if they are still sane enough to give up and retreat the spring didn´t go completely amok yet, it also means he didn´t have to put them down. Caza scratched the back of his head as he turned back to the other person.

 

By now she had stood up and was joined by Erud, standing next to her and trying to sheathe his knife with shaking hands. Amusingly enough, with him shaking like that the person they had rushed here to help was the one worrying about him. A slight chuckle escaping Caza walked over to them. “I think we can agree that my friend here needs to be warmed up, so I would appreciate it, if we could wait with the introductions until he´s warmed up.”

She answered him with by giving a nod and saying, “Follow me.” Then she started to walk off. Seem like I´ll have to get the chest later.

 

Luckily, they reached a village fast. The place was… weird in very none weird way, almost normal. The houses were normal huts, the snow was getting less and less the closer they got to the center and while still cold the temperature became less extreme. As if the place was telling the local climate to go and drown. Caza felt a strange respect for the physical location.

 

Not much longer after walking through ome empty streets they were lead into one of the houses, were Erud was pointedly sat down next to a fireplace and provided with a couple of blankets. “Now that we are out of the cold I hope you don´t mind if I say thank you.” Their guide said with a playful tone in her voice.

“Only if you don´t mind our thanks for getting us in here and the introductions. I myself am Caza and the fellow you saved from freezing to death is named Erud.” Caza said as he gestured over to the pile of blankets laying over Erud.

“Oh, not at all, I´m Sedna,” she said while finally pulling back her fur trimmed hood. Since travelling with Erud he had seen enough kinds of people to not really expect anything from their looks anymore and he was not surprised that her tan was actually a darker than the already bronze tan of people from central isles like Erud. What he did not expect was deep blue hair, drowned demon hair.

“What´s wrong, stunned by my divine beauty?” Sedna sounded a bit smug as she asked. To be fair, for a famine causing monster she seemed rather affably, she also sounded rather cheerful for someone that almost got killed.

 

“He probably is, you might want to give him a moment to recover,” Erud chimed in, taking her attention away from Caza, before he said something thoughtless, even though he himself seemed a bit tense under his blankets.

“Just out of curiosity, how comes we haven´t meet anyone while getting to this house?” he continued.

“Oh, they are probably all down in the plaza and preparing for the Sedem festival. Actually, judging how you’re dressed to freeze and I have never seen you before you´re not from here, right? I mean from outside all of this ice.”

“Yes.” Erud nodded.

“Then let me tell you about Sedem,” Sedna laid a hand on her chest and theatrically stretched out the other, “You see eons ago our people had to flee from their homes. Sedem was the one to lead them to this land and created all the ice and snow to keep outsiders from trespassing, at least until you two showed up. Most importantly about that old story, each year we celebrate and you happened to arrive just in time for those celebrations,” she finished her story by clapping her hands together. Dust she is not.

“You´re a pretty bad storyteller,” Caza stated matter-of-factly. He could hear Erud sighting, he probably was shaking his head as well.

“About as bad as you´re rude,” Sedna responded, while slightly pouting.

“Seems we are both guilty as charged,” Caza lifted his hands with a placating smile.

 

For a moment Sedna glared at him, then she returned the smile and they shared a short laugh. After she stopped laughing the demon woman stepped over to Caza, until she stood right in front of him. “Alright, I´m taking you to the plaza,” then she turned to Erud, “Are you fit enough to come with us?”

“Sure, just give me a moment.” He tried to stand up but his legs were rather unsteady. Sedna laid a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “ I appreciate your interest but it seems you still need a bit more rest.”   

 

Edited January 6, 2015 by Edgedancer

[TwiLyghtSansSparkles]

Disclaimer: This passage references a character I have yet to introduce. Hopefully, I'll have her introduction—or maybe even a viewpoint scene—written before the end of Christmas break.

 

Susan had rarely thought about the hotel’s extravagance beyond her first impressions. Whitelaw gave her concerns aplenty, and her chats with the young maid—whose name, she had learned, was Kendall—provided her with far more to ponder than the decorations Spokane’s mayor might choose for the winter holiday. So when she opened her door to the sweet-sharp fragrance of a pine forest, she made a concerted effort not to gawk.

