FORGOTTEN SPELLS

The forest was alive with the colours of autumn. Leaves in shades of gold, crimson, and fiery orange blanketed the ground, rustling softly as a light breeze swept through the trees. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of earth and woodsmoke, a reminder that the harvest season was in full swing. The sun hung low in the sky, its pale light filtering through the canopy, casting long shadows that danced across the moss-covered ground. A faint mist clung to the surface of the lake, shimmering in the morning light, as if the water itself was breathing.

Birds called to one another from the treetops, their songs echoing through the stillness, while the occasional splash from the lake hinted at the presence of unseen creatures beneath its glassy surface. The world seemed to hold its breath as if savouring the last, fleeting moments of warmth before the chill of winter set in.

At the edge of the lake, where the trees parted to reveal a small clearing, sat Lena. She was perched on a patch of soft, mossy ground, her legs tucked beneath her and a book resting open on her lap. The rich hues of the forest framed her, making her seem like a part of the landscape, a quiet observer in a world of vibrant colour. Her auburn hair, tinged with hints of red that matched the leaves around her, caught the sunlight as it peeked through the trees. She wore a simple dress of muted green, the fabric gathering in gentle folds around her, blending with the earthy tones of her surroundings.

A small brown bag lay beside her, its worn leather softened by years of use. Inside were her most treasured possessions—books she had collected over time, each one a gateway to a different world. Today, she was lost in the pages of an old tome, its parchment yellowed and fragile, the ink faded but still legible. She read slowly, savouring each word, her mind wandering far from the tranquil lake and the forest that surrounded her.

The lake was her sanctuary, a place where she could escape the everyday bustle of life in the town. Her family's home was just beyond the tree line, but here, surrounded by nature, she could pretend that she was somewhere else entirely, perhaps in one of the stories she loved so much.

A sudden rustling in the underbrush behind her broke her concentration. Before she could turn around, a voice spoke, close to her ear.

Lena gasped, the book slipping from her fingers as she spun around. Standing there, grinning from ear to ear, was Jarin, his brown hair tousled and his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. He was close behind her, having sneaked up while she was engrossed in her book, clearly pleased with himself.

"Jarin! You scared me half to death!" Lena exclaimed, her heart still racing from the shock.

Jarin chuckled, stepping fully into view. "That was the idea. I've been looking for you everywhere. Went by your house and it was empty. your father told me you left at dawn."

Lena huffed, trying to hide her smile as she stood up, carefully collecting her things. "I just wanted some quiet before we head to the market. It's not every day I get to read in peace, you know."

"You and your books," Jarin teased, bending down to pick up the fallen tome. He flipped it over, glancing at the cover before handing it back to her. "I'll never understand how you can spend so much time reading about things that aren't even real."

"They're real enough in here," Lena said, tapping her temple with a knowing smile. Internally, Lena acknowledged Jarin's point. They had been preparing for this market day for weeks, ever since Jarin had finished carving the latest batch of wooden goods. His work was fine and detailed, the kind that fetched a good price from those who appreciated craftsmanship. Lena often helped him sell his wares, not because she had any particular skill in haggling, but because she enjoyed the time they spent together. It was a small, simple life, but it was theirs.

Jarin shook his head, smiling as he started walking backward. "The market won't wait for your books. We've got goods to sell, remember? If we're late, all the good spots will be taken." As he spoke, Lena reached into her bag and pulled out an apple, tossing it at him with a playful grin. Jarin caught it effortlessly, turning himself straight and biting into it with a satisfied crunch. Lena laughed and began following his trail through the forest.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Lena and Jarin reached the town square each carrying a box. The box was roughly constructed, made of wooden planks bound together with crude nails, it held the carved wood pieces that Jarin had painstakingly created.

The square was paved with cobblestones, worn smooth by years of foot traffic and the passage of carts. In the center of the square stood a large, ancient oak tree, its gnarled branches providing shade to a nearby stone bench where townsfolk often sat to rest or chat.

The bustling square was already in full swing, with merchants calling out their wares and shoppers weaving between stalls. The air was filled with a symphony of sounds—laughter, haggling, and the occasional clatter of pots and pans.

The familiarity of the bustling scene was comforting, a reminder of the many market days they had experienced before. Yet, this year felt different, the weight of their situation pressing heavily on their minds.

The yearly market day was a major event, drawing people from other towns, including merchants eager to sell their goods and buyers searching for unique items. For Lena and Jarin, it was a crucial opportunity to showcase Jarin's finely carved wood pieces, hoping to earn enough money to help Jarin's ailing mother.

To one side, a group of children darted between stalls, their faces painted with bright colours for the festival. They squealed with delight as they chased each other, weaving through the legs of adults who stepped aside with good-natured smiles. Nearby, a merchant demonstrated the intricacies of his handmade jewellry, his display sparkling under the morning sun. Customers gathered around, admiring the delicate craftsmanship and exchanging excited whispers about their favourites.

At another stall, a baker proudly displayed an array of pastries, their golden crusts glistening with a sugary sheen. A small crowd formed around the stall, drawn by the tantalizing aroma of fresh bread and cinnamon. The baker cheerfully handed out samples, his hands deftly arranging the pastries as he chatted with potential buyers.

Further down the square, an elderly woman sold vibrant bouquets of autumn flowers. She chatted animatedly with passersby, her hands gently arranging the blooms as she shared stories about the magical properties of each flower. Her stall was a riot of color, and the flowers' scents mixed with the fragrances of the other market offerings.

