Anjelia’s house was busy. Peter and Antei were busy smashing the blueberries into a pulp in a pot while Pristina was busy helping her mother get the fire roaring. The wood they were using had become wet because of a small accident involving a bucket of water, a chicken, and a spider the previous day. The only other dry wood they had were huge logs that needed to be chopped off into smaller pieces to be used for which they did not have time.
The mother and daughter finally managed to get the fire burning although the kitchen was full of smoke by the time. Peter saw them running out of the kitchen coughing and wheezing.
“Did you open the back door and the windows?” he asked.
“Yes son, I am not an idiot,” Anjelia answered. “The smoke will clear in five minutes. The oven should be hot and ready a while after that. Have you two mushed everything?”
“We were about to mix the rest of the ingredients in,” Peter said.
“Where’s the cornstarch?” Antei asked.
“It’s in the kitchen,” Pristina said.
“Go get it,” Anjelia ordered.
“I’m not going in there; it’s full of smoke.”
“Oh forget it.” Peter stood up from where he sat and ventured into the kitchen. He emerged a moment later, coughing and with a bag of cornstarch in his hand. “Was that so hard?” he directed the question at Pristina who merely grinned.
She hopped upstairs to her room to work on her dress while Peter sat back down beside Antei. Anjelia went to the toilet to wash the soot off her hands and face.
“You keep on doing that and she’s going to be forever spoilt,” Antei said.
“Well, she does other chores around the house. She just really hates anything to do with the kitchen.”
Peter poured the cornstarch into the blueberry pulp while Antei poured the sugar. After they were done, Peter began stirring the mixture while Anteir poured some ground cinnamon in. Meanwhile, Anjelia exited the toilet and checked the condition of the kitchen. Much of the smoke had cleared and the fire was now roaring quite nicely. She beckoned the two friends into the kitchen with the pot of berry mixture.
Placing four pie dishes on the table, she instructed the boys to line the dishes with berry crust while she tended to the fire. After that, the boys poured the berry mixture into the dishes and dotted it with butter. Anjelia then took over, cutting pastry she had made while the boys were out buying sugar into strips and making a lattice top over the mixture. She placed the four dishes into the oven and then closed the metal oven door.
“Now, we wait,” she said.
Peter took an hourglass on the table and flipped it on its head. The pie would be baked and ready when about a quarter of the sand remained in the upper portion of the hourglass.
“I’ll go up to clean my room. Call me when the pie is ready,” Anjelia said. She wiped her hands on her apron which she then hanged on a nail behind the kitchen door before leaving for her room upstairs.
“Who was it again who taught your mum how to bake pies?” Antei asked.
“Ah, aunt Shiela taught her. She is my father’s sister-in-law.”
“If the pie your mum bakes is so good, just imagine how good your aunt’s pies must be!” Antei exclaimed.
“I wish aunt Shiela hadn’t moved to Usiar. I haven’t seen her since I was five years old. She had a son too, I wonder what he’s like now.”
“Maybe one day we can save money to go to Usiar and then visit your aunt.”
“Maybe. I really want to visit her someday. She hasn’t sent a letter in ten years.”
“She’s probably busy with whatever Usiarian do.”
“Speaking of Usiar, what do you reckon those two riders wanted?”
“They are probably here to establish some form of trade with our village like you said earlier today. Hey, if they are traders you should get them to come here and try some of your mum’s homemade pie! Your mum could turn this into a very profitable business.”
“First, they’re probably long gone by now. Second, mum is quite satisfied with her current job as a cleaner in the Elder’s home. I don’t think she would want to start a pie business. It would turn into a chore for her after a while. Almost like how you kept putting off making a sketch for my sister because you’d been told to make one and it felt like a chore to you.”
“Oh, thanks for reminding me of the sketch. I almost forgot I have to take some canvasses from you.”
“Why not keep them in your bag now? Otherwise, you’ll just forget like always.”
They left the kitchen and headed for Peter’s room which was next to the living room. This was the room Peter’s parents used to use and where Peter had been born. After Shiela had left Goldwall to move to Usiar, his parents had moved upstairs and Peter had lived in a room across them. Soon after Pristina’s birth and his father’s death, Peter had moved downstairs to this room while Pristina took over her brother’s old room.
Antei flopped down on Peter’s bed while the latter opened rummaged through his shelf to look for the canvasses he had bought at the art fair a month ago in Sherman.
“Aha!” Peter exclaimed when he finally found the large thick sheets of paper underneath three thick volumes of an old novel he had bought at the same fair. “I have five. You can take them all if you want.”
“They won’t fit in my bag, not all of them. Just give me two. I will cut them into half and sketch on two of them for your sister’s birthday.”
“What are you going to draw anyways?” Peter separated and placed two canvasses on the bed while he put the rest three back where he had found them, safe below the thick books.
“Pristina wanted me to draw some mythological creatures for her so she could hang them on her wall. So, I will probably draw a dragon and a phoenix for her. Maybe I will sketch her face too and give that to her as a bonus.”
“I think she will like that.”
“Or she will come at me with a butcher knife if I get some detail on her face’ sketch wrong.”
Antei sat up on the bed, folded the two canvasses Peter had placed on it, and stuffed them into his bag that lay beside the bed. He lay back down again after he tossed his bag into a chair in the corner.
“You’ll crumple up those canvasses if you throw your bag like that,” Peter commented.
