Chapter 2
Two
My interaction with Caleb has left me feeling unsettled, the feeling sticking with me all day, hovering like a dark cloud above me.
He wouldn’t risk associating with me unless it was serious.
We have all felt the strong hand of the law, especially recently, but my friends warning is something to take heed of.
I’m risking a lot, selling my gems when the law is clearly looking for excuses to arrest people.
Usually, I don my disguise and sell in the market once a month, a strategy that seems to work, allowing my regulars to find me, but not making enough of a nuisance of myself for the guards to get involved.
Caleb was right though, I was only here last week, and if he’s noticed then it’s possible the guards will too.
My reasoning is the same as what I told him when he was here.
The royals have put the taxes up, meaning the price of everything else rises to cover it.
I barely get by as it is, there is no way that I can survive without selling more crystals and gems. Which is why I’m risking everything to be here.
The market is busy today, but that tense atmosphere seems to be turning off buyers.
I’ve been wondering if my unsettled mood was manifesting in my manor and putting people off, but I see that all of the stalls seem to be struggling.
The females that usually browse the market are huddled in tight groups as they pass, their headscarves pulled around them tightly.
Even the children who play by the fountain are uncharacteristically quiet.
Has something happened that I’m not aware of?
Scanning the nearby area, I’m on full alert, shifting my weight to the balls of my feet in case I need to run.
Nothing looks amiss, just a sea of bronze bands and the occasional white of one of the gods chosen.
We don’t see many of the other designations around here, and if we do, it’s never usually for a good reason.
When we hit adolescence we receive a designation, passed down from the gods themselves.
A coloured band is then affixed to our arms, showing off that rank.
These bands cannot be removed, and even trying to is a crime.
There are five of these designations; gold for royalty, silver for the lords and those who work in the palace, white for those who the gods choose as their own, and bronze for everyone else.
Finally, there is the black band. Black bands are reserved for the sullied, citizens who have committed atrocities against the gods.
They are shunned from society, denied services and generally left to fester and die in a ditch somewhere.
I am one of the sullied.
What did I do to deserve this treatment? I wish that I knew.
Just like those who are granted a white band, the sullied are designated by the gods, and no one questions the gods. One day, I was happily living my life as a bronze, and then I was dragged into the market square and redesignated. My entire life was flipped on its head.
Those that I thought of as friends rejected me, even my own father turned his back on me. My mother died when I was young and Caleb had already been called to work for the gods. I had no one and I had to learn to take care of myself.
Thankfully, I have always been able to think on my feet and adapt to situations.
Shifting the dark veil that covers the lower part of my face, I carefully check to make sure that my band is obscured by the fabric.
It needs to look accidental. As though my thoughts bring it to life, the band starts to burn and I fight the urge to touch it, to check it.
Instead, I focus on the gems remaining in my cart.
It's been a slow day, having only sold a small piece of tiger-eye to a young man, and of course the piece of rose quartz that Caleb bought earlier. While I don’t want his charity, I won’t deny that the silver he left me for the quartz is going to be a huge help.
That coin alone is enough to feed me for a week.
He knows I wouldn’t have just taken the money from him, so he made sure to buy something from me.
Not that he believes that my gemstones do anything other than look nice.
I wasn’t lying about the quartz though, the sweet hum it made when he touched it was enough to bring a smile to my lips.
He had to take it, it was meant for him.
Sometimes I just get this feeling, a tug almost, and I know what someone needs.
It doesn’t always happen, but every time it has, I’ve always been right.
Rose quartz is one of my favourite gemstones, symbolising unconditional love in all forms, whether that’s for family and friends, oneself or a loved one. A calming stone that helps to strengthen bonds. It hums so sweetly.
I’m actually surprised that of all the stones, that was what had called to Caleb.
He isn’t one for sentimental bonds, in fact, I would have expected Onyx to be the one that spoke to him.
This is a stone of strength and intelligence, something that my stoic friend channels as easily as breathing air.
However, when the stones do speak, it’s usually offering something that the client needs rather than what they want.
Is Caleb interested in someone? Could that be why the stone spoke to him? Ever since he received his white band, I’ve never seen him involved with anyone, his focus fully on his calling. If this is the case then he needs all the help he can get.
Smirking slightly beneath my veil, I glance around for potential customers. A group of three women and a couple of young children approach, the eyes on one of them snagging on my cart.
“May luck and health be bestowed upon you,” I call out, my voice lowered in attempt to make me seem older. “Gems from the dark mountains for all needs and ailments.”
On second glance, I see that a boy walks closely behind the females, stepping past them to gawp at me.
The women tut and mutter under their breath but it becomes petty clear they know him.
“They say that the witches live on the dark mountains,” he asks loudly, tilting his head to one side. “Are you a witch?”
I chuckle, the sound tight. Usually I would find this funnier, but with how alert everyone is I cannot afford for any rumours to start.
This is something I’ve heard whispered a lot, but most don’t have the courage to approach me and actually ask aloud.
If they don’t know, then they don’t have to report me if I said something they didn’t like.
“No, child. I am just an old woman who sells gemstones.” I gesture to my cart of wares, noticing that the women from the group are glancing over the glittering stones.
“Anyway, witches don’t exist.” While I am still speaking with the child, I make sure to speak loudly so I can be overheard, reminding others that I am nothing but a helpless widow.
Sorting, the boy moves closer, gripping the side of the cart as he reaches in and touches the gems, shifting them around. “Yes, they do, and I’m not a child. I received my band today!”
