Aideyll’s Hazelnut Master

Some things natural are made to fight against the human body.

* * * * * * * *

The fields were already dried with nothing more than the new morning’s dew by the time Fiera arrived at the Academy landing grounds.

See you around.

You know where to find me.

Same to you.

Fiera lifted off the grass, eyes kept on Szak just a moment longer. Szak gave a single wave in response before both turned their backs at the same time: Fiera, toward the forest to the north of the farmlands, and Szak, toward Essensia’s markets.

You know I’ll come back when I miss you.

And when you think I’ll miss you. Szak added. That was the last thought they shared before Fiera flew too far and the two couldn’t hear each other anymore.

Well, you’re certainly the lucky one of the two of us. Szak took in a deep, deep breath as he entertained how much nicer would it be to fly around, exploring around Aideyll, instead of being stuck on campus and listening to lectures as told. Yet, once he remembered that he had the added responsibility now of regaining his previous title, a surge of energy came through him, and he found himself entering the edge of the city with determination. There was a purpose, now. As mundane as it was to go through the Academy, he hated to admit that he had a reason to do well.

So maybe his father would win the battle of getting him to pay attention to his studies—but Szak would win the war.

There was the usual young boy at the entrance of the city, announcing the happenings of the day, the same as every day. He approached Szak and waved a particularly large parchment in his face, eyes twinkling with a hopeful smile.

“Might you have something to provide those in the City of Youth?”

Szak brought a bitter hand up and took the paper, eyeing the page, more annoyed at the interruption of his thoughts than at the call for help.

The City of Youth was in the Province of Eternal Blossoms. They boasted the best medicinal knowledge there, second only to the Academy Hospital in Essensia. It was in Eternal Blossoms where Adrion had originally blessed both the territory and the half of its population with healing talents—the first of them, being the Envra clan. The best healers undoubtedly belonged to the Envra clan.

The earth had quaked their territory the day before yesterday. News spread to Essensia after the city sent a group to the Hall of the Ashenborn in thanks: direct disciples of Aiana had foreseen the damage done a week before its occurrence and had evacuated every living thing within a twelve-mile radius right before Mother’s Morning. The only casualties were torn homes and muddied waters.

“Woodland sprites have already left to help regrow the woods. Water faeries and merpeople are cleaning the rivers,” the young boy added. “But if you have any gifts—perhaps any clothes or good furniture—things of that sort, there is a ship at our ports leaving in the direction of the Blossoms in two mornings.”

“I only carry things I need when I come to Essensia,” Szak answered, handing the paper back to the boy. “I have texts that belong to the Academy, and Drakonforged that are not for civilians.”

“Drakonforged!” the young boy exclaimed. “Golly! Many thanks to your Chief, Drakonskar mister! The Twinkling Hearth sure is an amazing place for… their… Drakon…forged.” His voice faltered as Szak’s glare darkened to a menacing hue. The young boy swallowed beneath Szak’s shadow. “I-if you come up with something to give later, j-just head over to the ports. There are signs on the pier, mister Drakonskar, s-sir.” The young boy nodded and scurried away, handing the news out to other passersby.

Szak huffed a breath and continued into the market.

It bothered him even more, knowing that this young boy reflected the voice of the people in this city, if not more. It was what paper boys and girls were supposed to do. They walked about, spreading news in person, making friends with every temporary audience only to gain more information amidst casual conversations. But when the young boy had said ‘thanks to your Chief,’ he had inadvertently thanked Szak’s father, and the thought of that immediately added greyed tones to the clouds above for the rest of the morning.

The young boy’s voice faded with the sound of others walking along the streets behind him. In front of Szak, however, more commotion bustled with individuals meeting up with friends and running in and out of the stores that lined up the street. Essensia had no empty walls. A collage of bulletins and flyers was upon every building that led to the central market. Notices of various social events, along with reminders of celebrations, ceremonies, and philosophical gatherings, cluttered every wall beside notices of what people should watch for given the day’s planetary alignment, and auditions and interviews for open apprenticeship positions with the greatest Academy alumni.

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Other than being where the Ashenborn resided, Essensia was also the largest talent showcase open for viewing every day of the year, every hour of the day for whoever was awake in the moment to witness it. The Academy was the renown breeding ground for the cream of the crop for any and all possible branches of study—other than combat.

Szak, of course, ignored most of them. Crowds blocked the majority of posters as he passed by, anyway, and he was only curious enough to look when he first arrived here on a trip with his father years before he came to Essensia for the Academy.

He met a fork in the street and made a left, toward the central market and onto a wide-set dirt road filled on both sides with a plethora of shops, tables, carts, and stands that were refreshed every morning with the day’s livestock lying plucked and cleaned, fruits sitting ripe and bright, and sea creatures reeking of oceanic stench.

