Magic Banquet

by A. E. Marling

  Everything went blurry, and Aja had to drop to one knee. Her snakes struggled at arms’ length as if trying to wriggle out of her hands. Aja blinked her stinging eyes and looked past those thrashing coils. At the Banquet it was one frightful change after another.

  The empress’s sleeves erupted with feathers. Crests of metallic blue spread to her shoulders. Where she had once had fingers, the plumes thinned to the point of transparency, a lace of cyan.

  The empress spun, her eyes upraised, her wings curving with her motion. “Now I’m finally me!”

  She sang a few notes with such a force of bliss that other songbirds would’ve landed in awe.

  “I’ll show you,” the empress said to the lionman. Feathers ruffled at clothing, and after some effort, the empress lifted her shawl to reveal a medallion. A bird of turquoise hung upside down on a golden chain. It had a beak of silver and a blue-gem eye. “See? It’s me. Only smaller.”

  The empress had flaunted the same jewelry yesterday, at her procession. Aja’s fingers hissed at the empress and stabbed with their tongues.

  A wingbeat fluttered the empress up to the lionman’s height. She pressed her veiled face against his and made a kissing sound. She said, “Thank you for taking me to the best dinner ever!”

  The lionman’s cat ears drooped. “The vizier is going to kill me.”

  “He’ll be happy for me. I’ve always been a bird trapped in a girl’s body. That’s why I wouldn’t take my milk as a baby. I sprayed it from both ends. Mother wouldn’t cough out a single juicy worm for me. So cruel!”

  When the lionman cringed, his fangs showed.

  “We all changed into what we were meant to be,” the empress said.

  “Into chimeras,” Aja said.

  The empress’s tone of voice broke into splinters of shock and concern. “But, Aja, you didn’t want to be a snake. How could this happen?”

  The lionman’s paws pulled the empress away from Aja’s snapping fingers. His voice had an undertone of a growl. “Guess this is what the Chef meant by ‘affinity.’”

  “He hurts women.” Solin waved a crutch at Aja without looking at her. “Some nights, the Chef kills them. We must stop him.”

  Brown lines of fur rose vertically above the lionman’s mismatched eyes. “Why didn’t you change? You ate the stew.”

  Solin shrugged. “Balanced the meats.”

  “Didn’t work so well for me.” The lionman extended his claws. “Or maybe it worked just right?”

  “Ate less of the snake,” Solin said. “I know what I am.”

  The lionman nodded, and his whiskers bobbed. “Don’t think it’s my fate to stay half cat, and the empress can’t keep her wings forever—”

  “Yes I can!”

  “—but how do I know you didn’t hex us all?” The lionman stroked the fur on his brow while staring at Solin.

  “Guess you don’t,” Solin said.

  The lionman extended his claws. “Touch Ryn again, and I’ll have to try out these new mouse-catchers.”

  Breathing was never easy for Aja when surrounded by people who wouldn’t look at her. She had to get away from them, from the Banquet, from everything. She slipped into the shadows.

  Asp fingers forward, she searched the dimness for the warehouse door. The tongues of her snakes flicked toward one direction. The air was crisper that way, more of the sandy stink of the city night. She stumbled into the door. It creaked. Her snakes wouldn’t grip it. They recoiled instead. She couldn’t feel much through the scales. She had to move her palms in circles until she found the latch.

  The door’s locking bar slid up. She could leave now.

  If she did, none of the guests would remember her. It would be as if she were never there, had never lived.

  Nothing waited for her outside except loneliness and hunger.

  Aja thumped her forehead against the door. The locking bar made a similar sound when it fell back into place. She could run from the Banquet, but not from her own fingers. Out on the city streets, people would scream at her. If they had mercy, they would throw her in a cage as a curiosity. If not, they’d stone her to death. No, she wouldn’t dare leave until she had her human fingers back.

  I have to rebalance myself. She slunk back to the Banquet.

  Her spine bent from side to side as she sank back upon the pillows. And now for her stew. Her snake fingers bit at her spoon and pushed it away. When she cupped the bowl between her wrists, the snake meat floated closest to her lips. Her pinkie flicked its black tongue at her eye, and she dropped the stew.

