Read All of Book 1: Here
No matter how many times he drank it, Esmun couldn’t get over the flavor. First was an intense taste of fish, followed by a metallic flavor that zipped around his mouth and down his throat, then came the aftertaste of rotten eggs.
“Ugh, I want to puke,” Warinot muttered.
“If you do, you’re staying behind. It takes ten hours to properly brew this,” Esmun responded. He felt the potion working, changing his aura and obscuring his features.
“Ok, guys, you know the deal. For the next three hours, we have an aura that makes it impossible to focus properly on us. That means we have three hours before people recognize us, and hopefully, three hours before anyone realizes we’re gone, stay spread out and call if anything happens.”
The other three boys nodded.
“Have fun, guys,” Fremont said, then the four left Esmun’s potion room and spread out, heading for the outer court.
Fremont climbed out through a window in the Dining hall. Landing softly in the bushes, he peeked around to see if the coast was clear, then hurried towards the tents. He smiled as the loud chatter and clamor surrounded him.
“Alright, three hours, what to do?” He muttered, looking around. His eyes settled on a boxing ring that was being set up by a group of teenagers.
“Bingo,” he said, smiling as he walked over.
Bao entered a balcony; standing on the railing, he leaped onto a nearby tree and climbed down. He moved into the cluster of tents. And began looking for something to do. Smiling at the general hustle and bustle of the area and looking around the shops. His eyes fell on a red and yellow booth; small contraptions were spread across the table. The boy smiled and walked over.
Warinot lept from a second-story window, crashing into a bush next to the main entrance. As he stood slowly and dusted himself off, he saw Esmun casually walk out the door.
“Dude! What the heck?” he hissed. Esmun shrugged.
“Changing of the Guards, I had a second or two to get out when the door’s view was blocked. You ok? That was some fall.” He said with a smile. Warinot Glared at him and jogged off into the Fair. He found a man setting up an archery range and got in line.
Esmun walked around the Fair, moving between the brightly colored clusters of tents. He saw a small tent with a young man trying to sell his goods as he moved along.
“Guardian Sword Replicas,” the sign read, on a table were a set of four wooden swords with painted blades, Red, Green, Yellow, and Blue. Just like Esmun and the others’ weapons. Esmun grinned and kept walking. Nearly all the tents were selling memorabilia celebrating the day, from Guardian sword replicas to maps of Achana to paintings of the current Creator, Xinar. Esmun stopped as something caught his eye. On the table under one tent stood five glass half circles. The glass was painted gold, representing the Magic Barrier that stood over Achana. Inside the glass bubble was a map of the country, with a Temple of the Book model standing in the center.
“That’s amazing,” Esmun said; the man behind the counter smiled.
“Thank you, sir, each one was hand-made especially for the ceremony today. What better way to celebrate the Great Barrier than with a Model Barrier.” He said, the perfect salesman.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Esmun said, reaching for his coin purse, “how much for one?”
“Only ten Pesí.” The man said. Esmun took out ten small brown coins and handed them over, then took one of the Half Spheres from the table.
“Thank you, sir,” The man said. Esmun thanked him and kept walking.
Another boy climbed into the ring. Fremont breathed heavily as he stood in the middle. Three opponents, three victories, one more stood in line, waiting for his turn.
“Ready?” Fremont asked. The boy nodded, and they began. The boy kicked quickly, but Fremont dogged it and grabbed his foot. The boy pulled his foot out of the way and landed a punch at Fremont’s face. Falling back, the Red Guardian did a sweep kick, knocking the boy off his feet, but he managed to roll away before Fremont could pin him.
“You’re good,” Fremont said.
“You’re just tired.” The boy responded. He sprung to his feet and threw a punch. Fremont caught his fist and spun, quickly flipping the boy over and planting his foot on his shoulder, holding him there until the boy tapped on the ground, giving up. Fremont helped the boy to his feet and shook his hand. The last opponent threw up his arms in surrender, choosing not to even enter the ring with the champion. All of the teenagers applauded, cheering wildly. One of them, the group’s ringleader, climbed into the ring.
“Our Victor!” he said, holding up Fremont’s hand, “you, sir, are impressive. With those moves, you could probably take on a guardian or the creator himself!”
Fremont laughed. If they only knew.
“I wouldn’t say that. The Guardians have magic,” he said. The boy shrugged and got down from the ring.
“Who wants to challenge the champion?” he called. Fremont smiled and looked around. Four opponents, four victories.
Bao stopped in front of a small booth, a pillar covered in miniature paintings of Achana, The Creator, and the image of The Creator and the Guardians sitting on the temple steps. He smiled, remembering that day. It was hot and took around four hours of sitting perfectly still, but the painting turned out good.
Warinot stood in front of a training dummy. The sign above the dummy said, “kick the dummy, knock it over and win.” The girl running the booth counted the money from the people who tried before. Warinot drew his sword, green blade shining in the sunlight. As the boy focused, the weapon transformed into a small Warhammer. He smirked at the owner and ran forward, swinging with all his strength. He hit the Dummy square in the chest; a crack echoed from its base as it tore away from the bolts holding it to the ground and went sailing away.
“What the heck?!” The girl exclaimed. Warinot laughed and put the weapon away.
“Can I choose a prize?” he asked. The girl blinked at him for a second or two, then sighed and gave him a small doll.
“Here you go, now help me find the dummy,” she said.
Esmun stood at the front of the line, flipping through a potion book while a bearded man looked impatient behind the table. Some people in line sighed and looked around, waiting for this guy to finish up so they could purchase stuff. Finally, he shut the book and looked up, and the man’s face lit up.
“Interested, sir?” he asked. Esmun nodded and opened the book again.
“How much for…um…this page, “he asked as he flipped to a new page, “and these two pages?”
“What?” the man asked, looking at him, “Sir, you can’t purchase three pages of a book, and you have to purchase the whole thing. Especially there, this book is one of a kind, with never before seen elixirs in it.”
“I have all the other potion recipes already,” Esmun said with a shrug, “or better versions of them. The only three I’m missing are these three pages; may I buy them?”
“Absolutely not,” the man stated, “It’s all or nothing. If you are not interested in the whole book, I’m sure that someone behind you is, so either but the whole thing or get out of my line.”
Esmun chuckled and complied, pulling out his coin purse. He bought the book and turned around. Opening it, he ripped out the three pages and then handed the rest of the book to the person behind him in line. The man sputtered.
“You can’t do that!” he screamed, “that is a one of a kind potion book passed down-”
Esmun responded by giving the tent support a quick kick. Suddenly, ten books identical to the one Esmun bought fall from the tent’s fabric.
“I suggest you take your ‘one of a kind’ books and leave. The guards don’t appreciate having people get ripped off a few feet from The Temple,” he said, walking away. The man sputtered angrily as his line quickly dissolved. Then he sighed and began picking up his ‘one of a kind’ books.
Chapter 3: here
Will Fall Writings 