Nix

A sparse film of smoke wafted over the foothills of western Eldritch, advancing from the mountain range that bordered the large country. Carried by fitful gusts of wind up and over the tall stone wall that separates them from the rest of Eard, filling the array of slopes as it crept closer to a large temple nearby. It smelled of sour ash.

Seeping into the temple through the gaps between the glass roof panes and the wooden walls, a woman inside took note of the smell as she sat and listened to the sounds of the creatures outside.

“The smoke defense they use will only last for so long,” she whispered to herself, concern lacing her voice.

She sat on a wooden chair inside of a room that connected to the kitchen, the ruddy and faded lengths of fabric that typically covered the window were tied to the side. The past few weeks she had been staying up, moving from her room to this connecting room, and watching the smoke as it made its daily descents into the valleys below. This had been done for countless years and nothing has ever happened, but that is what worried her. Sooner or later, something will change and it will not work any longer.

The room she sat in had three chairs for the tired or weak to rest on before continuing to either the kitchen or the dining hall, and she sat in the one closest to the window with the northern view. Providing her with a partial view of the Bedala mountain range, a skeletal panorama that stretched across the country of Ixari, she looked towards what could have been enormous legs protruding from the earth. The blockade of Eldritch, which seeped the sour ash, partially blocked the deep cave within the mountains that seemed to glare at her House.

She sat in silence now, save for the low creaking of the chair and the stirring of the trees. The light from the waxstone candle in the hallway rhythmically glinted across her back as she gently rocked.

Focusing intensely on the sunrise ritual, she did not hear as a soundless housemate crossed through into the room and stepped onto an overlooked piece of glass. Having seen the woman in the chair and not wanting to disturb her, she stifled a grunt. The woman in the chair heard the suppressed groan and stopped rocking. The lack of creaking left a strange awkward silence.

“My Lady,” the housemate spoke quietly, respectfully. She bowed and quickly straightened herself and looked at the woman in the chair. Although she herself was casting a shadow onto the woman, she could see a sliver that illuminated her right cheek, spotting the copper skin, and part of the black hair that shimmered silver framing her face, “I’m sorry to disturb you, I woke up parched and came down to have a glass,” the young woman’s voice trailed off, sleepiness tinting her speech.

“Go on, Ysan,” the woman in the chair spoke, her voice was soothing and resonant, carrying itself with ease to the girl in the doorway. She began to rock again, the low hushed creaking resuming its spot within the rustling of the trees outside, “Make sure to get your rest before the exciting day ahead.” She smiled, though the housemate could not see it.

“Yes, Lady Zenida,” Ysan slightly bowed and briskly resumed her course towards the kitchen, holding her breath in an attempt to shield her nose from the offensive smell seeping into the room. Zenida crossed her arms, resting them on her ample midsection.

Minutes later, the young Ysan who was returning to her quarters with her thirst quenched, passed Zenida who was still rocking. With the sunlight having gotten brighter, she realized that The Lady, who faced the open window, had never turned to the doorway to see who was there, but the thought quickly disappeared as she stepped on yet another sharp thing. She stopped and silently inspected her foot, finding nothing. She continued through the doorway and up the stairs towards her room where she quickly fell back to sleep.

Hours later, a young woman lay in her room, sleeping with such force that on the other side of her four inch thick door, which is the standard for such homes, one could hear the muffled snores.

The young woman woke to the sound of the gate bell being rung. Pulling her face from the pillow, a droopy scowl formed as she raised herself to sit in the middle of her bed. She rubbed her face, feeling the crust fall off as her fingers wiped across her eyes, and around her mouth. Absent-minded, she thought of the strawberry milk and wafers she had the day before last. A wistful feeling grew in her, “I must have that again,” she thought.

She stretched her legs out on the bed and reached upwards, hands open. Swinging her feet to the edge of the bed, she scooted across until she sat on the edge, feet firmly on the ground. She opened her eyes and saw the sheen of the setting sun on the stone tiles. By the look of it, the sun had little more than two hours before it descended under the horizon.

She stood up and did a simple stretch; a touch of ground, arms swung to each side and finally, a full body stretch. Such was the everyday routine for her. She walked briskly over to the window and pulled open the curtains, her window faced away from the setting sun and gave her no reason to fear facing its scorching rays.

