Jim Henson’s The Dark Crystal Author Quest Read Free Page A

passed, but he spoke too fast for Kairn to make out much of anything. Either the flutes the Podlings played or the tassels that hung from their sleeves were called dalamoys, and either Parra’s cousin or his childhood tutor was named Alay. He also heard that the dinner would have been something that sounded like
razmizz with a nebrina demi-glaze
, but the Nebrie couldn’t be milked today. The connection between the two events was never made clear, but Parra apologized deeply and so Kairn forgave excessively, if confusedly.
    Parra was handsome for a Podling. He had an earthy skin tone and thick auburn hair that jumped in every direction, the fashion for Podlings at the time. His brown teardrop eyes dominated his face, which was relatively sharp in comparison to those of the doughy Podlings. Standing at attention in the road in his dirty Podling farmer clothes, he had looked ridiculous to Kairn, but Kairn felt now that he had underestimated Parra. He was different from other Podlings; he had a hunger that a banquet couldn’t satisfy.
    Parra and Kairn eventually reached the head table, which was raised high above the floor and nestled close to the dark clay wall. Parra explained that the head table, which he called a mizzenmens, was a great honor for guests and a Podling tradition that he believed dated back to before they had even learned the song to harvest turblaroots. Orritch and his wife were seated already—they were the only members of the banquet who were. Instead of sitting to eat, the other Podlings dipped wooden ladles into a giant vat of a boiling soup and gulped a mouthful down with a grin before they returned to the dance floor. Their first several steps were leaps and hops while grabbing their throats. The Podlings always seemed surprised by the soup’s temperature, as if they expected it to cool in the few moments between gulps.
    Kairn could see that Orritch hated being one of the few Podlings seated at the banquet. His eyes ricocheted around the room, catching each laugh, each fall, each new dish. Kairn insisted that Orritch rise and join the other Podlings, but only Orritch’s preeminent manners could compete with his love of drinking, carousing, and dancing. “Absolutely not. What could any Podling enjoy more than to show the famous hospitality of Greggan to a Gelfling warrior like you?”
    Orritch’s wife sat serenely at the table. In every conversation, her head would turn mechanically to face the speaker, and she would offer her exceedingly composed smile. Kairn could not decide if this habit indicated tranquility or vacuity. In any case, she was the only Podling whom Kairn had ever considered beautiful. She had aged gracefully, and her face’s smooth curves glided into each other harmoniously. Her straight red hair, though not as long as a female Gelfling’s, touched the top of her back.
    Orritch jumped when he noticed Kairn looking at his wife. “My manners! You haven’t met my pride and joy yet. You know, Kairn, the little Podlings in the village always come up to me and say, ‘Lord Orritch’—they call me Lord, you see—‘tell us a war story! Tell us about the expeditions to the north.’ Then I have to correct them and tell them that the fighting in the north was greatly exaggerated and the real fighting was done in the east. You don’t hear enough about the expedition to the east, I say—I don’t need to tell you that, of course! But in any case, then they clamor for a story about the fighting done in the east, and I have to tell them, ‘Boys, the greatest fight of my life was not in the east. No, the greatest fight in my life was getting this one to fall in love with me.’”
    He squeezed his wife, whose smile grew slightly more warm. “This beauty is Falavam, which means ‘thank you’ in our language, but I always say that I should be the one thanking her.”
    Kairn bowed. “I am