Retro Post: The Riding of the Green

I was going to begin the serial story proper today, having wrapped up the Prologue posts last week, when I looked at today's date and realized--St. Patrick's Day. Can't let that pass unacknowledged. So here's my St. Paddy's post from 2014. It actually fits right in with the Prologue, because we get to see Tasman, a player in the story, and get a reference to Lex, the Egyptian potion-brewer, who plays a small but vital role later on. And it has Sanjay and Guri. What's not to like?

If I can get in gear over the weekend, I might post the first story episode on Monday or Tuesday. My hangover should be dried up by then.

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 Tasman Ghan kept a large calendar on his bedroom wall, and each morning he consulted it. Every American holiday had been circled in red, even the silly ones like Arbor Day. Thus forewarned, Tasman could steel himself against whatever madness his youngest brother Guri might choose to inflict on the family in the name of foreign traditions.

And still, each year, Guri somehow managed to surprise him.

This year’s surprise came in the form of a hearty, “Happy St. Patrick’s Day, faith and begamma!” and a frosty mug thrust into Tasman’s hand. He had not yet even had his morning tea. Tasman eyed the green, foamy liquid sloshing over the rim of the mug with healthy suspicion. “Is this … beer?” he hazarded. “Is it supposed to be green?”

“It’s St. Patrick’s Day,” Guri said. “Everything is supposed to be green.”

“Ah. That explains your hair, then. Isn’t it a bit early in the day for beer?”

“Early?” Guri peered out the window. “Look at that. It’s daylight. It was dark when we started.”

“Let me guess,” Tasman said. “You and Sanjay.”

“Holidays never last long enough. We wanted to get an early start.”

“I’m sure.” Tasman carefully set his mug on the kitchen counter. “I will have green tea. Will that suffice?”

“As long as it’s green. Faith and begamma! Erin go broke!”

“I … ” Tasman stopped, at a loss.

“It’s what the Irish say,” Guri explained. “I assume the one phrase refers to gamma radiation. That’s what turned the Hulk green.”

“And Erin went broke buying the green beer?”

“Yes, exactly!” Guri took a swig from his mug. “As much as I miss Ravi, I’m glad we deal with you directly now. You understand American holidays so well.”

Tasman enjoyed a brief moment of envy for Ravi, currently home in India and safe from this country’s odd customs. Then Sanjay burst into the kitchen. He also sported a cap of green hair. “It worked! The potion worked!”

The words “potion” and “worked” spoken together never boded well for anyone. Tasman reached for the mug, just in case. “I know I shouldn’t ask … ”

“The potion wasn’t for us. We bought it from that Egyptian cat at the coffee shop. Come look!”

Now I know why Ravi fled for home, Tasman thought. He took a bracing gulp of beer. It was actually quite good. Fortified, he followed his brothers out the front door.

Not even green beer had prepared him for Guri’s latest insanity. Three horses from the family stables were tethered in the front yard. Their saddles and bridles were adorned with clover chains. Their coats had been brushed to a shine. An emerald shine.

All three horses looked hugely embarrassed.

“I hope you did not use gamma radiation on the horses,” Tasman said.

“Of course not!” Sanjay came by his outrage naturally. He loved every horse in the stable, even flatulent Faisool. “The Egyptian assured us the potion wouldn’t hurt them. The color will fade in a week.”

“It had better. Do I want to know what you intend to do with green horses?”

“Rescue maidens, of course,” said Guri. “We will ride into town and sweep the maidens up onto our saddles to save them from the snakes, just as St. Patrick did.”

“I thought Patrick only drove the snakes out of Ireland. I don’t remember any talk of maidens.”

“Legends alter over time,” Sanjay said. “I’m sure there were maidens.”

Or were about to be, Tasman thought. “Then you should go, and rescue as many as you can.” It would get them both out of his hair for many hours.

Guri grabbed him and beerily kissed his cheek. “You’re the best older brother ever. Come with us. Save a maiden. We dyed you a horse.”

“That’s quite all right. I—”

“Then we’ll bring you one. Hurry, Sanjay! Before the snakes get them!” Guri sprang into the saddle, somehow without spilling a drop of his beer. He could be quite agile when it mattered.

Sanjay drained his own mug before mounting up. “Erin go broke!” he cried, and galloped away in the direction of Talbot’s Peak, with Guri close behind.

“And so the world is saved,” a woman’s amused voice said from the doorway.

Tasman turned. His exasperation over his brothers melted away at the sight of his personal assistant. Poised and polished as always, Leila had dressed for the day in a smart gray suit. Her sole concessions to holiday observance were a green ribbon in her white-gold hair and a discrete shamrock pin in her lapel. She nodded at the mug in his hand. “That isn’t tea.”

