“Lotte, you’re stirring too fast!” Honya’s smooth voice rose to urgency.
She stepped away from the oven and rushed toward me at the table. I should have the batter ready to bake, but no matter how much my wrist ached from stirring, the wet-dry concoction merely tossed the flour onto the hardwood floor. The honey egg mix refused to mix with the flour and cinnamon.
“Here, let me show you.” Honya’s soft eyes, the color of fern, met mine as she took the mixing bowl from my arms. She sat it on the table, holding it by the rim and tilted the spoon toward her and stirred in small circles.
“Be gentle,” she said. “You’re mixing batter, not churning butter.”
Honya gave me a small smile and returned the spoon to me. After a few hesitant stirs, I found myself mixing the batter with ease. There was no resistance between the wet or dry ingredients. I
“Much better. Don’t forget to break the lumps apart. It may have some flour trapped inside.”
My thanks came out in a soft murmur as I gingerly poked at the clumps of batter with the spoon.
“Are you nervous about today?”
I met her gaze, still stirring. “I don’t want to mess this up again.”
“Mess up how?” As Honya returned to the stove where spiced veggie and herbal stew simmered inside of the cauldron, she glanced at me and added, “You used all of the right ingredients and didn’t drop the bowl!”
I hesitated to say, ‘I know’ but my eyes wandered to the kitchen clutter—the cabinets lined with jars of spices. Bundles of fresh and dry herbs hanging over the windows and potted plants gathered on the shelves. It was fitting for the village mage and healer, not a lousy apprentice like me.
Honya was more graceful with her craft and beautiful than anyone ought to be. She can revive withered plants with the wave of her hand and sprout herbs in an abundance from our garden. She was kind enough to give me a home and a name and I did my best to be like her. I didn’t have a grasp at magic, so I tried to be good at gardening and cooking. But every plant I watered withered in days; the first cake I made came out flat as sliced bread, I mistook teaspoons with tablespoons and wasted one of the eggs when I cracked one so hard, the yolk burst in my hand.
‘Mistakes are part of learning,’ Honya would say. She added that my cooking mishaps always brightened my neighbor’s day. But I couldn’t ignore the shame brewing in my chest.
This time I listened, determined to make things right. I woke up before sunrise to set the ingredients out. I didn’t pat the flour down, I measured the honey and gently tapped the egg to crack it. But here I was, flour clinging to my dark hair, my nightgown and apron stained with batter, and gripping the spoon like a child despite being sixteen.
“No need to sulk over a little mess,” Honya said. “A few drops are better than spilling the whole thing,” She added with an impish grin.
“Yeah,” I said, smiling back.
“The oven’s all warmed up now. Did you flour the pans?”
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I paused, stared at Honya, then at the clean pans sitting on the table. I knew I forgot something…
The pans were hastily coated in flour and partially filled with the batter. We carried them to the open flamed oven that was next to the stove. Sweltering heat spilled out of its mouth as fire leaped from the burning wood. I carefully slid the pans inside and jumped out of the way of the intense heat.
“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Honya chuckled.
We put the leftover ingredients in the cupboard and washed the mixing bowls. I opened the window, letting in the cool spring air rush inside. Amongst the fluttering leaves and creaking branches, I could hear the Evening Songbirds’ musical chirps.
They can actually be heard from sunrise to early noon and twilight. Their yellow pink and purple feathers was how they earned their name. I could see a small family bunched up in one of the trees at the outskirts of the forest. A few chicks must have hatched because I could hear their little yips join their parents’ chorus.
The music was faint and it made me think of a warm sunny day, a hand in mine and a low soothing hum in my ears. My arms prickled with goosebumps and my heart fluttered.
“Lotte?” Honya called, grabbing my attention. “Are you alright?”
The Songbirds’ chorus faded into the forest susurration, and the heaviness sank into my heart.
“Did you hear that song just now?” I asked.
“The Songbirds?” Honya asked. “Yes. It sounds like the chicks have started to sing.”
“I mean the song itself. It sounded… familiar.”
She pursed her lips as she approached the window. “Familiar how?”
“ I’ve heard it before…” I rubbed my head as if trying to reach into my thoughts.
“It will come back to you.” Honya pulled the lid off the cauldron, and checked on the veggie stew. “I’ll keep an eye on the cakes while you change.”
I nodded feeling the wordiness knot inside my chest. After washing up, I changed into a soft gown, layered with a sky blue overdress. Honya said the blue complimented my tawn skin and dark hair. I patted out the wrinkles and hurried back to the kitchen. By the time I met with Honya, she had pulled the second cake out of the oven.
They were perfect! The batter rose to a soft, golden brown cake that smelled of honey.
“It’s beautiful!”
“And you made it all by yourself,” Honya said.
My cheeks warmed up with pride. The cakes were dressed in honey, decorated with cinnamon and we cut them into ten even slices.
My smile began to fade. “Are you sure this will be enough for everyone?”
Honya replied. “It should be. And if everyone wants more, they know who to ask.”
I set the slices on two small plates, as Honya brought a couple bowls of stew to the table and sat with me. The stew was warm and rich with spices, and the cake’s soft texture and sweetness made my heart flutter.
“Good isn’t it?” Honya asked.
“It’s great! I’m sure everyone will love it.”
She chuckled. “Judging from the face you’re making, I’m sure everyone’s going to enjoy it.”
She laughed again as I looked away, trying to hide my reddening cheeks.
I helped Honya clean the kitchen again. When she went to her room to change clothes, I used one of the baskets and set the cake slices inside, along with a few jars of cinnamon and rosemary that we weren’t going to need. I returned to the window to close it and took a moment to listen to the Evening Songbirds once more.
But I couldn’t hear them, all I heard were rustling leaves and a low howl in the wind.
“Are you ready?” Said Honya.
I turned to face her. Honya’s hair cascaded in waves past her shoulders. Her soft green dress seemed to flow with every step. I hesitated to say yes, but seeing Honya ready, and the cakes in the basket, I steeled myself and nodded with certainty.