Eventually, he met another fork in the market. Before him was the main bakery, overflowing with the breath of milk and honey. A woman staggered down the street with an oversized barrel. Szak’s initial reaction was to stray his walk to go help the idiot that didn’t think to borrow a cart, but a couple caught up to her from behind and took the barrel off her hands. Szak continued along his way, to the right of the fork this time, while the three exchanged casual conversations and the woman breathed a sigh of relief as she opened the door to her home.

The street Szak chose was so narrow it was often confused by most as an alleyway. The cobblestone road led him through little boutiques, knick-knack shops, and collectible stores. At the end of the street stood a short tree in a ceramic vase: the only plant in the scenery barren of greenery.

Passing the tree, Szak made a slight left onto another street that curved and rounded over into a circular plaza where a strong oak stood at the center, providing shade to the outdoor seating arrangement. Its only exit was its entrance. Few were here, and those who were, preferred to be isolated from the rest of bustling Essensia.

Szak entered the shop that held an open door three from the left. He glanced up as he entered, a habit he had developed for every time he made his first step into the shop. The sign that hung the store’s name, Hazeldine’s Hazel Nut Hut, was kept on the wooden front of the building with nothing but string on a pin, and Szak always had to reassure himself that the board would not fall on him in the short trek he had to make beneath it.

Sunlight entered through the glass windows and highlighted all the dust specs that floated throughout the air, covering the wooden, un-waxed counters and seats, collecting themselves with like friends among the scattered cracks in dead bark.

“Old man Haze!” he called out, a voice shouting more of a demand for presence than a question of location. Footsteps clunked across the ceiling. He took a seat.

After two flights of stairs, an old man with a silver and hazel colored moustache appeared from behind the edge of the wall. He held a smile so wrinkly, it carved deep gashes on his face and made it hard for Szak to locate his eyes.

“I know ‘twas you whence I heared your voice, Mister Szak’rilis!”

Szak nodded once.

Hazeldine skipped his merry way behind his counter. He had a thick accent as he spoke in broken Aideyllian. “Per-vect time to come visit I! You’re a smart un, Mister Szak’rilis, r’callin’ ‘pout my haze nuts e’ry mid-autumn. What’re you wantin’ tis day?”

Szak laid his longsword on top of the table, but the brilliant sheath flashed against the sunlight and straight into his eyes when he set it down, and he had to lean it against the chair beside him instead. “Whatever it is you have extra. I’m not picky.”

Hazeldine chuckled merrily as plates and cups clanged together. Shortly thereafter, the sound of wood hitting against a pan was heard.

“You know I take care o’ you, Mister Szak’rilis, t’ere is not no way no ware I give you le’tovers.” Hazeldine wobbled his way over, one hand gripping onto the handles of two different cups decorated in two different shapes and sizes, one hand balancing a large wooden plate resembling a cutting board piled with pastries and a bowl of roasted hazelnuts. “Virst o’ all, I’s not has any le’tovers anyware. E’ryone be comin’ in e’ry-day tis time o’ year,” he said as he joined Szak at the table. “Second o’ all, you’re Mister Szak’rilis, Mister Kaz’mir’s poy. Got to give you grated respect!”

He held one of the cups up in the air. Szak followed suit and nonchalantly picked up his own cup. Hazeldine bumped his cup to Szak’s, spilling a few drops onto the wood, and cheerily drank.

Szak watched Hazeldine for a bit before he brought his own cup down. He closed his eyes as he took a sip. The smell of hazelnut filled his senses, and he secretly enjoyed the warmth of perfected, hazelhoney milk. He set his cup back down on the table with a frown kept strong.

“Wat prings you ‘ere today pacifically, Mister Szak’rilis?”

“Back for more Academy bullshit,” Szak responded bitterly, plopping a hazelcream puff into his mouth. He almost let a smile escape.

“At least we’re in haze nut season!” Hazeldine said happily, jumping in his own bench as he picked up a roasted hazelnut for himself. “Te haze nuts in Essenia’s te pest tere is!”

Szak said nothing, and joined in on the roasted hazelnut hunt.

“You don’t look v’ry jup’lated. Mister Szak’rilis?”

“Old man Haze, just Szak is fine. You stumble over your words enough as it is.”

“O, so humple, Mister Szak’rilis! Please, please! Have more haze nuts! Can’t get ‘em anyware in ta Twinkin’ ‘earth, tat’s sure.”

Szak thought about correcting Hazeldine and telling him that shortening his name was fine now that he had been stripped of his title of Elite Commander, but he decided against it by the time he finished the hazelnut in his mouth. There was no reason for Hazeldine to know such a thing happened when Szak would just get his title back anyway. One way, or another.

Hazeldine got up and went back behind the counter while Szak helped himself to a slice of hazelbread. “Glad ta know when tings get rogue, my haze nuts can cheer Mister Szak’rilis!”

After a deep sigh, came another nod. Szak tried to come up with a response as the mouth full of moist hazelbread and roasted hazelnuts stalled for him, but he decided against answering altogether and gulped down some more hazelhoney milk, instead.