A Party, A Thousand Years Overdue

     Edna the Witch certainly never did. It was often said she’d turn up to the opening of an envelope if there was free food on offer. She’d always be found in the corners of ceremonies, silently judging other attendees while glowering at them and shoving a plate full of open-topped sandwiches in her face.

     Why people continued to invite her was a mystery yet to be solved. Though in this case, the invitation had come from an old colleague — a member of her coven — and it would have been rude to exclude her. Other Witches were also in attendance. Morguss, the Witch of the Darigan Citadel and the closest thing a proud woman like Edna might admit to being a friend, also couldn’t resist the idea of a party. And these days, Sophie, the young Witch of Neovia was often found in their ranks. There had to be three, they said. Always three Witches. Power in numbers.

     The invite had come from Jerdana, the acclaimed sorceress of Altador. Because today was a very special date. It was Year 9, the first real year that Altador had returned from its long slumber. And it was the anniversary of the city’s founding, over a thousand years ago.

     The buffet, as a result, was very good.

     They had arranged one of the levels of the council chambers expressly for the reception. The trestle tables ran the full length of the room. They were filled with all manner of the usual culinary suspects. Mini sausage rolls. Pineapples needlessly skewered on cocktail sticks. Open-topped sandwiches. Quiche — so many types of quiche. Of course, people always put in a few local specialities, more out of obligation rather than any real desire of the attendees to eat them. Stuffed olives and cheese tartlets, mostly.

     The three Witches made several passes to refill their plates, and stood in a group as far away from anyone else as possible. The other guests were only too happy with that situation. The reputation of the Witches preceded them by entire continents sometimes.

     When the buffet was fully demolished and the small talk between the various guests was just on the tipping point of prolonged silence while sipping drinks, one of their hosts appeared at the great doors to the chambers. It was Sasha, the Cybunny council member they called the Dancer. In truth, this soiree had largely been organised by her, and she positively beamed to see the number of attendees.

     “Ladies and gentlemen!” she called to silence the hubbub. “If you would follow me down to the courtyard outside, King Altador requests your presence for a speech!”

     She disappeared back down the staircase, and the gathered guests finished their drinks and began to follow. As ever, the Witches remained at the back of the pack, largely so as to avoid the impression of being enthusiastic about the occasion.

     “I say, what a good showing,” a heavily moustached Blue Chomby in front of them was saying to his companion, a Meerca. “Always like those Altador folks to throw a good party.”

     Sophie knew the pair. The Chomby was Tippens, a man known about Neovia for trying to organise an annual spooky celebration in the town to varying degrees of disaster. His friend was the Crumpetmonger, the slightly overbearing woman who ran the Neovia bakery. She cared for neither, and the feeling was mostly mutual.

     “The food was a little overcooked for my liking,” the Crumpetmonger replied curtly. “And to be honest I don’t even see the point of all this.”

     “Pardon?” Tippens asked.

     “This whole anniversary thing,” the Crumpetmonger says. “The invitation said this was to celebrate existing for over a thousand years. But Altador was stopped in time for most of that, anyway. It’s been less than a hundred years, really, for them. All this walking about with pomp and ceremony about being so old, it’s cheating really, is what it is. And that’s if they even got the date right. You know that embarrassing situation in Sakhmet? They can’t decide when the city was founded, since they have two stories about it. So they have two celebrations per year! Ludicrous, that’s what it is. Don’t understand why we celebrate things like that at all.”

     “Hmph!” Edna said from behind them with just the right volume and sense of dissatisfaction that the Crumpetmonger was sure to notice.

     The Meerca turned and gave the old Zafara a glare, which Edna matched. A well-dressed Gnorbu nearby cleared his throat as an attempt to diffuse the situation.

     “Well of course you may say that, dear madam,” he said as they passed through the doors and reached the top of the stairs. “But you have to understand the cultural reasons for such celebrations. Anniversaries are a means of bringing disparate peoples together in shared understanding. No different to birthdays or the Day of Giving. They are cultural milestones intended to make social cohesion easier. Fundamentally, though, they all trace their roots back to our ancestors in the proto-Tyrannian cultures that emerged at the dawn of Neopian civilisation. They celebrated landmark milestones as an extension of ceremonies they had to celebrate the dawning of the sun. In those days before scientific illumination, they celebrated the rising of the sun because they didn’t know for sure that one day, it might not.”

     Morguss knew the speaker. The Gnorbu was called Lambert, lead a group of interfering scientists out of Brightvale calling themselves the Seekers.

     Edna provided another “Hmph!” aimed at Lambert this time. He gave her a shocked look.

     “You find some error with my statement, madam?” he asked.