“No, it isn’t.” He poured the frothy green liquid onto the lawn. The grass did not shrivel up and turn brown, as he’d expected. “I don’t know why I indulge them.”

“Indulgence is good sometimes. It helps one relax.”

“Indeed.” Tasman indulged himself in a leisurely study of her curves. Her eyes glistened like emeralds, in dare and invitation. “Do you require rescue, maiden?”

“I suppose there must be a snake around somewhere.”

“All right, then.” Tasman swept her into his arms and lifted her into the saddle. He leaped aboard. The horse grunted at the double load. At the cluck of the reins it set off for the forest at a sedate trot. Tasman’s heels could not urge it into a faster pace. “It seems we’re not to have a gallop,” he said.

Leila snuggled comfortably into his arms. Her body fit to his perfectly, as always. “This is quite sufficient, sir. If I may? Faith and begamma.”

Tasman bared his teeth in a wide smile. He nuzzled her smooth neck. Anything more would have to wait until they reached the privacy of the deep woods. He prodded the horse again. It trotted a little faster. “No wonder the Americans celebrate so many holidays,” he said. “Erin go broke.”

Keep 'Em Flying

“Gil, slow down.” Chloe alternated between laughter and panting for breath while Gil tugged her by the hand to the Talbot’s Peak town square. “What’s so important that you’d drag us away from our children?”

“You need a break,” Gil said. “This is a special occasion. It only happens once a year, and then only if weather’s permitting. You missed last year’s. This …” He pointed out the sun and the blue sky nearly empty of clouds. “Is perfect.”

“Does this have something to do with St. Patrick’s Day?”

“Of course,” Gil said. “This is Talbot’s Peak.”

The sky might be empty, but the square was already packed with Peakers decked out in all possible shades of green. More than a few held beverages also tinted green, and more than a few of those beverages contained alcohol. Talbot’s Peak never passed on a chance to celebrate a holiday.

Chloe glanced around the crowded square. She didn’t see any floats or marching bands. “Is there going to be a parade?”

“Sort of,” Gil said. He pointed out a stand selling green spun sugar on a cone. “Cotton candy?”

They strolled hand in hand along the edges of the square, where the Mayor could keep an eye on his constituents and both could avoid accidental trampling by the town’s larger, rowdier citizens. Chloe tore into her cotton candy with gusto. “Where was this when I was pregnant?” she murmured.

“You should have said something. I’ll bet the candy store would have whipped some up. Uh-oh.” Gil carefully drew her toward the center of the square. “Here we go.”

At almost the same instant a pigeon-shifter boy perched on the square’s central fountain pointed at the sky and shouted, “There they are!”

Chloe looked up, but saw nothing. Too many heads in the way. Gil maneuvered her to one of the sculptures dotting the square and hoisted her up for a better look. “The parade’s up there?” she said skeptically. “How—oh.”

And there they were. V after V of migrating goose-shifters, passing over Talbot’s Peak on their way to their northern colonies. They flew low enough for Chloe to see they had dyed themselves green.

Then the show began. The flocks broke ranks and recombined into a pipe, a four-leaf clover, and the outline of a leprechaun. There weren’t enough of them, so the leprechaun came out a bit sketchy. Local bird shifters, the pigeon boy among them, hurried skyward to fill in the gaps. After the portraits followed a performance of high-speed aerial skills, with dips and dives and barrel-rolls and groups in precision maneuvers.

“They brought in hawks again,” Gil remarked. “No goose can dive like that. The flocks compete with each other, see. Somebody always cheats with a hawk. One year a bald eagle showed up. Started a riot. They almost had to cancel the show.”

“Almost?”

“We have a dragon,” Gil said. “He’s out of town this year. Good thing they don’t know that.”

The flocks scattered to re-form one final time. The green geese spelled out Happy Saint Patrick’s Day. The pigeon boy provided the apostrophe.

With that, the geese descended. They came to earth and shifted into human form, to thunderous applause. Their skin and hair still sported green, but their smiles were white and broad. Citizens rushed forward to offer free refreshments.

“What happens now?” Chloe asked.

“We party. The geese get free overnight lodging at the Pleasure Club. A lot of them will pair up here and start new families when they get home. Ever since Talbot’s Peak went shifter, we’ve become a regular stop on their route.” They passed another stand. Gil brightened. “Hey! Mint whoopee pies!”

“You’ll spoil your appetite,” Chloe scolded.

“That’s the whole point of a holiday. Green milkshake, m’dear?”