 

Sprigs of pine lay across the tops of the largest oil paintings. Every few paces, the brass bars girding a handrail would be tied with a silk ribbon of red or green, holding in place a few long green needles and perhaps a pinecone. She ducked around a bit of mistletoe that seemed to grow, rather than hang, from the ceiling, only to find a long pine branch had wound itself around the handrail leading downstairs. A white ceramic pot holding the branch’s roots sat to the side. Susan touched the branch to ensure it was real, though she knew it had to be. Whitelaw didn’t seem inclined to use an illusionist, no matter how skilled, for a botonopath’s job.

 

And then she saw the Christmas tree.

 

The star rose at least as high as the second-floor railing. Ribbons wound around and around the tree, gold and red and translucent white. Blown glass ornaments caught the light from hundreds of tiny candles—not electric bulbs, but candles. Susan stole a quick glance at the future, then over her shoulder, to make certain no one would see her marvel. Best to appear reserved. An easily impressed farm girl could be manipulated; a worldly-wise precog would have people tripping over their own feet to impress her. To be on the safe side, Susan strode over slowly, feigning idle curiosity as she studied one of the candles.

 

It was about an inch high, made of pure white wax that barely dripped. Little of the wax had been melted down; save for a small pool of liquid near the wick, it was entirely whole. The miniscule flame flickered slightly, just slightly. Susan longed to hold her finger to it to see whether it was an illusion, but she was certain it was not. It, like all the others, rested on a coin-sized indentation grown into the wood, with needles at enough of a distance that fire was not a risk.

 

A stranger approached. She saw him coming in her mind’s eye—slightly taller than average, dark hair cut short and swept to the side, smug smile on his lips. The reason for his smugness remained unclear, and if she wished to learn it, she would have to learn it the old-fashioned way. By talking to him.

 

She was still studying the candle when he stopped beside her. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes.” A stolen glance showed him standing with his hands clasped behind his back, straight-backed and with the same smile on his lips. She turned her attention back to the candle.

           

“You act as though you’ve never seen a candle tree before.”

 

“I’ve heard of them.”

           

“You’ve heard of them.” A few paces took him back into her direct line of sight, where he stood against a pillar and folded his arms. “Susan Gillespie has made a career out of traversing Washington State, and she’s heard of candle trees.”

           

So much for playing the aloof observer. “Most towns can’t spare a botonopath for candle trees.”

           

The stranger shrugged. “It’s only a few years of guided growth.”

           

“Far more important than coaching wheat and corn to repel parasites.”

           

He chuckled at her sarcasm. “Most towns,” he said, plucking a candle from its branch, “are not Spokane.”

           

Susan watched him blow out the flame and roll the candle between his fingers, slowly, so as not to spill the drop of melted wax onto his skin. He wore a pressed red shirt beneath his dark wool jacket. There are many different shades of red, a multitude of hues between cherry and wine. His shirt fell at the darker end of the spectrum, nearer to garnet than to crimson.

           

“Do you work here?”

           

He smiled. “You catch on quick.”

           

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Whitelaw himself lives here. Every other resident I’ve met thus far has either been a member of the government or connected to one. It wasn’t too far a leap.”

           

“To answer your question, yes. I do work here. Rather closely with Whitelaw, I might add.”

           

Everyone here does, Susan thought. A man had introduced himself as Jeremy Renner and claimed he “worked for the government—very closely with Whitelaw.” Others had confirmed Mr. Renner was a junior assistant to one of Whitelaw’s low-ranking accountants.

           

The stranger laughed as though she had spoken her thoughts aloud. “I’m one of the few at this hotel who isn’t exaggerating. I helped secure Mead.”

           

Mead. Kendall’s neighborhood, a small suburb at the northern edge of the city, that had devoted itself to farming as the former United States cracked and broke apart. Susan longed to visit the town where, according to Kendall, residents had taken advantage of their interconnected front lawns and transformed them into community gardens, while goats and chickens occupied the back. “Secure it?”

           

“Gangs. Thieves. You’ve been to Moses, you know how it is.”

           

“Moses Lake, you mean? I didn’t see you there.”

           

He laughed. “I’ve been in Spokane a while, but that doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention to the rest of the state.”

