1. Quilo
A small flame still burns from last night’s fire. The graying coals flicker as a morning breeze seeps in through cracks in hand carved windows. Week old ash flutters towards the charred interior of the fireplace, clinging on the clay backing like snow flakes still yet to come.
Quilo descends the spiral staircase made out of the core of the great red-wood tree that housed his entire family. The sound of his giant clomping feet pulled tiny hands to sleeping faces and groaning shuffles in tousled bedding. It would only be a matter of time before his younger siblings cracked open their sleepy eyes only to poke their heads in on the older ones, waking the whole house.
Already up with the sun, Quilo’s mother hurries over with a basket in one hand on a steaming bun in the other. As he tosses the bun into his mouth, his mother looks out the window to assess the time before double-taking at the figure leaving the home next door.
She sucks at her teeth and sighs, “That poor girl is up and about already. That family of hers had her working near through the night!”
Quilo peers out the window to see the mop of copper curls flounce towards the edge of the forest. He takes another greedy bite of his sweet-bean bun, chewing slowly as his thoughts churned, “Doesn’t her Ma usually do the nightly prep?”
His mother’s doe-like eyes widen, “Oh, no. Not ever since she fell ill.”
“Ill?”
“Yes, I’m afraid she took a fall the other day. The fall, luckily brought nothing serious with it, but she did not wake for a day after the spill.” she pauses to wrap her arms around herself before continuing, “But, ever since, the poor thing has been terribly weak. Now poor Meliae wears the burden of her family on her shoulders while her Da tends to her Ma.”
Quilo’s chewing slows. Turning, he looks again at the Baker’s daughter and he doubts that he would ever be as strong should his own mother fall ill.
He shoves the rest of the bun into his mouth and wraps his arms around his mother, squeezing her as hard as he can. She squeaks, and slaps playfully at his arm before he finally lowers her back down to the ground. Then, he plants a kiss atop her graying brown crown before heading out for the day.
The sun’s rays are warm on his skin, but the slight nip in the air still tickles his cheeks. Inside, the nip seemed more tolerable, like the weather was still caught between summer and autumn; but out here, autumn seemed to have more confidence. Luckily, he had worn a light leather jacket made with hides from last season.
Threading the large wooden buttons through their holes, Quilo makes his way towards the meadow. Hidden on the southern edge of the forest, the foliage receives light all day long. Dense clusters of herbs and flowers and mushrooms grow best there. Larger plants provide protection to more sensitive ones which retain moisture in the soil.
In the spring, honey bees flock there, drunkenly flying from flower to flower in order to provide for their hives. Sometimes, Quilo would find Meliae in the meadow before him, hunting for bees to take her to their hive. He never had the courage to interrupt her. Instead, he watched her from afar and waited for his turn to occupy the meadow.
Much to his disappointment, Meliae was not in the meadow this morning. However, her absence granted him more time to harvest ingredients for his mothers’ shop. As the villages’ apothecary, directly aided in supplying his mothers potions and remedies.
It was easy work and he enjoyed his role in things. Plus, he found solace in the serenity of the meadow. The plants were like his younger siblings: sleepy, bold, and constantly changing. At this time of year the air is fragrant with rosemary and dill. Chutes of ginger and garlic are tucked away with crispy stems that indicate the undergrowth is ready to be pulled, separated, and dried. Finding them is part of the fun.
But beyond his journeys to the meadow for seasonings, Quilo needed to restock several medicinal herbs. This early in the season, some chamomile and yarrow should be accessible. Anything to assist with the impending sniffles and fevers that come with this time of year.
He could spend all day in the meadow, but there were other items he needed that required him to go back into town. On his way, he foraged for mushrooms or fallen acorns and began to daydream of sweetened tarts and spiced meat pies he could make.
A stony path edged with fallen tree limbs greeted his steps as he passed by neighbors tending gardens or leaving for the hunt. Tall grass and leaves smattering their attire to serve as camouflage in the forest. The more daring ones reeking of mush as they pass by.
