I eye the menu in front of me thoughtfully, attempting to choose between two options. The food at Betsy's is the best in any diner across the Continent in my well-travelled opinion.
"Oh, c'mon, Summer. We both know you always get the pie. No matter what."
Summer. That is how I am known here. I like the name.
I send Lindsey a small, teasing smile. "Maybe I'm looking for a little change. Maybe I want to shake things up a bit."
She threads a finger through the ends of her long red hair - held back in a high, tight ponytail - while doing her best to shoot me an unimpressed look. It doesn't look right on Lindsey; anything that isn't a smile just doesn't seem to settle correctly on her features.
I hold up my hands at the sight of her expression. "Okay, okay. Cherry pie, then. And a cu-"
"A cup of coffee, milk and two sugars." she intones, shaking her head at me. "Honestly," she says, throwing her hands up in the air with dramatics I have come to appreciate. "You order the same thing every single time. If you were in town more often, you'd be able to get Margie to make it your regular!"
Margaret Statton, the elderly owner and cook of Betsy's - who happens to also be hard of hearing - sticks her head out the window that separates the kitchen from the seating area. She shouts, without a regard for indoor voices, "What? Did someone call me?!"
"No, Margie!" Lindsey hollers back.
"What?!" Margaret cries again, thoroughly confused.
Lindsey shoots me an apologetic head shake. "Sorry," she says. "I'll be back with your order in a bit."
I smile at her again. "Of course. No problem."
As she turns and heads towards the kitchen, I stretch out my body, cracking my neck side to side. Last night's tree branch had not been great for my back. Luckily, I'll probably be able to grab a cheap motel room by tonight. I have some savings, but I prefer to only use in one town the money I make in that town.
The last time I was in Burberry Springs - at least half a year ago - I'd helped out a warlock PI with some grunt work, and in return he'd promised me a job whenever I was in town. It's a really good thing for me - most people demand background checks; even farm owners who need contract hands want some vague species identification.
With him as my go-between, I don't need to magically produce some papers that mark me as a witch or an animal-sucking 'pyre (papers I have but don't like to use for how well powerful shifters and the average fey can see through blatant lies).
The fact that I basically have a steady job almost makes me want to stay in Burberry Springs forever. Almost. But there are extenuating circumstances that always cause me to move on once I reach the end of my three week safety period in any place. Still, I always loop back to the city whenever I can. I've probably been here more times than anywhere else in the entire Continent.
A few minutes after our exchange, Lindsey returns, balancing my pie and coffee along with several other tables' orders. She plops my food in front of me and swooshes away to deposit the other plates, and before I can take a bite she has returned.
She pulls out the chair in front of me, the piece of furniture making a dull scraping noise on the hardwood floor, and sits down, staring expectantly. I raise a questioning eyebrow. She blinks innocently.
"I'm on break now," she states, a devilish smirk on her face. I'd almost think her a summoning mage were it not for the way the wind through the windows gently tousles her hair, playing across the loose-fitting white shirt she wears. It is a symbol of power, of her status as a wind elemental coming into her own.
I pointedly take a bite of my pie, trying not to moan as Margie's legendary cooking dances around my taste buds. She pouts. She's going to have to ask me exactly what she wants to know and nothing less; I'm not the type who's kind enough to give things away without being prompted.
Lindsey scowls, but she doesn't wholly mean it. "You know, Summer," she says. "I always feel like you keep too many secrets to be healthy. I never know what exactly I should ask. I mean, you always answer my questions, but I always get the feeling that there's more to it."
I close my eyes for a second, hmm-ing as I think.
Lindsey is young, at the cusp of 20 years, and part of me wonders if she understands the heights her powers can reach if she continues at this rate. I imagine she'd ask if she knew, but knowledge of the Elder Giants is locked in the heads of researchers, historians, and dusty old tomes deep in the recesses of dark libraries, and is diluted into urban legend in the eyes of the public.
I could tell her, now, of the pilgrimage I took about four months ago, up Mt. Floating Ashes of The High Peaks of the West for curiosity's sake, of the way I was separated from my guide when a snowstorm hit, of how I nearly froze to death, blinded by ice and starving, only surviving as long as I did because of my internal lupine radiator.
I could share with her what I remember of the sudden silence, of the warmth curling up my body through my toes, of the flame-roasted meat that was painstakingly spoon-fed to me as I drifted in and out of consciousness, of the ethereal singing that pervaded my dreams.
I could attempt to describe the sight I saw when I finally regained my bearings, of a great beast of fire the size of a house, shrinking and growing and flickering, flames licking at the snow around it and melting footsteps into the rock face of the mountain, volatile and full of passionate emotion that wrapped around me in a frenzied wave.
I could reenact the way the being screamed towards the sky, creating an umbrella of fire that protected both of us from the flurry, melting the snow under my feet into slush that gently slid me down the mountain, careening this way and that to avoid protruding rocks and sudden cliffs, at the same time that an avalanche that shocked experts around the Continent rocked the other side of the mountain face.
I could show off the ten burns along my stomach - five on each side - where my savior was careful to only lift me from under my snowy grave with the pads of each finger, as little skin-to-skin contact as possible.
I could bring up the fact that there are only four enormous mountains that make up the High Peaks of the West: Mt. Floating Ashes, Mt. Granite Skeleton, Mt. Cold Gusts, and Mt. Falling Drops, very obviously related to the elementals' domains. I could add that some secretive sects of them, veritable clans, make treks to the mountains each year to pray to their men-turned-gods and their ancestors.
