~Chapter 8~
The kitchen was not what Mae had expected. Instead of wood and plaster, it was built of stone. Past the bathing room, before reaching the front door, the hall opened to a dining room, half the size of the sitting. A large table, chairs, unusual in their appearance as everything else, on each end and a long bench, equal to its length on the side closest the entry. The table, itself, appearing narrower than a human standard, was made of a single slab of Davibas wood, and polished to a mirror like shine. On the other side of the table, through a large decorative archway, was the kitchen.
As far as Mae knew, the kitchen was the only room of the house not grown or a part of the houses main structure. Stone slabs, identical to smokey quartz, made up the floor, while the walls were a variety of shapes, colors, and sizes of cracked rocks, what she would have called field stones. Cabinets lined the lower part of the outer walls, made of the same Davibas wood. The counters were of heavy, solid slabs of the same stone that made up the floor, near two inches thick. There was a single basin of white plaster, but no mechanical means by which she could see to fill it. There were two windows, one on either side, shelves lining the walls on either side of them. The ceiling was open, revealing the rafter construction of the wooden roof, and lattice racks that spanned its width, were covered in bundles of herbs and flowers, some hanging down on thick braided threads.
A central table, with a stone surface, appeared to be the main preparation area; a cutting board, knives, and bins, nets and baskets of fruit and vegetables were laid out upon it or stored beneath. And from the outer most wall before her, coming in, was what could only be described as a fireplace; a large open flue above it to direct the smoke outside. The floor of the fireplace was raised up several inches, made of a shiny green-hued black stone, and was lined with smaller rocks. Upon it sat a short, fat, metal brazier filled with glowing embers; a stack of wood to one side, and a rack of essential fire-tending tools; poker, tongs, brush and pan, to the other. Above the brazier, attached to the bottom of the flue, a rack, and from the rack, meat cooking slowly, secured by hooks to chains, and an 'A' frame, leaned against the back wall which was of the same black stone as the base, were all made of a cast iron looking metal. Plates, bowls, and mugs were either of wood or metal, utensils the same, although servings forks had but 2 tines, and small pointed skewers were what they used to eat, if fingers weren't appropriate and a spoon to cumbersome.
Upon entering the kitchen, Mae spotted a door to her immediate right, which lead to the outside, and a stone staircase to her left.
"That leads down to the cold storage and root cellar. I age, cure, and preserve a number of things down there, including the Neugrum, the juice you've been able to drink," Ven explained when she stopped and looked down.
Taking a deep breath her mouth watered to a most glorious scent, her stomach growling loud enough that it caused Ven to grin at the sound of it.
"That smells, incredible. I can't tell you what I'd do for a juicy, flame-broiled burger right now."
"Burger?"
"Ground meat compressed into a patty, served on a bun."
"Bun?"
"Type of bread."
"Bread?" He looked around the kitchen and slowly shook his head, the conversation clearing going nowhere without some frame of reference. "Feel free to help yourself to whatever you like. If something needs preparing, I'd be happy to do it for you," he remarked, appearing more amused by the situation than he should have.
With a nod, she slowly walked around the kitchen, the stones cold on her feet. She was surprised by the variety of things Ven kept there, given the complete lack of clutter everywhere else she had seen.
Drawing closer to the meat over the brazier, she delighted to the smell of seasoned beef.
"How soon before this is ready?" she asked pointing to the trussed roast hanging from a hook.
"It's ready enough to eat now. If you wish to try it, I can bring it down and carve you a piece."
"Yes, please," she replied, stepping back so Ven could grab it.
Turning about, she wandered around the central table, picking up various items, fruit or veg, she couldn't tell, tapping and sniffing, feeling their textures and tenderness, familiarizing herself, while Ven set the roast upon the cutting board, removing the string.
What she had thought a roast, began to flatten into something more akin to a boneless steak, revealing a stuffing center wrapped around a sachet of herbs.
"Bread," she remarked pointing to the stuffing like substance.
"I wouldn't presume to know," Ven replied, handing her a skewer from the wooden box on the counter beside him.
The delicate metal utensil had a loop on one end, in which to stick the little finger, and the point on the other. The shaft, four-sided, with a gentle twist along its length, provided both grip and decorative appeal.
"Try some," he told her as he moved the sachet of herbs away.
Leaning across the table, she stabbed a chunk of what appeared to be cornbread, swiftly and carefully bringing it to her nose. After a light sniff, she blew across it before hesitantly stuffing it into her mouth. The texture was thick and cakey, the flavor rich with herbs and the juices of the meat. It was decadent and savory, and the best thing she had eaten since her arrival.
"Is it to your liking?" he asked as she set down her skewer and stared daggers at him.
"Real talk, for a moment, if you would. The stuff you kept bringing me to try, what was that? I mean like grain, plant, seed, fruit? Broader the description the better."
"Plant, mostly. Fruit primarily. I cooked them in a variety of methods, since I didn't want to expose you to anything raw before you've had a chance to acclimate to the environment here."
She smiled and giggled faintly. "That explains why I couldn't get anything down."
"I don't follow."
"I half suspect my inability to keep food down has been a mental hang up. Nothing you tried to feed me looked familiar, and the textures were… well, horrifying. Even on Earth I couldn't bring myself to eat mushy or cooked fruits, with a few very specific exceptions, but even then, never warm. And combine that with my nerves over eating… foreign," she said in as polite of way as possible, "food, and it's not surprising my bodies near instant reaction."
