The Market
“And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, that the sons of Heaven saw the daughters of men that they were fair, and they took them wives of all that they chose.”
Genesis 6:1-2
Long before Agnes was ever taken, her mother had told her stories about them. After God shaped mankind from the clay, while the Earth still hung half-formed in the nascent days of creation, a war had broken out among the angels of the Lord. Light Bringer, Morning Star, most beloved among the holy messengers, too proud to humble himself before Adam, gathered a third of the legions to himself. But Saint Michael, chief among the archangels, with smoldering sword and righteous fury, called upon another third, vanquishing Lucifer’s forces and banishing them to Hell.
And those among the remaining third, taking neither the side of God nor the side of the Fallen, were likewise cast out, sent to the newly created Earth to dwell among mankind, lost forever to the glories of Heaven and the agonies of Hell.
“These,” her mother told her, “became the Aos Sí, worshiped as the gods of old, coupling with human women, and bringing God’s wrath through the Flood. Even now, they live among us, snatching infants from their cradles and luring careless young girls away.” She picked up her wooden spoon from the kitchen table, hands still white with flour. “And that’s why I always tell you to keep away from those hills. Now get across my knee.”
Agnes now wished she had listened as she sat hunched beneath the awning of a rickety market stall alongside several other children. Clouds veiled the sky overhead, barely visible between the dense crowning of trees, more trees than Agnes had ever seen upon the heather-matted landscape of her own country. Drizzle scattered its glassy beads across every surface. A damp chill soaked through their skin and couldn’t be shaken off for all their trembling. The children all varied in age—between ten and fourteen-years-old. All were taken from different places, their bodies all cast from different hues of Adamic clay, but the one thing they did share in common was their sex. All female. “The only sort of mortal that can fetch a decent price,” the merchant had said. Agnes knew scripture well enough to know why.
She watched the creatures milling about the market, some stopping to peer into their stall with curiosity or covetousness. Very few of them looked like the angels in the stained-glass windows of her village church. None bore feathered wings or fiery swords or interlocking wheels rimmed with eyes. None said “fear not” or offered a prophecy or held a glowing coal between their fingers. Some certainly could have passed for demons. The merchant himself bore such a resemblance with his pallid complexion, angular features, and long-drawn fingers like knives. But most appeared as something between the two, their forms far more strange and varied than those of her own kind: an ungodly amalgam of flora and fauna spliced upon a human scaffolding, bearing wings or horns or scales or leaves. God had cast them down to Earth, and the Earth had swallowed them up. One stopped to speak with the merchant. Moss gripped his scalp and fungi shingled his neck. Agnes looked away so as not to stare.
A weight fell against her shoulder, and she startled. One of the younger girls had swooned.
“I’m sorry.” Another reached over and pulled the girl’s limp body into her arms. “She’s just a wee bit light-headed. We haven’t eaten anything in days.”
Agnes could only guess that they were sisters, both with olive skin and dark hair, wearing hand-sewn cotton dresses with mismatched buttons and visible patching. Her accent suggested that they hailed from across the sea, occupying the northernmost tip of that kingdom that still ruled them. They had been there yesterday when Agnes first arrived. She too hadn’t eaten anything since two days prior and was starting to feel its effects throbbing in her skull and weakening her limbs.
Mustering up what little remained of her strength, she reached over and tugged the hem of the merchant’s trousers. “Sir? I beg your pardon, sir.”
He glowered down, arms crossed, black eyes squinting as he kicked her hand away. A pipe dangled from his mouth, emitting a sharp, pungent smell that only made her headache worse.
“Sir please, we’re hungry. Won’t you fetch us something to eat?” Her mother’s stories had also warned against eating their food, but whatever the consequence, she’d heard enough about the Famine to know it was preferable to starving to death.
The merchant spat on the ground and looked away. “Haven’t got anything.” He too had an accent, one she couldn’t quite place, but he spoke her language well enough.
“Please sir, can’t you find something?” Steam rose up from a makeshift kitchen just a few stalls down, spiking the air with the aroma of roasting meat. Still, the merchant kept his eyes fixed forward, ignoring her plea.
She gave his trouser leg another yank, drawing his attention once more. “She’s already fainted.” Agnes jerked her thumb towards the collapsed girl. “How well do you think your goods will sell if the rest of us do the same?”
His eyes drew into slits, but without another word, he stood, muttering under his breath as he stalked off towards the food stalls. Had Agnes not been shackled to the other girls, she might have taken the opportunity to run. But although the chains looked feeble, she already knew them to be unbreakable. Not even the sewing shears in her pocket had force enough to bend them. Instead, she settled back in next to the dark-haired girl and waited.
“Thank you,” the girl said, stroking her sister’s hair.
Agnes hugged her legs in close, resting her chin atop her knees. “The least they can do is feed us if they’re going to keep us here.” A lump rose in her throat, but she forced it back down. There was no use in crying. She had cried herself for the past three nights and had only a throbbing migraine to show for it. Instead, she surrendered to the yawning chasm of numb resignation, burying herself in its void.
“What’s your name?”
Agnes glanced over to see the dark-haired girl peering at her with striking hazel eyes. She really was quite pretty. Someone was going to pay a lot for her.
“Agnes. You?”
“Eva.” Gesturing to her sister, she added, “and this is Clara.” She looked out at the strange beings milling about the market. “Do you suppose one of them might take the three of us together?”
Agnes had no answer to that, certainly not one that could offer hope or comfort. Thankfully, none was needed. The merchant had returned with a few loaves in his arms, dropping them in a heap upon the rug. The girls fell upon them immediately, ripping off hunks of bread with dirty fingers, clawing and fighting for every fistful. Agnes snatched a heel for herself, seeing right away that there wasn’t going to be enough for all of them. Eva likewise managed to grab a hunk of it, but offered it to her newly revived sister instead. Hungry as she was, Agnes couldn’t let her go empty-handed. She broke her own portion in half and held it out. Eva took it with a look of gratitude, savoring a mouthful of crust.
They were so preoccupied with the meal, none of them noticed the woman who had stopped to converse with the merchant, speaking in hushed tones and surreptitious glances as she pointed towards one of the feasting captives. Only when the merchant unlocked the shackles at Clara’s feet did any of them realize what was happening.
Eva dropped her bread; another girl quickly snatched it up. “Wait.” The chains pulled taut as she reached for her sister, now taken aside for inspection. “Please. Take me, too.”
The merchant threw an opportunistic smile her way. “Sisters,” he explained to the woman. “Don’t want to be separated, you see. I’ll give you a bargain for the pair if you’re interested.”
But the woman couldn’t spare Eva a passing glance, too busy checking Clara’s gums and behind her ears. “My lady needs only the one.”
A keening tore from Eva’s throat as she watched money change hands, her sister staring back in mute terror as the woman led her away. Again, she tried to lunge forward, but the merchant raised his fist to strike. Agnes threw herself between them, taking Eva into her arms and pulling her down to sob against her shoulder.
They remained that way well after night had fallen, the flood of Eva’s grief pouring out, every drop of it collecting upon the neckline of her dress, the both of them nestled together on the rain-drenched rug like two halves of a seed, soon to cast roots into foreign soil.
