The Call of the Dark by Kathleen Kerridge

Author:Kathleen Kerridge [Kerridge, Kathleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781508516545
Amazon: 1508516545
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2015-02-16T16:00:00+00:00

C

The town was a surprise. Eden could not have said exactly what he had been expecting, but whatever it was, it wasn't what he found. Smells of spices and herbs filled his nostrils and his eyes were dazzled by bright arrays of fabrics and silks. Jewels, sold on a rug on the sandy ground by a young man with a bright smile, caught his eye and held him captive for a moment, until Jaizel laughed next to him, touching a hand to his lower back to move him onwards. Food, sold on hand-carved, wheeled, stalls, beckoned to Eden's stomach. His appetite, so long dead, roused slightly. Like a fireside cat, stretching and opening one sleepy eye to take an interest in the filled doughy rolls, steaming on a white muslin cloth nearby. He nodded, silent, when Jaizel asked if he wanted one.

Crowds bustled, pushing past him and Jaizel, going about their business. Men shouted out, selling their wares of clothing and household items; trying to catch the attention of the women dressed in their bright scarves was a team sport, and the volume increased as each seller tried to outdo his neighbour, to secure his sale.

Nibbling the edges of his steaming street snack, Eden stopped with Jaizel to watch and laugh at a pair of acrobats, contorting themselves and dancing in a small space between two permanent storefronts. The sounds and sights were a cacophony of noise, assailing Eden's senses. Reminding him that he had not always felt dead inside.

He remembered trips to Morocco with his dad. Visits to Africa. Long hot days spent in the blazing sunshine of India, his hand clasped tightly by his mother as he was led through the spice markets to hidden cafes, where they met his cousins and aunts, drinking chai and laughing over shared memories and future holiday plans. The faces, here, were pale as alabaster, but everything else was familiar to him. The sounds, the smells and the bright attractive scarves draped over the heads of the women. The headdresses worn by the men, shrouding their faces mysteriously in swathes of attractively arranged frayed materials.

He finished the last of the roll, immediately feeling its loss. The caramelised onions, heated with a touch of chilli and cardamom, left his mouth craving more.

“This way,” Jaizel said, taking his elbow to lead him through the thick crowds and across a wide sandstone enclosed square.

Here and there, people stopped their business as they passed. Scruffily dressed, hair bunched messily, not groomed and completely lacking in the way of tailored tunics or coats, Eden realised just how much he and Jaizel were standing out from the crowd. Some faces looked curiously at them, as though they were sad cases of mental deficiency. Others frowned in consternation, watching them with open suspicion. Only a few looked closely enough at Jaizel to show a flare of startled identification, or a confused recognition.

Eden had the feeling they were outraging public decency, just by looking so out of place. Jaizel was breaking his own cardinal rules, and the rebellion both scared and affronted his subjects.

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