Festival marks the peak of summer. And no one asks which festival, because if another were meant, it would be called by name.
Zeta looked forward to Festival every year. The sounds and smells and electricity of connection, the anticipation of future joy, fueled her forward on the hardest of days, like a light kept in her pocket, with charge for the year. But especially this year, ever since she had learned that Rin Talen would be there, speaking, performing. As a volunteer for the committee, she might even meet them. They could sign her spellbook, the old spellbook, she thought with a grin.
And, Zeta thought further, such a celebratory year might be a chance to finally ease the one weight Festival always held. For many, but also for her. The quiet weight.
She resolved to try.
The fairies of Hela Hill had not largely attended Festival in some years. Without them, the songs were thinner. The air less vibrant. The joy less free. When Zeta had raised the question to the committee, they’d thrown up their hands. “They are always welcome,” The Deputy had said. “We also wish they would go.”
So Zeta had asked a trusted friend over a cup of glitter tea. The friend’s response had chilled Zeta to her bones. Such small things, yet such deep misunderstanding. No, mistrust. And the friend had offered other names, fairies whose words did not feel valued, and so, they no longer spoke them.
They focused efforts elsewhere.
The committee, Zeta learned, had misspoken. The fairies of Hela Hill were not welcome. They were invited. And, Zeta learned, these were not the same.
Zeta changed her plan.
“Zeta,” The Mayor said, “we need to talk about the lights.” She casually waved the submitted plan, her report attached behind it, still in its clips.
“Yes,” Zeta answered, excitedly. “I’ve got the schematics all worked out, and I’ve submitted the plan for review. Well, you have it right there. I’ve already talked to the magicians, and they can—”
The Mayor tapped the table. “You changed the colors.”
“Oh,” Zeta smiled. “The notes are on page three. I’ve asked people in town from Hela Hill what might make them feel welcome at festival, and while the other items are in the report, one is the shade of violet used. Fairies are sensitive to violet and all the shades beyond, and so if we just change that one to mauve, then—”
The Mayor chuckled. “We’re not changing the rainbow.”
“That’s absurd,” she heard another voice say.
Taken aback, Zeta found her own responses slipping. “I’m not…changing the rainbow. I’m adjusting the lights for Festival, to make the celebration more welcoming to all. And if you look in the report, there are other—”
“This?” The Mayor waved the stack of sheets. “We don’t have time for it. But changing the rainbow? The heart of Festival? How you could think to do this without even asking…” The Mayor shook her head.
The rainbow was the heart of Festival. It represented the gathering of all in celebration of darkness and light, in the strength of shared joy. Somewhere, she had a point to make. A way to express the difference. But there was no space to think, and around her, people chattered, louder and now, some with laughter. Zeta spoke louder to be heard. “I’ve never had to ask before. And I submitted it for review, and—”
“Hello?” The Mayor called out. “Is Roy G. Bim in attendance?”
The Deputy laughed.
“It’s not a joke,” Zeta said, now feeling angry. “We’re using fairy songs, fairy wisps, it’s part of how we got Rin Talen to attend. The least we can do is adjust the lights to help more fairies feel welcome.”
The Mayor was no longer laughing. “It should be apparent,” she said, “that we are not changing the rainbow.” She sighed. “I’m delaying the casting of the lights until we can submit a reasonable plan.”
“No,” Zeta said, her face flushing. “We can’t delay. The spells take weeks to calibrate, and—”
“You will stop interrupting,” The Deputy said, voice firm. “Now, on to pastries.”
The laughter had stopped, and the air felt heavy. Zeta glanced around for a nod of support, but the others stared down at their papers, some reading, some making notes.
The next day, she walked to Hela Hill.
#
Zeta raised her hand.
“Yes, Zeta?” The Deputy’s face wrinkled in anticipatory defense.
“I’d like to raise the issue of the lights.”
“We’ve talked about the lights,” The Mayor snapped. “We’re past it, and we are moving on.”
She shook her head, grasping for calmish words. “We’re not past it; the casts are still unordered, and unless you wish to remove me, I am still—”
“Do you wish to be removed?” The Deputy asked, eyes glinting.
“No. I wish to be respected.” Zeta stood from her chair, willing her legs to steady. “The modification of the violet lights to mauve is something that several fairies have communicated as an issue in their attendance.”
“You are not a fairy, nor do you speak for them. We are not going to lose precious meeting time discussing the opportunity to showcase Rin Talen because of your continued interruptions. Now, that’s enough.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, louder. “It’s not enough. I’ve not been given any opportunity to—”
“You do it again, you’ll force us to replace you.”
Flustered now, she peered around for support, but faces were turned away. “What have I done wrong, but put forward a thoughtful plan that you will not discuss? That you refuse to—”
The air snapped around her. A spell, cast by someone at the table. Her voice was blocked from leaving the bubble around her as long as she stayed in this place. Her eyes twitching and face burning, she left the room and walked out into the cool evening air to let the pressure subside, hoping perhaps, that someone might join her.
Zeta sat outside on the bench. Alone.
#
Cherry rapped at Zeta’s door.
Zeta smiled. She was glad to see her friend.
