Archive of Our Own

Pale sunlight filtered across the deck of the Zephyr, sparkling where it hit shiny metal surfaces. The Wind Riders were arrayed casually across the deck, enjoying a well-deserved break as they sailed between cities and adventures.

Monty and Marya were speaking quietly over a table full of maps, no doubt discussing where to go next or how they were progressing throughout the wide ranges of Zood. Further out, in the more open areas of the deck, Maxwell and Van were sparring, and seeming to have a grand old time with it. Nearby, Bert called out encouragement - “Get ‘im, lovey!” - and Wealwell called out unhelpful advice - “You just need to stand better, Max! It’s all in the stance!” - as the two traded blows. Pappy was leaning over by the railing, Ghost Dog close by his side. Pappy had been doing a lot of that, looking over the Zoodian sky, lately.

Olethra took in the scene happily. Her crew, her family, all enjoying the peace and quiet of the skies. She breathed in the crisp air and eyed the sunlight. It was winter, she supposed. Zood’s seasons were hard to track, especially when you hopped from city to city across the tube. But by the Gathie calendar, which they had kept track of as best they could, it was winter.

Olethra liked winter. Back in the canyons, there would sometimes be snow dusting the top of the cliffs. She remembered trying to wrangle the guinea fowl into sweaters, which was quite an undertaking as the guinea fowl definitely did not like that. The days would end faster, but the stars above her home glittered brightly through the dark.

And then, of course, the time with her family. Her parents, who gave her the world, who kept her safe, and who shared all their silly traditions.

It was nearly time for the celebrations, and she hadn’t heard a peep from any of the Wind Riders. Was there not going to be a celebration this year, her first winter away from home? The thought was more chilling than a cold winter wind in the canyons.

“Hey everyone!” Well, nothing wrong with asking, right? As the crew turned to look at Olethra, she plunged forward. “It’s almost time for Holiday, if the calendar is right. What are we doing?”

Everyone stared blankly at Olethra.

“Uh… which holiday, Olethra?”

Olethra stared blankly back at Maxwell.

“Holiday, duh! You know! Midwinter celebration! All the fun traditions, lights, gifts, all that jazz? Holiday?”

“Olethra, there’s probably at least a dozen different midwinter celebrations. There’s more than one even in Eisengeist, let alone all the different cultures in Gath. Are you referencing a specific holiday?”

Olethra felt herself turn red. Oh, no, was this one of the things her parents did that was weird? Wait, no. Her family wasn’t weird, they just had their own way of doing things. And she liked that way, even if it did mean she blundered into conversations like this one.

“It’s… uhm, Holiday? I don’t know, the uh other celebrations? We always just did Holiday?”

“Holiday’s a Gulch Canyon specialty,” Daisuke chimed in, saving Olethra from her stammering. “I never experienced it firsthand, but from what I tell, the MacLeods - Olethra’s family, not Comfrey - did a sort of mishmash celebration. Picked and chose what they wanted to celebrate, and cut out all the rest. Smart, if you ask me - this way you get your favorite celebration every year.”

“Yeah!” Olethra smiled widely at Pappy. “I guess then that you all don’t celebrate Holiday?”

“Well,” Monty began, looking intrigued to learn more about Olethra’s strange background. “I don’t think any of us celebrate Holiday, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t holidays that we celebrate! Probably a good few different ones, I’d wager. Maybe the solid base of your Holiday.”

Olethra perked up. Well, that sounded fascinating! She sprawled out on the planked deck of the Zephyr, propping her head on her hands.

“Could you tell me about these celebrations?”

Maxwell started them off. He was intrigued by the notion of this Holiday, thinking back to the celebrations he had experienced across his life. Thinking of how often things were disappointing, or frustrating… typical Gotch family things.

On the other hand, he thought as Wealwell came over and threw a friendly arm across his shoulder. It wasn’t all bad in the Gotch family. Wealwell led him away from his spar with Van - she grinned and gave him an approving head nod - and over to where some of the crew were gathering on the deck. Wealwell took a quick moment to try and ruffle Max’s hair, muttering about older brother privileges and Max shoved him as he went to sit. Of course, Wealwell was unbothered by the shove, but did sit down next to him with a friendly bump of their shoulders.

What was midwinter like for them? Of course, there were holiday traditions in Eisengeist, and traditions in the Gotch family, but it sounded completely different from Olethra’s Holiday, and Max didn’t want to disappoint her.

Luckily, Wealwell jumped in when Max hesitated.

“You see, the thing about Eisengeist,” Wealwell began, “is that it is fundamentally an imperial culture. So there’s not just one celebration that people share universally. However, the official midwinter holiday of the Queen’s Empire is Christmas.”

Wealwell prodded Maxwell to go on and explain further.

“Christmas is sort of a, well, at its core it’s supposed to be a religious holiday,” Max explained. “No one really celebrates it that way, nowadays. I mean, sure, some stuffy people go to church that day, but most Eisengeistians celebrate a very casual form of the holiday. It’s a midwinter festival that focuses on rebirth and a new era, I suppose is the best way to put it. There are all sorts of myths and stories that people tell every year. The bright star, the kind elves, all sorts of nonsense.”

“Not nonsense!” Wealwell cut in. “Fun things, to break up the winter chill and darkness. I always loved the story of the elves, who worked all year to bring special treats to good children. Of course, it helped that I was a good child, unlike some people I could name.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes and gave Wealwell another ineffective shove. At Olethra’s clear interest, however, he continued.

“My favorite was always the bright star. Legend tells that at the birth of a new king, the star in the east shined bright all through the winter. It led followers to see the new king and give him gifts. Of course, anyone who studied history or aeronautics could tell you about using the stars for guidance. Picking a pinpoint to focus on, you can find your way to where you need to be.”

“It sounds like there’s a lot of gift-giving involved!” Olethra looked keenly interested at this point.

“Oh, uh, yes,” Maxwell felt uncomfortable again. Right, gifts, the part of Christmas most people looked forward to. He took a tangent, hoping to distract everyone from the gift-giving part. “One of the most quintessential parts of Christmas is the Christmas tree. You go find a large conifer tree and bring it inside your house, decorating it with little baubles and such. I think it’s supposed to imply growth? I don’t know, really. And then I guess it’s traditional to exchange gifts around the tree on Christmas morning. Consumerism and all that.”

