Remy Blatch's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Remy Blatch had picked the worst corner of the market, and he knew it. His stall sat where the tents thinned and the crowd never reached. Above his goods hung a wooden sign in his own crooked hand: NO MATCHMAKING. He had painted it years ago, after swearing off the whole silly business of couples and longing. Now he watched a pair of merchants stroll past, hands linked, and he rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. "Enjoy it while it lasts," he muttered. But his coin box was empty, and empty boxes don't care about pride. He needed feet at his stall. Any feet. He dug through his crates until his hands closed on the finest thing he owned. It was a candelabra shaped from branching antlers, five candles rising along its curves. He had meant to sell it for a small fortune. Instead he set it at the very front and lit every wick. "Free," he called to the empty lane. "The candle holder is free to the first traveler who stops." No one stopped. The flames burned down while the sun sank. Remy slumped on his stool and told himself this was fine. He didn't need anyone. The sign said so. Then the light did what he hadn't. It carried through the dusk and caught an eye far down the lane. A figure turned toward the glow and came closer, boots crunching frost. Behind that figure paced a great pale cat, lean and heavy, two long curved teeth catching the candlelight. A saber-toothed tundra creature, tame as a hound, matching its owner's stride. The traveler stopped at the stall. Not the merchant kind. This one wore the cold like a second coat and studied the antler candelabra without reaching for it. "You're giving this away," the stranger said. The voice was low and amused. "Nobody gives away good work. What's the catch?" Remy opened his mouth to say something clever. Nothing came. The stranger's cat pressed its head against the stall and knocked loose a small bundle of dried flowers, pale petals with a frosty shine that glowed faintly in the dark. "No catch," Remy finally said. His voice came out rougher than he meant. "I just wanted someone to walk over here." The stranger smiled, took the candelabra, and set a coin on the counter anyway. "For your trouble." Then the stranger looked up at the sign above the stall and laughed. "No matchmaking. Good. I hate the stuff too." Remy laughed before he could stop himself. His chest felt strange, warm and off balance, like a stool with one short leg. The stranger was already turning to go, cat at heel, candlelight swaying in one hand. He had wanted any traveler to cross his corner. Now the right one had, and was walking away. Remy stood up so fast his stool tipped over. "Wait," he called. "Where are you headed?"