"Assuming you are correct, how are you so certain?"
"Easy, because this," she pointed to the stuffing, "is phenomenal. It's flavor maybe different, but it's similar enough to something I know as cornbread, and that hunk of meat, it looks like a steak and smells like a seasoned roast. I want to eat it."
Ven smiled as he listened and carved long, thin, strips from the edge of the meat for her.
"Well, don't let me stop you."
Picking up the skewer, she bit at her lip as she plucked a strip of the light pink meat from the cutting board. Bringing it to her mouth, she closed her eyes, and plunged it in. Warm, buttery, tender and juicy, the meat exuded an herbaceous undertone and a smokey, fire-kissed note on the finish. To her, nothing had ever tasted so good before.
*************
"I don't even know what to say," she spoke quietly as she set her utensil down, next to her empty plate at the table. "You, Venificus, are a marvelous cook."
"I appreciate the compliment, but are you still feeling well?"
"I am. A bit overstuffed, but no hint of nausea."
"Then I'm glad, but I will remain cautiously optimistic. This is the first time you've eaten anything this substantial."
"You should see me with a rack of ribs," she remarked with a smirk. "For now, I think it's best if you don't tell me what anything is beyond, perhaps, type of food. Specifics will only make me overthink and I'd prefer to be able to trick myself into believing something is an earthly counterpart than get nauseous over the truth before I've even had a chance to try it."
"I understand. The mind is a powerful tool when used correctly, but can also be a great weakness when turned," Ven remarked as he gathered the dishes. "Come. As long as you live here, and are feeling up to it, you can dry."
Picking up her plate, she followed him into the kitchen. She watched in wonder as once again he skillfully weaved his magic to draw up water, this time through a spout in the wall above the basin, using a heat stone to warm it.
Ven seemed to have a cleanser for every variety of food type and after scraping any solid remains from the plates into a slot at the back of the basin, he chose a bar, he said worked best for oils and grease.
Suds-a-plenty, dishes were scrubbed, and rinsed, and Mae, using the towel provided, dried and stacked them on the counter.
"Will Karanosi be back soon?"
"Not for a while yet, I suspect."
"Does he do this often? Stopping by and going shopping, I mean."
"No, not really. When I'm not with him in the Shaad, I may see him once a season at most."
"Season? How many seasons do you have here?"
"Eight."
"Eight? That sounds complicated. I'm used to four."
"You will get used to all of it… in time."
There was something about the sadness in his voice that made Mae uncomfortable, so she stopped asking questions, finishing the dishes in silence.
"Go and get some rest while I finish cleaning up," Ven remarked, finally breaking the silence.
"Okay," she replied folding the towel and setting it onto the counter. "Thank you for the food. It really was superb."
"You're welcome," he replied as she turned and went to walk away, stopping as she looked at the door.
"Ven, can I go outside?" she asked as she gathered and lifted the front of her robe setting it over her arm.
"If you like, but don't venture too far from the house…"
She hadn't let him finished before she had thrown open the door and ran outside as quickly as her legs could carry her. She didn't look back, she couldn't look back, even as her feet struck against the dusty ground beyond the patio stones; a dirt path curving down towards a garden, before heading further out and down the valley. Coming to a stop, just beyond the gardens farthest edge.
The grass, she thought perhaps knee high, stood at her shoulder, each blade the width of her hand. The surface covered in small fine hairs, made them feel sticky, like Velcro, while the undersides were soft as velvet.
Slowing her pace, she walked down the path, the white dirt felt like chalk between her toes, crunching under her weight. The wind was a constant billowing breeze and the suns light radiated the most extravagant warmth. It felt like the height of summer and smelt like a botanical garden. With her arms outstretched she stopped and closed her eyes, imagining Jack, standing behind her, and Koobs running through the field, sniffing madly at every possible new scent there was to be had. And as beautiful as the imagery, the dream, may have been, it made her heart ache all over again.
She had, for a moment, felt happy, and now the guilt was eating at her soul. She may have wanted Jack to be happy, even without her, but she couldn't find the same justification for herself. She knew what happened! She knew where he was! It was different for him. She was gone, without a trace. Nothing but an old truck left behind.
Tears fell like rain. She sobbed, dropping the robe and falling to her knees. She had enjoyed her lunch, Ven's company, the unspoiled beauty of this place, and couldn't chastise herself enough for it.
"Mae!" She could hear Ven calling for her.
"I'm the worst," she muttered to herself, before using the edge of her sleeve to wipe and dry her eyes.
"Mae! Where are you?"
Standing, she turned around and waved her hands in the air.
"I'm over here!" she called back, spotting him over the tops of the grass back by the house.
"Wait there!" he shouted, turning back, as she lowered her arms and lifted her eyes, taking in the marvel that was now her home.
It was as marvelous from the outside as it was from within. She counted seven levels, progressively smaller the closer to the top they grew. At the top, a bright green stem with five massive, purple veined, broad, triangular leaves, and three, what looked like coconuts the size of basketballs, in a cluster hiding beneath. The exterior was a tawny brown and the overhangs were created by the outer layers of the above levels being peeled down and trimmed back, with the exception of the kitchen, and the rooftop patio above the bathing room, that was held up by roots growing out from the core that extending out before plummeting into the ground below. It was organic and lovely, and more alien than she could have imagined.
'I live in a real treehouse,' the thought making her chuff in amusement as tears began to fall once again.