Chapter #83A Taste of Home by: imaj   “No,” you yell, sitting bolt upright, reaching out with your hand to try and warn Joe. “No!”
You realise you are back in the guest bedroom in Oxford, Kali is sitting on the side of the bed, looking a you with honest concern. “Everything is alright child,” she says, taking your hand and holding it comfortingly. “You’re safe, here with me. I came back up to wake you and you were thrashing in your sleep. Did you have a bad dream?”
“Something like that,” you say, calming down. You take a moment to wipe the sweat from your face with one hand.
Kali gets up and starts opening the curtains. “I suppose that your dream journal is still back in my apartment,” she asks, pulling back one long heavy curtain and securing it in place in a hook. You nod an affirmative. “I’m sure there will be a notebook somewhere in the house that you could use,” she continues kindly.
“Do you want to know what it was about,” you ask nervously. “It was a little… I don’t think…”
“You could tell me about it,” interrupts Kali, seemingly ignoring your protests. “But now that you’re here, it would be far better if you told Margaret.” You stare at her dumbfounded. The idea of sharing what you’ve just dreamt with a stranger horrifies you. “Margaret is my old teacher child. She knows far more about interpreting dreams than I do and is a psychologist by training. She used to work at the university here.” Great, that’s all you need – someone poking around inside your head and deciding it means you want to sleep with your mother. Evidently you let your distaste show on your face because Kali laughs nervously. “Relax child, Margaret will only want to help you. Besides,” she adds, her expression suddenly more serious. “I think it will be a while before I am ready to teach you again.”
You stare at Kali, this time in puzzlement. Then you remember: The note she left in her apartment. “Oh,” you say quietly. “Seattle…”
“Yes,” replies Kali quietly, her hands clasped to her chest. You both stand unmoving and silent for a few seconds. “Well, I shall go and make breakfast,” she eventually says. “You should change and come downstairs child. I think you will be able to find your way to the kitchen easily,” she adds, grinning slightly. With that, she leaves you alone in the bedroom.
She’s right about getting changed. Jen’s uniform, which you went to sleep in only a few hours ago, it dripping with your sweat. You find her suitcase and look inside it for a change of clothes. After slipping into a pair of worn and comfortable jeans and loose fitting rollneck sweater, you head downstairs
The kitchen is easy to find. You follow the wafting smell of cooked food to a room at the back of the house. The kitchen is simply furnished, but unlike the minimalist styling of Kali’s apartment, it is more rustic looking and old fashioned. Kali is working at the cooker on one side of the room, fiddling with a series of pans that are the source of the wonderful smell.
You sit at the honey coloured wooden table in the centre of the room, opposite a bear of a man with a silver coloured beard. He grins broadly at you and you smile nervously in return, bowing your head and staring at the surface of the table. It is chipped and worn.
Kali comes over and places a small notebook and pen beside you, nowhere near as fancy as the dream journal you left back in L.A.. You open it and start jotting the events of your dream before they fade from your memory. Kali returns to the cooker and continues to push the contents to the pans about.
“So Kali, this is our new Sulva then,” says the man opposite you loudly. He isn’t shouting, it just seems that his normal speaking voice is a bit louder than most other peoples’. There’s an accent there too, one that sounds like it’s just walked out of a bad cold war era spy movie.
“Yes Fyodor,” replies Kali with an exasperated sigh. She doesn’t look up from the cooking food. “This is Will Prescott. And Will, this is Fyodor Chernomyrdin.”
You look up at the hulking man again and smile weakly. “She doesn’t look like much of a Will, unless this is one of those decadent imperialistic western names,” he smiles very broadly back at you and winks.
“That isn’t funny Fyodor,” says Kali, sighing again, more loudly this time. “He’s too young to understand what passes for your sense of humour.”
“He is too young,” says Fyodor incredulously. “Neither of those two words are correct Kali.”
“Nevertheless they are Fyodor,” explains Kali, still paying more attention to the cooking food than the boisterous man in front of you. “One of Will’s prodigies is a form of shapeshifting.”
