Chapter 21
Iam utterly exhausted.
It's one of those days where nothing significant happens, and yet all the small inconveniences and mishaps build, becoming a violent torrent of frustration in my brain.
It started with waking up late. Farra had left early to get her altered clothing and didn't wake me.
I don't know why, but I got it in my head that today was tomorrow's schedule.
So, I'd dressed in record time, hauled my ass to the wrong classroom, and interrupted a meeting of some sort between professors and officers.
Which resulted in being thoroughly scolded.
I sprinted to the other side of the compound, which was okay because it counted as the cardio that I had slept through, anyway. Only to find that the actual classroom I was supposed to be in was already locked.
Unsure of what to do, and really in all fairness to me, there was never any kind of protocol dictated for when we were late for class and how to proceed. I slumped down in defeat and waited on the cold floor. Trying to listen through the cracks so I wouldn't miss the lesson.
It was medic training, which we've done a few times.
I am already ahead of our cohort because of Linden but apparently, missing said class was unacceptable.
The professor took it as a personal slight.
He then docked points from our crew, and furthered my punishment by making me clean the classroom while he watched smugly, reading a book with his feet up.
I missed breakfast, and by the time the professor deemed the classroom finished and my punishment sufficiently served, I was dismissed just in time to have missed lunch.
I stand staring at the empty kitchen window in a silent cafeteria. I'm tempted to crawl through the window, and if I wasn't in danger of losing more points for our crew, I might.
Gods, the points. I haven't allowed myself to think of what a chunk like that taken off might mean.
My stomach growls, distracting me, and I frown.
"Are you lost?" a gruff voice asks from beside me.
I jump a little. Chef is standing beside me with a gleam in his eyes.
"You snuck up on me!" I cough out. "Sorry, I'm just wondering if you have any scraps I can steal?
I missed breakfast, and now lunch. I've had a day, and apparently my stomach is no longer capable of missing a meal or two without punishing me.
" Embarrassment creeps up my chest as I realize I'm getting glassy-eyed.
Why am I so emotional right now? I hate being vulnerable, but this is excessive.
Chef gives me a curious look, like my distress is confusing. He's probably trying to place who I am. Finally, he nods, motioning for me to follow him.
He rounds the large metal garbage cans near the doors, and aggressively pushes the heavy silver swinging doors as he heads through to the kitchen. I follow, catching the door with my hand as it swings towards my face. I notice Chef walks with a limp, barely noticeable until he moves faster.
Glancing around the kitchen, I'm not surprised to see how pristine it looks. The steel countertops sparkle against the crisp white walls.
Chef motions for me to sit at the dinette that's stuffed in between two counter tops; the soft wooden chairs and table looking at odds with the rest of the kitchen.
He comes out of the cool room with a jar of something creamy, and a few other things in little containers.
"Can I help?" I ask eagerly, uncomfortable sitting here while he makes me food.
"Do you have any experience cooking?"
"No... I did work in a diner as a server back home, but never cooked much." I answer honestly.
He turns on a burner and places a cast iron pan onto the stove, his movements practiced.
"Then I'll kindly ask you to stay away," he grumbles.
I sit, fidgeting with my thumbs. This is weird. Maybe I should leave? I'm all too aware of what favours in this world can cost someone, and I don't want to owe anyone anything.
My mind stops abruptly when the smell hits me, a rich, sweet aroma. I inhale deeply. Ethra of Mischief, have mercy! If this is a trick, I will cry. It's unlike anything I've ever smelled before.
Watching Chef flip something over on the stove sends a sudden roil of nausea hurtling through my stomach. I suck in a sharp breath at the sudden onslaught of feelings.
A memory surfaces, like a wave crashing violently onto the shores of my mind, and my body tenses at its clarity.
My dad’s in the kitchen; he's dancing, singing obnoxiously as he cleans the counter of something that's spilled.
He's standing in our first home, the one I can never seem to fully remember––except now I see everything.
The round windows, the hanging spotlight lanterns dad was always hitting his head on because he was too tall, the small white kitchen.
His theatrical swaying is to keep Willow happy.
She's little. So little that her chubby legs can't hold her up properly, and she's alternating between clapping and laughing and falling as she watches him, entranced.
I turn to see my mother, frail and still, propped up on the old red couch between Linden and I.
There's a scarf tied around her bald head.
This must not have been long before she passed.
Weeks, days maybe. She manages to look poised; beautiful, even in this state, as she clutches us to her.
I choke down a sob as I watch my dad make us all laugh as he pretends to talk for Willow.
I had forgotten her voice. Both of them. How had I forgotten?
"Can you set the table?" Chef wrenches me from the blissful memory, noticing my tear-riddled face, and choosing thankfully to ignore it. "Grab some water and a small dish," he adds.
I'm still caught in a daze as I do what he asks, all the while trying to collect myself.
It dawns on me, Sibyella's herbs... is this why I've been feeling so horrible?
So out of sorts? In this moment I can't decide how I feel about this development.
That was painful. Is this how people feel after putting on glasses after a lifetime of not being able to see properly? Wildly disoriented?
When I'm done, he comes over, plopping round golden disks onto our plates. I blink at them. They remind me a little of the protein patties Willow made, and I smile at the memory, knowing these will taste infinitely better, if the smell is any indication.
My mouth waters, but I don't dig in, waiting for direction.
Chef sits down in front of me and pulls out what looks like a pill from one jar. He grabs the small dish and puts the hardened amber stone inside, and then drips a bit of water around the bottom. My eyes widen as the gem disintegrates in the liquid, turning into a thick brown goo as he stirs it.