  The bowl righted itself on a section of carpet emblazoned with a mountain valley. The stew floated in a jiggling sphere back into its glazed pottery home.

  Aja slumped and stared down at herself. At least her toes had not also grown into snake heads. She hissed a sigh.

  “No reason for sibilance.” A woman with lips like red-hot coals leaned over Aja’s shoulder. She was the djinn. “Your new fingers are prettier than your old ones.”

  “I…I don’t want to be a chimera.”

  “The snake is a noble animal compared to others.” The djinn wore only one piece of jewelry, a necklace with a dangling key. The handle of the ornate key spread from the bronze shaft in a sunburst pattern.

  The djinn gave Aja a horn cup full of steaming liquid. Her snakes wrapped around its inlaid runes. Carvings of warriors fought against a giant wolf. The horn cup smelled of honey with a vinegar sharpness.

  “This mead comes from a hall of fallen heroes,” the djinn said. Steam wafted around her winged helmet from the many horn cups levitating behind her. She handed one to the lionman. “You’ll drink it tonight to honor those who have expired at the Midnight Banquet.”

  The lionman had to hold his cup between two paws. It cracked under the force of his grip and leaked. “People die here? Die at dinner?”

  “You didn’t know?” Aja asked. She guessed he hadn’t been raised in the city.

  The djinn gave mead horns to the remaining guests. “The Chef leads you on a culinary adventure to the limits of the human palate. Only by obeying the etiquette of each course can you be safe.”

  The lionman bowed to look the empress in the eye. He said, “Leave with me now, and you can keep the wings.”

  “I’m staying.” The empress puckered her lips over a mead horn. “The world is a delight, and I want to lick it all!”

  He ran a long tongue over his whiskers. “How many die at each Banquet?”

  “One,” the djinn said. “Always one.”

  “What about Ryn?” The lionman patted her between her wings. “And me? How’s the spell broken?”

  Aja twisted toward the djinn to hear her answer.

  “The magic in the next course may overcome the changes, unfortunately.” The djinn lifted her last cup herself. “Now raise your horns for the dead. To those brave fools who risked and lost.”

  The djinn touched the mead to her lips, and it lit on fire.

  Aja drank. The mead had a strong taste. Her ears popped, and she heard the throaty songs of men laughing in the face of death. Her vision rippled, and the darkness above solidified into rows of spear shafts. The weapons held up the roof.

  Beneath the mead’s bold flavors of sweet battle lust and bitter doom, she tasted something gentler. Mint leaf? Thyme?

  Aja could be just as bold. She would stay and eat whatever she had to make her fingers human again.

  The djinn said, “May you risk and win.”

  Side Dish:

  THE EMPRESS’S TALE

  Silver is my favorite color.

  Silver toe rings. Silver moonshine on silver mirrors. Silver notes sung by a songbird. Silver drops of mercury rolling over my palm.

  Have you ever held mercury before? It’s so heavy! And a little slimy, but it’s the source of all beauty. Mother told me so.

  “Rub this tincture of mercury over your face and arms every night before bed,” Mother said. “It will make you splendidly pale.”

  T
he mercury would turn me into a girl of silver. I knew it would. Sterling and perfect. Once light reflected off the gleam of my cheek, Mother would love me.

  The alchemy transformed my dreams to silver. I could feel myself becoming heavier, more metallic, from my tingling fingers to toes. I started to see only in silvers. All colors became grey. I could hear silver bells ringing in my ears and nothing else.

  I forgot how to sing.

  Then I knew I had to stop. The beauty of mercury was killing me. I pleaded with Mother. “I’m not a strong enough little bird. If I’m silver, I’ll never fly.”

  She commanded the servants to smear the tincture over me, no matter how I cried. But one of them, a girl with sunflower hair, listened to me. She swapped out the mercury tincture for a paste of tin. It looked the same but couldn’t change me, hurt me.

  All the colors returned to the world. Auburn. Happy carmine. Tangy chartreuse. Cerulean. Lavender. Queenly magenta, too. And fuchsia—I love saying “fuchsia.” Singing it is even better. Few-chiaaa!

  But silver is still my favorite.