“That sounds fun! What’s your favorite gift you’ve ever gotten?”

Max and Wealwell looked at each other, resignation and sheepishness and a sort of anti-nostalgia reflected in their gazes.

“Well,” and here Wealwell took up the narration. Thank the skies for Wealwell. “You know those stuffy people who go to church? I imagine it will surprise no one here that the Gotches are, in fact, those stuffy people. Christmas was never a ‘jolly good time’ as the saying goes. Instead, it was another occasion for Longspot Gotch to show off his wealthy, well-behaved and proper family. Every year was a new, starched suit of clothes, and we’d all get dressed up to go to church. Not that Longspot was ever a very pious man, of course, he didn’t give a fig about the religious stories, but it was about being seen, you know? Our Christmas tree was the biggest one in town, but skies forbid we ever decorate it ourselves. We had people for that. And the gift-giving was an envelope of cold, hard cash and an admonishment to spend it wisely. Not exactly the stuff of childish dreams.”

Max thought back to their usual Christmas morning. Their tree glittered with cold white lights and expensive ornaments, beautiful in a way that stood apart, that felt distant. Whereas other families might have piles of gifts under their tree, Longspot gave them all a lecture on investment and propriety with their money and left. Not a very festive morning.

“You never got gifts? That’s so sad.” Olethra looked heartbroken at the idea of a gift-less young Maxwell.

“Well…” Max felt a bloom of warmth. “Just because father didn’t see the merit in gifts doesn’t mean we never got any. I got a few. Grandfather’s pocket watch, a treasure.” The memory of the old man, pulling Max aside and presenting the beautiful antique, telling Max to use his time to live well. “A compass, one year.” A gift beautifully wrapped and left on his bed, no note but a distinct air of Samwell. “And… one year when I was probably twelve or so, a boxed set of the Montgomery LaMontgommery adventure books.” A stack of gifts, wrapped very messily. A big bow on top, gaudy and loud in the way that only Wealwell could be.

“He tried to pretend he was too old for such things,” Wealwell cut in again. “But let me tell you, Monty, he loved those books. Read them again and again.”

Maxwell was blushing and refusing to look at them, but Monty was grinning ear to ear. Olethra looked soft and nostalgic, and Max knew that she had loved those books too. Had they been a Holiday gift for her as well?

“I never did get you anything in return,” Max said, reluctantly leaning in as Wealwell bumped shoulders with him. “Thank you, though. That was a very nice Christmas.”

“Younger brother privileges,” Wealwell responded. “You get presents from the rest of us. And… older brother privileges means I get to do this!”

Wealwell reached over and began to ruffle Max’s hair again. Max rolled out of the way, slapping at Wealwell’s hands. A short scuffle broke out as the Gotch boys harassed each other, Maxwell pretending to be stoic about the whole thing but Wealwell obviously having a blast. The rest of the crew rolled their eyes but smiled fondly at the sight of the sibling affection.

“The elves, the gifts,” Marya began. “Much of that was present in Scrapsylvania as well. But it was not like this polished, pretty version in Eisengeist. No, midwinter in Scrapsylvania was hardly any darker than any other time of year. But still, we had our celebrations. Little things to make the children happy.”

“From what I’ve heard,” Monty cut in, “I’m not sure about making children happy.”

“Oh, hush,” Marya swatted at Monty fondly. “What do you know about Scrapsylvania? It was our way of doing things. And it made the people happy. We all have our traditions, yes?”

“What happened in Scrapsylvania?” Olethra looked wary. It was clear that she was remembering Marya’s Toys and Trinkets (and Other Drivel to Distract You from Life’s Tragedies: A Toy Store). It probably didn’t look very festive and fun to outsiders, but Marya felt some affection for the store, for her aunt, for the way the drivel served to distract her as well.

“In Scrapsylvania,” Marya began in a storyteller’s voice. “We have the Winter Tinkerer. A Scrapsylvanian spirit legend. The Winter Tinkerer comes around every midwinter to see if the children of Scrapsylvania have behaved themselves. If you are good, if you are quiet and productive and fierce, the Winter Tinkerer gives you gifts. New tools and scrap metal to tinker with, mostly.”

“And…” Olethra hesitated. “And if you were not good?”

“Ah, well, that’s the thing. Good children get treats from the Winter Tinkerer, but bad children are not so lucky. The Winter Tinkerer is sometimes a kind old man, and sometimes a vicious demon here to punish bad children. Balance, yes? The bad children - not that there are many - see the horned face of the demon and are told to be good for their families so that next year they may get treats.”

“I heard that the bad children get coal,” Maxwell cut in. “A frequent threat by my father, that I would only have coal under the tree.”

“Coal? Coal is good! Useful! Why would the bad children get coal?” Marya felt half amused at Maxwell’s ignorance, and half annoyed. Of course a rich man’s son would find coal a threat and not a kindness. “No, some stories tell only that if you were bad, the Winter Tinkerer would come and scare you so that you would be better for the next year. But my favorite stories were where the Winter Tinkerer gives the bad children broken toys or machines. It was a test - if you could fix the broken toys, if you could show that you were a good and faithful crafter, you would please the Winter Tinkerer. I always liked those stories. A chance for redemption is always a beautiful thing.”

Marya thought wistfully of midwinter mornings, when her mother would give her small packages of scrap metal and leather. Some years she even got new tools (new to her, at least) and they would spend time together figuring out how to use them. And sometimes her father would wear a scary mask and tell her to be good, but he would always laugh and she knew that the Winter Tinkerer was not there for her.

Still, those stories stayed with her. The opportunity to redeem oneself, to show that you are still good and productive and capable, that you understood how it was better to fix things than to break them. She thought of Ludmila, a pang in her heart. Ludmila, hard at work in Zern trying to fix the broken landscape, the scattered peoples. Doing what she could to fix what was broken - what she had broken - and in the process finding new value in herself and in the things she could mend.

Those were the stories Marya liked. There was something beautiful in redemption through repair.

“Well, midwinter isn’t always dark and gloomy,” Van cut in, a little uncomfortable with the depressing turn the conversation had taken. Midwinter shouldn’t be depressing! “Stuffy Christmas mornings, scary moral demons… you all need to come to a Yule celebration at the Nut!”

