“You will get it soon enough. And then you shall teach your own children.”
“We’ll see. Perhaps I’ll make it poorly on purpose so I may come visit you more often.”
“You visit often enough already. There’s certainly no need to spoil our dinner on account of me.”
“I was jesting, Grandamere. I would only spoil our meal if someone we disliked were visiting.”
“Yes,” she answered, “like Ket.”
“Ket is not so bad,” Kull said.
“She thought her recipe was better than mine. Her sauce tasted of salted water, and the meat was so chewy it was inedible. She ruined the meal completely.”
“It was pretty bad,” Kull agreed.
I held back a smile. I’d always thought Ket excelled at everything imaginable, but perhaps there was one thing I could beat her at.
“Olive,” Kull said, “would you like to help me set the table?”
I stood and crossed the room. He handed me several wooden dishes, and I helped him arrange them on the table. Kull brought the sauce and meat to the table and placed them in the center. After placing forks and knives beside the plates, he handed me three tankards that I placed by the plates, and then I situated a warm jug of cider beside the meat tray, completing the setting.
When the table was ready, Grandamere grabbed her cane and hobbled to the table, where Kull helped her to a chair, pulled it out for her, and she sat. He arranged the thin slices of meat, which had been stuffed with butter and herbs, on each plate, then added the sauce, the meat skewers, and the vegetables on the side. He added sprigs of herbs to each plate as a finish, and I was certain I’d seen this same sort of plating on one of those five-star-restaurant reality shows.
Grandamere offered a prayer of thanks for the food, and after that, we began eating. The tender meat almost fell apart on my fork, and as I took a bite, the butter and herbs gave the meat a fresh flavor that was complimented by the savory richness of the sauce.
The food filled some void I didn’t know I had, as if my life before that moment had been waiting for this point in time. Something I’d always wanted but never known. Something I’d always needed and now I’d found. But was it only the food that made me feel that way? Or was there more to it? I slowly savored each bite, finding that the meal only got better. Sipping the cider, with its fragrant blend of spices, only served to enhance the flavor of the meat and herbs.
“What do you think?” Kull asked Grandamere hesitantly.
She nodded, chewing a bite before answering. “Not good.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not good?”
“Aye. You will have to come back next year, and several years after that, if you wish to improve.”
“I told you, Grandamere. I will come visit you no matter what.”
“You will?”
“Yes. I always do, don’t I?”
“Hmm…” She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “In that case, the truth is, I have not tasted dyresteg this good since your grandstefar made it. You have done well.” She reached over and patted his hand.
“I couldn’t have done it without Olive’s help.” He winked. “It seems we work well together.”
Grandamere smiled. “Very true. Find someone to make it with you—someone who compliments you and works well with you—and you have finally learned the secret of making the dish as it was meant to be.”
“Perhaps I’ve found her.”
“No,” I answered quickly, trying not to overanalyze his comment. “All I did was chop the vegetables.”
“And set the table,” he added.
“Yes, and set the table,” I said. “It took quite a bit of skill to carry dishes across the room. And Grandamere made the cider. I think she deserves some praise as well.”
Grandamere smiled. “You like the cider?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad you do. Come back some time, and I will show you how to make it.”
“I would like that.”
After finishing our food, I helped Kull clean the table and wash the dishes. When we were done, Grandamere shuffled toward us, holding a small leather bag with drawstring ties at the top. She gave it to Kull.
“Cilla moon seeds,” she said, “for the offering. I washed them myself. You must take them this year.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Me? You’re not coming?”
“Nay. I can hardly walk, and even if I could, I couldn’t see to get down the path.”
“What if I carried you?”
She laughed. “Carried me? That would be a sight, wouldn’t it? An old lady like me carried around like a rag doll. No, that won’t be necessary.”
“But you or Grandstefar have always offered the prayer. I’m not sure it’s my place to say it.”
“Why wouldn’t it be? You’ve watched us all your life. You have been preparing all this time, whether you realized it or not. I do not doubt that you will succeed. You should not doubt yourself, either.”
He took the bag and held it with reverence, then turned to me. “Would you like to accompany me, Olive?”
“Sure, I suppose. Where are we going?”
“To the river. We perform a ritual each fall, asking Odin to protect us from a harsh winter. The cilla moon tree is sacred to my people. Its seeds will only open when they have been washed in fae-water, so every year we collect a few pieces of fruit from the tree, clean and wash the seeds, then return the seeds to the river, where they will hopefully take root.”
“Are you sure you want me to come? What if I bring bad karma or something?”
“You have nothing to worry about. Besides, I need you with me. I wouldn’t feel right doing the ritual by myself.”
Grandamere took a seat in her chair, her crooked, arthritic fingers still holding to her cane as she closed her eyes. “Go before the moon rises,” she said quietly, “for the seeds must be on the water to catch the moonbeams once it does.”
Kull motioned for me to follow him, and we escaped into the darkening evening. The crisp