A pair of street performers set up their act near the center of the square. One played a lively tune on a fiddle, while the other danced with impressive agility, his movements sharp and rhythmic. A small crowd gathered to watch, tossing coins into the performers' hat as they applauded the lively performance.

Nearby, a blacksmith hammered away at his anvil, the rhythmic clang of metal on metal punctuating the air. His stall showcased a variety of finely crafted tools and decorative ironwork, each piece gleaming with a polished finish. Curious onlookers stopped to watch the blacksmith at work, their eyes widening at the sparks that flew with each strike of his hammer.

Lena's father, a skilled craftsman known for his precision and artistry, was the one at the forge. His strong arms moved with practiced ease, shaping metal into intricate designs. As he worked, he chatted with customers, sharing stories about the origins of his pieces and the techniques he used. His stall was not just a showcase of his work but a testament to his dedication and skill, adding a personal touch to the market's festive atmosphere.

Today was not just another market day; it was the day of the festival that marked the end of the Dark War, a conflict that had nearly wiped out their country Arathor centuries ago. The town celebrated this day with great reverence, honoring the peace that had been secured through a remarkable and mysterious alliance. Unlike typical wars fought with neighboring lands, the Dark War was said to involve forces far beyond the ordinary—a coalition of supernatural beings, including elves, fairies, and even creatures of darkness and nightmares. Legends spoke of how these beings had come together to help their ancestors, and how the neighbouring country Veridonia which had once been an enemy was now part of their kingdom.

Over time, the story of the supernatural intervention had become a myth, a tale told to capture the imagination and teach the values of unity and perseverance. But for Lena, the myth was more than just a story—it was a source of endless fascination. She often wondered what it would have been like to live through such an extraordinary event, and she loved delving into every detail of the legend, even if it was just in the pages of old books.

As Lena and Jarin made their way toward the space allotted for their stall, the festive hustle and bustle of the market enveloped them. The square was alive with activity, but as they neared their designated area, a sense of unease grew. Their space was already occupied.

A single merchant had set up their goods in the exact spot where Lena and Jarin were supposed to be, their vibrant displays pushing into the space. Lena's curiosity was piqued as she observed the merchant's distinctive appearance. Not from here, she thought, noting his elaborate cloak and unusual fabrics that set him apart from the local vendors. His broad-brimmed hat adorned with colorful feathers and his accent further hinted at distant lands.

Jared's face flushed with frustration. "This can't be happening," he muttered, his grip tightening on the box of carved wooden goods he carried.

Without a word, he marched toward the encroaching stall, his movements quick and determined. Lena, her own box of wares in hand, followed closely behind, her heart pounding with anxiety. The festive atmosphere seemed to blur around them as they navigated through the throng of people.

Jarin reached the misplaced stall and confronted the merchants with a stern expression. "Excuse me," he said, his voice edged with anger, "this space was reserved for us. We need to set up our stall here." The merchant glanced up at him for a moment, taking in Jarin's tense demeanor. Nearby customers turned their attention to the scene. Jarin raised his eyebrows, clearly exasperated, as the merchant's expression hardened.

The merchant placed his hands on his hips and replied, "I paid for this spot. I'm not moving." His tone was firm and unapologetic, indicating that he was not easily swayed.

Jarin's frustration deepened, his temper visibly rising. Lena, sensing that the situation could escalate quickly, decided to step in. She placed her box down gently and moved to stand beside Jarin, her voice calm and measured. "Excuse me," she said, addressing the merchant with a polite but firm tone, "we understand you've paid for the spot, but this area was reserved for us. Is there any way we can work something out?"

The merchant barely glanced at Lena. Instead, he took off his broad-brimmed hat, holding it under his arm with an air of theatrical annoyance.As the hat came off, Lena could now see the merchant's age more clearly. He appeared to be in his forties or fifties,

 He then repeated himself, emphasising each word with exaggerated lip movements. "I paid," he said, stretching the syllables deliberately. His dramatic gestures made it clear he had no intention of listening or negotiating.

This only fuelled Jarin's frustration further. He placed his box by his feet and, unable to contain his anger, pushed past Lena, confronting the merchant directly. "We reserved this spot a month ago!" Jarin snapped. 

The merchant snapped back with equal energy, his face contorted with indignation. "Of course I paid for it!" he retorted, his voice sharp and filled with defiance. "Money talks and I paid for this space. If you didn't secure it properly, that's your problem, not mine." His tone was brimming with arrogance, making it clear he had no intention of acknowledging any prior arrangements.

Jarin's frustration was palpable, and he was about to say something more when a loud voice cut through the commotion. "Okay, boys, quiet it now!" The authoritative tone brooked no argument. Lena's heart sank at the sound, a feeling of dread washing over her. She hated that voice—It was the voice of a young constable, just twenty-three years old, and two years older than Lena and Jarin. He was the son of the mayor, a fact that Lena resented deeply. To her, it seemed he had been handed his position without earning it, unlike others who had worked hard for their roles. The constable's presence and his authoritative tone did nothing to ease Lena's irritation, and she felt a pang of frustration as he approached, ready to enforce the rules with a sense of entitlement she found undeserved.

Jarin and Lena didn't need to turn to see who it was; they knew that voice all too well. They could already anticipate the constable's approach, fully aware that he would come to enforce the rules, likely siding with the merchant.