  Third Course:

  BASILISK LIVER PTÉ

  SERVED WITH BOTTLED SYMPHONY

  “For this entrée you’ll require a hand fan,” the Chef said.

  “That blush-worthy, is it?” Old Janny accepted a folded fan. She sat with her four goat-legs folded under her skirt, half animal, half woman. “So, Chef, when is the entertainment coming? Hoping for some oiled-muscle dancers, but anything will do so long as it distracts from the company.”

  She nodded across the carpet to the lord. His gloved fingers appeared normal now, and Aja thought them much less terrifying than her own.

  The Chef’s broad chin dimpled twice when he frowned. It sort of looked like a snout. “Lesser chefs may resort to distractions. My entrées are all the entertainment you’ll require.”

  He gave Aja a fan. She could not open it. Her fingers had minds of their own, serpentine ones with no interest in slipping the latches of an ivory case. She glanced to the one in Old Janny’s hand.

  It unfolded with gilt trim. The fan had a painting of an eight-legged lizard in an orchard. Old Janny flung the fan away and pressed both her shaking hands against her paisley-dressed bosom. Her turban was just as bright a pink.

  “Trying to kill a soft-hearted woman, are you? It’s not enough for you to turn my better half into a goat.”

  Old Janny stamped her right forefoot. The black cleft of her hoof indented the carpet. The design of silver thread had changed to that of rolling hills and fruit trees.

  “You’re right to be cautious,” the Chef said. “The basilisk protects itself from predators by petrifying them, both with its gaze and the magic in its blood.”

  “And we’re to eat such a beast?” The pale wattle of skin beneath Old Janny’s chin shook with her fear. She patted her chest. “Courage, Janny. Courage.”

  “The basilisk magic disperses in air,” the Chef said. “You need only chew the pâté with your mouth open. The mastication should be concealed with considerate use of the fan.”

  On the dropped fan, the painting of the reptilian creature wound itself around a pear tree. The basilisk bowed the trunk to the breaking point, four of its eight clawed arms pressing against the bark. Its beak-jaws closed on the last pear.

  “Hold on,” Old Janny said. “Basilisks eat children, don’t they? Which means the beasts mustn’t be all bad.”

  The Chef said, “I force-feed goblins to the basilisk to give the pâté a nutty flavor.”

  The djinn served Aja a plate. The pâté looked like a slice of cheese with orange flecks. A pear beside it was carved into a flower shape.

  “Rattle! Crash!” The noise came from the kitchen. The empress screamed in surprise. Aja twitched. Her fingers writhed and angled their fangs toward the stairs. The clangor had sounded to Aja like a stove burst to pieces. Or something cooking had escaped.

  “The stupidity of golems will be the death of me,” the Chef said. He thumped down the stairs.

  Aja nudged her plate. “Will this cure us? The djinn said it would.”

  The angry light of flames wreathed the Chef. Without answering, he disappeared into the kitchen.

  A fork clinked against a plate. Old Janny lifted a bite of pâté halfway to her mouth. She set it down uneaten. Her hooves flicked out in front her as she stood. She clopped toward the empress, who was leaning down as if to peck the food from her plate.

  “You poor pigeon, let me help.” Old Janny picked up the empress’s plate. “Turn this way, so no one has to see your face.”

  “They already all know who I am,” the empress said.

  Beside her, the lionman looked up with concern. The fan lay broken on his knee. He had tried to open it with his paws. Pressing both hands together, he trapped the fork between his furry mitts and angled the prongs toward his plate.

  “That handsome kitten and I served the same mistress.” Old Janny nodded to the lionman. She loosened the empress’s veil and fed her a bite. “Keep your mouth open when you chew, and, oh my. Let me just pick up this fan. Never thought I’d prefer the sight of a basilisk.”

  No one offered to help Aja. The other guests had moved their plates as far from her asps as they could. She saw she would just have to help herself.

  Aja ignored her fork. The instrument looked dangerous, and it would stab her tongue, if she managed to pick up the fork at all. Neither did she touch her knife. Too risky with her bendy fingers. Aja cut the pâté by crushing it with the side of her hand. The food squished around her scales.