Don’t slap the boy’s hand. Don’t slap the boy’s hand. I tell myself this over and over as I watch him ruin my display, gritting my teeth in frustration. None of the stones make a sound at his touch, their inner magic dimming so it’s almost impossible to hear.
I’m so busy focusing on not manhandling a child that it takes a moment for his words to sink in.
My gaze shifts to his right arm, and sure enough, he has a metal cuff tightly bound there.
Bronze like most of us in the Gutter, his arm is swollen and sore looking.
A lot of the cuffs are so tight and hot when attached that they burn and cause wounds.
Looking back up, I see the slightly blotchy cheeks and red rimmed eyes of someone who has been crying but trying to hide it.
I wince, both at his emotion and the wound that’s forming around the band.
Reaching into my deep pockets, I find what I’m looking for, a small branch with small, dried leaves.
“So you did. Congratulations.” The words taste like ash in my mouth.
There is nothing to celebrate in this barbaric tradition.
Maiming children to keep the poor in their place, all in the hope we might get chosen by the gods and raise our status.
Taking a deep breath, I hold out the branch. “Rub these herbs on the flesh, it will help to avoid infection.”
One of the women steps forward, the one with curious eyes who I first noticed.
She reaches out hesitantly and takes the herbs.
The others in her group seem far more cautious and wary, glancing around to see who’s watching the interaction.
Holding the herbs between her thumb and forefinger, she pauses as if waiting for me to say something.
It hits me and I sigh quietly. “A gift from me.”
Surprise lights her face. Not much is given for free in this world, certainly not from supposed widows.
Taking the herbs, she puts them in her bag and gives me a tentative smile.
“Thank you.” Now that barrier has been broken, she seems more comfortable with my presence, placing a hand on the cart as she looks down at the gems. “These are all so pretty.”
The boy, who I assume is her brother, has returned to the group, losing interest now I’ve confirmed that I am not a witch.
This gives me the time to examine the woman in front of me better.
She’s probably around the same age as me, in her early to mid-twenties.
Her face is uncovered and the pale decorative head scarf she wears is loosely draped over her dark hair, helping to keep her cool in this smouldering heat.
“Yes, they are beautiful.” I need to be very careful with what I say next, but I get the sense that she needs something and I need to discover what that is. “Gemstones are said to have their own power that transfers to their owner.”
My voice is light, almost whimsical, as though I’m just passing on what I have heard from others. I don’t say that I agree, and I make sure never to use the ‘m’ word. Any mention of magic will get me locked up faster than I can blink.
The woman’s gaze lifts from the stones and meets my eyes. “Is that so?”
She may be young, but she carries the soul of someone who has witnessed too much for her age. I understand that look all too well. Whatever is happening in her life, some guiding force has brought her to me today and I know I have to help.
“Meila, leave the charlatan. We need to return before your father gets home.” The eldest of the group calls out, disapproval dripping from her word, yet I can see the fear in her eyes that she tries to hide. Fear that has nothing to do with me, but the man they are rushing home to appease.
There is no way of me knowing for sure, yet from the uncertainty that flashes in her gaze, I get the feeling this is all related. Keeping my attention on the woman before me, Meila, I lean forward slightly and lower my voice.
“Do any of them speak to you?”
Her hand reaches out instinctively, hovering over a chunk of Citrine.
The amber coloured crystal glitters under the sunlight.
The sudden, automatic movement appears to shock her and she jerks her hand back, expecting reprimand.
Looking around surreptitiously, she pulls her headscarf around her tighter.
Her reaction is understandable. Her body reacted instantly when I asked if any of the stones spoke to her, and anyone watching could easily claim we were performing witchcraft.
“Ah, Citrine. This is said to help with willpower and to eradicate fear.” Picking up the glittering gem, I hold it up to the light so the deep amber colour seems to glow from within.
I plough forward with my explanation as though nothing strange just happened.
“This gemstone is perfect if the wearer needs courage in a difficult situation, bringing luck and good fortune.”
Her gaze jerks up, shock in her eyes and I know I was right.
Whatever is happening in this young woman’s life, she is terrified and wants to do something about it.
Slowly, she reaches out and I place the Citrine in her palm.
Trembling slightly, she wraps her fingers around it, her thumb rubbing along the polished edge.
“How much is this piece?” Her voice is distracted; her stare locked on the shining gem as though it’s a lifeline.
“One copper.”
It’s worth three times that, but I can sense how much she needs it. I’m a bleeding heart and I can’t help myself.
She fishes a coin from her pocket and places it on the cart, walking away distractedly to the group of women waiting for her. I don’t mind that she doesn’t thank me or spare any pleasantries as I know the Citrine she takes is going to help with her situation.
A ripple of uneasiness passes through the market, a surefire sign that trouble is about to hit us.
Vendors snap upright, removing their more expensive or questionable items from their stalls, while customers become more alert, no longer lingering as they browse.
Following their lead, I pocket the silver and cover up the gemstones, preparing to leave.
I’ve made enough today thanks to Caleb’s generosity and the atmosphere here is making me anxious.
Checking my veil and headscarf are still firmly in place, I lift the handles of my cart and wheel toward the exit.
“You! Widow!” A loud, authoritative shout rings through the market place. “Stop right where you are!”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see that my suspicions were right and a group of four guards are moving toward me, pushing their way through the market.
I guess that is my cue to leave.
Dumping my cart, I grab the cloth that contains the gems, and I race for the archway.