Chapter 40 Bright
brIGHT
The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the deep pile carpet swallowing Bright’s boots with every step.
Each stride was a labor, his legs sinking almost to the ankle in the plush green fibers.
It was like wading through moss in an alien jungle—each footfall muffled and heavy, each movement slow.
Noelle, caught between him and Burn, was struggling worse than either of them, her smaller frame sinking down into the carpet with every soft, slow step.
“Gods, this place is ridiculous,” Bright muttered, glancing over at her. She stumbled, nearly going to her knees. In a flash, Burn scooped her up into his arms, cradling her effortlessly.
“No, Burn—I’m too heavy—put me down!” she protested, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
“Don’t say you’re too heavy—you’re not,” Burn growled, marching forward with her pressed to his chest as though she weighed nothing at all.
Bright smiled to himself. It was so Burn—protective, possessive, always ready to carry the weight for the rest of them.
He’ll never admit it, but he loves being needed, Bright thought, watching the easy way Burn held Noelle, their female tucked safely in his arms.
The kitchen door at the end of the hallway was as oversized as everything else in this giant’s house—over twice Burn’s height, carved from dark wood with a tarnished brass handle as thick as Bright’s wrist. Burn nudged it open with his hip and stepped inside.
The kitchen was cavernous—soaring ceilings, tile floors the color of tarnished copper, and an enormous island in the middle that looked big enough to host a feast for fifty.
An industrial-sized stove dominated one wall, its surface scattered with giant pans and bubbling pots.
The cold unit was a monolith of brushed steel, easily fifteen feet tall, with doors wide enough to fit a small hover-car.
Even the sink was massive—a deep basin filled with stacks of huge dirty plates, splattered with all manner of sauces and scraps.
At the stove, a towering alien was busy orchestrating a culinary symphony.
He had four muscular arms, each one moving independently.
One stirred a pot with a long-handled spoon…
another sprinkled herbs into a sizzling skillet…
the third flipped something meaty on the griddle…
and the fourth was chopping vegetables with a knife the length of Bright’s forearm.
The alien chef wore a stained apron over a squat, barrel-chested body, and his skin was a smooth, pebbly blue-green with patches of iridescence that caught the light from the hanging lamps.
A pair of round black eyes peered out from beneath a heavy brow, and two nostrils flared on a snout that looked better suited for rooting through a forest floor than working in a kitchen.
Burn set Noelle gently on the cool tile and shouted,
“Hey—we were told to come here to eat!”
The alien chef paused, all four arms coming to rest as he turned around. He looked them over briefly, his snout-like nose wrinkling.
“Ah, I see old Thune bought himself some more breeders to play with. Well, sit down, sit down.” He nodded toward an oversized wooden table lined with chairs built for giants, each one a regular seat for the Trollox but a mountain for the three of them.
The table itself was scarred and stained, its thick legs bolted to the floor.
Noelle craned her neck to look up at the massive chair, then tried to climb into one. When she sat, the table hit her right under the nose—she could barely see over the edge.
“Oh, there are some booster seats for humanoids your size,” the chef said, waving a spatula absently toward the far corner. “Over there. I’m Cookie, by the way—not that we’ll have long to get to know each other.”
Bright stood and fetched a booster seat—a contraption of molded plastic with a harness and safety bar that looked like it belonged in a toddler’s playpen. He set it on the chair and helped Noelle into it, murmuring,
“Here you go, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Bright.” She gave him a grateful look, shifting until she was perched high enough to see the tabletop.
The chef named Cookie returned to the stove, his four arms a blur once more.
“I’m fixing hogarth hash—you’re going to love it. Or you might not. Either way, doesn’t matter to me.” His voice was rough, like gravel rolling in an empty can.
Bright eyed the dinner plates the chef began slapping down in front of them—each one the size of a car tire, with a rim deep enough to hold soup for an army.
The plates steamed with a riot of colors—yellow and purple cubes of roasted root, glossy green leaves that wilted in a garlicky oil, something that looked like fried seeds, and a scattering of bright blue noodles all swam in the same brown sauce.
There were also cubes of pinkish meat—slippery and shiny, glistening under the harsh kitchen lights.
The smell was…unexpected, Bright thought. The hash was rich with the scent of sizzling fat and peppery spices, layered with something floral, almost sweet, that tickled his nose. Despite the strange appearance of the food, his stomach actually growled.
Gods, I’m hungrier than I thought, he realized, but there was a nervous flutter in his chest as he eyed the meat.
He poked at a cube with a two-tined utensil, sniffing it.
The scent was unfamiliar—almost briny, with an undertone of rubber.
He decided to steer clear of the pink meat and focused on the roots and noodles, which tasted earthy and garlicky, with a lingering heat from the sauce.
The blue noodles were surprisingly chewy—almost like squid—and tasted faintly of the sea.
Not bad but not great either, Bright thought, shoveling food into his mouth. The roots were fine, and the fried seeds popped pleasantly between his teeth, but the noodles were an acquired taste, and he had no intention of even trying to acquire a taste for the mystery meat.
Burn, he noticed, was doing the same—picking around the pink cubes and eating everything else with mechanical determination.
Better safe than sorry, Bright thought grimly.
Noelle, for her part, bravely speared a cube of the pinkish meat and popped it into her mouth. She chewed, her nose wrinkling, and swallowed with difficulty.
“That tastes…strange,” she admitted, making a face.
“Don’t eat it,” Bright advised quickly. “We’re not sure what kind of being it came from.”
“Oh, that’s slimish meat,” Cookie called over his shoulder, two arms stirring while the other two started washing dishes. “It’s a big creature with lots of tentacles and multiple eyes. They live on Screme’le Two—the whole planet is covered in living slime,” he added conversationally.
Noelle’s eyes went wide.
“Er…thank you for the information,” she said, clearly trying to keep her tone polite. “And for the delicious food,” she added, her voice rising a little with effort.
Cookie only shrugged, all four shoulders rising and falling. “I don’t care if you like it or not—I’m just doing my job.”
Noelle blinked, at a loss for words.
“Oh, er… I’m Noelle,” she tried, offering a smile. “And this is Burn and Bright.”
Cookie’s snout twitched.
“Don’t care to know your names. No point in getting attached to you little humanoids. I made that mistake when I first came here—learned their names, fixed all their favorite meals—got real attached to them. Then the next week, they were gone.”
“Gone?” Bright echoed, a chill prickling up his spine.
“Where the fuck did they go?” Burn demanded.
Cookie shrugged again, hands busy as ever.
“Don’t know. All I know is when old Thune gets tired of you, you lot will be going too.” He pointed one long finger at them. “So I’d do my best to keep him entertained if I were you.”
He stumped away to the stove, leaving the three of them alone at the giant table.
Bright stared at his plate, suddenly aware of the way the blue noodles stuck to the fork, the heavy weight of the silverware, the echoing clatter of pots in the distance.
“So we’re definitely not the only humanoids to have stayed here,” he muttered grimly, glancing at Burn, who had gone very still, his jaw tight with worry.
“The clothes told us that,” Burn growled, staring down at his plate as though it had personally offended him. “The question is, what in the Seven Hells happened to our predecessors?”
“And what did Cookie mean when he said we have to keep Thune ‘entertained?’” Noelle asked, voice trembling.
There were no answers. Only silence and the cold weight of dread settling in Bright’s gut, heavier than the hash he was forcing himself to finish.
We have to get out of here, he thought, staring at the strange, oversized world around him. But how?