While most medicinal herbs, even the rarest, find open trade at the market where herbalists and healers appreciate their worth. The Torbica, however, is an exception. It holds a seductive, lethal allure and a heavy mantle of forbidden power. Selling it requires venturing into the capital, where deals thrive in the shadows, far from the judgment of daylight.
The following day was no ordinary village market, where fragrant herbs and folk medicines passed between familiar hands. Today, I would go to the capital, carrying something that back home, people only dared to mention in hushed tones: Tsvetomir Torbica.
The Black Market, a shadowy underworld teeming with secrets, existed concealed beneath the capital's outward splendor. Here, masked smugglers, mysterious sorcerers hawking strange magical artifacts and battle-scarred mercenaries from across the globe convened to trade forbidden goods. Its audacious existence, even under the very nose of the highest authorities, stemmed from whispers in the dark. Rumor had it that even the most powerful members of the royal family secretly frequented this place, hunting for rare and exotic treasures.
Could they be searching for military enhancements, rare medicines, taboo magical relics or intelligence too sensitive for open collection? Honestly, I didn't dare dwell on it.
Before long, the sun dipped westward, painting the sky in blazing orange. After five grueling hours on foot, my legs ached, but at last, the splendid capital emerged. Its towering gates loomed like giants, their high stone walls standing firm, cutting off the world within from everything outside. Gilded carriages glided past like fleeting breezes, carrying unfamiliar scents of silk and perfume. The crowd surged back and forth, as hurried as weaving shuttles crafting the capital's resplendent cloak. Even the cobblestones beneath my feet felt different, sleek and polished, as if I'd stepped into another social class, one I'd only ever glimpsed from a distance.
This was the city of my dreams, a vibrant place where I imagined life would truly blossom. I had envisioned this a thousand times, about a cozy little home on a peaceful street where I could start afresh, leaving behind the struggles and scarcities of my village. But now, standing amid this dazzling commotion, the vast difference between myself and these city folk, between my poverty and their glittering wealth, felt like an unbridgeable divide.
What chance does a nobody like me have? Would all the hope, of a home, of a better life, remain just that...distant dreams?
To reach the black market, I carefully followed Valka's detailed instructions. The first landmark was the massive fountain at the central square. From afar, I could faintly hear the water's melodic trickling, like a gentle song carried by the wind. As I approached, the sight left me awestruck, powerful jets of water launched skyward, then gracefully cascaded down, shattering into countless tiny droplets. Back home, we knew only small streams, murmuring through rocky crevices, nothing so refined or magnificent. It felt magical.
Next, passing the fountain, I turned into a dim alley beside a tavern called 'Three Cups'. Distant laughter and the scent of alcohol filled the air. Stepping inside it, daylight seemed to vanish, replaced by a damp, gloomy space. With each step deeper, the air grew colder and damper, carrying the scent of soil and an indescribably metallic tang. At the alley's end, another passage opened, a worn, moss-covered stone staircase, plunging steeply as if into the earth itself.
As the sunlight faded behind me, flickering oil lamps began to line the tunnel, casting eerie, dancing shadows on the stone walls. Ropes hung everywhere, tangled and crisscrossing, alongside wooden signs carved with countless odd symbols. Clenching my fists, I forced myself to descend further down the cold steps, into the swallowing darkness ahead.
Time, for some reason, seemed to stand still with each step.
The deeper I went, the more hazy figures started to appear, silently gliding past each other like wandering ghosts. Then suddenly, a cacophony of sounds erupted, haggling voices, mocking laughter, the hurried scuffle of footsteps. The black market unfolded before me, an entirely different world buried deep beneath the bustling capital. Far from lacking splendor, it blazed with its own distinctive brilliance. Though sunlight struggled to break through, countless colored lights took its place, passionate reds, mysterious blues and warm golds. My eyes grew wide with wonder, unable to look away from the crowded stalls packed with all kinds of items. There were shimmering silks, delicate carved jewelry, old antiques and bizarre herbs of every shape and shade. The distinct musty smell of the sewers mingled with the strong, sweet scents from the market stalls, creating a strange but exciting mix of smells.
Turn right at the red lantern, the second instruction led me to a location tucked in the narrowest alley. Tucked deep within the chaotic Black Market, a place where laws seemed to be just a distant idea, a tavern called "The Dark Corner" appeared, marked by a wooden sign.