           

Susan let the remark pass without comment. Perhaps she could glean more information by watching his futures—seeing where he might go and to whom he might speak could show her which other towns he knew about. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

           

“Makes sense. I never said it.”

           

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You know mine already.”

           

His dark eyes sparkled. “What are you hinting at?”

           

Susan was glaring, she knew that much, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to care. She drew her lips into a thin, insincere smile. “I’ll be leaving, then.”

           

“Without hearing my name?”

           

“You appear not to have one.”

           

He laughed, tipped the candle toward another, and lit it with its flame before setting it carefully on its branch. “It’s Stombaugh. Richard Stombaugh.”

           

Richard Stombaugh. Susan repeated it to herself as she turned to leave with a perfunctory smile. She would learn to avoid that name, wherever it appeared.

Edited December 30, 2014 by TwiLyghtSansSparkles

[Delightful]

So here's my submission.

Just a note, what I call fairy floss is I think what America calls cotton candy. You know the sugary pink stuff?

 

*deep breath*

 

 

Becky wiped the sweat off her forehead with a long sleeve, then pushed the cloth back up to her elbow. It was nearing sunset, yet the air insisted on maintaining the choking humidity with which it had held the day in a stranglehold for hours already. The heavy summer weather and buzzing of mosquitoes had, however, done little to deter the hundreds of other Jews from coming to the Hannukah fair, where they milled around talking, lining up for hot dogs or being dragged behind younger children who were desperate to ride the ponies or get dizzy on the spinning teacups. How Sam managed to ride the teacups without getting sick, Becky didn’t know. But then again, he was only eight, which probably had something to do with it.

 

A massive menorah watched over the scene like a proud guardian, awaiting nightfall when it would be lit, a cherry picker at its side like a shield bearer ready to assist. And Menashe would be lighting it tonight.....Becky’s heart skipped a beat, and she looked through the crowds for a certain tall, Ethiopian young man with curly payot, the long gorgeous curls in front of his ears, which contrasted so starkly with the rest of his short hair. And those deep, dark, eyes....                                                                    

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Someone pushed into Becky and she staggered to the side, grabbing for the metal rail surrounding the ride for balance. Children rushed forward, waving little purple tickets at the bored, blue-shirted man in charge of the queue as their parents attempted to make them wait quietly, to no avail. A bearded father caught Becky’s eye and grimaced in apology as his daughter pulled him forward right past her.

 

But if it was the next round of the ride....

 

“Oh rust,” she whispered. The teacups had cleared out. Sam had disappeared while she was daydreaming of Menashe. Sam was probably safe with so many people around, and security personnel in their thick jackets mingled with the crowd, but if his mother decided she was irresponsible, her summer job would be lost. Becky could practically hear her own mum lecturing. If you can’t keep track of one kid for an hour with his mother nearby, how on earth can you be trusted with three kids all day for a camp?

 

“Okay, okay...” Cheerful music assaulted her ears from a speaker nearby, the Miami Boys Choir song she’d already heard a thousand times this week. ‘We answer to one name/our heritage the same/the power of the flame....’ Would they just turn it off for a minute so she could think without the drums and trumpets bouncing through her head? She stood with her back to the railing, grasping the cool metal with both hands, staring blankly around as she thought. What did she know about Sam? Where would he go? He’d been complaining he was hungry....

 

She set off across the park for the junk food stands, where they sold snowcones and fairy floss. A kid, no matter how hungry, would never look for the hamburgers, right? They were all the way on the other end of the park...

 Something hard collided with Becky, and she found herself on the soft grass, looking up past the edge of a round plastic shield into eyes hidden within a Corinthian helmet. “A Jew, celebrating a festival?” the young man proclaimed. Becky blinked and rubbed her head as he continued, “this is not allowed by our King Antiochus! Run up against our shields all you like, for none can stand against the Greek army!”

 

“Say that again, you heathen!” roared a voice from behind. Becky rolled over to see Menashe with his payot swinging as he ran towards her, wearing a long white robe painted with a large star of David, brandishing a plastic sword. “Stand away from the Jewish girl!” he roared. “ You cannot stop us performing the commandments, for even the mightiest Greek army cannot stand against the G-D of Israel! Hiya!”

