Juju
PREY-FOR-US
With one floral crown tucked under her arm and the other perched between the twist of her horns, Brinne made her way through the stream of people. On either side were more tents, mostly merchants selling exotic wares and souvenirs, but mixed in between were the truly eye-catching and bizarre.
A man with feline ears was selling elaborately carved masks with near realistic detail. They ranged from the monstrous to the humorous, visages fit for actors, jesters and everything in between. For a moment she toyed with the idea of buying one for Suriel, but she doubted he would enjoy the joke, especially now that she understood why he hid his face. Well, at least part of the reason. Come to think of it, a mask might be a cruel gesture.
The feline man caught her staring at the wares and moved over to discuss the price. 300 gold coins? The cost nearly paled the girl's face. As politely as she could, she declined the offer and moved away from the stall. As she left, she could almost feel the empty eyes of the masks following her.
The next stall was an incense-steaming tent with a crooked sign with a curving golden font that read, ‘the cards know your fortune’. Talismans from a practice Brinne didn't recognize hung from the curtained doorway, rattling like chimes as someone entered. There was already a lineup of young girls outside, muttering among themselves and exchanging flashes of smiles and laughter. A few years prior, Brinne would have been among the first in line, eager to catch a glimpse of that ever elusive fate. Nowadays, she knew better.
As Brinne passed by the tent she caught a glimpse of fingers sifting through finely painted cards, flipping them onto blue silk. She wondered what sort of question they had been asked, and if their answer would be kind.
Finally, she came across something that truly caught her curiosity. A few stalls down from the fortune-teller stood a makeshift stage all decorated in flowers and coloured rope. Upon its wooden frame a troupe of acrobats danced, a bard played a tune, and someone among them had enchanted the very air; a man garbed in pink and purple silk and a face painted in gold. A magician.
From his fingers, he weaved beautiful illusions for the audience. Glittering butterflies traced delicate spirals in the air, followed by gold-foil frogs and fish, each leaping in splashes of orange sparkles. The children that had gathered to watch the show screamed and laughed in delight, clamouring over one another to catch the illusions.
One of these creatures, a translucent blue bird, fluttered over to rest on Brinne’s shoulder. Smiling, she held a finger up to it, offering a new perch. The illusionary bird hopped onto it, singing a tune Brinne did not recognize. Whatever species the conjurer had modelled it after must have been native to a foreign land.
Busy admiring the bird’s shimmery feathers, Brinne was oblivious to the magician’s appearance until he spoke, startling the bird from its perch. “Enjoying the show? How about another magic trick? Look, something’s behind your ear!”
It was a very common trick, one that made Brinne grin with the silliness of it. Everyone but children knew the technique, easily recreated by hiding a coin within one’s palm or sleeve. Only, this time it wasn't a coin that the man pulled from behind her ear.
It was the compass.
Brinne’s smile withered in an instant, her eyes hardened into a helpless look of panic and shock. Desperately, she patted down her tunic, searching for the familiar weight in her pocket. The fabric pressed against her tunic, empty. Her hand rushed up to her chest, where something far more precious lay. Thankfully, not everything had been stolen.
The tension grew as the magician turned the compass in his hand, inspecting the shine of its surface and the odd runes etched into its sides. “Quite a darling bauble you have here. Well bless your soul, is that angelic I see? How very curious! Now, where in all seven hells did you manage to get your little paws on such a thing?”
Brinne glanced to the left and right, realizing that the crowd had not reacted to the magician’s most recent trick. The magician was no longer on stage, yet nobody seemed to notice or care. It was as if the two of them were in a vacuum, separate from the world around them, while everyone carried on. Come to think of it, the music and cheers seemed unnaturally distant. Brinne tilted her head back to the magician, still smiling down at her.
“It… it doesn’t matter. Give it back.” her voice was strained. She tried to sound as assertive as Suriel had been to the city guards, but ended up nearly squeaking, ”Please.”
“Easy now, sweetheart, I was only taking a little looksie.” He gave a chuckle and a shrug, as if it had all been a measly joke. There was a smirk in his voice, a twinkle in his eye that put an unease in Brinne’s gut. Grinning like a cat, he extended his hand, compass laid on top, “A magic item like this would fetch a pretty penny at the Night Market. You’d best keep a careful eye on it. Two eyes, for that matter. Festivals bring in more than their fair share of sticky fingers and careless pockets.”
Brinne wanted to retort over the fact that he had been the only thief she encountered, but she was too caught up in the relief she felt to have the compass back in hand. She tucked it into a different pocket and glanced back at the magician, who was still staring at her with an amused grin. All the previous playfulness somehow turned devilish, toying. As if privy to knowledge she was not.