Nonetheless, Quilo would smile back with a wave. When he reared the heart of their red-wood village, the full beauty of autumn was on display. Hand-sized pumpkins and finger-length candles hovered in the air. A warm, dim glow twinkling away near warring banners and colorful streamers bouncing from pole to pole.
A man with wiry grey hair spots Quilo from afar and begins to frantically wave him over. Chuckling to himself, Quilo obeys and wanders over.
The little old man is smoothing a table cloth over a large stand he has set up. Mums of deep reds and earthy yellows line the back where several empty shelves are nailed into place.
As Quilo approaches, he asks, “What is all this? A display of all your trophies?”
The old man fixes him with a pointed look, “Ha. Ha. Very funny Quilo.”
Quilo grins mischievously back, “So? What is it, Chuck?”
“Well the Mayor wants to hold a friendly competition at this year’s harvest festival. I think she mentioned something about a whole bake off,” he gestures with a honey hand to the rows of tables the others are setting up.
“And we’ll just... find out at the competition what it is we’re making?”
He scratches his balding head before pointing to the stack of fliers secured in place by a rock at his feet, “Think that’s part of it. The flier there should tell you more.”
Curious, Quilo bends down to yank one of the paper’s free. It looks to be hand drawn with large looping letters and an illustration of pies and cakes right in the center:
First Annual Harvest Bake Off!
Round 1: Contestants will provide a pre-baked savory item.
Round 2: Contestants will be supplied ingredients and must produce a mystery baked good.
Round 3: Contestants will create an ornate pie that embodies the spirit of autumn.
All entries will be blind tasted and put to a vote by the village.
“This doesn’t seem too bad,” remarked Quilo, tucking the paper away. “How do you enter?”
Chuck jabs a finger over his shoulder towards a table with inkwells, quills, and papers stacked. Others were already hunched over, scribbling their information away on the entry form.
With a friendly shake of the hand, Quilo says goodbye and heads on over to the sign-up sheets. Just as he arrives, another figure closes in on his peripheral. One with copper curls and a thick woolen cloak.
Quilo turns to see Meliae’s deep brown eyes angled away from him. Trying to be friendly, he ducks into her gaze.
Startled, the woman jumps at the disruption, “What are you doing?”
He bears at her attention, “Making sure you’re okay. I heard you’ve been working hard lately. ”
She nods, gaze falling down to her hands. Quilo can see it now, her glazed eyes and worn knuckles from baking through the night. He wants to reach over to comfort her, but thinks better of it.
Instead, he says, “I heard your Ma is sick.”
Sullenly, she nods again.
“You know, I only harvest herbs for my own Ma every other day. If you need any help, I’d be more than happy to come by.”
Meliae’s tan skin becomes tinged with pink at his offer, “Are you sure? It’s quite a bit of work. I don’t want to take you away from Mrs. Whittaker’s shop.”
“Melly, we’ve known each other since we were babes. She’s just Fleur to you. You know that.”
“Right. Well, if you’re serious, I could use the help.”
Quilo claps her on the back, “Then it’s settled. I did my business today,” he said, gesturing at the basket on his arm. “I can be over in the morning, maybe give you a break to sleep and eat.”
Meliae all but tackled the man. Arms swooping out wide to embrace him wholly. A small sob nearly tearing out of her throat.
At the slight shudder in her shoulders. Quilo hugs her back, “Don’t worry Melly. You’re strong. We’ll get you through this.”
Sniffling, she pulls out of his arms and turns towards the table, “Are you going to enter?”
He gives her a bit of space before answering, “I was thinking about it. It sounds fun, but if you join I have no chance.”
Copper curls twist as she shakes her head, “You should do it! Maybe we can make things interesting.” Her head swings back towards Quilo with a wicked grin on her face.
Intrigued, he gestures for her to continue. “Whoever can get your sibling Tate to eat theirs first gets one favor from the other.”
Quilo doubles over with laughter. His youngest sibling is entering toddler-hood. Every day his favorites morph into his worst enemies and getting him to eat is a chore. He grins down at Meliae’s confident face, “Deal.”