 

Becky scrambled backwards as the two broke into a mock sword fight. Here was the perfect excuse to watch Menashe. She blushed, then cringed, glad no one could read her mind. No. Find Sam. Save your summer job. Then Menashe and menorah lighting.

 

 

 As she stood and brushed herself off, the ‘Greek’ took half a step back towards her and whispered “Sorry, you ok?”. She smiled and nodded, pushing through the crowd that was thickening like the humidity around the two actors.

 

Becky wiped sweaty palms on her skirt and pretended that she was breathing normally, eyes open wide as she dodged around grandparents, young couples with strollers, and teenagers her friends probably knew as they danced to a Taylor Swift song blasting over the loudspeakers at the bumper cars.

 

She hurried on, towards the frighteningly long line for fairy floss. A mother she’d seen around school stood behind a camping table, smiling and chatting to a friend as she handed out homespun sugar with hands sticky from the machine. There was no sign of Sam.

 

Drat. Talking to strangers made her feel awkward. She walked towards the table, then paused, hesitating. The mother caught her eye, and sighed “if you want food you gotta buy a ticket love. That way.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, in the direction of the crowd slowly leaving the rides and migrating towards the giant menorah. Becky froze, willing herself to speak, then found herself stuttering “th-thanks” and walking rapidly towards the mass of humanity. The woman would have told Sam that too, right? So he would have gone for a ticket. So he would be in this direction. She couldn’t believe he was amongst the crowd, otherwise her summer job would be as lost as Sam. No, he would be by the ticket booth, she would find him there. Definitely. And she didn’t have to talk to the fairy floss seller. Fine.

 

She hoped no one could smell her sweating as she walked by. The heat of the crowd and the  endless noise of people talking and laughing and shouting assaulted her. And where was the ticket booth anyway? She broke through the thinning edges of the crowd, where the park stretched right up to a medium-sized street, the old houses opposite festooned with red, white and green Christmas lights. He’s not there. There are enough people around to stop a kid running across the road...

 

“Excuse me.”

 

Becky spun around so fast she nearly tripped, then stumbled backwards and actually tripped as she looked into those deep, smiling brown eyes that she spent so much time daydreaming about. For the third time in fifteen minutes she stood and brushed herself off, feeling the heat rushing into her face like an actual pulse.

 

“I just wanted to check that you’re alright,” he continued, his voice deep and a little  scratchy. “I feel bad that I started play-acting rather than checking if you were hurt. Is everything ok?”

 

Becky smiled nervously, forcing her frozen muscles to form something other than a look of shock. Menashe was talking to her. He was older. He was way religious, spent his days studying, while she was just a young public school girl whose knowledge of Judaism involved showing up to public events and visiting the synagogue a few times a year. Of course he would never go out with her. But still. He had approached her?

 

“You’re not okay, are you?”

 

She blinked. He had leaned forward, forehead scrunched in concern. “Look, I need to go join the Rabbi to light the menorah in a minute, but can I get you anything? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

Becky swallowed and took a deep breath, suddenly aware again of the crowd’s buzzing noise, the sticky air that was slowly cooling, the greenness of the park reappearing around her.

 

This was a perfect opportunity to ask for help. But she couldn't talk to people.

 

‘We answer to one name/our heritage the same,’ the words from the Chanuka song suddenly played through her mind. Menashe was a Jew, like her. Same origins, same history, for the most part anyway. Family. Of course she could talk to him.

 

“Um, actually. I’m looking for a boy, ten years old, longish brown hair. He ran off and…”

 

And now Menashe would think she was negligent. Whatever, she had to find Sam before he was completely lost.

Menashe smiled, exposing slightly crooked white teeth, and Becky’s heart skipped a beat. “One of those kids?” he asked, pointed at a group of five standing together with their backs to Becky. She squinted in the dark.

 

“No, but I think I see him. Thank you.” She smiled at Menashe, then turned and ran. A certain boy with long brown hair stood just beyond the group, his arms spread, spinning in circles and circles and circles. He was completely steady on his feet.

 

“That kid should definitely be more dizzy than I am right now,” she grumbled to herself, rushing forward.

 

“Hey Sam!” she called. He spun to a stop, and smiled, pink sugar stuck between his teeth.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Don’t just run off like that, ok?”