“Don’t worry. I folded and placed them inside a book. They’ll be fine.”
Peter shrugged at his friend’s lack of concern and the left his room. He was on his way back to the kitchen when there was a knock on the door. He shuffled to the door and opened it. Standing outside were the two riders he and Antei had seen earlier that day at the entrance gate.
The middle-aged man with the beard smiled at Peter.
“Hello. Is this the home of Missus Anjelia?” he asked in a deep voice.
“Yes. Who are you?” Peter asked, awestruck and suspicious at the same time of the two figures standing at his front door.
“My name is Ruivas. I’m from Usiar,” the man replied. “This young lady here is Serena.”
The green haired girl behind him smiled and gave a short bow to Peter.
“We are here with a message for Missus Anjelia from Missus Shiela.”
Peter’s eyes widened upon hearing the name of his aunt from someone other than his mother and sister. He had not heard from her for ten years and now there were people at his door claiming to have a message from her.
“Mum!” he yelled.
“What is it?” came a shout from upstairs.
“There’s a message for you from aunt Shiela!”
There was a momentary silence followed by loud hurried footsteps. Anjelia came running down the stairs, a frenzied look on her face and her loose hair flowing wildly behind her. She landed on the wooden floor with a thud and ran to the front door.
“Missus Anjelia?” the man asked in a polite tone.
“You have a message from Shiela?” Anjelia asked out of breath.
“Of sorts. May we come in?” he asked.
Antei walked out of Peter’s room wondering what all the noise was about. Seeing the two riders, his eyes widened; Peter motioned him to keep quiet.
“Please, do come in,” Anjelia said nervously.
The two strangers, Ruivas and Serena, both bowed and entered the house after removing their shoes at the door. Anjelia asked them to sit down on the chairs in the living room. They complied without a word.
After having sat down, Ruivas turned to Peter.
“Are you Anjelia’s son Peter?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Shiela speaks quite fondly of you,” he replied with a smile.
“Would you like anything to drink? Tea perhaps?” Anjelia asked. She had calmed down after Ruivas had apparently identified her son.
“No thank you. We could do with some water,” Ruivas answered.
Anjelia threw a look at Peter who immediately headed for the kitchen to fetch two glasses of water for their guests. He was still processing the fact that these two important and regal looking riders he and Antei had seen a few hours ago were now sitting in his living room with an apparent message from his aunt.
He grabbed two wooden glasses from the cupboard and filled them with water. He threw a glance at the hourglass still on the table. Only half the sand hand fallen in. Only a quarter of an hour more to go before the pies would be ready. Placing the glasses on a tray, he walked back into the living room. Anjelia had seated herself on a chair opposite their guest while Antei was nowhere to be seen. He must have went back to Peter’s room.
Ruivas and Serena accepted the glasses of water with a polite thanks.
“Peter, can you please go and stay in the kitchen with Antei? Cal me when the pies are ready,” Anjelia said.
Peter understood, from the tone of his mother’s voice, that she did not want to be disturbed in her conversation with the two guests. He nodded in acknowledgment of her request and called for Antei to come sit in the kitchen with him while she conversed with their guest.
“Well, I certainly did not expect them to show up to your house,” Antei said as soon as he entered the kitchen. He closed the door behind him and sat down beside the table.
“Me neither,” replied Peter. “And to think they know aunt Shiela of whom we were talking about just a while ago!”
“What message do you think they have for your mother?”
“I don’t know. I do hope mum tells me afterwards.”
He placed his head down on the table, staring at the hourglass. The sand trickled down in a steady stream. The pies would be ready soon.
Neither of the two friends said anything to each other for the next few minutes. Peter continued staring at the sand in the hourglass while Antei sat drawing a rough sketch of a phoenix he would later refine and draw on the canvas he had borrowed from Peter.
Finally, Peter stood up and massaged his neck which had gotten sore from laying his head down on the table at an awkward angle. He walked over to the oven, opened the metal door, and looked inside. The pie crust had turned a golden brown signalling that they were cooked and ready.
“Grab the oven mittens,” Peter said to Antei.
His friend obeyed obediently, retrieving the thick oven mittens from the shelf over him. One he passed on to Peter while he wore the other one himself. He grabbed each pie dish that Peter passed on to him and placed them on the table. Once the fourth pie had been removed from the oven, Peter closed the oven door and threw a glass of water to the burning wood below it. The water hissed as it boiled and the flames vanished from the wood, leaving behind glowing charcoal. They would extinguish themselves in a few hours.
“Can I cut a slice for myself now?” Antei asked.
“Do that and mum will kill you,” Peter answered. He turned towards the door. “Mum! The pies are ready!” he shouted.
The door opened in a moment later and Anjelia walked in. She bore a smile but Peter was sure he had seen a serious expression on her face when she’d walked in.
“Ok, let’s start slicing the pie!” she chirped.
“What did they say mum?” Peter asked.
“Nothing important. Now, start slicing the pie. Antei, can you grab two plates for me to take to our guests?”
“A message from aunt Shiela after ten years can’t be unimportant. What did they say?”
Anjelia turned to look at Peter. He was shocked to see a sad expression on her face. “Not now Peter. Please.”
Peter understood that, whatever they had told mum, she did not want to discuss it then. Was it because Antei was present? He could not tell. With a sigh, he resigned himself to slicing the pie, wondering just what the hell was going on with those two riders and his mother.
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