Chapter Two
I’m not a fan of dark woods at night. But Auxin Forest on the outskirts of Stellargrove earns a rare exception.
The soft rustle of leaves and crunch of twigs underfoot create a sound that is oddly comforting, even now as I’m navigating an overgrown footpath through almost complete darkness, with only lumen flowers to light my way to water.
They unfurl all around me, emerging from damp moss-covered crevices to cast a pinkish soft glow on my path, like stars at my feet. I rub one of the petals between my fingers, smiling at the luminescent glow left on my skin.
When Elara and I were little, we used to love using lumen sap to craft designs on each other’s faces and write secret messages under our beds that could only be seen at night.
Our mother would scold us whenever she found out – lumen flowers are an endangered breed, so picking them is forbidden. Although that never stopped us.
I trail silently after the flowers through the overgrowth.
Finally, I emerge into a clearing where a waterfall tumbles into a shallow pool.
Sizzling toads crackle and hiss as they plop in and out of the water, their tiny round bodies resembling glowing coals.
They’re mesmerizing to watch, but this is about as close as I want to get.
I still have a burn mark at the base of my heel from my last unfortunate encounter with a sizzling toad.
That was the final time I agreed to gather freshwater grass for Alaric and his tonics.
I look up at the trio of moons as I kneel by the pool’s edge.
Then I look back at the water and assess my reflection.
Two hazel eyes, framed by long black strands of hair, gazing out of a pale, exhausted face.
I can’t wait to get back home to Elara. It’s foraged soup on the menu tonight.
Hopefully with cake as dessert, if she’s managed her baking today.
I dip my hands into the cool water, then begin to scrub the blue goop off my face and hair.
The water can only do so much without the aid of soap, so once my hair is at least pliable enough to work with my fingers, I gather it into a ponytail, use a black ribbon around my wrist to tie it, and pat my face dry with the hem of my tunic.
My fingers dip into my front pocket to cradle the pilfered rings. They’d better be worth something.
I walk around the edge of the pool. On the far side of the waterfall is the secret stone path concealed by a tangle of foliage. I nudge the leaves aside, my feet treading gingerly on the slippery stones.
In an instant, the tranquil evening outside transforms into a lively hubbub as I enter a sprawling cavernous chamber.
A chaotic assortment of tents rise in various sizes, cobbled together from old blankets, tarps and scraps of fabrics.
Warm light floods the space, splashed across the stone ceiling by various solar lanterns positioned along the walls.
The air hums with idle chatter, merchants and shoppers doing their business, their shadows nodding and shrugging in exaggerated caricatures of deals made or lost.
Many of the shoppers wear masks when they come here. That’s how you know they have a reputation to uphold. But the Night Market doesn’t ask questions. Here, you can trade and barter almost anything, no questions asked – if you’re willing to settle for a price below fair value, that is.
Two hooded figures linger near the cavern’s entrance, tendrils of dark voidroot smoke wafting from their concealed faces.
I know them as the twin apprentices of Hanz, the village metalworker, but they eye me differently here than when I pass them on my way to work.
No flirty grins or suggestive winks, only wariness in their stares as I navigate the crowd.
The thing about the Night Market is that you can’t trust anyone. You never know if the person you’re dealing with is secretly a turncoat, ready to trade their secrets about this place for a quick reward from the Principal Guard.
All in all, it’s not exactly the most secure operation, which is why the market is always on the move, never sticking to one location for long.
I only came across the Night Market a few months ago when I tried to pawn a stolen pendant to a jewellery merchant in town called Buddy.
He recognized the pendant as belonging to an old widower – turns out the late wife had brought it in to get fixed not long before her death – and I begged him not to report me.
I suppose he took pity on me, and that’s when he told me of this place.
I practically have to deliver an oath of secrecy every time I go asking for the newest location. Buddy usually makes me sneak him some of Alaric’s hair growth tonics as payment, which I suppose is only fair.
Of all the different locations, though, the cave has to be one of my favourites. It’s warm and sheltered, and I find the way the din of voices reverberates against the backdrop of the waterfall oddly calming.
