Page 2 of A Tale of Mirth & Magic

The hooded person loomed over us, focused intensely on the rude man. They shifted from side to side a bit, as if uncomfortable with speaking out loud. If they were trying to be intimidating, they weren’t doing a great job at it. The man barely glanced at him.

“Mind your own business, pal.”

Still ogling me, he picked up his two coins and grabbed my arm with his other hand, another oily smile plastered on his face.

Everything slowed down. As if from a distance, I heard the tall person shout brusquely and start reaching out as if to tear the customer’s hand off me. Half frozen, I felt a trickle of fire sparking in my chest, tendrils burning their way to my brain, down my legs, through my arms.

Fury. Burning fury shot through my veins.

With a half step, I yanked out of the rude man’s grasp. Inhaling a sharp breath through my nose, I swept my right palm in an arc that came to a halt by my wide hips. My gesture had raised every piece of jewelry on the velvet tabletop two feet into the air. They hovered there, at the man’s eye level. He paused, stock-still. Glancing around him at the metal, he hissed, “Calm down, elf.”

I raised my palm and squeezed it into a fist. My jewelry snapped to attention, soldiers to their general’s call, moving a few inches closer to the man and sparkling with malicious intent. The hairsticks looked particularly menacing, sharp points directed right at his sweating face. He backed away with a slow step. I smiled.

“Time for you to go.” I flicked the fingers of my other hand, sending his two gold coins back at him. He grabbed at them, missing, and they fell to the cobblestones.

Clink. Clink.

Then I twisted my wrist slightly, the motion tightening my pewter cuff that still encircled his wrist. Obeying the pounding drum of my fury, I twisted more… more. I could feel my power so acutely in the man’s panicked face, his fragile limb in my invisible grip. When I heard a small crack of splintering bone, I released my magic’s hold.

I gestured toward myself, and the cuff flew happily into my hand. “Good work!” I told it, and it warmed at my touch. I swept my right hand in a reverse arc, and all the jewelry drifted softly back onto their velvet.

The man had paled to a parchment white, gasping at the pain. He scrabbled at the ground for his coins. Staring around at the passersby, he shouted in disbelief, “Did you see what she did?! Did you see that nasty elf attack me?” Some watched him in disgust—they had seen the whole interaction. Some began to look at me with suspicion. Most passed by with indifference.

I smiled sweetly at all of them. The crowd moved on. The man gave me one last look of hatred and fear, then staggered off out of the busy square. Once I knew he was gone, I let out the breath I’d been holding.

I began packing up my wares quickly, fingers shaking a bit. I tucked the three cuffs away first. Then the hairsticks, taking comfort in their solidity and sharpness. Then the earrings, the pendants, chains, bracelets, necklaces, and rings. Mind racing, I rolled up the velvet cloth and secured my coin purse in my skirts. Someone cleared their throat nearby. I looked up.

It was the tall one again. I hadn’t even noticed them still standing there. They were like a big brown boulder, quiet and forgettable. Even with my height of nearly six feet, they still towered over me and everyone else in the square. They were at least seven feet tall, likely more. A half-giant, perhaps? Sparks of my anger still lingered, and I glowered at them. What had they been trying to do? Rescue me from that doofus? Play the big strong protector? Thanks, but no thanks.

Now that they stood in front of me, only part of their face hid in the shadow of the thick hood they wore. I peeked up curiously.

Warm brown eyes gazed back, a deep smoky quartz. Soft lips, now wearing a slight frown, were a muted violet a few shades darker than the lavender skin. Yes, a half-giant man, from the looks of it. My mind blanked for a few moments.

As I came back to, he cleared his throat uncomfortably again and looked away. I shook myself and tried to rouse the annoyance I felt a minute ago. It didn’t come, but I snapped anyway, “You didn’t have to step in, you know. I was handling myself fine.”

He considered me quietly for a moment. “You’re right. I should have asked if you needed assistance first. I apologize.”

“Well… good,” I replied.

“Good,” he repeated.

We stood there awkwardly, seconds passing. He looked at me with a steady gaze, as if he wanted to say something else. My skin prickled with sudden warmth as we watched each other. I felt aware of my breath, the tight stays of my corset, my palms still tingling with magic. Our eyes were caught. The noises of the marketplace faded, and I felt like one of my jewelry pieces just minutes ago—frozen in the air, poised to fly.

As I opened my mouth to introduce myself, he blinked rapidly and strode away.

After a second of shock—and perhaps a small twinge of disappointment—I shook myself into action again. I gathered my things, did a last visual sweep of the booth, then headed in the opposite direction with a huff, in search of a well-deserved meal.

2

First, though, I needed to stop by the Artisans Guild to restock my metalsmithing supplies. It was basically on the way to the tavern where I was staying anyway. To appease my rumbling stomach, I grabbed one of those dough sticks that had been tantalizing me—appropriately called sticklers, according to the street vendor. Then I set my boots toward the guild, tallying up a mental list while I wove around people through the busy square, trying and failing to eat the deliciously sweet fried confection before the jam ran down to my fingers.

Silver, definitely. I barely had enough left to make a thin ring or two. A new file, since the handle on mine had broken clean off and was rusting to boot. More spare chains, particularly the long dainty ones that were in style and too tedious to make myself. I’d much rather have more time and creative energy to spend on my pendants that hung on the chains.

Twisting to avoid passersby, I turned left down a quieter side street that led to the guild, wiping the last of the sticky jam off my fingers with a handkerchief. Spotting a couple of the town’s many stray cats lazing on a stoop, I placed the stick between them so they could enjoy the remaining tidbits of dough. After a few quick pets, I moved along. The sun was still shining, and the townspeople of Povon strolling through the streets seemed in high spirits.

Most of them anyway, I thought, the rude man’s angry face flashing in my mind. Hopefully he’d learned his lesson, and I wouldn’t have to see him again. But it might be time to move on soon.

As I reached the wide, welcoming entrance of the Artisans Guild, my thoughts strayed from that dickhead to the mysterious lavender-skinned half-giant who’d tried to intervene. I wished he hadn’t rushed off so soon. I passed underneath the open stone archway and walked through the small courtyard, its floor inlaid with rustic mosaic tiling, and headed toward the main hall where the vendors would be setting up for market day. Inside, it was nearly as bustling as the square. This wasn’t a large town, so its guild buildings were modest. The Artisans Guild of which I was a longtime member, occupied this cozy spot consisting of a central main hall where artists displayed and sold their works, a few tiny side rooms used for meetings, a long shared underground room filled with cots for starving artist types, and a small outdoor forge tucked in the back. I was welcome to sell my wares here in the hall—and had a couple times so far, making some new friends with fellow artisans—but I’d opted for the square today to take advantage of the general town market. It was wonderful to see, however, this turnout in the guildhall. Povon seemed to have a deep appreciation for art and culture, I’d already gathered from my short time here—rare for such a small town, but always gratifying to discover.