I'm entranced. Is he about to poison me? What is that?
He pours some of the liquid goo over the disks. My head cocks as he does the same to mine.
"Eat," he demands, and my eyebrows pull together, staring down at my plate.
On the one hand, he could definitely be drugging me, but on the other, the smell is so intoxicating. Do I really care? Death by sweets is kind of alright with me, at this point.
I take a hesitant bite, and I feel like I’m free-falling. My taste buds ignite all at once at the flavour. The disks are fluffy, light, and sweet, and the goo on top is even sweeter. Its smooth, silky flavour causes an outburst from me.
"What is this?! I've never tasted anything so good in my entire life. I don’t even care if this is poisoned, I'll die happy," I mumble through a groan and another giant bite.
Chef barks out a laugh. "It's pancakes with maple syrup. No poison; I wouldn't waste such a delicacy on someone I was going to murder anyway."
I nod like that makes perfect sense, but then what he said registers.
"Maple syrup? No way. How did you get this?" I ask, with a little awe lacing my words. The maple groves have been dead for decades.
"When the trees all started dying, some smart scientist extracted a whole bunch of it and figured out how to synthesize it.
Apparently, this is not even as good as the real stuff, but still pretty delicious, if you ask me.
It costs more than gold now because they don't make it anymore, but I have a sneaky private stock. "
My fork flops down as I push my plate away. "And you wasted it on me?! You didn't have to do that you shouldn't have, honestly! I have no way to pay you back. I don't even know your real name!"
A little dread creeps up into me. What was I thinking, accepting such a gesture? I can't get my shit together today. Chef just chuckles and pushes the plate towards me again.
"Don't worry about it, kid. I, uhm... don't like seeing ladies cry.
If I can shut them up with something good to eat, that's fine by me," he offers, and I eye him suspiciously.
Chef is easy to read. He wears his emotions in his bushy, grey-riddled eyebrows.
The years have weathered his face, but he still has a lot of life left in him.
A spark that hasn't been extinguished just yet.
Picking up a large fork-filled bite, I say, "jokes on you, Chef. I am no lady."
He grins, shaking his head at me as we finish our food.
As we're cleaning up, I feel the need to fill the otherwise comfortable silence, still a little confused as to why he would show me such random kindness, and feeling a heavy unease.
"How long have you worked here in the kitchen?"
"Gods, almost fifteen years now," he says, drying a pan.
"Did you ever serve?" I ask curiously.
He frowns. "Why would you assume that?"
I point towards his leg. "The limp."
His eyes widen a bit, and but he nods slowly. "Yes, I did, then got hurt. But by that point I had no one left at home for me, and I'd always liked to cook, so I took this on."
"Do you have any family now?"
He sighs, "No. My sister disappeared about a decade ago. Never had the good fortune of starting a family of my own. The kitchen is my home now."
I freeze at his words.
"Your sister went missing? What happened?
" I stumble over the words. It's not uncommon; people go missing often enough in New Providence.
What's weird is how little people talk about it.
But I feel the need to press with Chef, to ask him what his thoughts are.
I can tell by his tone he clearly cared for his sibling.
"I don't have a clue. I was gone at the time.
Came home, and she'd vanished. Poof. House empty, and friends and family at a loss about where she went.
I searched for her for some time, but there's only so much you can do.
Even as a soldier, I wasn't sanctioned to just roam the continent looking for her. "
I nod in understanding, and he looks at me in question.
"Something similar happened to my dad when I was a teen.
I've never been able to figure out what happened.
" My voice betrays my feelings, cracking a bit at the end.
I clear my throat. "I've always felt frustrated.
He wouldn't have just slipped over to a new town to start fresh.
But where else could he have gone, you know? "
Chef nods, asking softly, "Was he in any kind of trouble?"
My lips purse at the notion. Was he? Most likely. He was digging into things he shouldn't have been. Doing things he shouldn't have. I give him a look that seems to convey that I believe so.
"Ahh well then, my guess would be he left the country.
I always like to pretend that's what happened with Cecily.
That she climbed through the mountains, and she's curled up in some cave with some wild Solanders, or something.
Because if you have to run from New Providence, there are only three options.
Hiding out here isn't one of them. You can try your way through the barrier, get yourself electrocuted.
You can go through the bogs and hide out with those Zaphirian scum, probably get yourself enslaved.
Or you can try your luck with the mountains.
I'd choose mountains," he says, eyes glistening.
Chef doesn't relay the other possibility; that some of these people are simply murdered or captured by New Providence. Which, in a lot of cases, is likely.
Could my dad be in Soland? It's possible. It doesn't explain why he didn't take us with him. Or why he didn't at least tell me what was happening. I get lost in thought as I finish cleaning, doing more than is probably necessary, for the amount of items he used.
Another thought pops into my head. What if we need to run, at some point?
Bringing Linden and Willow here seems less and less appealing as time goes on.
Why would I fight to get them into a place like this?
That brutalizes and murders people it's sworn to protect.
Is it even safe here for them? Is there somewhere safer?
I turn to him. "Thank you. You didn't have to show me this kindness today, but I really appreciate it."
He waves me off, mumbling about sappy women, but I catch the smile on his face.
The warm feeling dissipates as soon as I'm alone, replaced by worry. I think about the points, and our standing. What if I doomed us to a bad placement? What if we can't climb our way back up? I won't be able to forgive myself.
Resolves settles into me. I just have to figure out how to fix this, and everything will be okay.