Buddy’s tent is where I’m headed now. The intoxicating aromas of prohibited herbs and spices drift upon the air as I press deeper into the market. Some sweet, some woody, some earthy.
At one booth, a Flora merchant uses their talents to transform seeds into vibrant yellow morphean poppies in the blink of an eye.
An eager customer reaches out, accepting the gift without a second thought.
He places it on his tongue and surrenders to the euphoric embrace of the plant’s influence.
The merchant sees me watching and offers a petal, but I decline with a shake of my head.
I can’t deny I have been curious about trying a morphean poppy, but, for all their fragile beauty, morphean poppies are equally addictive and dangerous.
I’ve heard far too many grim tales of people falling into comatose states after overconsuming the flower to consider taking a bite myself.
I pass the solar recharge point. The line is long and market-goers are impatient, waiting to replenish their home power units at a fraction of the cost it would take to recharge at the Principal Grid.
I navigate through the line, quickly before anyone thinks I’m cutting in, and head for a tent tucked away in the furthest corner of the cavern.
Inside, a show of jewels glitters in glass cases. Each piece vies for attention, and the collapsible displays, like accordions jutting from wheeled suitcases, seem poised for a hasty retreat should the situation call for it.
This is Buddy’s tent. He’s a tall man with a mousy face, but his eyes are always sharp, even when he’s got that friendly smile on his lips.
I nearly don’t spot him where he’s hunched behind a display case arranged with bejewelled pocket watches, rubbing at the glass with his sleeve.
“Ah, look what the cat dragged in,” he says, tucking his arms behind his back as he takes in my dishevelled appearance. “It’s a pleasure as always to see you, Talia. Even on your worst days.”
“That’s no way to speak to one of your regulars. And you’re not supposed to use my name,” I remind him, browsing an arrangement of ruby rings in one of the cases by the entrance. They’re all beautiful, but dwarfed by the one I’ve brought tonight. Good.
“My mistake,” Buddy concedes, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. His long, slender fingers seem almost greedy as they gesture at my pockets. “Now, let me see what you’ve got.”
“Two rings. A ruby and a moon diamond.” I retrieve the jewels from my pocket and drop them into his palm.
Buddy holds them up to the solar lantern hanging from the post in the centre of the tent. He squints at the pieces.
“They’re both of impeccable craftsmanship. Rather ancient, too, I’d wager,” he whispers, mostly to himself. His expression sharpens as he looks back at me. “These rings, were they both … acquired from the same establishment?”
“I found them both in an old box. They won’t be missed.” I bite the inside of my cheek, mulling over my next choice of words. “I have reason to believe … no, I’m confident they’re Necroseals.”
“Confident, are you?” Buddy purses his lips in thought. “Perhaps a touch delusional, too, thinking you’d find a merchant willing to buy these. Necroseals are useless to anyone outside the original owner’s bloodline.”
“That won’t matter to a Soulreaper desperate for power,” I counter, though I’m not entirely sure my tone carries enough conviction.
Buddy holds the moon diamond ring between his fingers first, then the ruby. He scrutinizes them with one eye closed. His talents as a Helio elemental with light manipulation abilities allow him to verify their authenticity in a single glance.
“I’ll take the ruby for fifty Lun.”
“Only the one?” I ask as Buddy hands back the remaining ring. “Is there something wrong with the moon diamond?”
The merchant strides to the back of the tent, where he keeps his cash box, and retrieves a key from a chain around his neck.
The key clicks in the lock, and the cash box pops open. His fingers work swiftly, counting out my payment before he snaps the box shut, locks it again and tucks the key into his shirt.
“It’s a fine gem, no doubt,” he says, handing me the coins. “But I can’t risk buying more than one stolen item from the same place – especially Necroseals. Sorry.”
“Since when are you so particular?”
“Since ol’ Mikey got himself caught by the Principal Guard, that’s when.”
I’ve never met Mikey, but I know he was the only other jewel merchant in our little village, Stellargrove. Buddy’s only competition.
Buddy continues. “Got too greedy, he did. Bought a trunk full of pearls from a band of graverobbers and got caught the next day. It’s just me now, so I need to be careful.