“Yule?” Olethra questioned the strange word.

“Yule! It’s the traditional midwinter celebration in the Uplands. My ancestors’ ancestors celebrated it, far back as anyone can remember. A celebration to move past the dark nights of winter and into the sun’s rebirth!”

“Yes, but what is Yule?” Maxwell chimed in.

“Oh, well it’s a jolly good time is what it is! A time to get together with family and community and celebrate warmth and life. And fire!”

Van felt enthusiasm rising in her, remembering how she had always looked forward to Yule, had been a gleeful child and then a boisterous adult making sure that everyone had a good Yule. Bert took over the explanations, able to do a better job with the backstory and fiddly bits.

“See, the idea was that Yule celebrated the old gods. Their wild ways and feasting spread as people sought their blessing into the new year. Some festivals were thought to be fertility based, but mostly the point of Yule is to carry light forward. This is mostly seen with the Yule Log. Every year, families would get a large, sturdy log and burn it for the whole midwinter festival. It was considered good luck for it to burn more than a week, so it was important to keep the fire fed and the Yule Log burning. Way back when, having a week-long fire was almost decadent, but nowadays this part isn’t too hard. But it’s fun and simple!”

“See now growing up in a sailing family, we didn’t do much with fires. Too dangerous out on the ships. But every year, for Yule, we’d make sure we had a good and solid Yule Log. Dad and my uncles would bring logs they found in distant ports, so it was always special to see what we were burning that year! Oh the places they saw…”

Van wandered back into her childhood memories. Dad bringing home a branch from a plum tree in Hawkland, a sturdy fir from New Pilby. Always something new, a fun treat to look forward to. How they would burn differently! Each year they would have to learn the best way to keep the log alive, the different things each branch needed to stay lit. It was a test and a celebration and a project they would all work on together.

“Anyway,” Bert resumed the tale. “If you’re able to keep the Yule Log burning the entire celebration, you’re considered blessed for the new year. There’s different ways to do this, some people pour wine or honey over the log to ask for good harvests. Now we never did much of that, no need for good harvests on the coast. But every year we’d save the ashes from the hearth and bless the Nut. And it never failed! We lived a blessed life there.”

Van threw a strong arm around Bert’s shoulders and drew him close. She leaned down, resting her cheek on the top of his head, and thought back to the Nut. Lord, she missed the Nut, missed the stability and connection they had found there. The Nut was home and it was community, a beautiful place to put down roots. But then, Van was never one to be rooted to the ground, always looking for the next port, the next adventure. That didn’t mean she couldn’t miss the Nut, though.

“Now, of course, there’s the yule log itself and then the yule log treats. Bert bakes the best yule cake, every year at the Nut it’s the biggest seller we have all year. Chocolate and marzipan, buttercream icing, and his decorations! Those were the most beautiful logs you’d ever see.”

“Aw, lovey, you’re so sweet to me. I always liked making a yule cake, a piece of art both culinarily and aesthetically. Always felt like a good way to give to the spirit of the celebration. I can keep a kitchen fire going, of course, but to give warmth in the form of food is always important to me.”

“And we did gifts for Yule too - everyone gets gifts at midwinter. But now, there is a bit of Scrapsylvanian flair to the holiday, I suppose.” Van grinned, remembering the threats to behave that never did stick with her growing up. “The Yule Lads aren’t demons, not like the Winter Tinkerer - they’re trolls, but they do add a little bit of morality to the festivities… with a little chaos, of course.”

“Somehow, morality always comes up, doesn’t it?” Maxwell grumbled quietly. “There’s this one story, with these ghosts… my father hated it.” Olethra shhed Max for interrupting Van. It was clear that she was intrigued by this ghost story, but the Yule Lads were a more pressing interest.

“Anyway,” Van mock-glared at Maxwell. “The Yule Lads are these wild little monsters who come through town in the days leading up to Yule, according to story. Always causing mischief and messing up everyone’s plans. And they give out gifts to little children. But if you’re a bad kid, they give you a rotten potato. Not quite a demon scaring you half to death, but there is a little bit of push to behave in there. No one wants a rotten potato in your shoe.”

“In your shoe?” Wealwell looked aghast at the thought of someone doing something so uncouth.

“Better make sure you behave, Gotch! You know Bert has potatoes in the galley.” Van grinned sharply as Wealwell shuddered.

“Then, of course, there’s the Yule Cat, too! Sort of a strange addition, but I’ve always loved it,” Bert chimed in, picking up the beat of the story perfectly. “The Yule Cat is a giant, shadowy cat creature that lives in the hills. It comes around and, well, it eats you if you don’t get new clothing for Yule.”

“It eats you?” Olethra choked.

“New clothing?” Max looked pained.

“Well, it’s a strange tradition, I understand, but it’s home,” Bert sighed. “Anyway, the cat doesn’t really eat you. I mean, who’s to say it couldn’t, it’s a magic cat made from shadows and myth. But people don’t really say that the cat eats you anymore, but it will eat your food! And where would we all be without food, eh?”

“But clothes? Why clothes? I don’t get it.”

“Y’know, I’m not really sure?” Van looked contemplative. “We always just knew that we’d be getting clothes for Yule so that the Yule Cat couldn’t get us. A nice present, of course!”

Van paused, staring off into the distance - into the past.

“It’s silly, but when I was real little, still at home with mum while dad was away all the time, I had this cat. Little black thing with white paws, I called her Socks. Found her just around Yule, so I always thought of her as my personal little Yule Cat, and I always had clothes because I always had Socks. Real sweet little thing.”

Van felt a pang in her heart at the thought of Socks, her little pal. She remembered cuddling in front of a blazing Yule Log with a purring shadow in her lap, or later years when Socks would follow her around as she helped mum with the yule cake. Socks was sweet, but a rough and tumble little thing, just like Van herself as a girl. A perfect Yule Cat, she thought fondly.

Bert patted Van lovingly on the shoulder as she pulled herself together. Socks was a good little friend, but eventually Van had left the Uplands, and Socks had wandered back off into the hills, no doubt preparing to eat all sorts of little creatures in the name of Yule, she thought with a smile.

“Cats are good for kitchens, lovey, keep away vermints, hey? I’m sure there’s loads of kittens in Zood…” Bert continued whispering reassurances to Van.

