At that, he threw the five glowing balls he was holding up into the air and began to juggle. All of the servants threw theirs, and all at once the air was full of cascading, glowing wire orbs. The jugglers then began to pass the balls among themselves. Guests everywhere were ducking as glowing missiles just missed their heads. Now I have done a bit of juggling in my day and I can tell you-these were no ordinary juggling balls. The jugglers weren’t even breaking a sweat. They never dropped one or hit anybody and if you watched closely, you could see sometimes the balls waited until the juggler was ready before they fell back to earth.
Someone shouted, ‘Hup,’ and all of the jugglers threw their remaining balls high in the air, where they just kept on going! The balls intertwined themselves with the vine trellis and then glowed even brighter. They bathed the room in golden light. The applause, the hoots and hollering were deafening. The music kicked in and the party truly began.
Fergal slapped me on the back and said, ‘We need some food!’
Food! Every time I heard that, I thought, What a good idea. We weaved our way through vines of people until we came upon what looked like a five-acre buffet table. I have never seen so much food. Who was it all for? It made me worry that the busload of three-headed Giants and Trolls hadn’t arrived yet. I found a plate and just piled it on. I took a little bit of everything-if the apples were anything to go by, this was going to be the best meal of my life. I stopped when the food on my plate started to resemble the Leaning Tower of Pisa. One more crumb and I would have had a spilled food disaster of horrific proportions.
I looked up to find that I had lost my friends. I searched around a bit but I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t risk weaving through the crowd looking for them with this overflowing plate, so I sat down alone in a nearby chair. My intention was to try to eat the top off my food mountain until it was transportable. The food was so good, my moaning drew stares. I chomped in ecstasy as I spied on the other guests. I was starting to figure stuff out. Banshees and Elves were mostly tall, with Banshees being dark while the Elves were fair. Imps were shorter and, as a rule, built like bowling pins, including the women. There were others that looked like they could have been TV presenters and still more that I couldn’t put into any category I knew yet. I was also starting to gauge how old people were without seeing their eyes. A sense of seniority poured out of some like an aura. The way they talked and walked, or just held themselves, made it easy to separate the young ones from the elders.
A large dance started up. It looked like fun, but unbelievably complicated. It seemed as if the dance was designed for the room. Partners held hands and then danced around the statues in circles of eight, then sixteen, or more if a statue was on its side, and then as if they all had a secret radio in their ears, they made a huge undulating circle around the room before somehow finding their partners again. It was lucky they were immortals because it probably took a couple a hundred years to learn it.
The monument of food on my lap had vanished. My stomach was full and the wine had pleasantly gone to my head. I was just about to dance my way through the room and search for my newfound friends when I was overcome by an awful pang of guilt. I slumped in my chair and thought, What right do I have to celebrate?. My father is lying wounded somewhere, maybe even dead. I may never get back to my life in the Real World and even if I do it will be in tatters. I’ll most likely flunk out of high school and Sally will never speak to me again. All of a sudden I felt out of place and alone-just a little boy who had lost his mother. That’s when I heard a woman’s voice behind me.
‘My father says that Castle Muhn does not have enough magic to solve all your problems-just enough to allow you to leave them outside the front door.’
I turned and almost fell in love. She was casually rolling one of those glowing juggling balls over her fingers and from hand to hand, making the light waltz around her face and sparkle in young, dark eyes. She wore a purple velvet dress and her curly black hair cascaded onto her bare shoulders. I know I should be ashamed of myself, but at that second, my parents, Sally, my life-all shot straight out of my head. I was filled with the vision before me.
‘It seems by your face,’ she said, ‘that you have smuggled your problems in with you.’
‘Not any more,’ I said. ‘They’re gone, out-a-here.’
She smiled and my heart pounded.
‘I couldn’t help noticing the strange runes on your tunic’
I looked down and laughed. I was amazed that no one had mentioned it before. I was wearing my New York Yankees sweatshirt.
‘These are special runes where I come from, they mean I’m cool.’
She reached out and touched them. ‘They don’t feel cool.’
‘My name is Conor.’
‘I am pleased to meet you, Conor. I am Essa.’
We bowed to each other without losing eye contact.
‘I am sure we have never met, Conor. What house are you from?’
‘I came with Araf,’ I said, sidestepping the question.
‘Araf!’ she screamed and jumped up and down. ‘Is he here? Where?’
‘I don’t know, I’ve lost him.’
‘Well, we must find him.’
She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the party. She was moving fast and I was being thrown into fellow guests and upsetting mugs, but there was no way I was going to let go of that hand. We found Fergal and Araf with a bunch of others sitting on a horizontal black pawn. Essa released my hand and launched herself at Araf, who caught her and returned the hug. It was the first time in my life I wished I was an Imp.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’ she said.
Araf shrugged.
‘And you must be Fergal. Araf has told me so much about you.’
I couldn’t help wondering when Araf did all this talking. A servant brought us fresh mugs of wine. Fergal looked as if he’d had plenty already. Essa whispered into the servant’s ear.
‘Your father throws a hell of a party,’ Fergal slurred.
‘He does, doesn’t he? Here’s to Dad!’ Essa said, raising her mug in a toast.
‘Your father is Gerard?’ I asked.
‘The one and only.’
‘Well, I’ll drink to that.’
The waiter returned, carrying two banta sticks that he handed to Essa. She took both sticks and threw one to Araf. The assembled crowd oohed at the challenge. Araf caught the stick but didn’t look interested. Another servant arrived with headgear and protective clothing. Essa put on leather gloves, a heavy leather jacket that almost came down to her knees and a protective headpiece-a white helmet with a thin gold wire mesh covering the face.
Despite the heckling of the crowd, Araf refused to stand up. Fergal came up behind him and put a helmet on his head-but still he sat there.
‘I, Essa of Muhn, challenge you, Araf of Ur, to single banta combat.’
She struck a stance similar to an en garde position in fencing-right foot forward with knees bent. She looked magnificent. In her right hand she held the banta in the middle. The weapon had a knot of wood at one end which she pointed directly at Araf. If this was a proper and formal challenge, Araf showed no sign of partaking. He just sat there.
A smile crossed Essa’s face. She spun the banta in her hand like a baton twirler and in a flash covered the distance between her and Araf. She brought the smaller end of her stick down on his head and then bounced backwards, retaking her defensive stance-her stick across her chest with the left hand stretched forward for balance. I had never seen anything so graceful. She obviously knew what she was doing.
The audience loved it. The group erupted when the thud came from Araf’s helmet. Someone shouted, ‘One to Essa.’
Essa waited in her defensive pose but it was unnecessary. Araf wasn’t playing. He sat there like an old dog ignoring a rambunctious puppy. This didn’t seem to bother her. She launched herself into a spinning, swirling attack that hit Araf on the right shoulder. If it hurt, and it sure looked like it did, Araf didn’t show it. The crowd, that was getting larger by the minute, howled with delight.
‘Two to nought for Essa!’ Fergal shouted.
‘How high does the score go?’
‘Essa challenged him to a formal match,’ Fergal said. ‘Each landed blow is one point and a knock-down is five.
