'Great misfortune!' shrieks Val Falkafeldr, Falcon Cloak, born in an old Icelandic settlement. The cold in Winterland is a warm blanket, compared to the harsh winds of 908 CE. 'Darkness will make you tremble, before a great loss!'
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Cookie, with his tall frame and broad body, sits at the elder Seidkona's table and on her incredibly frail stool. He had seen Truce in the long line before him and wonders if he faced the same inconvenient predicament.
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Val pulls out some more knucklebones from her völuskrín (a little treasure box by her jasmine and lemon candles, a gift from the Lady Cliff) and rolls them in her wooden bowl.
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Cookie peers over, his big black gas-mask eyes looking to find any sense of clairvoyance from them. 'Well, what about that one?'
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'Great misfortune!' She gasps. 'It comes again for you, my peculiar, robed cooker of sea-creatures.'
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'But how did ye know I was a chef!' Cookie exclaims in shock, still wearing his apron.
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Val sniggers. 'The winds and Gods — in this Godless realm,' she hisses, throwing mental darts at this 'Christ'mas festival, 'have spoken many times of your cooking. Your delicate mastery of decadent delights.'
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'Oh, is that right? Well, that's a blimey big honour, I'm delighted to hear that.'
'No! You are mistaken, Cookie of House Rapscallion... The Gods are to be feared, even here! When we think we are far from their reach! Look! Look at the messages they bring!'
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Val reaches over and pushes the bowl of knucklebones to Cookie again. 'A
t-e-r-r-i-b-l-e fate has come across you. The next series of dishes you make — they will be a disaster!'
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Cookie gasps, reeling at the words the truth-seer has told. 'Oh no, that can't be!'
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'That is the truth of it, the Gods have made it so! You must appease them — make sacrifice!' Val slows down and sinks back into her chair. 'Yes, yes... that is the only way out of our God's gaze that is set upon you.'
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'Sacrifice?’ Cookie shuffles in his chair. ‘I don't know about that…’
​Val smirks. 'There are many ways to appease the Gods. Not all of them, in bloodshed...'
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This grabs Cookies attention. He fixates on the next words of Val Falkafeldr, Falcon Cloak and takes them directly to his earnest heart.
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'Tell me, have you ever heard of an 'all-you-can-eat buffet?' Val remembers the tales of this buffet told to her by the strange young lady named Amelia. The truth-seer cunningly licks her lips in anticipation.
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The next few days pass like a training montage from a late 70s sports movie. Val takes it upon herself to forage for ingredients, with Eivor and Gyda in tow. Each and every delightful piece they bring to Cookie contributes to a large list of menu items expected to appease the Gods, and keep them from their cruel punishment to Winterland's finest chef.
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Cookie sets up shop in Tarlog's Hall, and spends days tirelessly preparing meals, practicing new recipes and inventing daring new spice combinations.
With the slew of days come numerous guests. Maureen comes every morning to taste-test and Luca busts in once to make sure plenty of meat is on the menu (none of this vegan nonsense, if I ain't gettin' a hard steak it ain't Christmas!). Lazar visits, but is distracted by his romantic woes, and the young Bobby comes in to drop off bunches of strawberries and ask if Cookie needs any assistance. And every night, Val returns and assesses the quality of food, taking some away to give as a tribute to her angry Gods.
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Cookie feels the wintry pressure bearing down upon him.
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If my cooking is taken away from me, what else can I do? I'm friendly enough, sure. And I'm a good friend to a few — but my cooking is my soul! Curse me once, shame on you. Curse me twice! Oh Cookie, what have we gotten ourselves into this time...
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Val comes in one day, after delivering a plethora of ingredients and a cook-book on 'Japanese Cuisine' to check-in on the stressed chef.
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'Ah, what a delightful aroma,' she says, wafting in the smell of soufflé au poulet. 'I come with news, your hard efforts have reached the visions of the Gods! Your fate twists and turns, and soon you will be free of your terrible future.'
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Cookie feels the slightest relief trickle down his soul. He affirms the good news, and asks what more must be done. 'I've perfected the Faberge Christmas Pudding, I've made the infamous Tower of Tom-Yum Soup with slow-braised onions, I've even pulled together the perfected percentile of grilling to create the world's greatest super-medium-rare steak!'
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Val sees the weight of the world on this man's shoulders. Perhaps she's pushed him too far. She thinks of the request she's received, and the bright future she's seen just a day away.
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She clears her throat, and hobbles over, cane in hand.
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'You have fought a valiant battle, Cookie. The battle is always the hardest before the dawn.' She reaches out to his hand. 'There's just one more rite of proving ahead, and I'm certain you can pull it off. I have seen it clearly — a man, a chef! Full of glory in battle at the top of a mountain. Among friends, family and enemies alike! Serving one final feast of gourmet dishes.'
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'Oh, I don't know Val. Perhaps it really is me fate to lose my cooking touch.'
Val ponders, and walks back to the door. 'Wait here a moment, I shall return, and when I do… the real cooking shall begin.'
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Cookie waits and waits. He finally falls to sleep, into the welcoming embrace of rest.
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When he awakens, the sounds of a deep drumbeat break all semblance of peace! Cookie stands upright instantly and sees his kitchen, adorned with torches lit with flame. Ingredients line the shelves, new blades are laid out on a table, like an executors repertoire. In the corner, Eivor hits a big drum over and over. Val stands at the end of the kitchen, glowing with an amber hue.
The drama, the intensity!
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'Your final trial begins! Your moment of glory!'
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Before Cookie can even ask a single question, people start to pour into the kitchen. Equipped with aprons, utensils, how-to-guides on basic cooking techniques and mighty smiles of courage.
Truce, Laurel, Will and Phineas, Winnie, Jack'elope and a slightly beat-up Lazar all stand to attention.
'Yes, Chef!' They all say in unison.
'You've been blessed, Cookie of Rapscallions!' Val continues. 'These fine folk all wish to bring you aid in your battle against the Gods! Fight to appease them with your greatest invention of delicacies yet!' Val gives a cunning grin.
Cookie looks to all his friends, and without needing to say it, thanks them.
Determination fills him to the brim!
'Aw'right. Time we get started then, shall we?' Cookie laughs a hearty guffaw.
'Battle stations, my aspiring cooks!’