 

He shrugged, and went back to spinning. So much for the authority of a babysitter. Becky stood watching him awkwardly, then turned to look at the cherry picker at the front of the crowd, slowly rising with shadowy figures aboard next to the giant menorah.

 

“We stand here today,” a voice boomed from speakers behind the crowd. “Because of the bravery of our ancestors. The Assyrian Greeks tried to stop Judaism, and the brave Hasmonean family stood up to their mighty empire and fought back. Their small fighters knew it wasn’t their own strength, but that of G-D which guided them.”

 

He paused for breath. The crowd stirred as the leaves of the trees rustled in a light breeze.

 

“There is absolutely clear in the miracle. Not only did we defeat an army that vastly outnumbered and outgunned us, but when we re-entered the desecrated Bet Hamikdash, the holy temple in Jerusalem, and went to light the Menorah that stood inside, the Maccabis, the Hasmonean family, discovered the pure olive oil had been made unfit for the divine service. They searched high and low, and discovered only one small jar, intact. Enough for one night. It took eight days to prepare more oil. And the menorah burned for all eight days, spreading light and goodness in the world. That is our job today, to create a positive force to illuminate the world.”

 

A small light appeared above the cherry picker, the flame from which five candles, for four nights and one master flame would be lit. A hand tapped Becky on the shoulder. She turned to see Mrs. Shapiro, Sam’s mother standing next to her. Her eyes were framed in thick glasses that dominated her face.

 

“Thanks for taking good care of him,” she said, nodding towards her son.

 

“Uh-no that’s ok, it really wasn’t anything.”

 

The woman smiled, and reached into her pocket, pulling out fifteen dollars, then proffered it to Becky. She froze for a moment, then stammered, “oh no I couldn’t possibly take any money from you! It was really nothing, you don’t have to pay me.”

 

Mrs Shapiro smiled, the glasses slipping a little on her nose. “I insist. And you’ll have to get used to taking money from me if you want that summer job. You are starting next week, right?”

 

Becky felt as if she was going to melt from shame and deflate from relief simultaneously. Why was tonight so damnation awkward? She could hardly tell the woman that she had lost her son, could she.

 

“uhhh thank you then,” she said.

 

“Happy Chanukah.” Mrs Shapiro patted her lightly on the shoulder, the walked forward to stand beside her son, who was still spinning in circles. Beyond them, the menorah was lit, five out of ten candles, the first night where there was more light than dark.

 

Hopefully things would get less awkward in the future. Maybe she’d learn how to talk to people. Maybe Menashe would say hi again…..

 

For now, Sam was safe, and she had her job, and that would have to be enough. Becky looked at the candles again, smiling, then turned to find her ride home.

 

 

Edit: There's some minor swearing which has gone through the 17s filter, which I'm gonna leave in because what's not cool about unrelated Cosmere in the middle of the story?

[Seonid]

I know it's past the deadline. But I hope all y'all enjoy reading it anyway. And Quiver, this is set in Edassa, so this is the first taste of the stories from there you asked for.

Background - This is a short scene centered around Hearthstide (sometimes called Kirastide), the winter solstice festival for the worshippers of the Tribunal (the Court of the Gods). It is set on the fantasy continent of Edassa. More on that continent will come in responses to later months.

The fire crackled in the hearth of the poor peasant's cottage, warding away some of the winter's bitter chill. It was the night of the winter's solstice, the last, and darkest, night of the year. And the coldest so far this winter, although worse was surely yet to come.

Though the house bustled noisily about her, Nadiene Fowles was silent. She sat on her chair in the corner, staring bleakly at the small painting in her hands, which depicted a family gathered under a tall oak tree. The father was strongly built, with piercing blue eyes and a wide smile. The mother had raven black hair, and carried an infant girl in her arms. Around her, two boys played with wild abandon, one with the golden hair of his father, the other with a wild mane of untamed black. His brown eyes glinted mischeviously, and his smile held a hint of the rascal. She closed her eyes, tears running slowly down her lined cheeks.

Several little children ran in front of her, laughing excitedly and calling to her: "Grandmama, are you going to come with us? Grandmama, come on! It's Kirastide!"

