"Ah, come on!" Sy cried.
Sy moved to shake a finger at yet another piece of eggshell fallen into the batter. Sy managed unsuccessfully to break both eggs into the bowl. Each leaving fragments of shell in the batter.
Refusing defeat, the child puffed her cheeks and chest. She reached for the wooden spoon. Inside said spoon, a pentacle had been etched. This was meant as a tool for spell and potion work.
Sy, however, could find no other and had to use it.
Sy explained to herself that I'd wash and dry it before mom came back. She knew her mother would be angry. Even punish her- but only if she found out.
I'm more worried about her biting into an egg, Sy thought.
Sy could already imagine the face her mom would make—that pause after biting into a slice to make a crunching noise. The same had happened last year.
This time will be better, Sy vowed.
Sy fumbled with the spoon and batter until she scooped out the villainous pieces. The spoon plopped them down on a nearby washcloth. With a weary sigh, Sy leaned forward to turn the page. She guided her finger under the following line of instruction.
"Next milk, stir, and put in the oven." Sy read slowly. She carefully double-checked the sentence to make sure she understood it right. Finally, she nodded and jumped down from the stool to pull up the pail.
"Hoo," Sy heaved. She struggled against the weight but managed to throw it up to the counter. The milk sloshed inside loudly as it landed. The heat of the fresh supply warmed the metal.
Sy clambered back up the stool. Her bottom plopped down on the cushion. She steadied her arms. Little grey eyes looked at the pail with determination. This, now, was going to be her most arduous task.
"1…2..3-!" Sy yelled. She moved to her knees and reached for the pail. It lifted with a significant wobble. Milk sloshed dangerously near the lip, almost spilling. Sy cried. She moved faster. With all the strength in her arms, she tipped the pale over. The milk poured into the batter with a wet plumb sound.
As Sy tilted the pail to the very end of the milk, the sight of the milk climbing into the batter made her smile. A sense of ease came to her. The exchange was a success!
But there was no time to bask in the glow.
Sy reached back for the discarded spoon. Stabbing the batter with another wet plumb sound, she aggressively smacked it from side to side. It was pulling the batter with her as she moved. A wet sloppy sound climbed up from the bowl, but the more she tried, the wetter it became.
Sy felt her arm hurt from the foreign motion. It stung her shoulder, but she didn't stop. Not until Sy saw the batter be thick and wet like soup. When Sy saw no more flour lumps, she pulled the spoon out. It dropped back to the washcloth with the eggshells. A splatter of the mix shot up from the scoop. Spittles landed on Sy's dress. Mixing it in alongside the dirt, grass, and grease stains incurred today.
Sy leaned into the batter and took a smell. It smelt like sweet clay but was white as snow. The overpowering aroma of Vanilla wafted into her face and made her scrunch up. She reeled back.
Sy pulled over the lumpy circle-looking tin. Taking up the bowl with both hands, Sy waited until she felt it steady before she poured. The batter was poured with a layered wave into the tin.
Sy rotated the bowl about to even the spread. With the remains, she used the spoon to scoop them out and drop them in. The bowl was scraped clean and returned to the counter. Sy threw the spoon inside. A visual reminder for her to wash the two.
"Now I cook." Sy voiced. She uncurled her legs and stretched them down. Sy gently took up the tin. She took care as she made her way to the fireplace. She placed it on the closest stone nearest the fire. Her fingers jumped back as she felt the stone touch her skin. It was hot.
Sy made a face and stuck the finger in her mouth. She sucked on the burn.
"Ouch," Sy mumbled through her full mouth. But it wasn't as bad as last time. Only a tiny burn. Nothing a little sucking couldn't fix.
Well, that's done. Sy thought. She took a step back. Now free from her primary purpose, Sy could reflect. She looked to the fire, then the pan. The whole escapade had taken her near all day.
I've done a lot, Sy thought. With getting all this together: eggs, milk- and I got to go to the junkyard!
Sy smiled at that last bit. All her treasures were still in the sack, needing to be hidden away. Sy had no time before.
I just threw the bag on the bed before rushing to the kitchen. But now that I'm free…
It can wait. Sy decided instantly. Sy could see little bubbles form in the batter. It was starting to cook. Its sweet smell was filling the air. Sy breathed it in as she listened to the house. It was quiet, she noted.
Too quiet. Sy now realized she was all alone in the big house. The silence started to scare her.
"Mom's still not back"
Sy moved to cross her arms over her chest protectively. She looked up from the fire to spy the sundial outside. Its' shadow had crossed the line marker for a late afternoon. The sight didn't help her feel any better.
"Hmm," Sy grumbled. She turned to face the kitchen.
The counter was a mess of flour and sugar. The pail stood next to the bowl and spoon. Both still need to be cleaned. Sy, though, pushed the obligation to the side again. She already planned to do it just a bit later.
Instead, Sy stole her eyes over to the table. Four chairs were set, but only three were usable. The fourth was covered over with books mom kept piling on. She would always be reading a new one at the table. Mom read with one hand and ate with the other.
Sy was amazed how her mom could do that. Never once missing the fork or dropping food. Unlike her messy self.
I wonder if I'll get to be that good one day, Sy thought. Shrugging, she looked from the fourth to her mother's chair. It sat at the head of the table. Then to her own, that sat to the right. Both had placemats and forks, and knives ready for eating. They always being in use.
The last chair, however, was bare. And had been as far as Sy could think back. It sat opposite her mother's. There was no placemat or anything to say it had been used. It was just alone. Sitting there in wait like it needed someone to fill it.
