It was the first Fireday of the month, and the booths of Pantmawr’s bustling downtown market were crowded with overpriced jewels, lush embroidery, and decadent food from across the Valley. A blazing sun augmented the smell of fresh bread, strong spices, and rich cheeses. It was full of so much life and vibrancy that no one would notice four troublemakers.
A statue of a misshapen trout spitting water from its mouth marked the entrance of the town where I grew up and served as a place to meet with my fellow agents of mischief. Leaning back against the stone, singing to himself, was my best friend Willow, a mountain nomad from the distant north. His hair was the color of a cloud brightened by a yellow sun, and the blue scarves wrapped around his arms could have been cut from the sky.
The sun flashed in his eyes when he noticed my curly head bobbing down the street.
“There’s my fellow criminal!” He leapt high and floated on an invisible breeze, attracting the attention of everyone in the pavilion. Like many northerners, his natural power allowed him to move like a feather in the wind, and he was more than happy to show off.
When he landed next to me, my arm lurched around his neck. “You can’t escape me!” I declared, ruffling his coiffed hair. “Surrender or face the consequences!”
He tugged at my arms to no avail. “NEVER! Rotten Valley-boy! Ratcatcher!” He made a noisy show of choking and fainting. I let him go, and he toppled to the ground, laughing.
“How’s the view from down there?” I asked, leaning forward with a self-satisfied smirk.
He popped up and brushed dirt from the front of his tight black shirt. “I prefer the view from up high. I’m not surprised to see you here first, Badger. If you’re not ten minutes early, you’re late!”
“I have standards,” I said, straightening the ornamental pins on my satchel handle. “Now cut to the chase. What is this great heist you mentioned yesterday?”
His ocean-dark eyes glistened. Willow jumped on the nearest breeze and floated away, above the crowd that grew with the dawn. I jogged after him, but not before cursing under my breath. My friend had a nasty habit of leaving me in suspense.
The sweet, cloying smell of the Fireday market complemented the raspberry sunrise. I whisked around the corner and onto the polished, brick lane leading to the town square, past other groups of people heading the same way, holding empty shopping baskets and the hands of their children. Willow danced in circles above their heads, turquoise scarves spiraling around as the children giggled and pointed.
In the heart of the market, Willow landed in front of a cart selling cooked hazelnuts coated in honey and sugar. My mouth watered at the irresistible aroma.
“Hey! It’s little Badger!” The wrinkled vendor revealed a gappy smile at the sight of us. “And the nomad with the lovely voice! Can I interest you in something delicious, muh boys?”
“Silly question, Manta,” I teased.
Willow floated upside down. “Give us your biggest order!”
He waved his ring-crowded hand towards the market center. “I saw your Mama Robin setting up about two streets over. Tell her hello!”
I'd lived in the town of Pantmawr for my entire life, so I knew almost everyone. Manta Of-the-Jungle had sold his signature honey hazelnuts in the exact same place ever since Willow and I were little. My friend made a bit of a show digging in his pockets for money, but Manta slapped his hand and gave us the food for free.
We walked away, through the archway of green and yellow trees, savoring our delicious treat. When we were out of earshot, Willow said, “It won’t be easy pulling off this heist if your mom is here. You should have said something.”
I smacked him, lovingly, on the back of the head.
“Hey what gives!” The pitch in his voice spiked. “That's twice today I've been slapped! Not a good omen.”
“My mother is here every week,” I reminded him, with a swift roll of the eyes. “On that note, tell me what the deep hell we’re doing!”
Willow’s crooked teeth made for a wild grin. After shoveling more roasted hazelnuts in his mouth, he grabbed the edge of my sleeve and pulled me along. “Please, let's meet with the others before I unveil my genius. If Robin is on the town hall street, we won’t run into her. Trust me, this is a good idea. A harmless crime. Barely a crime.”
The others Willow spoke of loitered around a stall selling fresh- caught Jewel Fish, glittering blue and pink on a bed of ice. Some were still flopping.
With the focus and confident stance of a scholar with something to prove, the third member of our band scrutinized the sapphire eyes of the trout. Her name was Sharp Of-the-City, and she was hard to miss, being noticeably taller than most Pantmawr locals. Glossy black hair reached her elbows, and she held herself like someone much older and wiser, though her face was all youth and beauty. Her ensemble was just as imposing, a pristine set of silver armor, lined with plum-colored leather, and a blade of silver and bone holstered on either hip.
Sharp caught my eye and waved. From behind her, the fourth and final member of our group revealed themself and locked a pair of threatening orange eyes on Willow.
“Blondie! My nemesis!” they chirped, with a dangerous smile. Piranha Of-the-Jungle was an androgynous feline with dark brown skin and slit-pupil eyes that could hunt a moth in the dark. They pulled back an arrow with frightening speed and shot it straight above us. Willow caught it one-handed.
“Excellent form!” the archer praised, striding over to us on catlike limbs hidden inside loose black pants. A ruffled, vermillion shirt clashed with bronze hair braided in tight rows.
The Jungle was deep in the south, a much more treacherous place than the peaceful Valley. I had never been, but I knew it was full of people blurring the line between human and animal, as well as lines of gender. I’d never known if Piranha was male or female, so we addressed them like they were two people in one.
Piranha slinked an arm around my shoulder, orange eyes close to my face. The pupils widened into saucers, and they spoke with a nasal inflection. “I’m surprised Willow convinced you to come with us, freckle-face. I didn’t think you’d be down for petty crime.”
They tried to lasso me with their sunset scarves, but I poked them in the stomach and ducked away.
“Nice try!” I teased. “I’m not stealing anything unless feather-boy here tells me what it is. Something tells me you need my power.” I narrowed my eyes at Willow, arms crossed proudly.
He offered a smarmy grin, hair flopping over deep blue eyes, and said, “Let’s move a bit further out of the crowd first.”
We followed our frustrating friend as he floated to a vacated spot behind Rhino’s Variety Store. The attractive smell of the market was replaced with the scent of mold and rotting fruit, and a family of fattened rats perked up from their pile of old food to observe us.
Willow crossed his legs and hovered a few feet in the air. This ability was called Feather. He was born in a Northern Mountain tribe neighboring the inaccessible, towering plateau of the Wind Kingdom. In order to reach it, most northern people had some capacity for flight.
He beckoned the group close with hypnotic eyes. “You see, I heard a rumor about a traveling vendor from Pavv, a guy with blond dreadlocks who sells fruits of all sorts and does business with the people Of-the-Wilds.”
Willow exchanged a glance with each of us, as if he expected us to fill in the blanks.
“Why is that important?” Sharp twirled one of her thin, silver swords in a circle. “Half a dozen vendors are from the Wilds.”
“Because…” he trailed off to ensure we were hanging on to his every word, “this guy is selling Wild Fruit.”
My eyes widened, finally seeing the extent of his plan. Wild Fruit was a rarity at the Fireday market, as it could only be found in the deepest parts of the Savage Wilds. If normal Valley people like us consumed it, we’d be charged with Divine energy for several hours.
Pir’s wild, pointy grin contrasted with the sour frown on Sharp’s face as she stopped twirling her blades.
