Black Friday in the Low Market

Sarn glared at the black cloth strip in his hands.
Light-tight, once tied its weave would hide his eyes,
suppress their glow, allow him to withstand
the low market crush and not jeopardize
his son who would be his eyes for this trip.
Now tied, his vision cut off; his magic
took over, gave different eyes equipped
with a detailed map of the illogic
that abounded inside Mount Eredren.
“You take too long. We go now.” Ran tugged on
Sarn’s trouser leg. “I lead.” Ran unfastened
the door and started into the hallway,
his promised outing was now underway.

~ ~ ~

“You have to promise not to talk to, or
look at strangers, and to keep your hood on.
This is serious. I need your word, or
we won’t go,” Papa said; magic held on
to Ran keeping him from continuing.
Papa meant business. Ran squirmed; magic-wrought
promises were impossible to break,
both for him and Papa, whose magic-wrought
wall cushioned a thinking Ran. Not opaque,
its surface shimmered at the edge of sight.
Blindfolded, Papa couldn’t see his magic
extend out from his cloaked, cowled form in bright
hungry green tongues that touched, tasted; magic
that only Ran saw and wanted to play
with;  first that promise, which he made, then play.

~ ~ ~

Promise secured, Sarn relaxed and Ran led,
he only gave direction when his map
disagreed with the way that his son led.
Down they went, a subterranean map
replaced the one for the mount’s upper floors.
Symbols marking shoppers clustered around
the next bend. A large cavern with no doors
just the Low Market’s sprawl. Hawkers abound,
a mile of aisles, stalls and goods on display,
throngs of shoppers, pickpockets on the prowl,
one blindfolded freak who should run away,
and disappoint Ran who’d do more than scowl.
Yet he let Ran tug him into the crush,
cringing when ‘gainst his magic, shoppers brushed.

~ ~ ~

Pens and paper for Miren? In the bag.
He had one coin left and needed more fast.
Ran wended through a narrow alley; rags
divided the stalls, Sarn paused as they past
a gem dealer, drifted nearer. Yes there,
lumir, it pinged his senses. Mixed in with quartz,
what luck, that meant it wasn’t kindled. A fair
bet that the dealer mistook it for quartz.
Buy it, sell it–he’d have plenty of coin.
But how? One touch, it’d glow, betray its true
worth, raise its price and he hadn’t enough coins.

Sarn paid, Ran gave him the stone; it shined true.
One quick command ensured that its light stayed.
The shocked merchant offered thrice what he’d paid.

~ ~ ~

Part of a series of Thanksgiving posts starring Sarn, his brother Miren, his son Ran and some of the Rangers he works with. You don’t have to read them all but if you would like to, you can find them in order on my Holiday page.

~ ~ ~

Read more about Sarn in the Curse Breaker Saga. Like vignette-style poems? I’ve got lots on my Tales of Shayari page or my Poetic Fantasy page.

What are you #thankful for?

Picture courtesy of mindlovemisery’s picture prompt #88