“Anyway,” Van said, steering the conversation back on track. “That’s Yule, I suppose. A long-lasting fire, sweet treats, and Cats that can eat you if you misbehave.”

“Well,” Monty began. He felt the excitement of a lecture, of the chance to share information that he had stocked away on all sorts of topics. Midwinter was such a fun and intriguing topic! What rabbit holes he could go down… (metaphorically, of course, he’d tried going down a rabbit hole before and it didn’t work very well).

“Well,” he repeated. “You know that I’ve been all over the place, never really settled in anywhere. Always looking to find new things and experiences. So I’ve seen a bunch of different ways people celebrate midwinter. Fierce celebrations of life, remembrances of what’s moved on, and how we move forward. I’ve been to remote villages and isolated tribes and seen all kinds of midwinter celebrations. But my favorites have to be the lights. A lot of different places have light-based celebrations. The Yule Log of course has a lot to do with light, but it’s primarily a warmth based tradition. Other places, other peoples, they focus more on the light in the dark. It’s beautiful.”

“Oh, tell us about them Monty!” Olethra lit up. “What were your favorites?”

Monty settled in, never happier than when sharing information about the world around them.

“Now electric lights are new, technologically speaking. We may be used to them now, but for most of history humanity has had to find our own way to get through the dark. Candles, oil lamps, torches… all these tools were made to help us find our way in the dark. And for some cultures, this is metaphorical too - how can we find our way through the darkest part of the year and return to the light? That’s where the celebrations of light come in.

“I’ve seen variations on this story in many different places. In the Kabillian Isles, they celebrate a festival of lights that celebrates not just light over darkness in the sense of what we see, but light over darkness in the sense of good over evil. A metaphorical interpretation that we see throughout various cultures, of course, with light - the visual spectrum that we can see - often standing in for enlightenment and the idea of goodness. This is in many ways a fascinating cultural understanding that invites a lot of discussion -”

Maxwell coughed, just a tiny bit, and Monty refocused from what would have been a fascinating tangent if they had been willing to listen. Never mind, he was talking about the lights. He thought back to his first time seeing the Kabilian light festival. Parades, feasting, lights everywhere.

“Right, then, the festival of lights! In Grand Kabilia, I have been to such amazing celebrations, the like of which you’d not see anywhere else. Candles, lanterns, light flickering from every window and porch and doorway. And the colors! They have the most beautiful, intricate paintings done with colored sand and stones. The artists who create these works are infinitely patient, especially since these paintings are often done on floors and entryways where anyone could mess up the intricate designs.”

Monty pulled out his sketchbook as he was speaking, quickly crafting a rough sketch of a circular design, with flowers inside of flowers radiating out from a delicate center. He remembered one particularly beautiful painting, with intricate swirling details and a rainbow of colors, and felt that it was a tragedy that he could never replicate such an image to share with his family.

“Now of course I am not skilled in this type of work, and of course it would take much longer to craft an actual design, but this is similar to some of the designs I saw in Grand Kabilia. But imagine deep, vivid reds, vibrant yellows, intense greens. I don’t think I’ve seen art of this caliber anywhere I’ve been, and that’s saying something.

But the Kabillian Isles are not the only ones to have a light festival. In New Frumbia, they have a celebration based on a figure they call Saint Lux, who was a religious figure in their history. Saint Lux was apparently a caring and helpful lady, who worked hard to save people who were being hunted and prosecuted. She wore a crown of candles to signify where she was and that she was to be trusted. This saint features heavily in New Frumbian celebrations of midwinter, where her memory day signifies the darkest night of the year and the turn towards the light. Saint Lux is a symbol of light in the darkness being a sign of salvation and freedom. The New Frumbians celebrate with processions of children dressed as Lux, venerating their ancestor and her story.”

Here Monty sketched out a crown of dark green leaves, with red berries and tall pillar candles. He remembered a line of small children, dressed in solemn white and fierce red and delicately balancing the crown of lights as they walked.

“Then of course in the Concentric Sea, we have a variety of celebrations that can be broadly described as ‘floating lights’ or ‘river lights’ festivals. These festivals draw on the water-based cultures of the Concentric Sea, but still celebrate the importance of light and the general idea we’re working with across these different light-based holidays. In the Concentric Sea, during the floating lights festivals, people craft elaborate, beautiful floating offerings to the sea. These offerings can be made of simple, plant based craftwork, or as elaborate as gilded and richly painted lanterns. Each offering has a candle within it, which is lit as the offerings are set into the rivers or seas. These lanterns are usually made to resemble the rich flora of the Concentric Sea.”

Here he quickly made a sketch of a beautiful lotus flower with a small light at its center. What a simplification of the beauty the lanternmakers worked for the floating light festivals, even with the most quotidian materials.

“Now, imagine a dark night with thousands of lanterns floating along the river or the coast. As the lanterns are released into the water, people give thanks to the spirits of the water for keeping their communities safe or blessing their families. The lanterns are also symbolically used as a sort of renewal ceremony, well, ceremony is perhaps too strong a word for a practice of personal intention. But releasing the lantern is said to also release negativity and allow a person to move forward less burdened.”

The lotus flower is joined by a few other lantern designs as Monty quickly sketched. Again, he wished that he were able to more clearly show his family just how wondrous the sight of the lanterns on the water was.

“Even in Eisengeist, where Gotch has already described their midwinter celebrations, we see other people in the Queen’s Empire celebrating their own festivities. As Wealwell pointed out, imperial leanings have meant that Eisengeistian culture has some variations in it, and some of these peoples stick with their own traditions. The people in Gastonet have a festival of lights celebration that they celebrate in midwinter instead of falling in line with the sort of Christmas celebration Gotch described. Their festival of lights is based on a religious story, where people trapped in darkness were saved by a miraculously long lasting light. This light got them through the darkness, again showing that many cultures lean on a light vs. dark idea. The Gastonet festival of lights is celebrated in the modern day by the symbolic lighting of candles every night for eight nights, which is how long the light lasted in the original story.”

Monty sketched out a beautiful candelabra, with one central candle and four smaller ones on each side. He remembered the wide varieties of candelabra he’d seen, from simple frameworks to more geometric designs to the most intricate metalwork you could imagine.

