Black Market
âAnd I PAID the farmer for his barn, AND his cow, AND his horses, IN FULL!â Adjusting his hat, âPOINT being that I happen to KNOW the VerrdrĂ€.â
CHOICES is the first book in the Chronicles of a Hero fantasy series. This is the story of Wendell P. Dipmier, who Iâve been writing about since 1990. I hope youâll join me on this new adventureâŠ.as I tell the honest, complete story of this amazing 17 year old, exclusively on Life of Fiction.
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CHAPTER 12
During your travels through life, you may have experiences which seem random, crazy, or near impossible. It might be a look, a comment, or even someone you recognize. Some will tell you this is âdĂ©jĂ vuâ. Others will dismiss the experience altogether.
Iâm starting to believe that the Universe is talking to us. It comes through every look and every experience we have; leading, guiding, and prompting us along our path.
It is when we fail to recognize those gentler prompts that the Universe is forced to reach out to grab our attention.Â
When I was told about this âBlack Marketâ, naturally I assumed it was a place where people sold illegal things. Thatâs why it would seem natural for folks to keep its location a secret. But it wasnât until I was standing at the entrance that I understood why no one knew where the market actually was. The entire enterprise wasnât in a hidden cover or secluded villageâŠin was an underground cavern.
At first I thought weâd come out the side of a mountain. The emerging from the tunnels was a deposit into a giant valley. At first glance, youâd honestly think you were staring into the clear night sky. Far from it.
All weâd done was to pass from a smaller cave into a much larger one.
Scattered lanterns and fires poked through the haze of smoke, bioluminescent snails feasting on stalactites overhead, bringing a dim light from the ceiling above. Through the haze, it looked like thousands of stars in a distant sky.
The Black Marketâs private universe.
I stood on the edge of a shallow bowl, the wide path under my feet sloped downward, branching out to weave through the hovels and shacks of an overpopulated city. The dim light and smokey atmosphere cloaked the details of the market in secrecy, just waiting to be explored. I inhaled deeply and smiled to myself. You could taste the air, it was so thick. It clung to your flesh and clothes with its meaty, earthy flavor. Everything moved to the rhythm of a rumbling. Holding still, I cocked my head to the side and listened with my whole body. I could feel it through the soles of my sandals. The muffled sound of an underground river met the distant but clearer twang of a blacksmithâs hammer.
âMove along, kid,â a guard barked. âYouâre in the way.â He pushed me with the flat side of his drawn blade.
âSorry, sir,â I squeaked and quickly joined Chuck and a glaring Dax.
âRule four, kid; Donât tick off the Sentry,â he growled. Nodding towards the guards. âThey donât give second chances.â
I ignored his complaining. This was unlike anything I had ever seen, or could imagine. Before long, I had stopped again, staring at the new arrivals, especially those with animals. These patrons drove their livestock towards a large building with a worn sign that said: Exchange.
âExchange what?â I asked. When my companions look at me confused, I nodded towards the people in line with chickens, pigs, sheep and the like.
âThe Market deals in two currencies,â Chuck said, âGold and crystals. The Gypsies will trade almost anything if itâs valuable enough, but gold and crystals are the hard currency. Everyone will accept them. Food is scarce down here, so animals fetch a fair amount of coin. Thatâs why any farmer, if he can get a hold of a port key, cane make a good living selling exclusively to this community.â Chuck gave me a nudge. âWelcome to the Black Market, son.â
Men and women laughed, calling out to one another, passing briskly by with loaded baskets or pulling small carts. People of all types and unusual character buzzed around us, buying, haggling, and selling. Robes and slacks, turbans and hats, clean shaven and woven beards accented with silver and gold. The societies of the world had collided together in friendship, or at least in a mutually beneficial business transaction. All the while, children with dirty faces and unkempt hair raced through the streets. They dodged through grown-up legs, laughing as if nothing in the world existed except the games they played.