"I wish…" Sy started and stopped. Her little heart was afraid to say more. But there was hope it could happen. Sy couldn't fight the dream. She tried her best to keep secrets and protect herself.
Perhaps it's because today is today that I feel my chances are better, Sy thought again. That out of any other day, the opportunities to have it happen would be more significant it could. That all three chairs could be filled.
With me, mom, and…
Sy shook her head back and forth. She slapped her face as if to wake up. This was not the time to be off dreaming.
This is a golden opportunity! Sy thought. Mom wasn't home. And who knows when she would? It may be late. Maybe even later.
A glint of mischief sparkled in Sy's eyes. The smile on her face was naughty. But no one was there to see it. Or stop her.
Her study, Sy thought. She clapped her hands. The idea of tasting the forbidden fruit- traversing into her mothers forbade "STUDY." It was too delicious to resist.
Sy snapped a quick look back to the fire. More bubbles in the cake, but it still needed time. Plenty of time to scavenge her mother's things. Sy's smile widened.
"Awesome!"
Sy wasted no time and took off in an exciting sprint. Her little legs carried her down the halls, passing the many doors she was not allowed in or locked. Finally, Sy stopped at the far end. It was nearest her room: The Study.
Without hesitation, Sy made to turn the knob. A toad next to the door looked up at her.
"Oh, hi, Mr. Toady." Sy greeted as she opened the door. The knob gave an excellent click and creaked open. Sy could feel the air in her lungs fill to the bream.
The room had always been the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It filled with sun from the long windows that ran up to the ceiling, down to the floor, and deep velvet blue curtains. Sy stepped inside. Her small foot sank into the flush and rich Freetan rugs. She could smell the air- it was perfumed with what she could identify as dragon blood. But there were other, earthier smells mixed in that she had not known.
Already, Sy could feel giddy. Above her, Sy found the entire skeleton of a dragon suspended over the high ceiling. Its wings pulled far but still not at their entire length. Its massive head and jaw seemed to look down on her. Sy counted the large sharp canines in its mouth.
"CROAK." Sy stopped. She looked down to see the toad. He was at her foot looking up at her. There was apparent judgment in his eyes. Sy laughed nervously.
"Er, don't tell mom. Please? Mr. Toady? It's my birthday…." Sy pleaded. The toad blinked at her. He seemed to pause. But just as Sy opened her mouth to say more, he turned. A sloppy hop-hop and the toad were making it down the hall. Sy sighed.
But then a thought came to her.
"Wait!" Sy cried. The toad turned. He was seemingly uninterested in what she had to say. But toads were polite creatures so he stayed enough to listen.
Sy pointed down to the kitchen.
"Tell me when the cake's done?" Sy asked.
The toad blinked at her. She then watched him hop-hop away. He seemed to head to the kitchen.
Okay, Sy thought. She turned back to the room.
Best get down to business.
Sy moved to punch her hand into her fist. She exhaled and nodded. The fighting spirit was welling up within her.
"Today's gonna be the day," Sy announced. She instantly lost interest for the room. Sy was single-minded now. The great mystery was going to be solved.
I'm going to find out who he is. Sy vowed and moved.
Sy made a beeline passing the large windows. She ignored the table of potions and stopped right at the bookshelves. Her mother had stored an extensive collection of books that required big and thick shelves. Each was made with different wood.
Altogether, they were elegant pieces. Costly things that her mother must have taken years to acquire. No one less than the other. But, as Sy now turned, one was a particular case.
It held books, yes, but not just that. There were things displayed. Personal items of her mothers: a stuffed bear with eyes that no longer shined, a pair of old boots with the initial 'D.O.W.' stitched on the sides and sand in soles, an old photograph half ripped off, and an old leather-bound journal.
Each item was part of a collection about a past mom never wanted to explain.
It was here that Sy found what she needed. She took the journal and photographs. Putting the journal to the side, Sy held up the photo. It was framed in gold, but the picture was worn down. It looked to be faded and crumpled over too much holding.
Perhaps by mom? Sy couldn't say. But she could see clearly that one of them was her mother in the shot.
In the black and white photo, Sy could see mom dressed in the official D.O.W. uniform of blue. She was standing amongst other men and women in the same way. Behind her lay some kind of ruin in the middle of the sand.
Sy didn't know where this was exactly, but she knew it was Freet. Mom told her how she had been in the Sundry/Teran war. That much, her mother did say. But nothing else after.
Who are they? Sy pondered the question again for the billionth time. She looked at the picture harder in hopes of seeing some new clue. Even with the photo ripped, Sy could still there were two people next to her mother. Their faces were torn away, but Sy could still see their body.
One was a darker girl and held mom's hand. The other was just an arm and shoulder draped over her. The hand held mom's shoulder possessively. It was white and belonged to a man.
At the sight of the hand, Sy lowered the picture. It was no use. Again, the identity of this man was beyond reach. But whoever he was-
He's important enough for mom to let him touch her. Sy thought.
Sy lowered the photograph. She switched to pick up the book. Sy gingerly opened the cover. It revealed yellowed but soft pages of card stock. On it, written in fine calligraphy, was her mother's hand—all in Elvish.
Sy frowned at the sight. Reading King's English was already hard enough for her. But Elvish was a whole new level of pain.
It's like she planned to make it difficult. Sy thought. But she couldn't feel bitter long.
Sy moved to reach over and grab the dictionary that lay at the bottom row. It was thick, heavy, and confusing. She pulled it over to open. Her finger pointed down to the first word in the journal. She looked back to the dictionary for the translation.
Or the closest to what she could think it was, anyway.