“I’m sorry about what happened at the meeting,” Cherry said, over a freshly offered cup of tea. “They were looking for someone to wrap up the lights for the committee, and I figured at least I could honor the work you’ve done. Could you give me your spell schematics?”
Zeta’s fingers turned cold against the warm cup. “I…need to think about that.” The Mayor had threatened to remove her, but there’d been no discussion. She’d thought, perhaps, Cherry was here to help.
“Sorry?” Cherry scrunched her face. “I told them you were on the right side of this, that you cared about Festival, even if you get wrapped in minutiae at times. But you understand the burden more than anyone. If we can’t use the updated schematics, we’ll have to start over from last year’s, retune the entire solar resonance. Like you said, that takes weeks.”
It took Zeta weeks; the others did not do it as well. She kept that piece to herself. “You don’t have last year’s,” Zeta said instead, looking down at her cup. “I have those also.”
The silence was long and unbroken, until Zeta looked up. Cherry was staring at her, her expression blank. Meeting Zeta’s eyes, Cherry’s softened.
“I get it. A lot of us know how The Mayor is, but there are issues here of more importance. Don’t you see? It’s finally happening. We’re getting Rin Talen. You know what that means to our island. People will travel here, from all over, just to see them. It will be the grandest celebration in years.”
Her own voice felt low, unsure. “But, Cherry, what does it mean to have people from all over when we are not inclusive of our own?”
Cherry nearly sputtered. “The fairies love Rin Talen; surely they’ll come out just for that. Any issue will be solved.”
Zeta shook her head. “But what if they don’t? Or even—what if they do? What if they go, but feel unhappy? Shouldn’t we welcome people with what they’ve asked for, not only with things we think they’ll also like? That’s not welcome, that’s…erasure.”
“I can’t do this,” Cherry said with a sigh. “I came by to try and help, and if you’re going to keep repeating fashions and flutters, it’s just, well it’s uncomfortable.”
The word ticked at Zeta’s mind, but she couldn’t quite place why. “What is it,” she asked, a simple question but all that she could think to ask right now, “that makes you so uncomfortable?”
Cherry stood, disappointment in her eyes. “I just think this is a strange hill to die on.”
“Die on?” Now Zeta’s face scrunched in incredulity. “I think that’s a strange thing to say. This is living. It isn’t even about us, but it’s like…” She had so much more to say, but the words felt twisted into her own anxieties, her own doubts.
With a sigh, Cherry took her bag back up and headed for the door. “Clearly you need time to think.”
“I don’t,” Zeta said, staying seated to hide the wobble in her legs. “I don’t, actually. I want to be heard out by the full committee on the issue of the violet lights. If they don’t like the term ‘mauve’ that’s fine, but we need to discuss adjusting the hue and why it’s such a big deal before I support any transition.”
Placing her hand across her chest, Cherry shook her head. “Can’t, Zeta. You’re banned. They…said you wanted that. That you were making the big deal out of petty things. That you could not control yourself. And, frankly, I am seeing here what they meant.” Waiting for a reply from Zeta and not getting one, she turned and left.
#
The narrator resents the ending, because there are several, and all of them as true as any. In every version, Zeta won’t hand over her plans without a discussion; she feels sick for the stand and the others sick for it.
In some stories, she celebrates the night alone. She finds her friends, she finds new friends, and creates art and joy in other spaces.
In some stories, the next meeting grows heated. Another speaks.
In some, an ending by delays.
In some stories, Festival is celebrated at Hela Hill. In some stories, it always was.
In the most fantastical version, Rin Talen asks what occurred and demands a full review before they will participate, offering their own funds, if needed, to assist. Yet, even then, no one invites Zeta back, for her name, now, is trouble.
In a version of fire and flame, there is no such name, for those who would block are bricks to be tossed, those who would hush are whispers unheard, and those who would mirror are turned from our view. But that is another tale. That is a story of dragons.
Perhaps, then, a fictional ending. A triumphant one? A comfortable one?
No, the narrator resists.
The real ending is tomorrow. And the days beyond. The real ending is long. The real ending is hope.
As for Zeta? She didn’t want to be in words. She didn’t want to be a character. She didn’t want to be alone.
She wanted the rainbow to mean all.
She reminds the reader, it does.
#
Festival marks the peak of summer. And no one asks which festival, because if another were meant, it would be called by name.
A rainbow of lights hover and sway over the calm, cool night, as the sounds of music flow across the jasmine-scented breeze and flutes of bubbling juices offer to tickle the tongue while streams of water could wiggle the toes.
All the people of the island gather. Many mingle and talk, others lounge and watch. Dancers dance, and singers sing. The furry folk eat, prance, and cuddle in nooks. The gnomes bounce from ledge to ledge, on networks of platforms and sheltered views winding through the taller crowds. A group of fairies flap their wings in raucous laughter while others coast through the aisles and squares—talking, dancing, joining in a game of tales or a telling of dice. Elves chuckle and ogres grunt. Merfolk leap and swim through the sparkling channels and into the center pond, their fins shaking glitter into the wind.
These pulses of joy, these spectra of love, the choices of safety, adventure, or rest.
At Festival, everyone is home.
###