“Each family has their own set of candles, but there is a ceremony for lighting them that most of the Gastonet people follow. Of course, just like the Eisengeistian celebration, the religious nature does not mean that they do not share gifts! You’ll notice that gifts are also a common theme in many midwinter holidays. These community building activities are vital in many cultures.”

Here Monty paused, thinking of these different cultures. Each one had shared their traditions with him, had welcomed him into their celebrations. He marveled at all that he had witnessed, and gave thanks for the opportunity to learn more. He saw so much of humanity reflected in the ways that they had gathered together, sharing light with each other. Then he turned his mind to the more recent past.

“And of course you know I had been living in Bellenuit for some time before rejoining the crew of the Zephyr. Bellenuit is an interesting place, a sort of cultural melting pot where - if we’re being honest - mostly the rich and powerful from other places gather. Still, the everyday people of Bellenuit have their own celebrations. With the rich and powerful people, the politicians and celebrities I worked hard to educate and inspire, these people mostly threw large parties, galas and such, to celebrate the solstice. I’ve been to several, and their observance of the long night is less important than their observance of the who’s who attending each party. Sad, really, how their culture misses so many important moments.”

Monty aimlessly sketched out some wine glasses, a glittering ball of light that had been a focal point for many parties.

“But, again, they were simply the loudest with their celebrations. I was able to explore some of Bellenuit away from the glim and glam, and found that they had some lovely traditions too. One of my favorite traditions is actually a more recent one, developed out of that melting pot culture. The celebration used lights to mark a week of reflection and determination. Each day they would consider a shared value in the community and how they could promote and protect this part of their shared cultural identity, marking the day’s value by lighting a candle. At the end of the week, there would be a grand community feast and a celebration of moving forward into the next year.”

Here, Monty tried to recreate his favorite candelabra he had seen used in these festivities. The Bellenuit celebrations used a simpler candelabra than the Gastonet celebrations, different cultures and communities having different holiday traditions. However, Monty remembered one candelabra that had the balanced base of the seven candles, slightly uptilted at the ends, resting on a carving of two people facing each other and holding hands. To Monty, this really reflected the basis of the holiday - shared experiences and community coming together.

“You haven’t said anything, Pappy,” Olethra began hesitantly. “Do you have any midwinter celebrations you used to do?”

Daisuke stared off the side of the Zephyr, looking into the bright skies and memories of bright times. He sighed heavily, patted Ghost Dog on the head, and joined the circle of crew on the deck, wincing slightly as he eased himself to the floor.

“I didn’t have much of a family celebration, growing up. Not much of a family, really. I do remember, when I was very young, seeing a lantern festival like the one Monty described. Or similar enough, really. Although thinking about it, I saw lanterns floating up into the sky, not down a river. Probably says something, doesn’t it? Always looking into the sky.”

He smiled.

“That doesn’t mean I never celebrated midwinter, though. It just took me a while to get there, and a solid enough inspiration to feel festive.” He nodded at Olethra. “Your parents may have created Holiday for you, but that wasn’t what Hutch grew up celebrating, not what your grandma celebrated.”

Olethra jolted upright, eager to hear more about her family history.

“It’s funny, but that’s how I met Comfrey. In a weird, roundabout sort of way, that’s how it all started. Now I didn’t know anything about this celebration, wasn’t anything in my history. But I’d heard of the famous Comfrey MacLeod, and I wanted to know more. Did some investigating. I learned she was getting ready for a new journey, some grand adventure, some newfangled technology. I didn’t know much about the technology, but the way she described the sky, the adventure… it caught my eye. I didn’t figure that this was the sort of thing one looks for a dangerous outlaw to be a part of, but hell if I didn’t wanna go anyway.”

Daisuke remembered the first time he saw a picture of Comfrey. How beautiful she was, with a manic gleam in her eye as she near about bowled the reporter over with her ideas. There was something fascinating about her, something that called to him.

“I went to go find her in her office. Not an ambush or anything, mind, just a visit to introduce myself and explain why I oughta be a part of her adventure. And I knew my reputation, knew what most people thought of me. But you can be damn well sure that my mama raised a polite child, and I set myself up to be a good guest. A persuasive guest. Showed up at her office late one night. I knew that she had a tendency to work herself late and figured this was my best chance to catch her for a private conversation, I sure wasn’t going to make an appointment or anything like that.”

The memory is crystal clear for him. The light she had going in a small fireplace. The scent of fruit and pastry. The feeling of the cool bottle in his hands. And her eyes, looking at him, caught off guard. She looked like she had stars in her eyes, the way they gleamed in the light.

“I strode into her office, bold as anything, and introduced myself. ‘Professor MacLeod,’ I said, ‘I’m Daisuke Bucklesby and I’m gonna be a part of your expedition.’ It’s all about confidence, you know? And I handed over a gift - my mama would kill me if I didn’t bring some sort of offering - a bottle of fine whisky. Yeah, alright, it might have been stolen but it was good whisky anyway! Comfrey was never caught off guard, she was always ready for anything, but not this. Not a slick-talking, good-looking man in her office at midnight with top tier whisky.”

Marya snorted as Daisuke described himself, but all the Wind Riders were looking at him fondly. The old crew had heard the story plenty of times, of course. But it seemed they never tired of hearing it just as he never tired of remembering it. Olethra was looking at him with stars in her eyes, so like her grandmother it hurt sometimes. But her smile, Comfrey’s smile, reminded him of the good times.

“It turned out,” he explained to his captive audience, “that I had inadvertently stumbled into some holiday I knew nothing about. An old Pilby tradition. It was New Year, according to their calendar, lined up with the solstice and the whole light versus dark thing Monty was yapping about.” (“Rude!” Monty called with a grin. Daisuke smirked back at him.) “Now Comfrey was of course working through the celebrations, working her way out of one year and into the next, to no one’s surprise. But it was her surprise when I walked in. According to old Pilby traditions, the first visitor you have in the New Year is gonna shape how your next year goes. It’s good luck if the visitor brings whisky, especially if the visitor is a good-looking gentleman.”

Olethra had her hands clutched together in an expression of romantic glee.

“So you swept in like a midwinter spirit and she fell in love?” Olethra asked, enrapt. Daisuke grinned, she had a romantic soul that Comfrey would have loved to see.

