Rebel Chef

By Cassandra Hamm

Remy gagged as soon as the first spoonful touched her tongue. “You call this food?”

What should have been delicious soup was mildly acidic, flavorless, and the wilted airi leaves squelched in bitter bursts. She should’ve known how bad it would be by the scent, but she’d given Axel the benefit of the doubt. Wrongly.

Axel folded his arms over his broad chest. “We’re fighting for our lives. Sorry I don’t have time to make a five-star meal.”

Though she’d only met the man an hour ago, she’d determined a scowl was permanently etched onto his dirt-smudged face. How the rebels could stand him as their leader, she couldn’t imagine. Remy backed away from the pot’s revolting stench and contemplated scrubbing her tongue with soap. “You won’t be able to fight with that in your stomach.”

Axel leaned against the rusty door frame that led to a devastated world. The nasty old building Remy could stand. But opposing Lord Filch did not mean she had to eat garbage. And now she was supposed to take orders from a sour wart.

“Like you could do any better.” Axel scoffed.

“I could.” If only she had the ingredients… but everything delicious was in the war zone. The shops had long since shut down, and Lord Filch’s goons, the Faithful, hourly patrolled the Arvore Forest—which contained the only decent food left in Caido.

“What, were you a chef or something before?” a surly voice asked.

“Before Lord Filch took over?” Remy wrinkled her nose at the thought of the tiny, angry man. “Of course.”

Axel huffed. “You’re joking.”

She tapped her chin. “I’ll need someone to carry the ingredients and protect me from the Faithful. Anyone?”

The rebels stared at her.

“Come on. You can’t tell me you’re actually satisfied with that slop.”

Glaring, Axel opened his mouth.

“You volunteer? Perfect.” Grabbing his arm, Remy dragged him away from the pot. Yes, she was kidnapping their leader. No, she didn’t care. “Please dump that before it kills someone,” she called over her shoulder.

Fresh air hit her lungs as soon as they exited the abandoned building. The stew’s stench might’ve made her pass out if she’d stayed any longer.

“Look. You can’t just join our group and change everything.” A recently healed scar marred Axel’s cheek. “We were doing fine before you came along.”

“It’s a wonder you didn’t die of food poisoning before this.” Remy scanned the trees. No sign of the Faithful’s gray uniforms.

“Excuse you—”

“So, we’ll need lavi flowers,” she interrupted. “Do you know what the plant looks like?”

He stared as though she was speaking a foreign language.

Huffing, she waved a dismissive hand at his gun. “Just… do whatever you need to do with that thing.”

They collected the ingredients one by one. Well, really, Remy collected the ingredients while Axel stood guard, whipping his gun from side to side at every noise, but she’d cooked in enough bustling kitchens not to be distracted.

Axel shoved the moist zurk root into his pack.

“Last one—delcio fruit,” she said.

“You sure you need me?” He indicated the gun. “No sign of the Faithful.”

“Yet. Now come on. I, for one, am starving. I bet everyone back at the camp is, too.”

Nestled among varying shades of brown and green was a spot of sunlight—the golden bark of the delcio tree. Remy lodged her feet into the notches in the bark, propelling herself high enough to grab the lowest branch. She gently squeezed one after another of the oblong violet-skinned fruits, testing their ripeness.

“If you drop this beautiful delcio, Axel, you won’t get a single spoonful of the soup.”

He glanced up from studying the undergrowth, and she reluctantly released the perfect delcio. The fruit hit Axel’s hands with a slight smack, and he dropped it into the pack.

“Careful with my fruit!” She tossed another.

He caught the second with a frown. “This one’s rock hard.”

“It’ll ripen.”

“But—”

“Do you really want to come back here any sooner than we have to?”

Whatever Axel might have said was muffled by a gunshot. Screaming, Remy grabbed an unripe delcio and hurled it at the man advancing toward Axel. It slammed into the Faithful’s skull. He wobbled, then toppled over.

Gaping, Axel lowered his gun. “You knocked him out with a fruit?”

“Unripe delcio can be deadly in more ways than one.” She stared at the fallen Faithful. He could’ve killed Axel, could’ve killed her, all because they wouldn’t bow to a dictator.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “The shot—”

“I’m fine.” He held up the violet fruit, now punctured, a bullet buried inside. Remy gaped. She’d known delcio skin was strong, but not that strong. “Thanks for saving my life.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her food had saved him? Something fizzled in her stomach, sweet as a delcio’s silvery juice.

“That does smell pretty good,” Axel admitted.

He wasn’t the only one affected by the aroma. The rebels sat up straighter, their eyes darting toward the boiling pot, their stomachs rumbling audibly.

Axel’s scar seemed soft, pink, vulnerable. “You think you could teach me? How to cook and stuff.”

Warmth blossomed in Remy’s chest. “As long as you continue helping me gather ingredients.”

“You can take care of yourself. I mean, your aim with that fruit…”

“Lucky shot.” She gave the soup a final stir. “Axel, I wanted to say I’m sorry. I was pretty harsh on your cooking.”

“Well, I deserved it.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

“So, is it done?” Axel leaned toward the pot.

Grinning, Remy tipped the soup through her lips. It serenaded her taste buds with heat and magic, flavors bursting and colliding—the earthy musk of the root, the sweet tang of the delcio, the honeyed sting of the lavi flower.

“Well?” Axel watched her. The other rebels moved closer.

“This, my friends,” she said, “is real food.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cassandra Hamm has always been fascinated by the inner workings of the human mind. She received her B.S. in psychology and continues to apply her knowledge to her characters. Her love of writing prompts has spurred her to start blogging, submit stories to amazing websites like this one, and host flash fiction contests on Instagram. She may or may not be obsessed with cats, jigsaw puzzles, movie soundtracks, and Broadway musicals.

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