From her window she had a view of the forest trees that trickled down toward the small city of Urjana. Some of the trees were exceedingly tall, reaching an average of five meters, and others seemingly ancient with bases measuring three meters in diameter. The young woman stood in the window frame, it took up the whole wall as it doubled as a door, and absorbed the view for a few silent moments. This poor planet, she thought. She turned and paced over to her chest of drawers, pulled open the first drawer and retrieved a prepared set of clothes. Made of plant fiber, and the same reddish color of the dirt around the home. Suddenly, she threw on the attire, as if she was in a race against herself. With one last twist and a knot on her waist belt, she took striding steps towards the door to the room, opened it and started to run. As she ran down the long hallway, her bare feet could be heard thumping and her plant garments scratching softly as her legs swept past one another. The young woman couldn’t help but examine the floor with every bounding step, noting just how old this house must be, or how expensive it had been to acquire such large and dense wood. She knew from the bunpo pambe, the ancient story, one told to her and the housemates by Lady Zenida. She remembered a verse, tuvo ecamta uxendo, trees like mountains.

Having made her way to the end of the long hall, the young woman turned right, went down a tall set of stairs, and made a left out of the stairwell towards the kitchen. The stairwell opened up into the sitting room, which had three large windows, each three feet wide by four feet in height. The young lady noticed how the light filtered through the thin curtains, made of the same muddled-crimson plant fiber as her garments, and how it dominated the room in a delicate amber hue. A scene that brought the sensation of peace deep in the roots of her understanding, and she was sure that nearly all of the other housemates felt the same. Having maintained her brisk stride, she approached the sturdy door frame that lead into the kitchen and found it to be bustling, as it should be at this hour.

She had paused in the doorway and looked for an empty spot where hands were needed. She sped over and in between Bayaz and Lakira, both preparing the meat for breakfast with the whole house. From the look of it, breakfast was a little past halfway prepared. All the housemates slotted for breakfast work today were busy at their stations.

Bayaz and Lakira noticed the young woman join in between them, and each placed a cut of meat from their piles into her station. She looked at each of them with a nod and a smile before grabbing her blade and cutting the cooked meat into inch-sized squares. The three of them stood in silence for a few minutes as they focused on the rapid preparation of the meat, listening to the housemates around them as they heartily chatted and laughed. Bayaz finished cutting his measure of the meat and placed the finished cuts on a thin stone slab. He turned toward the young woman, who was two thirds done with her donated measure, and moved his eyes towards her cutting hands.

He placed his hand on the counter space next to the knife in her right hand, “Theia, hand it here, I will finish with this measure. Go, and help the others set the table,” his low voice firm, “please,” he added respectfully. She loosened her grip on the hilt and placed the knife down, stepping back so that Bayaz could step in. Promptly he began to slice and Theia heard a series of barely audible grunts come from him. Almost immediately Lakira’s slanted eyes glanced in his direction, the slightest head movement.

“I’ll tend to that duty Theia, you can finish what I have left,” Lakira spoke in a soft yet authoritative manner. She licked her fingertips quickly and wiped the remaining dampness on her garments, stepping away from the counter top. Theia watched Lakira walk to the other end of the kitchen, her milky skin starkly pallid against the reddish garments.

Theia looked down at the station her housemate left and was pleased to see she had left only a small slab of meat, barely the size of an open hand, to be carved. She promptly picked up the knife and began her delicate slicing.

“Theia,” Bayaz spoke, her name drawn out affectionately, “this way the house will eat near noon little one, let me finish this.” She looked up at him and into his deep crimson eyes which have looked over her her whole life in the House. She nodded silently, understanding the meaning in his words and walked towards Lakira, who was now delegating tasks to the younger housemates as the older ones skirted around her busily. She stood away from the counter tops, her stance dominant and keen, taking mental notes of who was doing what. As she approached her, she saw Lakira’s delicate yet powerful arm rise and point at her, she directed her silently with that firm gaze and stature towards the dining hall that was being prepared. Theia redirected her steps, automatically obeying any command from a woman so trusted. Lakira lowered her arm, and her hooded eyes darted to a younger housemate looking for something to do.

The dining hall was simple in its grandeur; a tall, slanted ceiling made of many crystal-clear glass pieces in various sizes, each fragment casting rays through the sections of drapery, made of the same fabric as the curtains in the sitting room, fastened to the roof line and extended out to the wall on each side. The drapes cast that familiar amber hue onto the wooden table below.

The hall was hushed compared to the kitchen, the noises of the housemates walking from wall cabinets to table carrying stone, metals and glass. Gentle thuds and clinks could be heard, the simple spacious room muffling the noises. Near the entryway to the great room, sat a group of older female housemates huddled together on a bench. They were gossiping and giggling softly amongst themselves, and Tero, the eldest of the three leaned out towards a young female housemate, “Ysan dearie, you spoil us with that kindness of yours,” she cooed, her broad aging face sagging at the jawline. Her wrinkled smile genuine and warm she reached her hand out towards Ysan, who grasped her hand in return, and Tero covered the hand with the other in the gesture of affection. A gesture that symbolized a shielding of the individual whose hand was in the middle. Ysan looked into the older woman’s small eyes, silvering with the years, and felt the comfort that she imagined a mother would extend her child. Saria and Genipsis, the two other women with Tero, each placed a hand on the clasped hands, extending their sentiments without word.

