The Night Market

by Rawlins, Zachary

  The market stretched out to the unseen fringe of the woods, and the night cooperated. Holly led her with the determination of a young child at an amusement park, hell-bent on sharing its secrets regardless of the reluctance of her audience. Yael had to stop and rest her blistered feet more than once. Cooling her feet in a small fountain hewn from a rock outcropping, she wondered idly what it might cost to procure a new, very nice pair of shoes.

  Yael had never been that kind of girl. Then again, she hadn’t ever walked so far in a pair of rubber boots which had nearly fallen apart.

  At a crimson and bronze colored tent, Holly stopped and bought a delicious chickpea mash wrapped in flatbread, which she shared with Yael. Several times Yael accepted offers of beverages from vendors, after an assurance from Holly that she would incur no debt or obligation.

  Yael wasn’t certain that she trusted Holly Diem. She was, however, certain that she was completely parched.

  The market wound around on itself and the gaudy canvas tents started to blend, as elaborately styled as an endless Persian rug. No matter where Yael looked, she found eyes and inquiries, so she began to stare at the dirt in front of her, packed by the weight of innumerable feet.

  The crowd petered out gradually, but Yael didn’t notice until Holly stopped at the hollow of an enormous cypress tree that they had left behind the aisles of tents, only the murmur of the market and ambient light following them this far.

  In the hollow of the tree, nestled against the fragrant bark, Holly sat carefully on a thick rug and poured tea into two porcelain cups. A handful of candles dripped wax on the folds of the old tree and somewhere in the dark nearby, Yael heard water trickling over rocks.

  “What is this?”

  Yael balled her fists and tensed her legs, ready to run or fight, but Holly just laughed brightly.

  “Sit down, Yael. I know that you have become accustomed to bad surprises, but don’t start assuming the worst. You will lose the very things that you are trying to preserve.”

  “What?”

  “Sit down.”

  Too tired to argue, Yael sat on the other side of the rug and leaned against her bag, accepting a cup of tea with cautious gratitude.

  “Are you part of the Night Market, Holly?”

  Holly’s laughter was unique in Yael’s experience. There was nothing malevolent in it, not a trace of mockery or bad intention.

  “Part of it? Like the tents, you mean? Hardly. I’m a woman. I have a home, a business, a cat... well, actually, I have several cats, but that is only prudent. I have a job, Yael. Part of my work is done here at the Night Market, helping people like you.”

  “Did you know that I wouldn’t find what I was looking for in the rest of the market?”

  Holly nodded and sipped her tea with quiet satisfaction.

  “Yes,” she admitted, without any shame or reticence. “But you had come so far. I thought you had a right to see the Night Market, after you went through so much to get here. I didn’t want it to feel... anti-climactic. That would be terrible.”

  “Well, thank you, then. I suppose.”

  “You are very welcome.”

  Holly poured more tea, giving Yael time to wonder why the cups were always small.

  “Do you already know what I want?”

  Holly’s smile faded abruptly.

  “I don’t know, but I can guess...”

  Yael shook her head, smiling bitterly.

  “Go ahead. Tell me, please.”

  Holly sighed and looked away, crumbling blackened moss between her fingers.

  “No one can bring your brother back, Yael. It can’t be done. I know how painful it must to hear this, after all that you have been through, but it just isn’t possible.”

  Yael didn’t intend for her laughter to sound callous, but it did.

  “Sorry,” Yael said guiltily. “Everyone assumes that’s what I want, though, as if I am a naive little girl who can’t understand that her brother is gone.”

  For the first time since Yael had met her, Holly Diem appeared surprised.

  “It seems that I underestimated you, Yael.” Holly appraised her with new respect. “Let me ask, instead. What is it that brought you to the Night Market?”

  “I’m not trying to rescue my brother, Holly. I know he can’t come back. All that I want is to remember...”

  Yael had insisted to herself that she would not cry. She had not cried over her brother since that first terrible day. He wouldn’t have wanted her tears, so she did her best to honor his wishes.

  It was, after all, one of the few things about him that she could remember.

  “Is that so much to ask?” Yael demanded miserably, her nose running and her lip quivering. “I just want to remember his name, what he looked like, the time we spent together. He’s like a blur, a ghost in my memory. I guess you were right in a way, Miss Diem – I do want my brother back. But I want that brother. The one that should still be in my head.”