“Well now, it didn’t go quite all like that. I caught her off guard but only for a second, and she laughed so hard that I couldn’t look away. She shook my hand and told me to come in and explained the tradition as she opened up the whisky. And after that, well, there was a lot of talking and a lot of whisky and suddenly it was morning and we were in the New Year. It was all over after that, both of us goners. The midwinter magic,” he scoffed fondly. “We celebrated every New Year with a bottle of fine whisky and staying up til the sun came out after that.”

Olethra sighed happily as Pappy finished recounting the story of him and grandma meeting and celebrating together.

“Oh, I think that’s my favorite of all the traditions! Not that I’m biased of course. These were all lovely stories to hear.”

“Well, what about you?” Monty looked at Olethra inquisitively, as if she were a new culture to study all on her own. “What did you do for this Holiday?”

“Oh, well…” Olethra paused to think. The awkwardness she felt earlier had faded as she learned about the many different celebrations her friends had. Holiday was just one new version of a midwinter celebration, and it was one she loved every year!

“I suppose I can see some of where my parents got their ideas, listening to you all. So, Holiday. Every year my parents would decorate our house. Lots of greenery, well, as much as they could find in Gulch. Pretty rocks from out in the canyons. Lights, lots of lights, just like you said Monty! There were candles on every surface, though we didn’t have any fancy candleholders. My pa would make the most beautiful cake, though it wasn’t shaped like a Yule Log. Just a regular cake, with more greenery on top. And we did gifts, just little things we could make ourselves. Sometimes I would get a doll that my ma made out of scraps, or that my pa would carve out of wood. I liked to make things out of the feathers from the guinea fowl, since taking care of them was always my job.”

Olethra sighed, thinking of Holiday celebrations every winter.

“We’d stay up real late telling stories and spending the evening together. Then, at midnight, oh it was my favorite part every year. Once it turned midnight, we’d light off beautiful fireworks!”

She heard Maxwell mutter something like “of course there’d be explosives” and grinned.

“It was a good time every year, and I think it really worked well for my family. I don’t know why pa stopped celebrating grandma’s traditions but I love what they came up with for me. But I’ve really enjoyed listening to all of your stories too! Thank you for sharing with me.”

The days continued to pass as winter trudged on - at least, according to their Gathie calendar. In reality, they continued to experience the splendor of Zood in all its permutations. Great green forests, with trees as small as your knees and as high as the Zephyr could fly. Beautiful desert sandscapes, with soft sunsets. Rivers that would snake back and forth through the grasslands endlessly.

Olethra wasn’t even sure if Zood had seasons. The science and physics and all that of living on a tube intersecting with another tube in the sky was, well… it was beyond her to understand. If there was no spherical orbit, no axis to give an axial tilt, could there be seasons? It simply seemed that each area of Zood had its own environment, all of them strange and different and all of them beautiful at the same time.

They were sailing along the coast, a beautiful glass green sea that rippled along black sands. There were small waves - again, what was the tidal situation without an orbit and with many small satellites in the sky? - that gently flowed back and forth in an almost hypnotic rhythm. It had been a long week, as they had stopped in several places without taking any rest. Marya had needed to stop in the city to find some parts for the engine. Monty had wanted to stop in the forest to take some samples and explore the ecosystem. Maxwell and Pappy had gone into town to try and shake up some information. Stop after stop after stop.

It was nice, to simply float for a little while. The winds over the coast were surprisingly gentle, and the Zephyr would be making good time if they were trying to make time anywhere. Olethra took the time to breathe in the sea air and relax a little. The Zephyr had landed on the cliffs above the beach, and Olethra wasted no time scrambling down to see the water up close. She’d always been good at scrambling, a native of the canyons and the rocks. In no time at all she was wandering the beach, looking at the small pebbles and dipping her fingers in the surprisingly warm water.

She heard stumbling thumps behind her and turned to see who had followed her. A quick laugh escaped her as she saw Wealwell carefully inching his way down the cliffs with Ghost Dog in his arms. When they finally reached her by the water, she couldn’t keep her giggles in any longer. Wealwell glared at her, but she didn’t think there was any malice behind it.

“Listen, the damn dog wanted to come see the beach, alright? Do you know how intimidating it is for an ancient canine to start following you around asking to be carried down a cliff?” He straightened out his cuffs and huffed, but she could see him fighting a smile as Ghost Dog inched towards the waves.

“And why did you have to be the one to carry him down?”

“Well, the dog may be ancient but he does understand the importance of a good stance. You think there’s anyone else on that ship that could properly carry a giant of a dog down cliffs? It requires a proper balance, you see, and the ability to hold the dog without losing your step or swaying too much…”

Wealwell yelped - he would never admit to yelping, but he yelped - as Olethra burst out laughing and grabbed him by the arm. Of course she couldn’t pull him, he was too solidly planted, but she felt his fancy shoes start to sink in the sand and leaned all her weight towards the water.

“Come on! It’s warm, you have to see!”

Up on the deck of the Zephyr, Maxwell heard Wealwell’s aggrieved shout and listened as his brother started yelling something about “beach stances” and “adjusting your footing for the waves” and smiled to himself. If anyone was going to both be useless on deck and useful in distracting Olethra, it was sure to be Wealwell. They had sent him on a mission - keep Olethra occupied, and away from the Zephyr - and Wealwell had set out with an eager look, one that said “thank the skies I don’t have to do any of the heavy lifting.” This look immediately melted off his face when Ghost Dog demanded to be a part of the distraction and forced Wealwell to in fact do quite a lot of heavy lifting delicately carrying the old beast down the cliffs. Max saw Daisuke hiding a grin as he turned away.

“Alright, are we all set? Everyone ready?”

The Wind Riders were huddled together on deck, scheming while Olethra was away. Well, Max didn’t like the sound of “scheming,” they weren’t up to anything dastardly or nefarious. Scheming just had such an uncouth sound to it. No, they were planning, and planning is the first step in any successful endeavor.

And oh, had they planned. The past week, the Wind Riders - minus Olethra - had planned a grand plan, and now it was time to put it into action. After hearing each other’s tales of midwinter celebrations and traditions and how, in particular, Olethra had been swept away by each description, Maxwell had gotten an idea.