“I don’t intend to lose it anytime soon. Stolen or otherwise.” She insisted, shifting uncomfortably under the magician’s prying gaze. Trying to get it off her, she changed the topic, “You, erm, you mentioned a Night Market?”
The cat-like grin widened, as if waiting for her inquiry, “Not ‘a’... The Night Market. Don’t let the song and dance fool you. Lordshaven isn’t popular for pretty flowers alone. Consider this; who do you think funds all this magnificent festivity?”
Brinne looked around her, as if the festival’s full swing would give her a hint. Perhaps by staring closer, she could somehow spot something overlooked. No such thing was revealed, and as a stranger to this land, she could only make guesses off of what little she knew.
“The noble family?” she offered, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the question. “It’s a memorial celebration. Of the demon wars. The city is the host, so the royals would be responsible.”
The magician tapped his nose teasingly, as if playfully scolding a child, “Close, but not quite. That is how the show began, but nowadays, the stage is under new management. Crowns may rule cities, but not the flow of coin… and no coin flows freer than at The Night Market. It’s an auction, you see, the greatest one of all! It deals in magic items, you see, and none of those measly enchantments. I’m talking real magic.”
Lights danced upon the magician’s fingertips, sparking into flashes of whimsical baubles and wicked blades.
“Artifacts, cursed objects, fragments of higher power. Power that can change wars and bring untold fortune or woe. They attract buyers from across the land and sea; nobles, merchant princes, and anonymous buyers. All just to browse the Night’s stock.” He continued, banishing the images away with a flick of his fingers, “It’s all run by the Umber Magus Cartel, led by the one known only as Mauve.”
This was a lot more information than she asked for, and for some reason she could not shake the feeling that she had been given a secret she shouldn’t have any right to know. More uneasy than ever, Brinne took a step back, “Well… thank you kindly for this, sir, but I should really be going now. I have a friend who is expecting me quite soon.”
There was a delay before the magician next spoke, his smile lingering a little longer than what was appropriate, “Ah, but of course. We wouldn’t want to keep your dear friend waiting. Oh, but I do hope you will stick around for the show! It was made just for you!”
He gave an elaborate bow before exploding into a swarm of pink butterflies that quickly dissipated over the crowd. As if he had been there this entire time, she could see the magician back in his usual spot on the stage. It was as if nothing had happened at all.
Brinne clutched the compass in her pocket and hurried away from the stage, never once looking back at the show and all its glittering fancy.
A man with feline ears was selling elaborately carved masks with near realistic detail. They ranged from the monstrous to the humorous, visages fit for actors, jesters and everything in between. For a moment she toyed with the idea of buying one for Suriel, but she doubted he would enjoy the joke, especially now that she understood why he hid his face. Well, at least part of the reason. Come to think of it, a mask might be a cruel gesture.
The feline man caught her staring at the wares and moved over to discuss the price. 300 gold coins? The cost nearly paled the girl's face. As politely as she could, she declined the offer and moved away from the stall. As she left, she could almost feel the empty eyes of the masks following her.
The next stall was an incense-steaming tent with a crooked sign with a curving golden font that read, ‘the cards know your fortune’. Talismans from a practice Brinne didn't recognize hung from the curtained doorway, rattling like chimes as someone entered. There was already a lineup of young girls outside, muttering among themselves and exchanging flashes of smiles and laughter. A few years prior, Brinne would have been among the first in line, eager to catch a glimpse of that ever elusive fate. Nowadays, she knew better.
As Brinne passed by the tent she caught a glimpse of fingers sifting through finely painted cards, flipping them onto blue silk. She wondered what sort of question they had been asked, and if their answer would be kind.
Finally, she came across something that truly caught her curiosity. A few stalls down from the fortune-teller stood a makeshift stage all decorated in flowers and coloured rope. Upon its wooden frame a troupe of acrobats danced, a bard played a tune, and someone among them had enchanted the very air; a man garbed in pink and purple silk and a face painted in gold. A magician.
From his fingers, he weaved beautiful illusions for the audience. Glittering butterflies traced delicate spirals in the air, followed by gold-foil frogs and fish, each leaping in splashes of orange sparkles. The children that had gathered to watch the show screamed and laughed in delight, clamouring over one another to catch the illusions.
One of these creatures, a translucent blue bird, fluttered over to rest on Brinne’s shoulder. Smiling, she held a finger up to it, offering a new perch. The illusionary bird hopped onto it, singing a tune Brinne did not recognize. Whatever species the conjurer had modelled it after must have been native to a foreign land.