  She smushed the pâté into bits. Now she had to get it into her mouth. She couldn’t lap it up like a dog. Not in front of everyone. Her thumb snake gobbled up a piece. She scolded the snake. “You’re supposed to chew first. Uh oh.”

  A tingling raced up her thumb and shot into her hand. The snake froze, mouth closed, stiff as a stick. Its scales dissolved into a bloodless skin.

  “Look! It’s working,” Aja said. “It…it turned to stone.”

  The nearest snakes wound around the thumb as they might slide over a statue. If the asps tried to nibble on her thumb, she thought they would break their fangs. Aja grimaced, tongue curled between her teeth.

  She could petrify every snake, but that would leave her no moving hands. I have to eat the basilisk the proper way, like Ryn.

  “Yum!” The empress smacked her mouth open and closed with gusto. Even with the chewing sounds, her voice rang with beauty. “It’s better than the stew. I could burst with flavor, but I’ll sing instead. Ahh-ja! A-jaaaaa!”

  Aja looked up from her plate. That sounded like her name, but the empress was facing away.

  “Ahaha-ja,” the empress sang, “your snake sadness is a pity, but is it true that you live in this city?”

  “Um, yes.” Aja had to say it to the side of the empress’s head.

  “Why does the Chef host his Banquets? Is it a lure? Solin thinks the Chef wishes to harm, but I’m not so sure.”

  A winged girl facing the other way was singing questions for Aja and her snakes. Aja decided this was the weirdest conversation ever. The empress might expect Aja’s answers to rhyme. Why had the empress even asked? Because Aja lived in Jaraah? Perhaps none of the other guests were from the city.

  “There’s always been a Midnight Banquet,” Aja said. “Never thought of why.”

  Aja curved her hands around her plate. Her snakes faced each other and hissed forked-tongue challenges. Except the finger that had turned to stone.

  Had the Chef wanted to hurt her? To change her? She thought he might’ve tricked her to come, to fatten her up and turn her into a plump snake. But snake meat was cheap. That didn’t make sense.

  “I don’t know what the Chef wants,” Aja said. Chills pulsed up from her hands, as if her blood were turning cold.

  “He has to want something.” This, Old Janny said. “All men do. Bless them.”

  Around the streets, people spoke of the Midnight Banquet as a kindness,
a stroke of good fortune. Aja hadn’t seen any kindness in the Chef’s eyes.

  “He’s afraid of the lord,” the empress said, “like a bird frightened by a hawk.”

  Old Janny fed the empress another forkful. “You mustn’t rub noses with the likes of Lord Tethiel. Not a wholesome loaf, not like him.”

  She made an approving noise toward the lionman.

  “Don’t blame you for conscripting him,” Old Janny said. “An eyeful, isn’t he? A real knee knocker, if you catch my meaning.”

  If only Old Janny would eat something and stop talking. Aja had to focus on coaxing another snake to try the pâté. With two adjacent asps petrified, she might hold a fork between them.

  “Get me my youth back, and I’d be on the empress’s guard like mud on toads,” Old Janny said. “Wasted my youth raising children. After the fourth baby, tell me that you aren’t owed a few years.”

  “I want twelve children,” the empress said with her mouth full. The air swirled from the beat of her wings. “If they fly away, I’d sing them back.”

  “Got you,” Aja said to her finger. It had swallowed a ball of pâté.

  Old Janny called to the djinn. “Hey, you, Miss Glowcheeks. Would you fetch an old soul more ash from the Tree of Life? I heard a woman can walk out of this Banquet twenty years younger.”

  “I’ll bring you more ash as soon as possible,” the djinn said without moving so much as an inch.

  “There’s a good girl.” Old Janny knelt in front of her own plate, front legs folding first, then her hind ones. She lifted her skirt hem and looked back at a white tuft of a goat tail. “Course, won’t matter how young I am if that’s what I’m wagging. Suppose it could be worse.”

  She glanced at Aja’s hands.

  Aja tried to pinch the fork between her petrified fingers but could not move them even that much. The wrist of that hand had trouble turning. Her utensil dropped to clatter on the plate. Her idea wouldn’t work, and her two fingers might stay hard as rock forever.

  Tears burned the corners of her eyes. They felt like venom.