Not much had changed since the last time Duncan Ward set foot in the Scottish Witch Market, although that was only about fifty years ago.
Literal fairy lights still lit up the perpetually dim marketplace, and ‘elevators’ magically powered by air remained the main mode of transportation between the levels. After all, these things could operate forever without the need for maintenance as long as there was enough magic in the air to fuel them.
Most of the stalls were still run by the same vendors as well, considering how most supernatural beings were typically more long-lived than humans. As such, their standard catalogue of products remained unchanged over the years. Things like protective wardings, mystical insects, blessed air, and even professional exorcism services— ever since the market’s opening day— were still for sale.
The only addition that Duncan noticed was something that resembled the new Harley-Davidson WLA motorcycles, except that they had been modified with shiny skin and red muscles instead of the usual metal. Perhaps the more inventive vendors had taken an interest in the modern world’s toys and imbued some magic into them.
The Scottish Witch Market was a liminal space nestled in one of the many cave systems in Scotland. Of course, it was inaccessible to anyone who didn’t have magic; the entrance only appeared as nothing more than a regular rock to them. So, Duncan had to mark Hilda as a familiar to grant her access to the market as well.
The girl had been practically bounding with awe and excitement since the moment she entered the shimmering portal. After all, it had revealed itself all mystical-like when Duncan smeared the unique magic signature onto the rock. He didn’t blame her; he had been the same when he was first introduced to this witch market about five hundred years ago.
As the two of them walked past the bustling stalls, several suspension bridges stretched across the walls above them. They remained hovering in mid-air, with only long and winding staircases connecting them to the ground.
The market itself was so well sculpted into the cave that it looked to have grown straight out of the obsidian rock itself. Floating paths that connected the various sections of the market disappeared down at impossible angles before rising again and slipping behind columns of rock.
All around them, supernatural beings haggled with the vendors as they went about their shopping. Centaurs, Wendigos, Leprechauns, Fairies, and many other creatures that even Duncan didn’t recognise. Most of them were dressed in human clothes, like suits or dresses, as though it would change the fact that they didn’t already look like creatures from Salvador Dali’s fever dreams.
There were other, more human-like beings, of course— creatures like vampires and werewolves. Still, they were a lot less modest about their appearance in this place, letting their fangs or wolf fur out in plain sight as they casually strolled the market. After all, nobody could look out of place in a congregation like this.
Although this place was a witch market, not many actual witches visited this place in this day and age. Most of their ingredients could be found in the wild, after all. In fact, this place was created by witches for other supernatural beings.
Apparently, the more charitable sorcerers of Eld wanted their mystical friends to have an easier time acquiring protection spells specific to their physiology. Thus, witch markets around the world became safe havens for mystical beings. The Scottish Witch Market was no exception.
“Duncan, Duncan! Look, they sell voodoo dolls here!” Hilda tugged on Duncan’s arm like an excited child as she bounded towards a beaming vendor. “Can we get one? Please, please?”
For better or worse, the girl didn’t seem to mind the patrons’ unconventional appearances. It saved him from any awkwardness, but her excitement was starting to draw unnecessary attention.
“What use is it to you if you don’t know the right spells to cast the curse?” Duncan mumbled, casually glancing at the price. It only cost two hundred Joules of magic, but there was no point—
“Oh, that is no longer the case, Mister Ward!” a humanoid vendor with a bright orange clownfish for his head chimed in, flapping his gills cheerily. “This new voodoo doll design only requires a lock of the target’s hair and a drop of the user’s blood to gain control over its target’s movements for one minute at a time.”
The witch doctor groaned as Hilda brightened her eyes pleadingly.
“Aye, aye. Just one keepsake, eh?” Duncan extended his wrist to the vendor. “Please do make haste, Baldurant. We’re in a rush to catch the Witch’s Train.”
Baldurant took out a device that resembled a blood pressure monitor with two straps. He wrapped one end around Duncan’s wrist and the other around the voodoo doll. The straps began to glow a dark red, and a strobe of light began travelling from his arm to the doll.
“How’s Gelfant?” Duncan decided to make small talk while he waited.
Magic payment always took at least a few minutes. Advancements in magical technology were sluggish. After all, most magic users lived for centuries at a time. So naturally, they tend to get complacent about improvements like that.
“She’s almost reaching maturity. Can you believe it?” Baldurant watched the dial on the magic extraction device go up at a snail’s pace. “Call me old-fashioned, but I hope she doesn’t turn male when she matures. I’ll never get used to calling my daughter a son instead.”
“Right, that’s a thing with clownfish humanoids.” Duncan nodded, trying not to think too hard about their biology.
