Yuletide Cheer

The wind is bitterly cold, and the darkness of night is all-consuming. Haunting and desolate. But within the market, the avenues and pathways are alive with holiday spirit. The icy rime on the edges of stalls sparkle in the moonlight, and in the light of the festive street lamps that have been erected in the busier intersections. The chill smells of peppermint and chestnut and sweet mulled cider waft through the air, and appropriately boisterous customers clasp bags of steaming confections to their chests, inhaling their scents along with that of their woolen scarves. In the dark depths of winter, the market shines as warmly as an ember.

There is an unprecedented number of visitors in the market place, even considering it is the Winter Solstice.

Eli’s performances are increasing, but tonight it is so cold that he cannot do more than a few at a time, and finds himself retreating to his not to collect a knit scarf and his gloves. As he wanders through the market, in search of a warm beverage, he appears like any other half-frozen patron.

It is not long before Bethany appears at his side, in a deep purple coat with a cable-knit cream scarf. She appears less cold than he, but her cheeks are pink and her eyes are bright.

“You have a performance scheduled right now,” Bethany remarks.

“As do you,” Eli counters.

“Then we are escaping together.”

They walk close enough to one another that he can reach out and take her hand, but instead he links arms with her, tucking his hands back in his pockets.

There have been only stolen moments for them, recently, as the market travels and they have other company to attend to. They look forward to their too brief meetings, and dread the moment they end, prolonging it as much as they can without drawing suspicious from other members of the market company.

“You look as though you have a secret,” Eli says, watching her smile as they walk.

“I do. But that is not why I am smiling. I have something much better than a secret,” Bethany replies.

“What is that?” Eli asks.

“I have been experimenting with resurrection,” she begins.

Eli is silent, in curiousity and jealousy. Resurrection has, lately, stirred discontent within him. He years to expand his abilities.

“I split up the threads and use only some of them to raise the body,” Bethany says.

Eli blinks. “You- what?”

“I divide the threads, and tie only some of them to the subject,” she repeats.

“Does that work?” Eli asks, struggling to understand a concept that betrays most of his methods.

“Not so far. Not for more than a few minutes. The subject does not seem strong enough to stay alive too long.”

“Is this the work in progress you were going to show me at Mr.Marshall’s party?” Eli asks.

Bethany nods.

“I wish I could do such a thing,” Eli admits.

“You could, if you were allowed.”

A light snow has begun to fall. In the amber lantern-light, it appears as though the snow is on fire.

Eli pauses to look up at the lanterns. They are not lit, but sway colourfully in spherical cages made of interlocked black metal. He pauses and frowns and reaches up to touch one. “When did this happen?” he asks.

“After the incident with the lantern in Prague,” Bethany answers, gazing up at the lantern. When Eli removes his hand, the lantern swings to and fro, creaking in the silence. “It’s a precaution, to prevent the market from going up in flames.”

“I almost feel as though I should be worried by the number of precautions that are taking place after incidents occur,” Eli remarks.

“I wonder if our instructors foresaw so many casualties,” Bethany says, bitterly.

“They may be part of the game,” Eli says, thoughtfully, as they continue on, weaving in and among the mass of people.

“If only we could prove to our instructors that perhaps they are both wrong,” Bethany says.

“Or that they are both right,” Eli says.

Bethany nods. “That their thoughts may work together. You may push limits, but only by a necessary degree.”

“A collaboration of sorts,” Eli muses.

“I doubt Mr.Marshall would not allow it,” Bethany says.

They emerge in the market square, and upon smelling the warm sweetness of melted chocolate, Bethany insists they try a spiced hot chocolate that burns their throats in more ways than one.

Eli cannot tell if it is the beverage or Bethany’s presence that warms him.

“What time is your next performance?” Bethany asks him, as they sit on a bench by the flaming bronze centerpiece. The lanterns have turned silver, so the entire marketplace is full of a dusky wintry light.

He glances at her once, and they way she holds his eyes is sublime. “It does not matter.”

Art by Tanya Bjork

Text by Lucie MacAulay