The Obsidian Pillar

Chapter Thirty-three

The day was warm and the market was bustling under the clear skied morning that followed the driving rainfall. Travellers had arrived early to trade for the finest produce available before crowds began to gather in the walkways. Some visitors had simply taken up a seat near the harbour to bask in the lively ambience that Tavarus provided.

Sebastien had led me through the stalls towards the harbour, where several large ships had docked for unloading by merchants who were laying claim to different materials, barrels and packages as their own. The Bay of Simul was glistening in the sun's light as glutinous seagulls swept down across the bay, preying on the small fish that swam near the water's edge with their powerful feet.

'Have you heard of the seamaidens, Valla?' Sebastien asked me as we moved aside for a large cart to pass. The huge wooden wheels kicked up dust and I caught sight of an array of animals sat happily on the hay inside.

'Only in fairy tales...' I replied warily.

'They really do need a better education system in Islar,' he muttered, nodding politely to a group of young women who walked slowly by him, carefully batting their eyelashes in his direction. He didn't seem to notice. 'I've not had the pleasure of meeting one myself, but they say that the seamaidens retrieve lost trinkets from the bottom of the bay and return them to their rightful owners at a price.'

'What price would that be?'

'Usually the cost of a young man's life.'

I raised my brows and continued towards the pier.

'It's common knowledge that seamaidens can never give birth to a seamale. Well it's common knowledge for most of the world anyway,' he said, smirking at me as his arm brushed against mine. 'They drown young men in the depths and they are reborn as seamales that can mate with the maidens. It's a rather clever way of solving their problem.'

'It really isn't. Who on earth would agree to that?'

'Some men sacrifice their legs for a pricey trinket that could feed their families. Other times they fall in love with the seamaidens. Apparently, they are quite comely.'

'Are they not rather wrinkled and moss covered?'

There was a distinct buzz about the market place as we headed away from the bay. I soaked up the atmosphere and the sunshine, absorbing all of the conversations within reach, catching the heated bartering between two disgruntled men and the whooping cough of an elderly woman selling glass bottles, her mouth wrinkled with deep lines around her thin lips from glassblowing.

As we passed through the busy streets, Sebastien slipped a protective hand around my shoulders and guided me through a passageway and into a quiet side street. Another hand snaked around my hips.

'Sebastien!'

'What?' he stuttered in surprise.