Stepping cautiously inside, my nose was assaulted by musty air laced with stale jasmine. The stillness here felt viscous, broken only by the metronomic ticking of an antique pendulum clock echoing from the corner. Faint light from a few paper lanterns dangling listlessly from the ceiling bathed the cramped space in jaundiced yellow, casting shadows over the silent wooden furniture.
Silently, I took a seat at the empty bar stool, its chipped varnish revealing weathered cracks. The bartender, a tall young man with fiery orange hair and unusually narrow green pupils, stood still behind the counter. His angular face showed no emotion but when he saw me, a thin smile, like a wisp of smoke, appeared on his tight lips. Gliding closer, he leaned on the bar with his hands resting gently on the wood.
"Well, well. A mage? Or a knight? Come for idle chatter?" His gravelly voice carried mocking undertones. Those strange green eyes narrowed, appraising me in one sweeping glance.
Forcing a smile, I retrieved a crumpled slip of paper from my coat pocket bearing the peculiar symbols Valka had carefully inscribed. My hand shook a little as I nervously gave it to him.
"...I...I came to do business...It's just...I h-have a type of goods..."
His eyes scanned the cryptic notations, nodding as if familiar with such codes. Without waiting, I pulled out a crimson Tobrica blossom from my pocket and gently placed it on the rough wooden counter, its delicate petals trembling slightly in the dim light.
A sudden whistle of surprise left his lips and his eyes grew wide. "Well now, this is quite the rare find. Wherever did you come across such a treasure?"
"...I-I can't say..."
Clicking his tongue, he gave me a lopsided grin, fingers drumming rhythmically on the countertop, the sound echoing through the stifling air. After a long moment of contemplation, his emerald eyes flicked down to the vibrant crimson petals before locking onto mine with an intensity that seemed to pierce straight through my soul.
"Trading, eh? What's a child like you doing peddling wares in the black market? You don't strike me as the wandering type. And so young, where's your guardian?"
"I-I..."
His gaze swept over my worn cloak, taking in the clumsy stitches and patchwork scars beneath the threadbare fabric. A heavy silence settled over the cramped space before those green eyes slowly traveled upward, lingering on my face, already bearing the marks of hardship. There was no pity in his stare, nor scorn, just deep observation, as if trying to decipher the hidden currents swirling beneath the surface.
In that moment, a tidal wave of emotion surged from the depths of my being. Shame spread like venom through my veins, constricting my chest until breathing became laborious. My everyday cloak suddenly felt heavy, as if it carried all the hardship and struggles I had endured. Hung my head low, not daring to meet those strange green eyes. My fingers unconsciously clutched the frayed hem, cheeks burning with a flush that spread like a scorched blossom.
"I...I'm alone...Just my little brother..."
His eyes widened slightly, pupils dilating in surprise before he exhaled softly through his nose.
"Is this your first time in the capital?"
"Y-yes?" I stammered, shamefacedly glancing at my worn satchel whose crude stitching betrayed our poverty.
"That much is obvious."
"...This is my first time at the black market too. B-Back home...I used to trade herbs at the village market..."
He smirked, a dry laugh escaping like rustling leaves. "Then why not stay in your village to make a living? The black market's no place for children."
"...W-We couldn't earn enough there..." Taking a deep breath. "I understand this place operates differently from home, so I came following Valka's instructions..."
"So Valka gave you this note?" He lifted the crumpled paper again. "No wonder the handwriting looked familiar."
"...Yes..."
"Smart move. This isn't some playground for casual trade, these sewers are filled with dangerous people." Leaning across the counter, his slit-pupiled eyes studied me intently, the feline gaze so unnatural it made my skin crawl and instinctively lean back.
"Welcome to the 'black market', tavern edition. This dingy little hole happens to be the nerve center for some rather substantial underground dealings." His finger tapped the counter beside the Torbica. "What you've brought would fetch quite the price from certain...distant clients. Rare in most places, illegal in this empire, as you well know. But the question is, who will buy? And how exactly does a little mouse like you plan to conduct this transaction?"
"I..."
"Clueless, then? Yet you waltzed in here carrying prime contraband?" He gestured at the dormant flower. "Tell you what, since you've got no contacts, let's make an arrangement."
"What kind...of arrangement?"
"I've got buyers, you've got product. Seventy-thirty split sound fair?"
For a moment, my mind went blank, the numbers dancing confusingly. Thirty...Seventy...I'd never dealt in percentages before.
