East of the Sun

Chapter 4

Bryn moved on, past another row of potion makers and sellers of odd ingredients or random nick-nacks toted as magical. Torchlight flashed upon glass and yet another bottle, this one blackened and narrowed at the top with a cork stopper, was shoved beneath her nose.

“Everlasting beauty,” a voice insisted. Bryn shoved at the bottle peering past and along the crooked row of vendors. Who organized this place? It looked as though the arrangement had been thrown up by a drunken sailor.

“..or youth,” a gap-toothed wrinkled face appeared where the bottle had been. “I forget, but it does something.”

The old woman took the opportunity while Bryn's attention was diverted back to her to shove the bottle forward once more.

“No,” Bryn said firmly, backing from the stall. Carefully though, she didn't need to catch the attention of the vendors on the other side, loudly shouting about their charm to remove uncomfortable rashes.

Magic people, she decided, were just a bunch of false quacks and pushers of various scams. Nothing in the market looked reliable in terms of what it was supposed to do. They seemed to sense her naivety in such matters too, taking the opportunity to wave items in her face and make wild promises as she passed.

None though, were interested in purchasing the ring. At least not for gold. One vendor had offered a nasty looking brew in exchange, but she doubted she would have better luck getting coin for moldy sea sludge.

And what about that man? He was frightening enough, hiding beneath his cloak. His frame so uneven and so large that one's imagination conjured up monsters. But that growl—he had actually growled at her—was enough to frighten the spit out of anyone. Like some great beast.

Just recalling the sound sent a creeping awareness crawling along her skin, she knew now how prey must feel when stalked by a hungry predator.

Then again, the feeling might be attributed to the wiry, hard looking man she kept glimpsing through the crowd. He was following her, she was certain, and he did not look happy either.

Feigning interest in a table lined with snake-skins, Bryn paused and scanned the crowd once more. Colorful robes and dresses mingled with the common brown, greens and blues of Alviora. Shaggy sheep fleece cloaks mixed with coverings of higher quality and faces blended until she could hardly pick a single patron from the deluge. Yet, she knew her follower was there.

“Stealing a soul?”

“Ah...what?” Bryn blinked at the vendor behind the table. An ancient looking man with withered skin and more wrinkles that should have been possible. He wore a pointed cap on his head giving him nearly a comical appearance.

“Stealing souls?” the vendor repeated, gesturing to the array of scaly skins on display. The variety was truly astounding, each lined neatly in its place. Some even had accompanying jars of clear liquid next to them, somehow she doubted they contained water. “It is the only known use for the skins after all,” he continued.