Glow

Chapter Nine

"What do you mean, your brother?"

Arvind had released Xef and there was almost complete silence in the tent save for the sounds of the wind and Tabitha muttering healing spells.

"I mean my brother," Xef said, laying his head on the ground. "We are identical twins. We look the same. It was always his antics that got me in trouble."

"You have that correct," Arvind replied, looking around at Tabitha, who was stirring a horn full of foul-smelling herbs.

"I didn't ever think this would trouble me as much as it did, but now, I have no doubt. My brother... he was possessed by a demon."

Tabitha silenced their talking and poured the horn's contents on the wound. Xef's flesh hissed and steamed, but he gritted his teeth and made no noise.

"Leave him," Tabitha commanded Arvind, rinsing her hands. "He needs a lot of rest, but he will recover. I don't think I know anyone with stamina like that."

"Thank you."

"It was nothing new. But watch that girl. She's unstable. Something strange has possessed her."

Tabitha pushed herself to a standing position before exiting the tent. After a moment, he too left the tent.

The outside was a menagerie of sights and sounds and smells. His senses were overwhelmed by a multitude of colours, flavours. A thousand things bombarded him. It was like a giant marketplace. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed this before. As he was surveying the scene, he bumped into a merchant waving bright bolts of blue cloth.

"Watch it!" She snapped. Then her eyes widened. "Are you Armand Trege?"

"It's ARVIND. And yes. Why?"

She disappeared under the counter for a moment, and came back up with a piece of paper. Emblazoned on the top of it was the word WANTED. His heart beat faster. The poster said this.

WANTED

Arvind Trege

(Here there was a sketch of his face)

Wanted alive by order of the rulers of Sarojin for kidnapping the princess and stealing two royal horses.

REWARD

700,000 Gold

Arvind stared at the poster for a moment before slowly looking up at the woman. She shrugged.

"It's not my business what these royals think, but you should really be more careful with your journey from now on."

"Why? I'm almost to Nore. They'll never find me."

She leaned over the shop counter toward him and waved her hand for him to come forward. He did.

"Because," She whispered, looking around her. "There are two soldiers standing at the centre of the compound, and they're from Sarojin."

"How can you tell?" He whispered back, craning his neck to see.

"Don’t look. They've got the royal crest emblazoned on their shoulders. The blue Gingree trees, correct?"

He nodded and arched his spine further, despite her warnings. There! They stood near a giant spot in the centre of a ring of booths. The grass was charred and stones sat in a tight circle around the space. He supposed it was the area for a bonfire.

The soldiers had their attention focused on a pretty young woman with bright eyes and a thin body. A thin blue scarf covered her mouth and head, much like a veil, but her eyes shone out from a small space between the fabric. She laughed and beckoned the soldiers toward her booth, which sold a multitude of golden trinkets.

"That's my daughter, Shahla. She's dressed as one of the warrior women from Morea. Hopefully, she can distract them long enough for you to escape with that girl of yours."

"You know of Samara?" He asked, wonderment filling his features.

"Why, of course! Tabitha is a loyal customer of mine, as well as a good friend. I know quite a lot that goes on in this little establishment of ours. A lot of scandalous things, I can tell you that. But you must flee!"

"I can't run!" He hissed, ducking as one of the soldiers looked toward the woman's booth. "There's a man I'm indebted to."

"He could go with you."

"He is wounded. He could not go with us."

"Ah," She said closing her eyes. "He was stabbed by the girl."

"Yes."

Opening her eyes, the woman glanced once more at the soldier. He had pulled himself away from his partner and was headed towards the woman's booth.

Suddenly, the woman snapped to attention, and whispered to Arvind, "Get under the table."

"Wha-"

"NOW!"

He crawled under the cloth that hid the inside of the booth from outside eyes.

"Now," She said quietly, eyes still fixated on the soldier. "Get under the pile of fabric."

It was dark, and he almost couldn't find it. But his hand felt it after a moment, and he scrambled under it.

"Be still."

He breathed slowly under the fabrics, trying not to move or even show his life. He pretended like he was just a random pile of cloth, and he made no noise. He heard the soldier approach and then harshly ask who the woman was talking to. She gave him a number of snippity answers before he started to poke around. He shoved boxes and bolts around, fell a spinning wheel, broke a weaving loom, and tripped a table to its side before Arvind could hear him no longer.

He started to move out of the pile of cloth before the sound of ripping above him froze him in his movements. The soldiers voice above him was shouting, and he could make out quite a bit of it.

"What have we he-"

The voice stopped suddenly, and darkness once again fell over the fabrics Arvind was lying in. He breathed in and out slowly. An eternity passed. Finally, there was the woman's voice above him.

"Come out."

He did so, and she lifted the top of the table he was under up, so he could stand.

"Why did he leave so suddenly?" Arvind asked. The woman appeared to be laughing, but pointed down at the fabric he was lying in.

It was a pile of women's undergarments.

His face turned beet red. He tried to breath slowly, but all that he could do was choke slightly. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a squeak. He turned his back on the pile, and noticed everyone in the marketplace looking at him.

It was almost dead silent.

Then, one of the little children, grinning, pointed to Arvind and said, "Look! He's got a brassier on his head!"

The whole market burst into roaring laughter.

Arvind, blushing to his toes, flung the brassier off his head and tore out of the marketplace, the roars of his escapade resounding behind him.