     “Oh, I find plenty of errors with it,” Edna says. “You know even less than she does. Cultures and social cohesion? Pah! Children playing at games they don’t understand! People didn’t celebrate the dawn because they didn’t understand something. The celebrated because they knew full well if they didn’t, the sun wouldn’t come up!”

     Lambert laughed.

     “Mysticism and old wives tales, I’m afraid,” he said. “The rotation of stellar entities isn’t dictated by the whims of people on Neopia.”

     The Crumpetmonger and Tippens collectively held their breath as they waited for Edna’s reply. Being from Neovia, they were both more than familiar with Witches and the policy that it was better to stay out of their way and certainly never to back talk them if it could be avoided.

     “Everything is dictated by the whims of people on Neopia, you halfwit,” Edna replied. “You live in a world filled to bursting with magic, and you’re so concerned with the rules magic can break? There’s your error.”

     Lambert wasn’t about to take that lying down.

     “So you’re saying what?” he asked. “That if Altador didn’t celebrate today, it would just stop existing? That’s preposterous!”

     “You’re preposterous,” Edna spat back. “Disappearing cities is another thing entirely. No, this is an old, deep magic. There are things — Mr Lambert, wasn’t it? — things that live in the darkness outside of our reality. Shadows, Wraiths, and things darker still. Just itching to find their way in. And once, they could. Way back, in the first days when the magic ran wild and there was no balance. All they needed was the dark, and they could come through freely. But then we found a way to stop them. A deep magic, a pact to stave off the dark. But that kind of magic takes upkeep. It needed the ceremony. And the people back then, they knew, if they didn’t do the ceremony, the dark would come through and there would be no sunrise.”

     “Even if that was true,” Lambert said in the voice of someone who clearly didn’t think so. “This isn’t about the sun. This is about Altador.”

     “It’s the same magic!” Sophie hissed.

     “You said it yourself,” Morguss added. “All our celebrations, they all stem from that, back in history. It’s all based on the same magic. We celebrate Altador today, Mr. Lambert, because if we don’t, the sun won’t come up in the morning.”

     “This is nonsense!” Lambert replied, and stormed off ahead of them down the staircase.

     “Good riddance,” Edna smirked.

     “Is all that true?” Tippens asked as they continued on.

     “Of course!” Morguss said.

     “Well then, how?” Tippens said. “This is the first time that Altador has held such a celebration since returning to Neopia. They have been asleep for a thousand years. They haven’t been celebrating their anniversary. Shouldn’t the sun have not come up a long time ago?”

     Edna, Morguss, and Sophie all exchanged a dark and terribly worried look.

     “They’ve what!?” Edna asked.

     “Jerdana must have been holding it back with her magic somehow,” Sophie said. “This event! It must be because she can feel the spell weakening! Why didn’t she say!?”

     “I can feel it!” Morguss said with a sudden gasp. “I thought it was just the cocktail sausages repeating on me, but I can feel it. They are here, down below!”

     She hitched up her robes and ran down the stairs two at a time, the other two Witches close behind.

     The Hall of Heroes was clouded in darkness when they arrived. The sun was still shining out in Altador itself, but somehow the light just wasn’t making it through the windows. The rest of the guests appeared to have made it outside for the speech, but Lambert wasn’t so lucky. He was cowering behind the statue of King Altador, a terrified look in his eyes.

     On the walls and the floors, the shadows were moving. Writhing. Coming to life.

     WITCHES. the Darkness spoke directly to their minds. YOU HAVE COME. WE HAVE BEEN WAITING. WE WILL SPRING FORTH ACROSS THIS LAND AND MAKE IT OUR OWN.

     “Not today you won’t,” Edna replied, rolling up her sleeves.

     She gave a brief nod to Sophie and Morguss, and the three of them spread out around the room to form the three points of a triangle. Then, as the creeping shadows surged out towards them, they began their magic. Beams of green energy coursed between them, and the tingle of magic filled the air to the point where it felt like it might explode. The green light of the magic became brighter, becoming pure white with intensity. Lambert shielded his eyes, unable to see anything.

     NO! the Darkness screamed.

     There was a bright flash, and when it faded, the darkness was gone. The Altador sun shone through the windows once more.

     “Now do you see?” Sophie asked Lambert.

     “You got rid of them?” Tippens asked, reaching the foot of the stairs.

     “Temporarily,” Edna said. “A little strengthening of the spell. What happens out there, that will stop it. This is why we celebrate milestones, Mr. Lambert. To make sure we stave off the dark another year. To keep Neopia spinning.”

     Sophie opened the doors to the Hall of Heroes so they could join the crowd outside, who were none the wiser that anything had happened at all.

     “Well,” Morguss added. “That, and the buffet.”

     The End.