The Night Market

“Where are you going?”

“Out for a ride.”

“Where?”

“Cedar grove, as always.”

“Don't be a smartass. That mountain is dangerous, and it’s already getting dark. Don’t get hurt and don’t come home late. You’re gonna miss the new Seinfeld episode.”

“Tape it for me.”

“If I remember.”

“Bye, mom.”

---

The cool wind of the evening blows through my hair as I race down Belmont avenue, which goes down to the trailhead. The air fills my lungs. My heart pumps. Adrenaline soars as I race up and down the hill.

The fading sunlight splashes the tip of the pine treetops with an emerald colour. Evening twilight throws her mantle over the mountains.

Riding downhill is a rush. I let the force of gravity carry me onward; vigilant of my surroundings, I ride until the paved road becomes gravel and urban dwellings turn to trees.

I come to a sudden halt, skidding to the middle of a crossroads. I look around and listen to the silence of the trees. My breathing is deep. Around me, the aroma of the forest is soothing.

An owl hoots up on the canopy.

The wheels snap, crackle, and pop over the pebbles and loose gravel when I put weight on the pedal, straight across the trail. The loose gravel turns to packed dirt, muddy because of the rains that blew across the regions last week, causing all sorts of havoc, even dropping a tree in the neighbour's backyard.

I lose track of time among the leaves, and the spaces that have filled quickly with darkness.

With my thumb, I turn the bike's light on and off. Good! The switch is still working.

When riding, I lose track of time. My focus narrows because I think only of the trail and nothing else. Shrubs, streams, trunks, rocks, roots, branches- it’s all a blur in motion.

I keep riding with my gaze fixed ahead, swerving here and there.

I feel a sudden drop in temperature. A dense darkness descends. Then up ahead in the trail, I see glowing orbs dancing among the trees, changing colours like Christmas lights.

I stare at the ghostly spectacle as I grip the handles tight.

I lean the bicycle on the gnarled tree roots that poke out of the ground with their thick fat fingers. Taking a few tentative steps, I move closer to the orbs.

Within the spheres, I see forms moving, colours blending into each other in a dreamy space. Tents appear scattered throughout the forest, moving forms, voices in a myriad languages and modes of communication.

“What are you doing here!?”

The voice snaps me back to reality.

“Ah!” I utter in surprise and turn to see a man standing on the trail.

“Who are you?” I ask him in a shaky voice.

He comes out of the shadows wearing a kaleidoscopic outfit that swirls with shapes and colours.

“What did you see?” he asks.

“I just saw some dancing lights,” I say.

“And…?”

There’s no point in lying.

“Some tents. Voices. I think there was music too.”

“Come with me, Rod,” the man says. “Don’t touch anything and avoid interacting with the orbs.”

“How do you know my name?” I call after him. “Wait! Where are you going?”

He stops at the base of an oak.

“My name is August. And to answer your question, we’re going to find a way out before you get into trouble. The Market Closes soon, and you don’t want to be trapped in here when it does. Follow me and don’t touch anything.”

I pick up the bike and push it up the trail, following the man who calls himself August.

The orbs grow brighter as we follow the meandering mountain path at the edge of the strange market.

I look up and see an owl perched on a branch, silhouetted against the light of the waxing moon.

Presently, we come upon a small wooden bridge carved with intricate designs the likes of which I have never seen before, but it kind of reminds of the work by H. R. Giger of Alien fame. As I cross the bridge with the bike beside me, I run my hand along the intricately ornate railing.

There is a rumbling sound.

“Darn it, kid," mumbles August. "I told you not to touch anything. Stay sharp, son.”

A puff of smoke bursts up ahead, and a floating blue orb appears at the foot of the bridge, hovering about five feet off the ground.

“Leaving so soon?” the orb transmits. There is no sound, but I can hear it in my mind.

“He’s just a lost kid,” says August. “He’s going back home.”

“So what is he going to trade for the privilege?” the orb inquires.