Can’t afford to take any chances.” Buddy hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his jumpsuit, an old brown thing he wears on rotation over button-up shirts.
“One jewel, I’m afraid. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
“Please, Buddy. I really need to sell these.”
“Don’t waste your breath haggling, sweet. Are we settled on fifty Lun for the ruby, or should I lower my price?” Buddy’s brow furrows as he studies the coins in his palm.
I sigh in defeat and reach for the payment, dropping the coins into the front pocket of my tunic.
“Try the next village over, if you desperately need the money,” says Buddy, much to my surprise. “Moondance Haven, there’s a jeweller there. A bloke named Kane. He’ll take it off your hands.”
“How do I know he won’t report me?” I ask.
“Kane and I go way back to my days as a travelling merchant. He won’t rat you out, but I can’t guarantee you’ll get top coin for your goods.” Buddy smirks. “He’s a bit of a swindler, which is why we don’t do business.”
I nod my thanks.
Buddy diverts his attention to charming a masked lady by the tent’s entrance and, with his focus elsewhere, I explore a scattered array of brooches arranged on a velvet cushion.
The cool touch of rhinestones against my fingers beckons and, in an instant, a flower-shaped brooch adorned with pink and yellow gems becomes the newest addition to my front pocket. If I go to Moondance Haven, I can try and sell it there, too.
I’m weaving my way home through the Night Market when a prickling sensation creeps up my spine.
It makes me uneasy, and I know it can’t be guilt. I’ve pilfered things from Buddy before, and a lone brooch certainly won’t unsettle his deep pockets, so it must be something in the air. A stir of malevolent energy somewhere amid the crowd.
I quicken my pace, winding through the endless tents and stalls.
But I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me.
A glance over my shoulder reveals a shadowy figure with straw-like hair and a long beige coat, three steps behind me.
I try to shake them off by immersing myself in the market’s offerings.
First, I peruse a selection of voidroot edibles, then I feign fascination as a Helio merchant works his light-manipulation talents to recharge an entire cart of solar lanterns and home power units.
With my heart pounding, I steal my way towards the exit, walking faster and faster.
That’s when a merchant, heaving a rolled-up rug on his shoulder, unexpectedly whacks into me, sending me hurtling to the ground.
“Watch it!” I blurt out, scrambling to gather the two rings that have tumbled from my pocket on to the muddy ground.
I look up. The straw-haired figure – a man with a scar across his cheek – is standing over me.
“Is that a moon diamond you’ve got there?” he asks.
I shove the rings into my pocket and grab my fern shears from my right sock before standing up.
“Why are you following me?” I snap.
“Why do you have a weapon concealed in your sock?”
“In case creepy men stalk me through the Night Market.”
The man laughs. “Don’t flatter yourself – I’ve got better things to do.
But I couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation back there,” he says with a knowing look, nodding towards Buddy’s tent at the back of the cavern.
“It would seem you’ve got some jewels to get rid of. A Necroseal, perhaps?”
“So, what … you’re here to rob me?”
“The opposite, actually. I’d like to buy the moon diamond ring. Provided you’re speaking the truth about its power. I’ll give you forty Lun for it.”
“No way. Buddy gave me fifty for the other ring, and this one’s worth more. Fifty’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.”
The man smiles. “You drive a hard bargain,” he concedes, taking a coin purse from his inside pocket. “Mind if I pay you in Sol? I’m a little light on change.”
“It all comes out to the same thing.” I retrieve the ring with gritted teeth, keeping it closed in my palm until he reveals the money.
The man counts out the payment, five gold coins with a radiant run on the side. “Here you are,” he says, extending his hand.
I pocket the money and hand over the ring, my grip still firm on the shears. “Don’t even try to follow me home. I’m not afraid to use these,” I warn, attempting to sound more menacing than I feel.
He chuckles. “Safe journey home, dear. I only care about the jewel. I won’t be following you.”
And a moment later, his lanky form melts away into the crowd. Though strangely, the feeling of being followed stays long after he’s gone.