If I had any doubt about how many people knew Chuck, or how popular a personality he was, it was quickly put to rest. He was noticed at every turn. A woman, covered in shawls and jewelry, bowed as she passed. The wizard tipped his hat in return, then bowed politely to an elderly couple after her. The man leaned heavily on his walking stick, hunched under the burden strapped to his back. The couple paused to smile and warmly greeted Chuck before hobbling on their way.
Dax, all the while, bobbed his head from side to side and as if looking for something. Ever-ignoring and ever-growing at the normal interactions of the day.
Chuck was right. The market didnât look scary at all. Again, for the most part, the patrons seemedâŠnormal.
Well, almost.
There were dwarves who looked like theyâd just stepped out of the movies with their long, braided beards woven into their shoulder-length hair or tucked into belts around bulging bellies. Chain mail armor chinked as they strode with pride, wielding giant hammers and glistening axes. Merchants flocked to them, offering items to cut, carve or mold. Many knelt, balancing their goods in open chests and boxes for the dwarves to consider. They grinned behind dirty faces as they inspected raw crystals and rough-cut gems in the candlelight.Â
I couldnât help but stare.
âKutollum,â whispered Chuck over my shoulder, âThe common tongue call them dwarves. Brilliant craftsmen and artisansâŠthough Iâd never want to see a female enter a swimsuit competition.â He shuddered. âItâs bad enough the men have backs like hairy goats, if you know what I mean.â
I was about to laugh when several tiny people slammed against me as they ran passed. At first I thought they were children, but did a double take when one in their party stopped and turned. He had a full beard across a face that looked no older than eight. He winked at me.âPardon us, boy," he blurted out in a deep baritone. âSo sorry. In a hurry. In a hurry.â
My jaw dropped as I watched them vanish into the crowd.
âGnomes,â the wizard grinned. âLovely people. Clever as they come.â
Luckily, the market seemed giant-free. The further we ventured in, the less worried I was. In fact, I didnât see a single blue person, or anything he would qualify as a monster. I also noticed people varied to extremes when it came to dress. A few appeared wealthy, with bright colored drapes, headdresses and jewelry. Some, like the Kutollum, wore armor which I imaged didnât come cheap. Others wore dirty, worn clothing, often hanging on lean frames â but most ranged between the two. Simple woven cloth, leather, bland colors, all orchestrated in varies styles of display. Regardless of the dress, people smiled, spoke respectfully to one another, and exchanged goods and coin openly.Â
Dax was wrong. That made me smirk. For someone so intense about what was going to happen to me, I was relieved to discover the opposite. No matter how uncomfortable I had felt, my outfit fit in here. No one looked oddly at the wizard, and no one laughed or even batted an eye at Daxâs boxer shorts or the fact that he walked about bare chested.
Weird.Â
We pushed our way past haggling groups of women and merchants striving to get the best deal on goods or services.
Well, I had to push anyway.
The sea of bodies seemed to flow around Chuck, being both aware and unaware of his presence at the same time. Dax danced around legs effortlessly, always at the wizardâs side. I was jostled and bumped every few steps. No matter what, I tried it darn near impossible to keep the same pace as my companions. The worst part was nearly being run over by a flockâŠor herdâŠwhatEVER theyâre calledâŠof whining sheep and goats making their way towards the holding pens.Â
Women impatiently excused themselves as they moved around me with clay pots on their heads or poles with hanging flasks of who-knows-what. Then I had to move aside for a small handcart clattering with swords, knives, and shieldsâŠthen a second close behind, crammed with bolts of coarse cloth and blankets. As long as I followed directly behind Chuck, I was just fine. The limited view just irritated me.
Rounding a set of tents, a small crowd of children forced us to stop short.
âWhat now?â Dax grunted, irritated.
The children were ooohing and aahhhing, clambering and bouncing around an old man, naked to the waste. He was dark-skinned with scars down both back and arms. Draped over his shoulders was a lean, virtually glowing, yellow lizard. Itâs long, slender tail wrapped around the manâs chest.
The creature swayed its narrow, horn-crowned head forward and hissed at the small grasping hands, bearing its needle teeth and flexing itsâŠ
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