“You never received such education here, and you wanted to…” His eyes narrow slightly as a light bulb comes on in his head, shockingly slow. “You jest.”
“We say ‘joke’ nowadays, but yes.”
He turns back around and continues walking without another word.
Moody bastard.
“Did your sense of humor die here, or did you never have one?” I call after him, hurrying my pace to catch up to his side.
“Not all of us refuse to take our responsibilitiesseriously.”
“Malak takes his job plenty seriously.”
“I never mentioned the Messenger.”
“You didn’t have to. Who else would you be talking about?”
He doesn’t respond, only further proving me right.
I let it slide, though, because we’re quickly coming upon the flashy tents at the center of the Abyss.The Central Bazaar.So many times, I’ve looked over the cliffside and wondered about this place. With the locusts constantly watching me, insisting I stay near the castle for safety reasons, I’d almost abandoned all hope of ever visiting it.
It’s every bit as lively and peculiar as I imagined.
My senses are assaulted the moment we step past the main gates, up onto a wooden platform, where we’re swallowed by a labyrinth of market stalls. Some are large enough to warrant their own tents, while others crowd the would-be walkways. All of them overflow with goods for sale, with many of the locusts waving around their offerings in a very human-like way of advertising.
A chatter of locusts comes from every direction, swollen with bartering in countless languages. I can’t fathom why. I’d expect their locust clicks, or just plain English, but certainly not Russian, Latin, and Hebrew. And there’s a vast assortment of aromas, too. In one direction, I catch a hint of something distinctly spicy and savory. In another, the sweetness of sugar and vanilla. Metal, dirt, umami, charcoal, cinnamon... It’s all so overwhelming.
“What do you think?” Abaddon asks.
Staring at the nearest big stall, I confess, “I don’t have much money to shop with.”
“Do not worry. I have plenty to spare. Would you like to browse?”
“Yes, please.” After how much of a pain in my ass he’s been for the past month, I don’t have a problem taking his money for a few odd trinkets.
However, I am completely caught off guard when Abaddon takes my arm in his and politely escorts me through the crowd. I’m too dumbfounded to say a word, letting him guide me to one of the largest shops—a rickety wooden building with a colorful curtain as a doorway.As we approach, it blows out of the way in a very supernatural fashion.
Once inside, Abaddon releases my arm, allowing me to peruse in relative peace.
Such strange, beautiful objects surround me. I’ve never seen an array quite like it before. Not even at the arts and crafts shows that Jackie and I would frequent together.
Shimmering fabrics lay piled in one corner, each reflecting the light of unnatural gemstones. Jars full of something akin to bioluminescent bacteria line the walls above. Black stones adorn the spaces between them, some like little voids, reminiscent of outer spaces.
A largepapier-mâchésculpture, the bust of a white-robed man wearing an equally white mask, separates the first section from another. It’s almost reverently displayed, perched on a marble pedestal with its own spotlight.
I stop before it, puzzled.
The man isn’t wearing a mask at all, I realize. His face only looks like one, complete with hollow black holes for eyes, but it’s naturally blended into his neck. Very meticulously so.
I might have expected an homage to Abaddon here, but this… “What is this thing?”
“That is Kesbeel,” Abaddon replies, standing behind me and looking over my shoulder. “The Power of Oaths. The merchants attract a fair number of shoppers from Elohim, and they cater to their buyers. Angels are notorious for coming to buy raw materials, but leaving with artisan goods.”
“Yes, but why would this Kesbeel endeavor to look so, um…” Grotesque, macabre, hideous… I’m really struggling to come up with an appropriate yet sensitive term. “So spooky?”
“Spooky?” Abaddon repeats me, seeming confused by my word choice. Poor thing is entirely missing my attempt at being polite.
“Never mind that. A better question is, why would anyone want this in their house?”