She didn't respond, lost in thoughts and memories of a happier time. Before her son had joined the lightning-cursed Inquisition, before he had left their home in wrath, swearing that he was no son of hers. Before the same Inquisition that had stolen her son from her had ripped her husband away too, hauling him off in chains to some heart-forsaken prison.

A woman appeared in the doorway that led to the back room of the house, golden hair glinting in the firelight. She gathered the children quickly, already dressed in their winter coats. "Come, children," she said. "It's time to go." She turned towards Nadiene, still sitting in her chair, rocking back and forth.

"Mother? It's time to go. The festival won't wait forever." For the first time, it seemed, Nadiene took notice of them. The small family, beaming with joy at each other, looking at her expectantly.

With a sigh, she rose and followed her daughter out into the winter. It was Hearthstide, the day of warmth, the rising of the new year, and her heart was cold.

*  *  *  *  *  *

 

"Kira, Lady of hearth and home, bless this place, we pray." The words of the ancient invocation rang through the hall, over the reverent faces and tear-filled eyes. It had been a rough winter thus far, and the chill snows and howling winds showed no signs of relenting. A rough winter indeed, bringing an end to a rough year. But the dim light of the candles placed around three sides of the hall softened the edge of fear, bringing the appearance of peace to the crowded assembly. The worship of the old gods was officially forbidden, but no edict could stop the festivals from happening. They were more like a force of nature than a choice of the villagers. For as many generations as the villagers could remember, Hearthstide, the Day of the Lady Kira, had been celebrated on the winter solstice, and it would continue for time uncounted, as far as they were concerned. Even the Inquisition, despite the countless farms burned and even more farmers imprisoned, had been unable to stop them.

"Grace us with thy presence here, and be Thou ever our light against the darkening world." The speaker was an elderly woman, standing on a raised podium at the north end of the hall, where no candles glowed. The shadows veiled her face and hands, smoothing the worn and wrinkled features and adding richness to her white hair, bringing a timeless quality to the ancient lines. A young girl, scarcely eight years old, had brought one of the candles from the edge of the hall, and the old woman carefully took it now, using it to light a shallow lamp that lay on the table in front of here. The lamp was an old design, a shallow clay bowl with a raised disc in the center, where a bed of tinder lay. Raising the lit lamp over her head, she continued her recitation.

"Accept now our humble offering, and warm Thou our hearts as Thy fires have warmed our homes." She slowly brought the lamp down again until it was held in front of her chest. From the darkness behind her, a new attendant slowly came, a young woman bearing a cruse of oil. She poured this over the lamp, still held in the old woman's hands, then slowly and reverently took the shallow bowl with its small flame. Stepping down from the podium, the young woman turned, bearing the nearly unbearably small light back into the darkness from where she had come. As she stepped, the tinder ran out. For a moment, all went dark. A hush ran over the murmuring crowd.

Then, as if by magic, the wick caught. The oil-soaked fiber burst into brilliant flame, illuminating the grand carving of the great goddess that had been hidden in the shadows at the north end of the hall, sternly gazing out over the worried congregation. Before her on the floor lay a large log atop a pile of kindling, surrounded by a circle of eleven unlit lamps and one empty depression in the floor, right between the feet of the goddess, where a twelfth would lie. Beside each of the unlit lamps stood a young woman, veiled in black lace, representing the shadows of the old year. The attendant bearing the lamp walked to each in turn as the old woman called out the words of the prayer, her voice growing stronger with each cry.

"Let us be free from fear!" The first lamp was lit, with a long taper held unseen until that moment at an attendant's side. The woman standing by that lamp unveiled her face.

"Let us be free from guilt!" The second lamp flared into life.

"Let us be free from lies!" One by one, the other lamps flared into life, as she named each of the shackles that bound them to the past. Shame, pride, vanity, envy, sloth, wrath, hatred, infidelity. Finally, the attendant and her lit lamp stood at the twelfth depression, vacant and empty. For a moment, all was still.

Then, for the first time, the young woman spoke. Her voice was soft and melodious, a striking counterpoint to the shrill cries of her older officiant.

"Lady Kira, we come to Thee, with hearts empty and spirits free from the chains of the past. Wilt thou fill us, and bind us again to thee? Here, at Thy altar, we offer supplication. Accept our hearts and offerings, and bind us together again in peace." The benediction said, she set her lantern down, completing the circle of light. With a crackling roar, the bonfire at the center of the circle burst alight, bathing the whole hall with its fiery glow. At that signal, the congregation burst into a roar of celebration, and a burst of music filled the room. The old year was over. The new had begun.

