The app for independent voices

IV.

My yurt is nothing special. It is a standard twelve-storey straw-bale cylinder perfectly adequate for a family of our standing. Each chamber has a radius of six feet and is reached by a central ladder that runs the full height of the structure.

The first floor is the Room of Undressing. Above it is the Restoration Room, then the Ingredient Preparation Room, then the Meal at Table Room, then the Room of Sitting Fire, then Nokweed’s room, Diesel’s room, Jerry’s room, my wife’s room, and finally my own. At the very top sits the Rainwater Room.

Beneath the Room of Undressing is, of course, the Cold Room.

And beneath that, the Sanctuary.

If you have been counting carefully, you will recall that I said the house has twelve storeys, though thirteen rooms have now been named.

Jerry’s room no longer belongs to us.

As punishment for leaving home before the Prescribed Age, the Kingdom repossessed the chamber some months ago. It is now maintained as a refuge for a small population of yarnflängyrr, an endangered northern bird of prey known for feeding on jïbber corpses.

The birds are quiet during the day but become restless toward evening. The Kingdom has assured us they are entirely self-regulating. A pamphlet was delivered explaining the arrangement, though it addressed none of the questions my wife raised about cleaning.

I remove my tunic and sandals in the Room of Undressing and leave them neatly upon the washing table. Then I climb the ladder into the Restoration Room.

It has been another long day, though I was absent for much of it, and I can feel the fatigue settling into my bones. I relieve myself, wash thoroughly, shave, and dress in the neatly folded tunic my wife has left out for me. The wound in my chest is healing nicely.

When I climb into the Ingredient Preparation Room, I find it perfectly spotless, as usual, and scented in sourdough and beets.

Above my head the voices of the people I love rise and fall, blending into a single warm murmur. I linger for a moment at the foot of the ladder, listening.

Then I climb up and join them in the Meal at Table Room.

III.

The planetary axis has shifted again and I am sweating profusely. I wipe my face along the sleeves of my tunic, then roll them up all the way to my shoulders.

As I approach the final bend before home, a rustling erupts in the hedges to my right. I startle and jump aside.

Then comes the snarling, and I can’t help but smile. She has take…

Mar 15
at
12:54 AM
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