“What is this?”
“Cow, posthumous.”
If the girl paled, he couldn’t tell. “Could I have something not dead?”
Iris glared at Darren while grabbing the ordering quill. “Why’d you say it like that?”
He shrugged. “That’s what it is. Dead cow slathered in processed chemicals, curdled milk, and week-old vegetables.” He slid the girl’s cheeseburger toward him, ketchup and mustard oozing between his fingers when he took a bite. Bits of lettuce, onion, and tomato dropped to the ceramic platter.
The little diner had a southern charm Darren missed. Granted, it had the orb lighting and magic-infused teas expected in the Tundor Basin. But the red cushion springs creaked, the silver bar lacked sparkle, and the checkered floor needed mopping. Grease permeated the air despite the manager’s fondness for essential oils.
Iris scribbled an order for a rice bowl with various vegetables into the air, blue script dancing in the sky. Swiping toward the kitchen sent the order to the chef, the eloquent letters vanishing. Reaching over Darren to set the pen in its holder, she glared at him. “It’s cruel.” She returned to her plate, greasy nachos lathered in ground beef, cheese sauce, jalapenos, green peppers, onions, and olives.
He pointed at her plate, but she stopped his hand. “Don’t. I don’t want to know what’s in this.” Certain he’d been deterred, she stuffed her face with a couple chips, grease and cheese sliding down her chin.
It always amazed him how the mages feigned great wisdom and morality, yet knew so little about what they consumed. He’d probably provoked more of his coworkers to vegan life with his mother’s blunt commentary than any sign-wielding nuisance. Not Iris though; she ran on queso.
A waitress in a white apron set a ceramic bowl in front of their charge. The asymmetrical lip revealed the large portion of rice and organized toppings. No color came to the girl’s white tonality, but joy registered in her eyes and mouth. She eyed the utensils oddly while picking at the food with her fingers.
Darren was content to watch her slowly understand the eating process, but Iris nudged his shoulder. “I thought the vote wasn’t until next week.”
He shook his head, making sure to keep his tone low. “Something must have happened. Especially for them to choose a strategist.”
“What’s that?” The girl had taken hold of the spoon, holding a mix of carrots, cabbage, and rice at the ready. Her blank expression revealed her lack of knowledge.
And it tickled Darren’s senses. Setting down his burger, he wiped and exercised his fingers. “Allow me to tell you a story.” Brushing his hand through the air, an array of stars sparkled above the wood table. “At the beginning, there were mages. But they weren’t the same. Each had gifts, a craft that their family honed over generations. A talent all their own.”
Twisting his fingers, the scene of stars shifted as he spoke. Forests, wildlife, and cities formed at his command. “Some inherited the memories of the wild with a touch. Others built structures from their visions. And yet some worked inwardly, enhancing their senses or seeing the future. Across the globe, mages sought innovation. And that brought conflict.”
Iris flinched when the greens and blues of his story flashed a vivid red. Fire and marching soldiers glistened in the pupils of the forest girl. “Countries struggled for control. Men sent overseas, women defending from invaders. Militia like the Red Guard were formed in the absence of clear instruction. Some sought peace, and others craved genocide.”
The magic wavered, memories of pain and fear slipping into his consciousness. He let them wash over him, gestures changing the spell to the building of a spire. “Tired of the war, a group of mages formed a council. Having determined a new structure of government and organized peace, they orchestrated the Reset: a campaign to diffuse volatile areas. After the world had successfully been reset, all but the Red Guard were disbanded.” The spire rose on a mountaintop, green wisps toppling to form trees and cities. “The Spire of Tundor remains a beacon of peace and prosperity. A symbol of unified strength.”
Mystical glows highlighted the girl’s sheet white skin as she stared at the swirls.
Iris leaned toward her master. “When was the last time you told a story like that?”
“Before television was invented.”
“Was that before or after you churned butter?”
Normally he’d roll his eyes, but his gift of storytelling drummed excitement. He’d gotten the gift from his mother, the magic beautiful beside his father’s talent for touching wildlife. As a child, he’d tell the life story of a dog or piglet before his father buried them under their oak tree. His craving for stories led to his need to hunt and, inevitably, his journey to Tundor to apprentice as an archivist.
The spell faded in a shower of colors, the girl looking up with fascination. “And this man you speak of?”
“Thomas Braggard,” Iris responded. “He’s a Red Guard officer, now a council member. His mage gift is strategy, so during the wars, he’d be called upon to form attack plans. He’s always five steps ahead, anticipating individuals and possible events within a moment. It’s uncanny to speak with him, especially with how manipulative he can be.”
Darren brushed back his brown locks. “Hence why he knew when to challenge me. Probably knew about the advanced vote, which I would’ve been called upon for had I been here.”
Iris’ golden gaze rested on her food, hand blindly patting his arm. “What’s done is done. Let’s worry about what we can do.”
They looked to the young girl, straight as an arrow and graceful as a breeze. A story Darren hoped to reveal.