As the congregation began to rise and mingle with each other, Nadiene moved towards the circle of lamps, with its center of fire. It was tradition for worshippers to petition the Lady at the rise of the new year, throwing their inscribed desires into the bonfire for her to read. Her hand clutched the scrap of parchment, the single word written on it before her traitorous eyes broke out in tears once more. She hoped the goddess would read her heart, not her hands. Half whispering, half holding the words in her mind, she recited the petitioners rite. For a moment, she held the parchment close to her heart, almost unwilling to part with it. Then, she let it fall into the edges of the bonfire. It lit immediately, embers rising to the ceiling of the hall, as if they were being carried to the goddess' dwelling place in the sky.

A pounding on the door cut off all conversation in the crowded hall, the music dying in a sudden dissonance. The porter opened it and bowed, beginning to recite the time-worn formula to welcome guests on Kira's Day. "Welcome traveler, in the name of the Lady. May her grace..." As he straightened, he trailed off. In the gusting wind and driving snow stood four men, armed and armored, with the Black Cross of the Inquisition prominent on their breasts and flickering torches in their hands. In their midst was an unarmed peasant, balding and wrapped up against the bitter chill. The porter stepped back in fear.

As the chill wind swept through the hall, the crowd pulled back. Panicked voices started to rise as the soldier stepped forward, drawing the bundled peasant along behind him. Several men moved towards him, fists raised, but stopped as he turned to face them, hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. He spoke, voice booming over the clamor of the hall.

"I seek Nadiene Fowles, of Pardisford. Where is she?"

The crowd pulled back another step, murmuring. Shivering in the blast of the winter wind, Nadiene found herself alone, the ring of people drawing back around the soldiers leaving her behind too.

The soldier approached her, as if he were going to speak again, but at that moment the peasant behind him cried out. "Nadiene!" Rushing to her, he pulled her close to him. She staggered a little, staring blankly in shock. Pulling away, she looked at him closely, pushing aside the straggling hairs that veiled his face. Then, without a word, she flung herself into her husband's arms, tears streaming down her worn and wrinkled cheeks.

After a long moment, she pulled apart, facing the soldier again. "How is this?" Her voice stuttered, untrustworthy in her overwhelming emotion. "What dream is this, that the Inquisition who so cruelly tore my home apart now brings my husband home to me?" Her voice cracked again, and she trailed off into soft weeping.

"The Martyr once said that the greatest gift a man could give was respect and honor to his parents. I have come in obedience of his teachings, to set right what was done wrong and to bind up what was broken." The firelight flickered over his armor, red and yellow casting shadows over the black cross.

Looking at the soldier, almost unbelieving, Nadiene searched his face through her tears. "Who are you?" She whispered it, barely loud enough for him to hear.

The armored man took off his helmet, revealing a great shock of wild black hair. His brown eyes were hesitant now, his voice that had hitherto been brash and proud now wavered uncertainly. "Do you not recognize me, Mother?"

With a cry of mingled joy and grief, she threw herself into his arms. Still wrapped up in her embrace, the young man turned toward the porter. "Sir, my men wait outside in the frigid cold. By the grace of the Lady, may they enter this place? I offer my oath that they will respect its peace."

Wordlessly, the porter nodded, and the other three soldiers entered in, dropping ice-cold swords and spears at the threshhold. The music started up again, and someone fetched fresh mugs of mulled wine and hot cider. Before long, the soldiers were seated at the table among the villagers, laughing as the longest night of the year turned towards day.

In the blazing light of the great bonfire, the carving of the goddess looked out sternly over the newly joyful hall. And one woman looked up, greying hair red-tinged in the firelight. "Thank you, lady Kira," she whispered. "Thank you for bringing my family home." No one could later say whether it had been a trick of the light, or the chance play of a wayward shadow across the great goddess' face, but in that instant, she almost seemed to smile. And though the winter chill still lay thick upon the snow-covered hills outside, each heart left that day a little warmer, and each smile shone out a little brighter through the long months ahead.