Chapter 4
My ‘room’ is actually an entire two-roomed cabin adjacent to the bell tower.
In a motherly gesture, Irena fluffs my pillow and straw mattress – basic, homespun, but infinitely more comfortable than anything on my ship.
And just as promised, there’s a small stone fireplace against one wall, a fire already crackling warmly.
I stand around awkwardly. I brought nothing with me except the clothes on my back.
The other room in the cabin houses a large bathtub, and little else.
But it’s more than I had hoped for. An entire home to myself for one night?
A home this size on New Earth would have cost three times as much as my studio.
In population-dense parts of the system, we trade personal space for convenience.
My studio barely fits my essentials, and I have to share a bathroom with everyone else on my floor, but there’s always hot water.
Fast Wi-Fi. Convenient transit. A thousand different cuisines, all within minutes of my high-rise building.
But all this space, here on this remote planet, after a long journey in the frozen dark of space, feels unspeakably luxurious.
‘Bathe first,’ Irena instructs, hovering by the door. ‘I will fetch you for dinner.’
And then I’m alone.
It’s so quiet. I sit on the edge of the mattress, then fall backward, groaning at its crackling softness.
Compared to my ship’s pull-out travel cot, it’s pure bliss.
In the distance roars the river, down steep rapids that carry it away to a valley below.
Up here against the cliff, where the air is thin and clean, the river roils and foams over craggy rocks.
The vegetation around it must be wet with dew, and when winter comes …
When winter comes, I’ll be long gone. Still, I wonder if it gets cold enough for the river to freeze over, or if it roars like that, a ferocious creature, all year round.
I sit up abruptly. If I lie down for too long I’ll fall asleep and miss dinner altogether.
Yawning, lulled to sleepiness by the fire’s warmth and the river’s roar, I kick off my boots.
I feel suddenly desperate to get out of my dirty clothes, pulling at them in a frenzy.
My leather jacket is next to crumple to the floor, followed by my travel trousers, and then my thick turtleneck sweater.
After that, I peel off my insulated undershirt.
I slip eagerly out of my underthings, discarding them on the wooden floor along with the rest of my clothes.
My bare feet protest as I hurry to the other room, goose bumps blooming across my skin.
I don’t mind. I’ll be in a hot bath in a matter of seconds.
It will feel all the better for my chilled body.
The room is small, not much larger than the tub itself.
The tub itself is deep and circular, constructed of dark wood.
Steam rises from the hot water; someone must have filled it just before we landed.
An aroma of herbs fills the air, something tangy and sweet, unfamiliar.
I climb into the bath. At first I gasp through my teeth at the bite of hot water against my frozen toes.
But soon the pain turns to pleasure, warmth seeping into my very bones as I lie back against the edge of the tub.
I inhale deeply, and realize then that the water must be infused with that strange herb.
It tickles my sinuses, making me sneeze. But my muscles relax into it.
I find soap and a sponge, scrubbing my body clean. I duck under the water. Soap isn’t ideal for washing my hair, but it will have to do. By the time I’m finished, the bath has grown lukewarm, and my stomach is twisting with hunger.
A towel waits on a bench near the far wall. I hurry to wrap myself in it, drying my skin thoroughly. I twist the towel around my hair before returning to the bedroom to get dressed. I wish I’d brought a change of clothes; I’ll have to grab fresh ones from my ship after dinner. I’ll just …
But the thought cuts off when I open the bedroom door.
My clothes are gone. For a second, my brain short-circuits.
Did I put them somewhere else? Did someone steal them?
Then I see the folded pile of clothes on my bed: all white.
Someone came here while I was bathing, took my dirty clothes, and left clean ones.
Unease creeps up my spine at the idea of one of the sisters being here while I was so vulnerable, unheard and unseen.
It’s a kindness, I remind myself. Clean clothes, just like you wanted.
