CHAPTER 78: 78: A NEW BEGINNING PART III

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Sera followed, her step calm, her face neither open nor closed — merely her usual self. She paused by Gael, praised the scent of the meat, thanked Orna for the plate, and sat beside John without ceremony.

"Elara," John said, because saying a name is a kind of handshake.

"John," Elara said, in the tone of someone cataloging a hammer that had a nick in it.

The man gave him a nod that implied gravity. "Smith."

"Rube Door knocker," Fizz whispered into John’s ear, then raised his voice as if he had not. "Welcome to The Redemption of Fur Day. Please deposit your dignity in that barrel and collect it before you leave."

Sera accepted a plate. "How many pancakes has Fizz eaten so far? He boasted about eating a hundred last night."

"Two hundred and nine," Ruel said grimly, as if counting sins.

"Two hundred and twelve," Fizz corrected. "You missed the ’stack of pancakes’ in the corner when I ate in stealth mode."

Ruel squinted at his board. Fizz leaned until his whiskers touched the chalk. Ruel added a mark with a sigh that contained the entire history of numbers and their misbehavior.

Elara ate with clean, efficient movements. The man ate like an argument. Sera ate like a human being who had found a piece of the day that belonged to her.

"He’s a good man," Gael told Elara, jerking his chin at John as if he were discussing a mule. "His plans make sense and his will does not shake. We trust him. You shouldn’t look at him with that cold face."

Elara’s eyes did not leave her plate. "Good men are common. Right men are rare."

Fizz floated above her shoulder with a tiny, polite smile and whispered to John, "I would like to move her chair two inches to the left, near the cow shit, just to see if she notices."

"She will," John said.

"Yes," Fizz agreed happily. "That is why I want to do it. She is cold and doesn’t like you. I can feel it."

A few moments later... The music started.

The music found a better foot. Boots stamped. Hands clapped. A circle formed near the anvil and became a dance. Even Ruel smiled, which meant the day had passed some invisible test.

Fizz launched into the air and whirled above the circle, trailing a thin ribbon of light like chalk drawn on evening. He leapt into a mug and out of a sleeve, landed on Kel’s head and bowed, then sprang again, laughing because laughing was allowed.

"How is he not sick," Harn asked, watching pancake number "four hundred and something" disappear.

"Lord Fizz’s belly is a deep pit with opinions," Orna said, and flipped three cakes at once because someone needed to act like the world made sense.

John let the music put his shoulders down. He let the smell of sugar and meat, yeast and smoke, say a kind word to his heart in a language his heart had not heard much. He stood a little apart and counted men and plates and smiles as if they were inventory that needed to be kept safe.

Sera joined the ring and clapped on the off beat, which made the fiddler grin and adjust the tune to catch her. Elara stood at the edge like a well-trained gate. The man stood by the water cask and judged the concept of joy.

Fizz swooped by John’s ear. "You look almost happy."

"I might be," John said.

"Scandal," Fizz whispered.

John replied, "Do not tell it here, anyone might hear. It will ruin her reputation. I will suffer too."

"You suffer, how?"

"Thata not the point, I told you never talk about it. Forgot about last night’s incident."

"Fine." Fizz nods, and steals a bite of Gael’s BBQ with the speed of an unrepentant saint.

By the time the sun had become a coin pressed against the line of the western hills, the chalk board said "five hundred and six," the men argued whether the six was actually an eight, and Fizz lay on a plate like a victor on a small field, making a sound that was either a purr or a hymn.

"Where did it go," Jem said in awe.

Fizz patted his stomach. "I have an arrangement with space. My tummy is a storage."

It was easy, then, to believe a day could remain easy. But night always keeps a folded note in its sleeve.

Sera came to John when the songs shifted into slower things and the beer made men philosophical. She did not ask him to step aside. She simply stood where he could hear her and said, "I have been called."

He took that like a weight placed carefully in his hands. "When."

"Tonight..."

He looked for the man from the temple and found him already glancing toward the lane as if he had planned the night’s angle. Elara had not moved, but something in her shoulders had.

Sera said, "...but we can meet if you want."

"Where," John said.

"The Heart Magic Academy, of this Dying Hearts Kingdom," Sera answered. "I am in my second year there. Headquarters wants me back to the temple. Right now it’s my vacation time. Soon it will be over. After that I will attend classes there."

She reached into her robe and removed a folded scrap of parchment tied with a thin red thread. "In six months, the academy holds entrance tests for the new class. You should come. Learn more than you can in a forge by yourself. I will write you an introduction letter. This is the address of the capital temple. Go there in six months and collect it from the High Deacon’s desk."

He took the parchment, felt its lightness and its heavy invitation, and slid it into the inside pocket of his coat as if pockets could be asked to keep secrets. "I’ll think about it."

"I know," she said. "I will wait for you arrival."