It was a busy day. Mads unscrewed the cap of his flask and took a swig. Bo leaned against the cart and tried to ignore the stares and whispers. Nix sat beside him, growling at every passerby.
But no one wanted to buy wood. The bad night had everyone spooked; they hurried by Mads’s stall with their eyes averted, their heads lowered. Hours passed. No one came near them.
Eventually, Mads leaned over and pulled a handful of coins from his pocket. “Here.” He tossed the coins to Bo. “Buy yourself some of that apple crackling you like.” He took another swig of his flask.
Bo stared at the coins in his palm. Apple crackling was his favorite: thin slices of tangy apple dipped in honey, deep fried, and then lightly salted. It made his stomach rumble just thinking about it, but it made him ache, too, because Bo understood why he was being sent away and why Mads wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“Come on,” said Bo to Nix, and they took off through the market crowded with locals and traders from all corners of the province, and even a handful of Irin soldiers in their green uniforms and brass buttons and swords sheathed at their waists.
“Real Korahku feathers!” cried a seller as Bo passed her stall. “Get your genuine Korahku feathers here!” Bo peered closely at the long, reddish-brown, metal-tipped feathers the seller held high above her head. “Plucked fresh today! Will slice a grown man’s head clean off with a single swipe!” Playfully, the stallholder made to swipe at Bo but stopped when she saw who was peeking out from under the hood. She drew back, fear contorting her face. “Get away from me, Devil-child. You’ll curse my stall!”
Nix barked at her until Bo pulled him away. “Forget it,” he said. “It’s not worth it.”
They continued through the bustling market, slowly this time. Bo kept his hood low and his hands in his pockets. Luckily, he knew the way to the apple crackling stall by heart. Left, right, straight, around, sharp left—
“A spot of rabbit for your little creature, young master?” asked a man on Bo’s right.
Bo ducked his head low, hunching his shoulders. “Keep walking, Nix,” he whispered, but Nix couldn’t resist an offer of food. The little fox trotted toward the man, his tongue flapping out the side of his mouth.
“Traitor,” mumbled Bo. He tugged at the hem of his hood, hovering meters from the stall.
“Here you go, little one.” The strange man offered a strip of dried rabbit meat to the fox.
“Wait, Nix, we haven’t paid for that,” protested Bo, but Nix had already snapped up the meat and was sitting back, waiting for more. There goes my apple crackling, thought Bo. He opened his palm to count his money. “How much?” he said to the man, careful not to meet his eyes.
“No cost, no cost,” said the man. His voice was smooth and gilt-edged. “My name is Galvin. And you?”
Bo pushed his hood back enough to sneak a glance at the stranger. He was middle-aged and rounded, all curves and lumps and mounds, with a pinkish, grayish pallor to his wrinkly skin. He was short—even for an Irin—and his restless eyes never settled in one place.
“I’m Bo.”
“I like your fancy cloak, young Bo,” said Galvin with a smile. His teeth were made of solid gold, blackened around the edges. “Very courtly.”
Bo dipped his gaze, his cheeks burning hot—no one had ever complimented him before. His eyes flicked nervously over the man’s stall: it was full of things. Boxes and rings and plates and knives and carvings and things Bo did not have names for: rusted things and shiny things and sharp things and oddly shaped things. Bo shifted closer.
“See anything you like?” said Galvin. “All good prices for a fine young gentleman such as yourself.”
Bo’s fingers trembled as they hovered over each strange item. He wanted everything. He wanted it because it was new and strange, and suddenly Bo felt how small his life was, how little he knew of the world.
“Maledian merwolf hair?” suggested Galvin, waving his hand over a clear pouch bulging with coarse blue hair. “Or a necklace of troll’s teeth, perhaps? Perfect for warding off tree sprites. Nasty little critters.” He handed Nix another strip of rabbit.
Bo nudged the fox with his boot. “Don’t be greedy,” he whispered.
Nix barked.
“Are so.”
Bo raised his head to ask Galvin what on Ulv tree sprites were when he noticed the shelf behind him. On it sat a hodgepodge of steaming potions in small glass vials and sparkly rocks and globs of gooey green sludge and brightly colored insects trapped in glass cubes. In the center of the shelf was a jar, and in it was a tiny spark of Light just bobbing in the air; when Bo looked directly at it, a sharp fizzle ran up and down his spine and he had to look away because it hurt his eyes. Bo’s heart hammered in his chest.
“What is that?”
“What good taste you have,” crooned Galvin with a golden smile. He hadn’t even turned to look at what Bo was pointing at. He leaned in close, lowering his voice. “But it’s the only one of its kind and too expensive for you, I’m afraid.”
“I’ve got money,” protested Bo.
Galvin laughed; his gold teeth glistened. “Do you?” he said. He sucked on his lips thoughtfully, then nodded. “Very well. Tell me, what do you know about wishes?”
Bo frowned. “When you want something, you say it to yourself and you hope it comes true. That’s a wish, isn’t it?” Bo often wished his mother hadn’t abandoned him and his father hadn’t died, but no matter how many times he wished for such a thing, it never came true. So he didn’t think wishes were real.
Galvin motioned for Bo to lean in. He did and the Irin lowered his voice even more. “That’s part of it, yes,” said Galvin, “but if you want your wish to come true, you need a Star.”
“A Star? No such thing. Everyone knows that.”
Galvin slid his stubby fingers around Bo’s wrist and pulled him in closer. “Not true, young Bo. Not true at all. Long ago, children not much younger than you were sold to ruthless wish-traders, just to extract the wishes from inside fallen Stars. Very dangerous job,” he said. “And now that all the Stars are gone, no more wishes. Except this one.” He jutted his chin at the silvery glass jar behind him.
Bo didn’t believe a word of it and yet . . . how his heart raced when he looked at the little speck of Light in that jar! How it made him think of his mother, why she left him in the forest, where she was now, and if perhaps—perhaps—she missed him. Bo was so intoxicated by these thoughts that he stopped worrying about whether or not Stars were real or if wishes could be trapped in small glass jars. All he could think about was: What if he could wish to meet his mother and what if such a wish could come true? Surely she would tell him it had all been a mistake. How much she regretted leaving him! How happy she was to be reunited with her boy!
Bo licked his dry lips. “How much?” he asked.
Galvin jerked back, releasing his grip on Bo. “How much? How much? You could wish for anything—fame, fortune, love . . . What price would you place on such things?”
“I’ve got . . .” Bo counted. “. . . five Raha.”
Galvin threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Five Raha? For the last wish in the land?” He patted Bo’s hand. “Oh, my lad, you’ve had a treat for your pet. I took pity on you because of the way the villagers stare and whisper and spit at you. But I don’t pity you enough to sell you the last wish in the land for five Raha. On you go.” He waved Bo away. “Shoo! Be off with you and your five Raha.”