“A shapeshifter, huh,” says Fyodor, leering at you. “I have these pictures of some lovely young women, I wonder if you could…”
“Fyodor,” interrupts Kali angrily.
“I’m just joking with my new friend here,” protests Fyodor, grinning cheekily at you. He winks at you again. “It is good to meet you Will. I am sure your skills will prove a valuable addition to the order. You and Rick should work very well together.”
“You know about Rick,” you ask, your voice quavering.
“Well I did see him earlier,” grins Fyodor. “That and Charles conferred with me over your assignment.” He laughs uproariously. “Oh you look like a stuck pig Will Prescott. You should lighten up, life is short.” Fyodor slams the table with his hand, jolting it and sending your pen skittering across the notebook.
“Quite,” mutters Kali, spooning the contents of the pans onto plates. “Fyodor, perhaps you could take Margaret her breakfast?”
“But of course Kali,” he replies, putting his big hands on the table and levering himself to his feet. You let out a little gasp as you see he is well over six feet tall. “Allow me,” he adds, picking up the tray that Kali has set one of the plates on. Then he leaves by the door you came in by.
“He certainly seems….” You begin.
“Shall we say ’larger than life’,” offers Kali. “If you are wondering why Charles discussed you with Fyodor, well let me explain child. Fyodor is Charles’ lieutenant, you might even say deputy. A lot of the older Stellae were surprised when Alexandre Sable chose Charles as his successor as leader of the order, especially since Fyodor had directly apprenticed under Alexandre during the war. Nevertheless, Fyodor has been a loyal aide and confidant for Charles ever since.”
“Which war,” you ask, putting your pen down.
“The Second World War, but for heavens sake child, do not ask him about it,” answers Kali.
“Was it that bad,” you ask.
“Very much so, but do you think that would stop him telling you about it,” asks Kali. You shake your head, Fyodor clearly carries his good humoured nature with him, and you suspect it would act as a shield against the horrors he might have encountered. “Exactly. It would take all day, and some parts of it would likely make you quite ill,” she adds placing a plate in front of you.
“Is he a Glundandra then,” you ask as Kali places knives and forks round the table.
“Well guessed child,” she replies, sitting next to you with a plate of her own. “He would not have been considered for leadership of the Stellae otherwise. His other ousiarch is Kenadandra.” You pause suddenly, a piece of greasy looking fried egg halfway to your mouth. The mention of Kenadandra suddenly reminding you of Vidya from your dream earlier. “As a leader, he is utterly focussed on the needs of those in his care and exhorts them to bring out the best of themselves by working hard. He also got bought your breakfast for you.”
“Huh,” you mumble in between mouthfuls.
“Oh, he was in Glasgow yesterday on business. He knew I was going to be here, so he brought a taste of home back down for me,” explains Kali in a wistful tone.
“I was wondering why you never made stuff like this back in L.A.,” you reply. You look at the plate. Eggs and bacon are the most recognisable foodstuffs, although the bacon is a different cut than what you are used to. There’s a wrinkled looking red thing that might be what a tomato looks like after spending too long in a frying pan. A flat pink squarish shape of indeterminate meat and two black circular things nestle next to each other. A golden brown and very flat quarter circle shaped piece of food is soaking up the running egg yolk. “Is there anything here that isn’t fried,” you ask. The whole plate is swimming in grease. “Oh, there’s a slice of toast.”
“Actually, that’s fried bread,” laughs Kali gently. “This is comfort food Will, just like my mother used to make on a Sunday morning before kirk. Good for the soul.”
You cut away a small portion from one of the black circular bits of food, and lift it to your mouth. It almost goes splattering back out across the table, but you manage to chew it slowly and eventually swallow.
“Some of it might be an acquired taste,” admits Kali, looking at your face.
“Sorry,” you blush. You tear into the rest of the plate, wolfing the contents down. Kali is right, once you’ve worked out which bits you don’t want to eat, the rest of the food does feel comforting. You relax and push your mostly cleared plate to the slide and continue to write up your dream in the notebook.
Kali looks across from her own meal, which is only half finished. “Shall I take you to speak to Margaret once I’m finished,” she asks.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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