It was clear that Olethra enjoyed her Holiday, and equally clear that she was enraptured by the different cultural tales and approaches to their own midwinter celebrations. It was interesting, of course, to hear all that the other Wind Riders had shared. Cultural collaboration and discussion was a fine thing, and Max did rather enjoy hearing about midwinter celebrations more festive and meaningful than his own childhood Christmases. And that gave him his idea. What if they did their own celebration? The Zephyr was, in some ways, its own little microculture and there was a lot of collaboration and community that happened onboard. Why not create their own Holiday, like Olethra’s parents had? Why not make their own festivities?

He had discussed it with the other Wind Riders, starting with Monty. Monty of course had the most experience with cross-cultural discussions and the ways that traditions are formed and carried across time. Monty was unsurprisingly delighted to be given the chance to create a new holiday, and started taking notes while Max was still pitching the idea to him. It was no trouble at all to slowly rope in the rest of the Wind Riders, figuring out what they wanted to bring from their own festivities to create their new, Zephyr-special celebration.

Once they’d gotten everything ironed out, Monty taking notes like a marshal general, they had split up to accomplish their goals. Each one of them had responsibilities to take care of, and most importantly, they had to take turns so that someone was always distracting Olethra. If she paid too close attention, the jig would be up.

First they stopped in a bustling city with a large marketplace. Marya had dragged Van and Wealwell into the city to, ostensibly, find some new parts she needed for the engine. When Olethra had asked, volunteering to help Marya with the repairs, Marya had rambled off into an incredibly technical description of the minute parts of the engine that were showing wear and needed to be kept in tiptop shape, with increasingly elaborate descriptions of the steps Marya needed to take to accomplish this. She told Olethra that only she knew what to look for, and Van and Wealwell were coming along to carry anything particularly heavy Marya might need. Just as Olethra was volunteering to come along anyway, Bert stuck his head out the galley and asked Olethra to help him prepare dinner, since Van was busy. As Olethra cheerfully went to assist Bert, he winked at Van as the group went into the city.

Luckily, the engine was working perfectly fine. Marya always kept it in perfect shape, was always tinkering with something or other than not only kept the engine working but even improved things as she went. She was happy to pick up whatever bits and bobs she could find in the market, but she was really heading out to find supplies for their upcoming celebrations. Wealwell went along to show Marya the kinds of baubles and decorations that might make the ship look festive - no one particularly wanted to see what the Scrapsylvanian thought was festive - and Van went along to find ingredients for Bert to create a delicious feast. They spent most of the day in the market, and came back carrying large boxes and wrapped parcels, clearly successful in their endeavors. Olethra seemed eager to help them unpack and see what Marya had in store for the engine, but Bert was an expert at distracting and refocusing.

Next, they took a visit to a nearby forest. Monty exclaimed how beautiful the landscape was, and began to expound on what fascinating and unique lifeforms must be down there, how there had to be infinite opportunities for research, how he really couldn’t pass up this chance. He went into minute detail about the different flora he could see even from up high and wondered at what he might be able to find if he were just allowed to go on a quick research trip, just a short one, a day really, could he just have a day to explore? Van good-naturedly said they’d never get anything done if they didn’t let Monty have his little science experiments and that she would go with him to make sure he stayed safe and didn’t wander too far off.

When Olethra looked fascinated and like she wanted to go with them, Daisuke called her and asked her to help him look over Ghost Dog. He said he was worried about Ghost Dog’s arthritis and knew that she was used to looking after her animals in Gulch Canyon, and could she help him? Much as Olethra’s inquisitive nature pushed her towards the forest with Monty, she never could say no to Pappy, and the two of them were soon poking and prodding a long-suffering Ghost Dog. At one point, Max looked over and even saw the two of them giving Ghost Dog a bath with what looked some sort of mud mask? Ghost Dog looked mournfully back at him, but there was no way Max was getting involved in that.

Monty and Van had a massively successful exploration, Monty said when they sat down to dinner that night. He began detailing the insects that he had found, categorizing them by size and shape and unfortunate bite experiences. When he found out about Ghost Dog’s mudbath, he began to discuss with Olethra the different ways that topical treatments can aid in animal health and rejuvenation, getting real deep in the weeds about different soil formulations leading to different effects, and how they could start collecting these different treatments. Max shuddered to think what “spa days” awaited them in the future, but Olethra was sufficiently wrapped up in their conversation to not notice when he and Van carried about a few sacks of flowers and greenery Monty had found (and determined not to be poisonous), as well as the real prize, a tree small enough to fit on the Zephyr but large enough to make a statement. When Wealwell started to chime in about the different spas he had been to and his favorite treatments, they could have carried a whole forest by without Olethra noticing.

Up last was Max and Daisuke. The whole crew was working to get the Zephyr ready for a celebration, but they needed some gifts. While some people on board could make gifts - Marya was always tinkering, and Van and Bert could whip up some real delights in the kitchen - they all agreed that it would be helpful to go into a town and try to see what they could find. Perhaps Max and Daisuke might not seem like the best choice for such an expedition, neither of them the shopping type, but they were determined to be the best fit as they were the ones who knew Olethra the best. Daisuke, who had been watching over her half her life, and Max, her peer and co-conspirator in starting this whole adventure off in the first place.

This time it wasn’t at all hard to distract Olethra. When Max and Daisuke went off to “get some information” and “find out about jobs,” Olethra zoned right out. When Monty asked her help in cataloguing and detailing his insects, she didn’t hesitate. Who knew that insects were more interesting than adventure gathering? Perhaps at this point, Olethra was just a little tired after a whirlwind few days. Max knew he was. That tree was heavy.

Olethra must really have been tired, as she was snoozing on the deck with Ghost Dog when Max and Daisuke returned. This was convenient, as they were carrying a small box and a couple of bags, and it saved them from possibly having to explain just what information they had rustled up, exactly.

Now it was time to put their scheme - plot - plan - into action. With Wealwell and Ghost Dog skillfully keeping Olethra occupied, the Wind Riders got to work.

Wealwell and Marya put up the Christmas tree, with Wealwell directing Marya on how it should look and where to put the baubles that they had picked up and/or Marya had crafted. It wasn’t exactly what Max remembered, not quite the right shape, a little too green, but when it was standing with glimmering shapes spread across the branches, little strings of beads and even a small glinting star on top, it looked perfect.