The silence stretched as his gaze grew heavier, that mix of curiosity and dwindling patience as he waited for some semblance of street smarts from this backcountry brat.
"20-80. Twenty for me, eighty for you."
Twenty...Eighty...Eighty percent would be mine? That sounded slightly better than the previous thirty-seventy split.
"...Only twenty? Isn't that too little?"
"Then tell me, what's twenty percent of one thousand?" He arched an eyebrow, amusement dancing in those strange eyes.
Hesitantly, I didn't know what to say. The simple arithmetic felt foreign to someone only familiar with petty market calculations back home.
"Even twenty becomes substantial when the total sum is large." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "You're new here, so you wouldn't know, but as I said, that treasure in your bag..." His finger pointed at my worn satchel. "...Is worth far more than you imagine. People would empty their purses without hesitation just to taste the 'visions' nothing else can provide. You know what it brings, don't you?"
"Why are you offering to help me?" I ventured timidly.
He stiffened slightly then straightening up with one hand on his hip, visibly taken aback by my directness.
"It's mutually beneficial, no? I don't waste time on charity."
But in this damp corner, where everything had its price, was this truly an honest offer or just another carefully laid trap? Was he taking advantage of my naivety as a black market novice? Or could this actually be my chance to escape poverty and those endless hungry nights?
"Come behind the counter. I need to inspect the merchandise."
My suspicious gaze remained fixed on his face until he jerked his chin toward the small door leading behind the bar.
"Relax, it's just business. Profit requires boldness." He clicked his tongue. "Hesitate too long..." He turned his empty palm upward. "...and you'll return home with nothing. Your choice anyway."
Hesitating, I rose from the rickety stool, my heels touching the floorboards with deliberate quiet as I followed the young man's silhouette.
A whirlwind of questions still churned within me. What exactly was this transaction? Why conduct it in such a derelict place? Yet reason swiftly dragged me back, hadn't this been my purpose all along?
The deep crimson velvet curtains parted slowly, revealing an unexpected scene. Instead of some clandestine chamber I'd imagined, there stood a dilapidated kitchen illuminated only by the feeble glow of a bare bulb. The space was littered with grimy pots and carelessly discarded bottles. The musty air carried faint notes of something aged and fermented, mingling with the acrid scent of mildew. Suffocating silence enveloped us, broken only by the intermittent dripping of a rusty faucet.
The young man slumped into the sole round table, his shadow stretching across the stained tile floor like some ominous portent. Then he lit a cigarette and through the wispy smoke, those unsettling eyes found mine once more.
"What varieties do you have?"
Carefully, I spilled my collection onto the wooden counter, Tobrica gathered since yesterday evening in every imaginable hue. Fiery reds, twilight purples, pristine whites and vibrant golden-oranges tumbled across the scarred surface. His slit-pupiled eyes dilated slightly in sudden satisfaction, lips curling into an unexpected smile as he surveyed the colorful display.
"Gods above, this many? Somniferum, Rhoeas, Orientale, Cambricum...These are all premium strains." His excitement seemed genuine. "So how shall we formalize our arrangement?"
"...I'm just worried...What if you can't find buyers?"
His smirk widened into something bordering on arrogance, eyes glinting with cunning. "Neither my first time nor my last."
"What about the terms?"
"My terms are simple, 20-80 split, no strings attached. I just need a name to know who I'm dealing with. Keep your word and we both stay safe."
The promises sounded tempting, but dealings with the underworld always carried unpredictable costs.
"Then I have conditions too." I replied, steady gaze unwavering.
"Go on."
"First, I need your discretion."
A scoffing laugh. "I'm just the middleman, kid. Finding clients is one thing, pitching your product and convincing them? That's on you. Personal details aren't part of this arrangement."
So my only protection would be myself.
"Second condition, I want basic information about any client you find. I need to assess the risks before approaching."
His fingers drummed the weathered wood before nodding. "Reasonable. I'll share enough for you to gauge their potential. But don't expect full dossiers, sometimes secrecy is the real currency here."
Yes, at the very least I deserved to know who I'd be facing.
"Finally" I said, my voice lowering. "I reserve the right to refuse any deal that feels too dangerous or violates my principles."
This time, the silence stretched longer. Then at last, he gave another slight nod. "Fair enough. I've no interest in working with reluctance. The final decision remains yours. But remember, opportunity waits for no one."
"Very well then...My name is Lia."
"Pleasure doing business with you. You may call me Armin."