The village had transformed overnight. Streamers fluttered between lamp posts, booths lined the streets, and the familiar scents of baked goods, roasting meats, and sweet cider mixed with the sound of tuning instruments and shouting vendors. Joren tightened the twine around a crate of preserved jams at Hazel's stall and spruced up the apple bin.
A week has passed since we last saw Joren and he has made great traction in manipulating his abilities beyond emotional outbursts. With the swish of his hand he could slow falling objects, inverse and reverse gravity to float an object in the palm of his hand and has even made progress on creating a small orb of light at the tip of his fingers.
Hazel's stall was busy from the get-go. People browsed her jars, asked about her eggs, and bartered for pickled vegetables or honeycomb squares. Joren had already made three trades and sold two loaves of oat bread by the time the bells tolled midmorning.
As the morning wore on, the warmth of the sun cut through the last wisps of fog, and the cobblestone streets filled with the pleasant chaos of festival life. A trio of traveling musicians struck up a lively tune on fiddles and drums just down the lane, drawing a small crowd of clapping children and smiling elders. A neighbor stopped by to trade a jar of plum preserves for Hazel's firewood. The neighbor lingered to chat with Hazel about the weather and rumors of a fire dancer scheduled for the evening show. Joren smiled politely, occasionally chiming in, all while scanning nearby booths. "I wonder what Elira is up to at her booth, I can't wait to check it out later."
A break in customers gave him a chance to breathe. He leaned against the post, eyes scanning the festival. A flute player whistled a lively tune nearby, kids darted between booths chasing each other with wooden swords, and vendors were trying to draw attention to skewered meats, bubbling kettles, and jugs of floral wine. At first, Tsunami blended in. Just a tall man in a dark cloak with sea-green embroidery, hood up, boots dusty from travel. His hair a a dark and messy style that complimented his green eyes and a light stubble beard to match. Something stirred from Joren, as if they were connected by their portrait powers. He walked right past his booth, not even acknowledging Joren as if he didn't sense he too was an Auspex.
Down the street, a vendor known for unfairly raising prices for travelers none the wiser was arguing with a customer, trying to swindle another victim three times higher than any other booth would offer for spices. Tsunami was smooth, even Joren barely saw what happened. A slight flick of his index finger showed a glimmer of light, a thin stream of concentrated water. It sliced the front leg of the vendors booth, causing it to topple over and ruin his produce. The vendor shouted in alarm, it must be the doing of his customer. The customer quickly left to avoid this crazy man. Tsunami just kept on walking, too far for Joren to find in the crowd and try to learn some things.
"I don't know if he's as bad as Hazel said," Joren murmured, trying to pick him out of the large crowd he walked into. "He did just stop the greediest man in Brindleford with only a finger."
Early Afternoon – Markets
Joren's fingers tapped absently against the crate of jam jars as he tried to make sense of what he'd seen this morning. He shook the thoughts off for now, wiping his hands on a cloth. Hazel said she could maintain the booth for the rest of the day, giving Joren time to visit Elira's booth.
Joren slipped into the stream of foot traffic and made his way through the colorful clutter of stalls. He passed spice merchants with bright cloths and gold-trimmed jars, artisans carving animal figurines from wood, and a theater troupe advertising a puppet show later that evening. Eventually, he spotted a simple linen banner strung above a cart: Stardust Pages & Remedies. Elira's booth was nestled between a weaver's tent and a candied nut vendor. Small glass bottles of tinctures stood in neat rows beside clothbound books and hand-labeled scrolls. Dried herbs hung from the canopy beams like streamers of nature.
"Joren," she said warmly. "I was hoping you'd come by." Before he could answer, a blur of motion struck his legs, a small body hugged him tight. "Joren!" Isla chirped, face smudged with honey. "Mama said you'd be stop by today!" He laughed and ruffled her hair. She held up a wooden duck on a stick. "Look! I named him Finn." Elira chuckled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "She's been telling everyone that her duck is a magical artifact."
"Well, if it is," Joren said, crouching to Isla's level, "make sure it doesn't turn into a goose monster." Isla looked horrified. "That can happen?" Joren smirked a devilish grin, "Only if you feed it too many walnuts." She gasped and ran off to warn another kid.
Joren's fingers traced the smooth glass of a small vial filled with a pale amber liquid. The scents of dried lavender, mint, and something faintly sweet filled the air. Elira watched him carefully, a gentle smile on her lips. "These are tinctures," she explained softly, picking up a tiny bottle with a cork stopper. "Made from herbs and flowers grown in the hills near the village. They help with all sorts of things like sickness and injury." Elira chuckled quietly. "It's not magic, really, but nature's does have a way of lending a hand. You know, I have some stuff here you might be interested in." she said while walking to one of the tables.
She gestured toward the stack of clothbound books beside a neatly folded tapestry. Joren's eyes followed her gesture, landing on the worn spines of several old books, their covers faded but sturdy. "What kind of stuff?" he asked, curiosity piqued. Elira smiled warmly. "Old knowledge. Herbal remedies, of course, but also some rare texts on astronomy, ancient lands, and even a few about the Portraits. Not many believe those stories around here, but I've seen enough to know there's truth in them." She gently lifted a thin volume, its pages yellowed and fragile. "This one is a journal from a scholar who studied the stars and their influence on human fate. I think you might find it interesting, it even has testimonials from people he met."
Joren took the book carefully, thumbing through a few of the brittle pages. Inked constellations curled along the margins, notes scrawled in tight loops between star charts and poetic musings. It felt more like a personal exploration than a formal study, but it has a lot of information about cosmic phenomena. "I didn't think anyone ever tried to write this kind of thing down," he murmured. Elira nodded, folding her arms loosely as she leaned back against the cart. "Most didn't. But the ones who did... they left behind little sparks of the past. Pieces of the sky tucked between pages." Joren looked up at her. "Why keep this out here? Doesn't seem like something most folks would be interested in." She shrugged softly. "Most folks aren't, but someone always finds their way to these books I have, usually when they need it most." He closed the book gently. "I'll read it. Maybe it'll help me... I don't know., get a grip on things." Elira, perplexed, just smiled and watched as he left for the saloon.
Early Evening – The Saloon
The saloon was quieter than usual. Most folks were still caught up in the festivities, but a few regulars had trickled in, mostly old-timers looking for shade and a mug of something cold. Joren slipped behind the bar, tying on an apron like always. He poured drinks, wiped down a few tables, and exchanged nods with familiar faces.
"Hey, Joren," called Old Mav from his usual corner. "You see that ruckus near the spice booth this morning? Damn thing collapsed like a kicked chair." "Yeah," Joren replied cautiously, keeping his tone neutral. "Heard it broke." "Broke?" Mav chuckled, raising a wiry brow. "That leg was sliced clean through. It's like he was sabotaging it for one of the customers so he could berate them into giving him more money, I bet."
Another patron piped up from a shadowed table, a middle-aged woman with a cap on. "Heard talk that the government might be sending scouts through the region soon. Been quiet too long, and festival time always draws the strange types." Old Mav scoffed. "Hope not. Last time they showed up, half the village got interrogated over a thundercrack nobody could explain." "They're not here yet," Dellie added, glancing toward the saloon's open door. "But when they come, they don't knock. Just show up in those gray coats with that empty look in their eyes."
Joren kept his expression still, polishing a glass that didn't need it. He could still picture Tsunami's effortless gesture, the clean cut. No one saw it, but it didn't mean no one would come asking. As dusk deepened beyond the saloon windows, Joren glanced at the old journal tucked beneath the counter. I wonder if that guy is still around town? Joren thought to himself. He might have some answers about my powers.