The Market

By Vitora

The gate looms before me like a lion over a mouse. Craning my head backwards, I stare in awe at the ornate carvings in the jet-black wood: epic battles; tender love scenes; and above all, a trio of animals—a wolf, a rat, and a deer—staring reverently at the sky. The engraved stars are arranged in a pattern, with lines linking them, very much like a map. My finger slips into the coarse grooves of the deer’s antlers as I run my hand along the carvings.

A guard hails me in a gruff, discordant voice, challenging me and inquiring as to my business. I raise my hand in greeting, feeling gentle sunbeams caress my fingers, and reply that I am a wanderer. At this, the sentry’s craggy features grow awed and he salutes smartly with his spear. He turns to someone below and barks out an order. The gate begins to groan as if in pain and swings open slowly. Throwing my rough tweed cloak to one side, I take a deep breath of the fresh outside air and step forward into a world like no other.

It is as though I have entered an Oriental bazaar, sprinkled with magic and the fantastic. Growling cats the size of horses draw carts laden with exotic goods; jabbering women barter over vivid beadwork; farmers and their unicorns plod placidly along. The smell of sweaty men and animals clogs the air, complemented by a thousand babbling voices. A rich baritone sounds below me. As I look down to see who has addressed me, I am jostled to the side by an oversized wolf, who turns and growls something about clumsy humans. His silvery blue eyes bore into mine and his rough coat grazes my leg as he disappears into the crowd. I stare after him in astonishment as he pads off, still muttering, but now I see that many of the animals I know from Earth are conversing easily with one another, predators and prey alike. Weaving small blankets with their nimble paws, rats are chattering rapidly to hawks. Farther down the street, as they stroll side by side, wolves and lambs are muttering together. Deer are gossiping noisily with jungle cats as they allow themselves to be harnessed by humans.

Body after body jostles me to the side of the lane, and my back scrapes painfully against something woven of rough material. Fearing what strange thing I may find, I turn slowly, my fingers grasping the smooth hilt of my dagger. To my surprise and chagrin, I find a colossal basket woven of dyed water reeds. The lid rattles wildly, and it flies off to reveal a tall, jolly man dressed in brightly colored cloth and a belled jester’s cap. He grins widely, flips three golden balls from the depths of his many pockets, and begins to juggle them expertly. While I smile back politely and touch the downy feather in my cap, I leisurely back away, only to be swept up into the crowd as it surges towards the teeming main street.

A trumpet blares. The throng suddenly parts before me and two horse-sized, cat-like animals lope into view. Both have pelts as colorless as the night’s first snow, but their tails are blood red and spiked, like those of storybook dragons. Their chests are formed of glittering golden plates, similar to the armor that their riders wear. One of the creatures pulls to a halt directly in front of me. Its rider takes off her helmet to let long golden tresses tumble free. She flourishes a scroll in one hand, unrolls it with the other, and announces that the king will soon arrive. I cup my hand around my ear and listen to the conversation of the horse and rider next to me; their liege is coming to view a well-known and humorous puppet show on the other end of town. The multitude begins to move off again, and I dutifully follow, my curiosity aroused.

My feet churn up a cloud of dust that mingles with the already-tainted air as I weave my way through the marketplace. The sound of clattering hooves catches my attention, and I throw my body into a dark alley to avoid being smashed by a careening cart and terrified unicorn. My head slams into something hard and the stone walls on either side of me become fuzzy. Something shakes me roughly on the shoulder and I slowly come back to reality. Blinking, I stare up into the face of haggard woman dressed in a dirty pair of pants and a torn peasant blouse. She grunts and shoves a grimy finger in my face, then points it towards an open doorway shrouded in a thick cloud of smoke. Strange odors, reminiscent of spiced meat and roasted vegetables, drift towards my nose, making my stomach churn violently with hunger.

Nevertheless, the smoke is eerily red. I shake my head vigorously and struggle to my feet; all the while, the woman is continuously motioning towards the entryway. After many animated hand motions, I finally convince her that I must be going. She hisses something under her breath and toddles back towards her dwelling, shooting me a hate-filled glance as she goes. Relief causes my shoulders to sag, and I step once more into the crowded marketplace.

A horse gallops up; its rider clings to an ornately jeweled saddle. I scoot to one side as the animal pulls up beside me. The man addresses me in a friendly tone, running a hand through his thick black hair. A conversation follows, and at last, he reveals his motive for approaching me: he wishes to take me on a tour of the city. When I ask him how he will do so, he indicates his mount and taps the horse on the shoulder, rasping out a command in a tongue that sounds like water running over rocks.

Nickering, the horse steps backwards a pace and unfurls a pair of magnificent wings. The sunlight glints off them and sends multi-hued reflections, the same colors as the feathers in the wings, into the eyes of those who have gathered nearby, nearly blinding me and some others. The man extends a hand. I grasp it and, with strength quite belying his thin frame, he pulls me up onto the winged horse’s back. Another word in the flowing language, and we are off, climbing ever higher into the heavens.

The colors of the people and animals in the streets blend together to create a mosaic of life. The wind whips past us, tousling my hair and causing my eyes to water. Laughing aloud, the man turns to look over his shoulder at me and shouts something, first in his language and then in my own.

“Welcome to Tiova!”