“For all the years I have been looked after by you three,” Ysan looked at each of the women, bringing her other hand to rest on top of all the others, “the least I can do is take on some of your duties when I can,” she smiled and as one they all released their grip. The old women giggled happily, Saria rubbing her knobby knee as she rocked cheerfully along with the others. Ysan stepped away and retrieved a set of stone plates from one of the hollows in the benches around the table and placed them in appropriate locations. She heard faint footsteps come up to her, and looking up she saw her friend with the burnt cinnamon hair, ruffled from sleep.

“Lakira, ” they sighed in unison, feigning irritation and promptly giggling at their inside joke. “Hand me a set?” Theia prompted with her hands slightly extended. Ysan reached into the hollow and pulled out a set and handed them to Theia, and together they placed sets on the section of table. The housemates had already begun bringing the food into the hall as the two young women finished with the last sets in the hollow, and so too did the other housemates setting the table.

The last of the meal had been set onto the table and the housemates who had been preparing in the kitchen filed into the hall and stood between a bench and the table. After this, in a synchrony perfected by time, three women and one man entered the hall. Three of them carrying infants varying in age, and one was hunched, holding the hands of a child grasping the techniques of walking. The energy in the room was upbeat now and the youngest housemates could be heard giggling amidst the conversations being held throughout. Moments later, a woman of average height entered the room, her cinnamon toned skin seemed to radiate as the light danced across her round figure and glinted silver off of her near-black coils of hair worn loosely down her back. She wore the same garments as the housemates did, muddled-red plant fiber cut to make loose fitting shorts that cut off just below the knees, and a loose shirt with short sleeves, tied with a cincture around the waist. She carried herself with an always-surprising levity and spring, considering how she must be in her late-fifties and with how much commitment she has for the seventy plus individuals in the House. A number that has been increasing at a slightly faster pace than what has been recorded. Behind her, a husky and towering man followed in her steps, hunched over, his beady eyes looking over the housemates with an ever-observant glance. His skin milky like Lakira’s, but becoming more transparent with aging, his veins leaving dappled trails of deep red, blue and green.

“My Lady!” A group of the children housemates spotted the Lady Zenida walking to her spot at the end of the table and ran to her amidst the chattering of the House, their arms open wide and closing around her legs with near-ferocious intensity of affection. Zenida let out a small, shocked gasp, arms open in mock question. She looked down, and bent slightly, wrapping her plumpish arms around the children, squeezing them gently. She straightened and stretched her hands down and outwards, looked at each hand as the children grabbed onto her short fingers. With each grasp of the children, she could feel the excitement for this morning’s meal apparent in their energies, and she could feel the transfer of the energy as it climbed up through her fingertips into her own energy domain. She walked with them to the end of the table and sat, Ommin taking a seat at the end so the children could sit nearer to Zenida.

This signified to all the housemates that the meal will begin soon and, cascading down the long sectioned table, the housemates sat in hushed activity and cast their faces towards Zenida who looked on amused. Her mind though, was not, it was concerned for the housemate who the House will be celebrating today. Her concern was for both the survival and happiness of the housemate. And still, there was pride seated in her emotions, for this housemate is resourceful and determined, she would know because she oversees all lessons, regardless of her actual presence there. Zenida closed her eyes, quieted her mind and forced it to relax, pressing her emotions into trusting in the housemate. When she opened her eyes again, the great hall had silenced. Only the cooing of the two babies could be heard. She dropped her head and stood up slowly in a sudden air of seriousness. The children and adults alike looking on with reverence as the air around her seemed to shift and change to match her mood. She lifted her head and looked directly at the housemate down the table, a young woman with a short and narrow face, who held the look of excitement, fear and hope melded into one. As her eyes locked with Zenida’s, she stood up, her shakiness barely visible.

“Greta,” Zenida reached out one hand slightly, gesturing towards the young woman. She looked at Ommin briefly and he promptly began guiding the children to one of the creche members seated further down the table. The housemates adjusted their seating accordingly. While Ommin was returning, she spoke again, her resonant voice reaching even the housemates on the other end of the long table, “come and sit with me daughter, today is in celebration of you.”