And I could explain this all to a young barely-adult, only narrowly my elder, adopted into a band of vila in the woods, only marginally-aware of her birthright.
As I stated before, I'm not that nice.
"Ask better questions, then," I reply. She snorts.
"Fine then. You told me last time that you had plans to see the South-West Sands, right? Tell me about the sirens from down there." Her eyes gleam. "Mother Biljana told me that they are not as good at singing as Mama Sofija on her worst day."
I roll my eyes. "They channel their magic through their voices, so I wouldn't know. It all sounds great to me," I remind her. "They are incredibly catty, however." I down the remainder of my coffee, passing the mug to Chim Chim, Margie's kobold, who promptly salutes me and disappears again after accepting it.
"How so?" she asks.
"Well..." I draw out the word, leaning in conspiratorially for added effect. "They're pretty big on black market stuff down there. I heard that they go out of their way to buy any vila hairs that people sell, just so that they can remain the most beautiful."
Lindsey looks disgusted. She lets out a low growl. "That stuff's all urban legend." She gives me a look that says she isn't going to listen to anything contrary.
I swallow the bit of pie in my mouth, passing the rest of the plate to her. "I'm sure it is," I say as I press a wad of bills to the table. Chim Chim appears again, quickly counting the paper and folding his stubby blue fingers into a thumbs-up. I grin at him and stand, noisily shoving back my chair. I tell Lindsey, "Sorry. Gotta run to make an appointment."
She waves me off, more focused on the food than on me. "Don't worry, dear. Come by later, though. At least once before you leave." I nod in affirmative.
Inside, however, I ponder her words. I might have believed Lindsey once, but my constant travelling has given me an insight that, at this point, tells me that the truth lies in things that are never clearly said or definitively accepted.
Certainly, after I had stolen the shipment of illegal braids crudely cut from the heads of captured vila, the tribe by the sea were thankful enough to offer me a forever-friendship, proclaiming that I will always be welcome there, and any vila in the area of the South-West Sands will be willing to give me help whenever I desire.
As much as I admire Lindsey's parents and tribe for their devil-may-care warrior ways, they don't really understand that ignoring a weakness doesn't make you any stronger. Instead, it just makes you far more vulnerable.
It is a lesson I have learned painfully many times before; you need to compensate for any flaws in yourself - you never know who will take advantage of them. There are always people just waiting for you to slip up. The moment you do, they pounce. And then you're screwed.
With my head churning with thoughts and memories, and my energy revitalized by the greatest comfort food a wolf could ask for, I walk out of Betsy's, bell above the door tinkling as it moves, for what I don't yet know will be the last time in a long while.
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Bright-Universe Lore Dictionary (and other interesting tidbits)
Elemental → Someone born with the ability to tap into one of the classical elements (water, earth, fire, and air). Often misclassified as either magical creatures with limited power over the elements or as some kind of magical (witch/warlock, mage, etc.). Powers and abilities vary. Extent of powers basically unknown.
Elder Giant → A mythical creature. Think bigfoot. Except bigger. And scarier. With magic (?). Our young m/c sees a connection between them and elementals.
Fey → Basically fairies. Humanoid beings with wings and a connection to nature. Main domain is basically just purity (definition of which to be expanded on at a later date). Fey are natural pacifists who can tell when lies are told and are held in respect because they don't command magic -- magic protects them involuntarily.
Kobold → Little dwarf-things that are half-servant half-pet. Chim Chim is a household variant. Other types include deckhands and miners. Generally just chill dudes to be around. Can disappear and reappear at will. Great pranking buddies. There exists a Kobold Union of people who will hunt you down if dare ever mistreat one. Not that anyone would. I reiterate - chill dudes.
'pyre → Slang for vampire. Recent trends show that animal-sucking is healthier and less COMPLETELY TERRIFYING. No one likes people who suck their blood as a cool party trick, okay?
Shifter → Anything that can transform anything else. Colloquially used to refer specifically to beast-shifters that can transform at will. There is a James Bond-esque spy movie series about government shifters who take down bad guys by transforming a lot.
Siren → The mean girls in high school. Except in water. Would totally drown you if the government let them. Many of them are kinda evil. And possibly gang-affiliated. Performs magic by singing. Very pretty. Siren-approved throat lozenges are a thing preteen girls buy in the hopes that, one day, they too will be able to lure helpless, horny people to their deaths. It doesn't usually work, thank god.
Summoning Mage → A person with magic who does not need to say words but does need to wave their sorcerer staff. Able to use that magic to SUMMON DEMONS OF THE NIGHT. DO. NOT. FUCK. WITH. THEM.
Vila → Badass warrior women who live in forests who sing pretty songs and play with wind and just generally fuck with people. Yes, this means that Lindsey has two moms. If you pull out their hair they will revert to their "natural form" -- this just means that they lose their drop-dead gorgeousness. If you burn that hair, they die. Weakness, indeed.
Warlock → Masculine form of people who say pretty words and make the laws of physics stop working.
Witch → Feminine form of the above.
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Geography Explanation
Burberry Springs → A real cool urban center of a hell of a lot people from all walks of life. Near a forest, as most things should be.
High Peaks of the West → Four enormously tall mountains that each reference one of the classical elements. In the west. Cold. High. Prone to avalanches by emotional fire monsters whom no one knows about.
South-West Sands → Beach town in the southwest. Sirens fuck with people from the water. Vila fuck with people in the forests. Lots of bad people. Also, spring-breakers. Sleep with one eye open.
ns 15.158.61.48da2