  Holly had a fair case of the sniffles herself by this point, clutching Yael’s outstretched hands.

  “You poor dear. You poor, poor thing.” Holly’s voice was soothing, reaching back to something buried, the mother that Yael could almost remember singing You Are My Sunshine above her cradle. “It isn’t too much to ask. That isn’t impossible. Those memories aren’t gone, Yael – they are suppressed. Your ability to recall him is inhibited, but your memories of your brother remain intact. That is why you can recall bits and pieces of him in your dreams. I can help you find those memories again. But, Yael...”

  “Yes?”

  “What you are asking isn’t impossible. It is, however, rather expensive. I am sorry, Yael. The cost isn’t for me to decide.”

  Yael shook her head emphatically.

  “No, I understand. My father is a businessman, after all. Do you – do you want the key?”

  Yael started to reach for the chain around her neck, but Holly stopped her with a gentle hand on her elbow.

  “No. You will need that.” Holly’s voice was firm, her expression stern and thoughtful. “It will cost you more than a Silver Key, Yael. It will cost you everything you left behind.”

  Yael scratched her head.

  “I’m not sure I understand...”

  “Your home, Yael. Your past. I will restore your memories – all of them, including some that you might not thank me for – but in return, all of that will cease to be. You will never be able to go home again. Never see your parents or your friends. Whatever happens from here, you will have to make your own way.”

  “You make it sound as if...” Yael said hesitantly, reluctant to ask difficult questions when she was so close. “That is to say... will the world end? Or will I simply never be able to return?”

  “There will be no functional difference.”

  “There is one as far as I am concerned,” Yael said firmly. “I have family there.”

  Holly cracked a smile.

  “I thought you might feel that way,” she said warmly, taking Yael’s hands in her own. “You should know that every apocalypse is personal. Life will continue on without you, Yael.”

  There was no need to consider. Yael had made up her mind days and kilometers earlier, before she had emerged from the Underworld into the Waste.

  “Alright, Holly,” Yael said, screwing her eyes shut and bracing herself for the pain. “I am ready.”

  “It is already done.” Holly tousled her hair fondly. “I suppose you will be staying in the city for the near future. Have you considered setting up shop in Kadath for the meantime? There is an excellent school nearby – founded by an old family friend of yours, as I understand. You are a little young for off-campus housing at the moment, but once you are ready, I know of a lovely old apartment building...”

  ***

  She is old enough to read for herself, but prefers to have her brother read to her from his dusty old books. Close to the heat of the dying fire, Yael sits across her brother’s bony knees, his unruly beard ti
ckling the top of her head. She glances at his pale, sickly face and he catches her at it, then laughs aloud, the sound warm and frail.

  “What?” She twists to get a better view of his face. “What are you laughing at?”

  “Nothing,” Jacob says, patting her clumsily on the top of her head. “It’s just funny, what kids remember. You will understand one day. Trust me. Now, Yael, do you want me to read or not?”

  She does. He selects a book from the stool beside his chair, a book bound in red leather that has been worn smooth by years of careful handling. Yael ducks her head to study the gilt lettering which is barely visible on the spine.

  “The King in Yellow...”

  “Good, Yael,” Jacob says fondly, settling her on one leg. “Listen closely...”

  By the light of a dwindling fire, in a thin and shaking voice, Jacob reads to her.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Zachary Rawlins lives with his lovely and amazing wife, Chloe, and their genius Corgi, Ein, in an 80-year old Tudor in Oakland, California. During the day, he works in the environmental industry. In his free time, he enjoys hiking, photography, building computers, and writing books like this one. He can be reached at spook_nine@yahoo.com with compliments, questions, or lucrative publishing offers.

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  Candace Ellis lives in Sacramento, draws very late into the night, and is otherwise very mysterious. You can check out more of her amazing work at by.starlight.com.

  Thank you for reading The Night Market!

  If you would like to follow the stories of Jenny Frost, Snowball, and Holly Diem further, then please check out the first volume of my Unknown Kadath Estates trilogy, Paranoid Magic Thinking, available now in the Kindle Store. For the further adventures of Yael Kaufman, please check out the second volume of the trilogy, the forthcoming The Mysteries of Holly Diem (to be released in 2014).