I unfold the top item and hold it up. It’s a floor length white dress with long sleeves and a high neck, with polished wooden buttons from navel to neck.
It’s roughspun but thick, and a little itchy.
It feels like wool, but that couldn’t be possible.
Wool is incredibly expensive, just like any non-synthetic textile.
I lay the dress flat on the bed. The next item is an under-dress of sorts, similar in shape to the buttoned dress, but thinner and softer, with a low-cut neckline.
Underneath that is a pair of hideous undergarments – the sort of thing my grandma would have worn.
Frowning, I glance around for my boots, but they’re gone too.
In their place, at the foot of the bed, sits a pair of plain leather shoes.
The clothes are not my style by a long shot, but at least they’re clean. Begrudgingly I pull them on, painstakingly doing up all the buttons. I’m pleased to find a pair of long socks rolled up and shoved inside one of the shoes. Like the outer dress, they’re thick and wooly.
When I’m fully dressed, I stand awkwardly in the room, wondering what to do next. I feel strange and unlike myself in this outfit. It’s too much like the robes the sisters wear. But at least I’m warm.
The bell rings once.
That single toll resonates through my skull with a muscular intensity, so resonant that my very bones seem to vibrate with it.
The strangeness of the bell, the itch of my woolen garments, the heaviness of my eyelids, all combine to plunge me into sickening exhaustion.
The sensation is an all too familiar onslaught of depleted energy that finds me in the night when I can’t sleep, when every joyful thought in my head dissipates to fine mist and drifts away, leaving the door open for darkness to come in.
The hopelessness. The smell of death. The memories of that day, looping in my head.
My stomach drops out and I close my eyes.
It’s all right. It’s not real. You’re safe.
But in the darkness of my mind he’s there to greet me. Eyes, eyes bright against the black. A presence at my back. The smell of something tangy and metallic, vivid, coating my mouth, my tongue …
I stumble, seeking a place to sit as my knees threaten to give way.
A knock, sharp against the door.
My eyes fly open and the visions flee. The sickness in my gut remains.
Taking a long, fortifying breath, I go to answer the door. Irena stands outside. She smiles when she sees me. ‘I’m happy to see the dress fits.’
My cheeks burn. I’m not sure if I’m angry or embarrassed or something else. ‘Thank you for the clean clothes, though I wish you’d warned me you’d be taking mine. Was that the dinner bell?’
Irena laughs softly. ‘It was. And we are strict about our attire here.’
We make our way to what must be the dining hall.
It’s just at the edge of the square, near my ship.
Lanterns hang along its eaves, lighting its shape against the velvety night.
It’s the largest building by far, large enough to fit everyone comfortably.
Sisters in white make their way toward it, carrying torches and chatting quietly in twos and threes.
Firelight dances on their faces. They seem amiable, friendly, lighthearted.
Even so, the darkness in my head threatens to return.
I haven’t slept properly in weeks, and everything here is so deeply foreign.
My insides remain unsettled, unanchored.
I feel like I’m in a dream, the details all blurred and wrong, and I’m not quite sure if I should be frightened or not.
Not quite sure if this is the usual trauma rearing its head, or something new.
‘How do you feel?’ Irena’s voice is low, just for me. I wonder if she can sense my discomfort.
‘I …’ But I don’t know how to answer. The truth? ‘A little unwell, to be honest. I’m sure some food will help. And a good night’s sleep.’
‘I’m glad you decided to stay, then.’
I make a noncommittal sound.
‘Aren’t you glad you decided to stay?’
‘Yeah. I guess.’
Irena takes my hand in hers, as if she thinks I’ll wander off into the night and get lost in the woods, or lose my balance and plunge into the glacial river.
Like this we walk to the dining hall in silence, and as we pass my ship, I resist the insistent urge to dart inside, to fire up the engines to get as far away from this planet as possible.
By the time we’re inside, bathed in sudden firelight and warmth, the urge has slid away, forgotten.