Busy admiring the bird’s shimmery feathers, Brinne was oblivious to the magician’s appearance until he spoke, startling the bird from its perch. “Enjoying the show? How about another magic trick? Look, something’s behind your ear!”
It was a very common trick, one that made Brinne grin with the silliness of it. Everyone but children knew the technique, easily recreated by hiding a coin within one’s palm or sleeve. Only, this time it wasn't a coin that the man pulled from behind her ear.
It was the compass.
Brinne’s smile withered in an instant, her eyes hardened into a helpless look of panic and shock. Desperately, she patted down her tunic, searching for the familiar weight in her pocket. The fabric pressed against her tunic, empty. Her hand rushed up to her chest, where something far more precious lay. Thankfully, not everything had been stolen.
The tension grew as the magician turned the compass in his hand, inspecting the shine of its surface and the odd runes etched into its sides. “Quite a darling bauble you have here. Well bless your soul, is that angelic I see? How very curious! Now, where in all seven hells did you manage to get your little paws on such a thing?”
Brinne glanced to the left and right, realizing that the crowd had not reacted to the magician’s most recent trick. The magician was no longer on stage, yet nobody seemed to notice or care. It was as if the two of them were in a vacuum, separate from the world around them, while everyone carried on. Come to think of it, the music and cheers seemed unnaturally distant. Brinne tilted her head back to the magician, still smiling down at her.
“It… it doesn’t matter. Give it back.” her voice was strained. She tried to sound as assertive as Suriel had been to the city guards, but ended up nearly squeaking, ”Please.”
“Easy now, sweetheart, I was only taking a little looksie.” He gave a chuckle and a shrug, as if it had all been a measly joke. There was a smirk in his voice, a twinkle in his eye that put an unease in Brinne’s gut. Grinning like a cat, he extended his hand, compass laid on top, “A magic item like this would fetch a pretty penny at the Night Market. You’d best keep a careful eye on it. Two eyes, for that matter. Festivals bring in more than their fair share of sticky fingers and careless pockets.”
Brinne wanted to retort over the fact that he had been the only thief she encountered, but she was too caught up in the relief she felt to have the compass back in hand. She tucked it into a different pocket and glanced back at the magician, who was still staring at her with an amused grin. All the previous playfulness somehow turned devilish, toying. As if privy to knowledge she was not.
“I don’t intend to lose it anytime soon. Stolen or otherwise.” She insisted, shifting uncomfortably under the magician’s prying gaze. Trying to get it off her, she changed the topic, “You, erm, you mentioned a Night Market?”
The cat-like grin widened, as if waiting for her inquiry, “Not ‘a’... The Night Market. Don’t let the song and dance fool you. Lordshaven isn’t popular for pretty flowers alone. Consider this; who do you think funds all this magnificent festivity?”
Brinne looked around her, as if the festival’s full swing would give her a hint. Perhaps by staring closer, she could somehow spot something overlooked. No such thing was revealed, and as a stranger to this land, she could only make guesses off of what little she knew.
“The noble family?” she offered, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the question. “It’s a memorial celebration. Of the demon wars. The city is the host, so the royals would be responsible.”
The magician tapped his nose teasingly, as if playfully scolding a child, “Close, but not quite. That is how the show began, but nowadays, the stage is under new management. Crowns may rule cities, but not the flow of coin… and no coin flows freer than at The Night Market. It’s an auction, you see, the greatest one of all! It deals in magic items, you see, and none of those measly enchantments. I’m talking real magic.”
Lights danced upon the magician’s fingertips, sparking into flashes of whimsical baubles and wicked blades.
“Artifacts, cursed objects, fragments of higher power. Power that can change wars and bring untold fortune or woe. They attract buyers from across the land and sea; nobles, merchant princes, and anonymous buyers. All just to browse the Night’s stock.” He continued, banishing the images away with a flick of his fingers, “It’s all run by the Umber Magus Cartel, led by the one known only as Mauve.”
This was a lot more information than she asked for, and for some reason she could not shake the feeling that she had been given a secret she shouldn’t have any right to know. More uneasy than ever, Brinne took a step back, “Well… thank you kindly for this, sir, but I should really be going now. I have a friend who is expecting me quite soon.”
There was a delay before the magician next spoke, his smile lingering a little longer than what was appropriate, “Ah, but of course. We wouldn’t want to keep your dear friend waiting. Oh, but I do hope you will stick around for the show! It was made just for you!”
He gave an elaborate bow before exploding into a swarm of pink butterflies that quickly dissipated over the crowd. As if he had been there this entire time, she could see the magician back in his usual spot on the stage. It was as if nothing had happened at all.
Brinne clutched the compass in her pocket and hurried away from the stage, never once looking back at the show and all its glittering fancy.
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