“Trade?” I say looking at August, “What is this place?”

“You mean you don’t know?” the orb asks.

I shake my head.

“This is the Night Market! An intergalactic and inter-dimensional exchange of goods and services. Everything is fair and everything is for sale. So what have you got to trade?”

“I don’t have anything to trade.”

“Can I interest you on a balmy beach resort near Betelgeuse? The water is to die for. Or maybe you prefer winter sports on Europa. The ski hills go on for endless miles. You don’t strike me as the sporty type though, so perhaps you’d be interested in a heli-graphical model of galactic evolution? How about longevity? Love? Intelligence? We offer reasonable exchanges and hard to beat terms across three milky way quadrants, with the exception of Orion, where the locals are very unfriendly.”

“Let us pass, Nion,” August says with a sigh. “He’s not here to trade. Just passing through.”

“Passing through? Haw! Haw! He has seen the market, dear boy. And you know the rule: in the Market you must trade! Also, never talk about the market. Right, Rod? Haw! Haw!”

The orb glows brighter and approaches me.

"I don't get it," I say.

"Oh that's right. It's too soon in your timeline," the orb replies. "It doesn't matter in any case. So, tell me, dear boy, what is that contraption in your hands?”

I look down.

“It’s a bicycle,” I say.

“A bicycle! I have heard of this machine. Show me how it works.”

I look at August, who nods with a resigned look.

I walk back and get on the bike, then do a couple of loops around the trees.

The orb makes a whirring sound.

“How delightful! It’s a primitive spatio-temporal displacement machine. I tell you what? I have a precious stone from the planet that you call K2-18b. This stone is so rare that the inhabitants of the planet think of it as sacred. It’s yours in exchange for that bicycle.”

A small blue and white stone appears floating in the air, swirling stripes on its surface.

“But my parents bought me this bike,” I say.

“Ah, you drive a hard bargain, young friend. You’ll fit in very well in the Night Market. Alright then. I will throw in this ring from Proxima Centauri. When you put it on, it will grant you one wish and one wish only.”

“What’s the catch? There’s always a catch,” I say.

“There's no catch," says the orb. "But you must really want the wish with all your heart, or else it won't work.”

I roll my eyes. "How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Look around you, earthling!” The orb flashes and spins. “You’re talking to a floating quantum structure of light, a man dressed in an awful suit with swirling colours, and you’re surrounded by a bunch of floating orbs. Do you think I’m going to lie to you? For all you know, this could all be a dream, or hallucination if you've been nibbling those mushrooms, but if you exchange the bike, then no harm done. Right? You wake up and violin! your bike is there.”

“The word is voila, and what if-“

“We don’t have much time, kid,” intervenes August. “The Night Market will close soon, and you don’t want to get caught between dimensions.”

“Oh, you certainly don’t,” says the orb. "I have an uncle that-"

“Fine! Go ahead!" I finally say throwing up my hands. "Take the damn bike.”

As soon as I think it, the bike vanishes. The stone appears in my right hand, and the ring in the left one.

The world turns dark, and in a blink, I find myself alone in the forest.

I’m standing up, not lying on the ground, so it wasn’t a dream, after all. My bike is gone, and in my hands, the two objects are still there.

What’s that really an interdimensional market? Or some kind of elaborate scam? Either way, I’m out of a bike, and now I have to come up with an excuse for my parents.

I begin the long hike across the mountain trail, followed by the hooting owl. Thankfully, the moon is bright enough to guide me back to the trailhead. There, I stop and look at the ring. It's pearly white with a black starry stone in the middle.

I’ve read enough stories and seen enough shows to know that asking for wishes from magical objects is rarely a good idea. I imagine that you have to formulate the wish carefully so you don’t get jerked around by the genie in the bottle.

I slide the ring on my finger.

In an instant, my bike materializes on the trail.

“Ha!”

I pocket the ring and jump on the bike to begin the arduous trek up the hill.

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