24
The Blue-Eyed Boy
Terrick was suffering.
He tried to hide his sadness, but he was often slow to rise in the mornings. He laid awake late into the night, staring at the ceiling of the livery barn. Sometimes he cried, always stifling the sounds, trying not to wake me. I was, however unfortunately, a light sleeper.
Guilt ate at me. It was as though a great beast had taken residence inside my belly and wasdelightingin clawing and devouring my insides. My ability, my curse, had not only taken two lives, but it was also causing someone I loved great misery.
I wanted to bring Terrick joy. So I ventured into the crowded market, clutching onto two of the five coins we possessed, searching for something that would make him smile.
“Fish! Fresh fish! Two coins a piece!”
“Oi! What you mean it’s too expensive? Think ye could make it better?”
“The price is four coins. Not three. Now get out of ‘ere. I don’t want to be seeing you again until ye can pay what I ask.”
A swirl of voices surrounded me. Sellers shouting prices. People arguing. Haggling. This market was far larger and louder than the one in Swindon. It was overwhelming.
As was the merchandise being offered. In addition to food and clothing, one could purchase all manner of useless items. One woman, for instance, had an array of glimmeringjewles—jewelslaid out at her booth. The colorful stones were threaded with bits of string and were meant to be worn around a person’s wrist, ankle, or neck. And, indeed, several women walked amongst the crowd sporting ringlets ofjewles—jewels around their throats.
A waste of coin, to be sure. Thejewelsserved no purpose and looked rather cumbersome to wear. But, as one girl exclaimed to her mother, “they’re beautiful!”
Another merchant sold plates and cups made with decorative glass. They, at least, were functional as well as beautiful, although I wondered how practical they were. Surely glass would break easily? The standard wood and metal seemed to be the sturdier options, and there were merchants aplenty selling those as well.
As I said, the market was overwhelming.
And entirely unwelcoming.
I wandered along the streets, surveying the wares for sale at each booth, my fingers curled around my coins, which were proving to be insufficient. The prices were exorbitant.
I’d almost given up hope when I passed the cheese seller.
I paused, gaping. The remarkable cheese on display was soft and creamy, more of a liquid than a solid food.
A man and a woman stood by the booth, speaking with the vendor.
“‘Tis a spread,” the vendor, a gray-haired woman, said. “I make it meself, I do. Ye put it on bread, ye see?” She pulled a knife from her apron, cut a slice of bread from one of the loaves on her stand, and dipped the edge of the knife into the cheese. The creamy substance clung to the blade. “And then ye spread it.” She dragged the knife over the bread, smearing cheese across the surface.
It felt as though my bottom jaw had become disconnected from the top. I couldn’t stop staring. The cheese resembled a fluffy cloud as it sat atop the bread. And I wondered what it would taste like. Was it bitter, as most cheeses were? Or sweet, like milk?
The man took the first bite. “Hmm!” he exclaimed as crumbs dribbled down the front of his tunic. “Beda, this isexcellent!”
The vendor, Beda, drew herself up proudly. “Aye, I told ye. Ye’ve never tasted cheese like this before, have ye? Ye—oi!”
I flinched as she whipped her head around to look at me. I’d been somesmorized—mesmerized by the cheese, I hadn’t realized I was moving closer to her booth.
“Away with ye, child.” Beda waved her arms.
“But—” I stretched my hand out, prepared to give her my coins.
“Away!” Beda squawked.
“This is hardly a way to speak to a customer—”
“If ye wish to make a purchase, come back with yer mother,” Beda snapped.
“I have no mother.”