Monty and Max began spreading the other decorations across the deck. They had picked up a truly enormous amount of candles, and Van had whittled a few candleholders and even a fairly pretty candelabra. While Max questioned the wisdom in setting lit candles in a wood candelabra, Monty assured him that it was perfectly normal for the occasion and they would be fine. (Max determined that keeping a bucket of water and/or sand on deck would also be prudent.) In addition to the candles and the tree, they arranged branches that Monty had picked up, green and white and floral and some studded with berries. Again, Monty had said he was reasonably confident none of them were poisonous, but Max made sure none of the nut pugs could reach the berries, just in case.

Van went to work in the kitchen with Bert, who had been slowly and secretly making special dishes throughout the week. They had desserts rich with sugary fruit filling, a delicious smelling meat pie with a delicate golden crust, and a cider they had cooked with spices that made the whole kitchen smell rich and cozy. While Van set the table in the mess with a hodgepodge of dishes and cups, arranging some more of the greenery along the table (Max insisted on no berries), Bert pulled out a sweet smelling roll cake, which he started decorating with sugarcream frosting and little candy decorations. Max had to admit that Van had not been wrong to describe Bert’s work as art. Not that he ever doubted Bert (well, there were some nights with just a little too much aioli), but it was truly a marvel to see this plain cake take on the appearance of a log with little mushrooms and acorns, rippling bark of chocolate ganache.

Meanwhile, Daisuke was hard at work with their finale surprise. He had arranged the presents around the tree (there were more than Max remembered purchasing) and fiddled around the stern of the ship with something or other, Max leaving him to his preparations in peace.

Finally, they were ready. The deck gleamed with dozens of candles, on the table, on the shelves, some hanging from the ceiling somehow. The tree, in the corner, fairly sparkled, and a haphazard pile of gifts surrounded it. The table was full to bursting with a variety of Bert’s finest, the Yule cake tucked away for a dessert reveal.

Everything was perfect. The Zephyr looked like something out of a winter fairytale.

Sending a signal to Wealwell - a nut pug looking for Ghost Dog - the Wind Riders prepared for Olethra to join them. Max heard some good natured bickering as the Olethra and Wealwell climbed the cliffs, Olethra insisting that her hobby of rock-climbing in the canyons was more apt for the current situation than Wealwell’s semester of danger stances. He held his breath. Any minute, the two would climb on the Zephyr and they would see if all their hard work had been successful.

Success didn’t begin to cover it. As Olethra stepped on deck, she immediately stopped her discussion with Wealwell and froze. Her eyes grew big with shock as she took in the glimmering array of decorations and gifts. When she saw the table full of treats and candles, she burst into tears, and Max was momentarily worried that they had done something wrong. Had they overstepped? Did Olethra think they were trying to replace her family?

Then she reached out and grabbed the nearest crewmember - Bert - and squeezed him in a hug so fierce she lifted him off the ground. Her tears gave way to peals of laughter as she swung Bert around.

“Happy Holiday, lovey,” Bert said with a pat on her shoulder as Olethra set him down.

Beaming, Olethra looked at everything the Wind Riders had put together.

“You put together a Holiday celebration? Even though it’s a little silly?”

Daisuke walked up and grabbed Olethra’s hand.

“It’s not silly, kid. It’s your family’s celebration, and we’re your family now.”

“And this is a Holiday for all of us!” Van cheered. “We’ve all got a little special something here.”

Olethra looked like she might cry again, but instead grabbed Daisuke in a fierce side-hug and cheered.

“Everything looks great! What do we do first?”

Olethra watched one of the moons rise over the waves, content. No, not content - she was happy in a way that she hadn’t been in some time. Not that she was unhappy, she was generally excited and ready to go each day, but there had been some homesickness, some grief. She had been missing her family, out on this adventure. Now that grandma was gone, she’d felt a little cut loose.

Looking back over her shoulder, seeing Daisuke walk towards her with something in his hands, she smiled.

She wasn’t cut loose. She wasn’t without family. These people, these wonderful wacky beautiful people, had put together a special celebration for her, to share their traditions with each other and create their own Holiday.

“What’ve you got?” She peered at Daisuke as he walked towards her in the growing darkness. She’d already received several presents tonight, as they sat around the Christmas tree in the glow of the candles. A clockwork doll from Marya. Spiced candies made by Van and Bert. A small book from Monty detailing the flora and fauna they’d found so far, with pictures. A new whip from Maxwell and Wealwell, who had argued over the merits of practicality versus decoration.

Now, she wondered what Pappy was bringing over to her. It seemed a little shiny, which intrigued her. As he drew close, however, she noticed that he seemed to have crafted a little lantern, like the kind Monty had described. The lantern was small, about the size of her hand, with green vines wrapped around a metal framework. There were small flowers dotting the bottom, and she could see a small candle in the middle.

“Thought you might like to do a lantern with me,” Pappy said. His tone was casual, but she could see in his eyes that this meant a lot to him. “We can, uh. I thought we could light it for your grandmother. And for adventure. She’d like that, I think. The lantern lets us set our light and our intention on the future, but I don’t think it’s bad to use it to honor our past, too. You know?”

Olethra smiled at Pappy, grabbing his hand and holding it tight. She took the lantern from him as he gently lit it, the flame flickering ever so slightly in the gentle sea breeze. She thought of grandma, of both the iconic figure from her childhood and the flawed woman she had met here in Zood. She thought of the family that had come together from this shared focal point. She thought of how she would miss her grandmother, but how she was moving forward with her family here in Zood.

Gently, she and Pappy set the lantern down on the water, giving it a little shove so it didn’t just bounce off the shore. Olethra watched the little light, glinting off the metal frame of the lantern and the small waves, sparkling, a light in the darkness.

Pappy threw an arm over her shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze.

“Come on, kid,” he said as he steered her back to the ship. “It’s almost midnight, you know what that means?”

“Whisky?” He laughed.

“Yeah, whisky. Or at least as close as I could find in this place.”

As they rejoined the Wind Riders on the deck of the Zephyr, she saw Pappy signal something to Max, who disappeared for a second. Then -

BOOM

- a brilliant flash of color as fireworks began to light up the sky.

“Happy Holiday, Olethra,” Pappy said as she clapped and whooped.

“Happy Holiday, Pappy.”