CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE FEAST
After the last of the ogres have retreated, leaving wreckage and ruin in their wake, Zera starts tending to the injured. There are too many creatures to count, bloody and hurt in the aftermath of the attack. Those who are unharmed, including Jack and Filomena, assist her, and they carry or drag as many bodies as they can to a makeshift healing center in one of the big barns. The structure isn’t totally intact, but it’s sturdy enough to keep them safe and warm inside.
Zera organizes the pixies and asks them to work their magic on the wounded, healing their injuries to the best of their abilities. Some are unable to heal the others properly, due to injuries they themselves have sustained during the assault. But she remains steadfast in her mission to help. She tends to as many as she can, quickly and with a resolute purpose. Her grace never wavers, nor does her kindness or patience. Filomena finds herself wishing Zera were her big sister. No one would tease her back home if the clever fairy was her protector.
Filomena sits at Alistair’s bedside as Jack helps Zera take care of the others. Alistair’s been healed quite well, after what appeared to be some broken ribs. But there’s nothing the pixies can do for the bruising that’s already started to manifest all over his body. It’s an unfortunate side effect not only of the incident that required the healing in the first place, but also of the healing process itself. They can fix some things, but they cannot perfect or control how it takes shape.
Filomena looks at him with a sympathetic smile. “How ya doin’, bud?” she asks, purposely sounding jocular to cheer him up.
“I’m feeling better. Still quite sore, but that’s to be expected when you’re nearly squeezed to death by an ogre,” he replies with a smirk, and she’s glad to see he didn’t lose his sense of humor in the traumatic event.
“You don’t say,” she says, laughing. “How long do you think you’ll be stuck in this bed?”
“Not sure. I know I can’t move around just yet. The magic takes time to work its way through the body. If I move around, I could seriously hinder it and wind up with more legs than any person should have. Or worse, something internal could go wrong. What if I could never eat again because my intestine wound up in my heart?”
Filomena shakes her head, but the thought of it frightens her, and she realizes how close they came to losing him altogether. “I’m sure that won’t happen. Just … stay still.”
“You couldn’t trade me a hundred Lily Licks not to,” replies Alistair.
She tilts her head. “Lily Licks?”
“Yeah, you know, the little white-and-yellow suckers? Lilies?”
She shakes her head. “No, but what is it with you and flowers?”
“What is it with you and no flowers?” he counters.
Just as Filomena is about to answer, Zera’s voice rings throughout the large room, and Filomena turns to listen.
Zera announces that she will be providing a feast for the survivors, and the meal is already being prepared. An assortment of food and drink will be served, and all are welcome to attend. She adds that although the injured have to unfortunately remain here for their own safety, dishes will be brought to them by the helpers and healers so they can eat comfortably without risking further injury. She closes her message by saying how thankful she is for everyone’s assistance—and resilience—today.
Cheers are heard throughout the room, and heads (that are able to) are nodding and faces are smiling as she goes back to work.
Filomena is woken by a gentle shake. She hears a voice that sounds like Jack’s.
“Filomena? Wake up. It’s time to eat,” he says.
She opens her eyelids little by little. She squints at Jack with the kind of haze and confusion one has when waking from a nap and not knowing what time, or even year, it is. She fell asleep in her chair beside Alistair’s bed. He’s also out, snoring away, drool dripping from his lip to his chin.
“How long was I asleep?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” he says. “You needed the rest, anyway. You didn’t miss anything here. Just more of the same. But come now, let’s go eat. I’m sure you’re starved.”
Jack walks her back toward Zera’s cottage, which is much larger than she remembered. “This is almost as big as a palace,” she says. “Oh! It’s enchanted.”
“To fit as many as it needs to. Useful, isn’t it?”
The table where they sat just a little while before is now a vast oak table crowded with the various citizens of Vineland. Fairies and goblins next to farmers and crofters. Filomena is famished. Plus, it’ll be interesting to finally eat a meal that’s not takeout.
Zera raises her goblet of wine and taps the table with her open palm three times, signaling for silence. She gives another short speech about the events of the day, once again thanking everyone for their courage during the attack and their eagerness to aid the injured so selflessly.
“We will rebuild Vineland together. And take back Parsa. And Westphalia. And Wood Vale and the Meadow Glen. Brick by brick, straw by straw, stick by stick, little by little. And in time we will flourish, in peace, safe from ogres, witches, and giants. We will defeat the ogre queen and live in harmony once again. I, Scheherazade, formerly of the Great Forest and of Paras, promise you this.”
She says it with such conviction that Filomena wants to believe her. But as she listens to the speech, all she can think about is the books. And with the thirteenth book unpublished, she has no idea how the story will end. Whether they will, in fact, be victorious in the long war against the witches and their ogres. Where the series left off, the fairy tribes and their allies had been mostly losing this battle. She keeps her thoughts to herself and remains seated quietly at the table.
At last the food is served. “Warm summer soup with berry bread,” announces a harried elf, plunking down a huge vat next to freshly baked loaves. There’s also a large, delicious-smelling roast with mashed truffles, and a heaping plate of crispy frog fritters. Then cranberry cabbage and gooseberry prunes. Three different kinds of porridge are lined up one after another—pumpkin, peach, and persimmon. A large bowl of magical beans appears beside those, and they’re jumping in the bowl as people reach in to grab some. They are served a wide array of vegetables, and Filomena has never been so happy to see broccoli and carrots in her whole life.
To drink: mulberry wine, thick cups of morning dew, and juices from every kind of fruit, including some she has only read about in the books: cherry apples, bumbleberries, and mango-nanas.
“Please, help yourselves,” Zera encourages.
Soon everyone is eating heartily.
The food is beyond delicious. The summer soup tastes exactly like the season it’s named for—hot, fragrant, and full of sunshine—while the berry bread is juicy and buttery at the same time. The roast melts on her tongue, and mashed truffles are the most heavenly thing she’s ever tasted.
The creatures and citizens talk in low voices that echo across the hall. A soft light fills the spacious room, now crowded with Vineland’s survivors. Filomena is momentarily saddened at the occasion, wishing the cause were a celebration instead of devastation. But she’s hungry, and so she does what everyone else is doing. She eats.