“But enough about me. What brings you here? There have been an awful lot of humans taking the Witch’s Train in the past decade. I know not how they got access to our market, but I do hope they will not cause trouble here.”
“Is that so?” Duncan said. “Mayhaps they are simply witches here to visit, like me.”
The vendor’s fish-like head bobbed side to side as though it were swimming. “Nay, they have not a lick of magic in their bodies. They have been trading Kiseigumo parasites for their train tickets instead.”
“That’s… an odd thing to trade with.”
“Aye. Most of us really only use them for their magic-blocking venom, so they’re not worth much.” Baldurant shrugged. “But these creatures normally live in Japan, so they’re still a commodity to us. Plus, these people have a serious abundance of these parasites. I wonder if they are somehow breeding them.”
Duncan spotted Hilda staring at him from his side, but he refrained from bringing up the subject of her father’s murder. All the patrons of the Witch Market were only here to trade peacefully; there was no need to cause unnecessary alarm by alerting them to his business.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining about their lack of patronage, but all they seem to do is use the Witch Market as a transit point between Japan and Scotland,” Baldurant continued. “Our witch market has so much more to offer, and they’re just missing all of it—”
The magic payment device flashed green.
“Ah, the payment’s finally complete!” the clownfish exclaimed. “Thank you for your patronage, and I hope you’ll enjoy my products!”
Duncan handed the doll to the girl, who promptly forgot about the disturbing news earlier and started playing with her new toy. He didn’t mind; at least she wouldn’t be distracted by any more magic artefacts. The last thing he needed was for them to waste another hour shopping for no reason.
After a few exhilarating rides on the air lifts— for Hilda, at least— the two landed right at the Witch’s Train ticketing booth entrance.
The booth didn’t look too different from the regular ones in the human world. It was nestled in a particularly deep wall pocket that was in stalactites that shimmered an ethereal ocean blue. The circular stall itself was made of some kind of enchanted brass, and it floated about half a metre off the ground with a wide staircase of stone leading up to it.
Thankfully, there wasn’t that much of a queue for the tickets, so Duncan quickly reached the front of the line. After a brief description of Hilda and himself, the painfully obvious werewolf behind the counter handed him his tickets and waved for the next customer to come forward with her paw.
“Here’s your ticket.” Duncan handed the train ticket— which looked like a pulsating blank card— to Hilda. “It already cost me a thousand Joules of magic, and it will cost you three thousand Joules of life energy to replace it. Do not lose this ticket.”
“Wow, this is all so… fascinating,” Hilda breathed, staring at the Witch’s Train in front of her. “How does it all work?”
The train itself looked like a regular steam locomotive, except it ran on rainbow-coloured magic trailing out from its chimneys. What was a lot more curious, on the other hand, was what the train appeared to be stuck in.
Half of its body was submerged in a dark circular tunnel, as though the hole had tried to swallow the train but choked on it halfway through.
The tunnel seemed to have sucked itself into the cave and dragged the rocky surface of the cave walls along with it. It pulsed every few seconds like it was alive, and a faint blue light was glowing around its rim. A pale white light with no obvious source was shining on the other end, wherever that was.
“I know not,” Duncan admitted, also staring at the mysterious tunnel. “All I know is that paranormal researchers call it a ‘fixed hole’ in space and time. The tunnel has been a bridge between Scotland and Japan for more than four hundred years. What would have taken three long months on a ship across the Pacific Ocean only takes three short hours on the Witch’s Train.”
“Have you taken this train before?”
“Aye, I was part of the exploratory team that entered the tunnel when it was first discovered in the fifteenth century.” The immortal nodded. “Back then, magic wasn’t as advanced, and the Witch’s ‘Train’ was a mere carriage. You can’t imagine the amount of magical interference I had to endure throughout the ride. But the reward was amazing when we came out on the other end: a bonnie land that is now called Japan. While most of my comrades were only there to enjoy the novelty of a new land, I decided I wanted to stay. And so, I stayed for about fifty years before…”
The words choked him on their way out as his voice trailed away.
“Anyway, I decided to come back in the end,” Duncan continued. “Now, the Witch’s Train leads to another witch market in Hiroshima. The locals there call it a ‘Ghost Market’, and some refer to the Witch’s Train as the ‘Ghost Train’ as well. Lost in translation, I suppose.”
A whistle blew as the crowd around the train station began jostling around them.
“Oh, it’s time to get on!” Hilda piped up excitedly, but Duncan grabbed her arm before she could lose herself in the bustling horde of passengers.
“It’s not our turn yet, lass.” He shook his head. “Our ride is the next train.”
“Oh…”
Duncan looked at the crowd. Other than the usual Western creatures, there were also some clearly Japanese passengers. He caught himself staring at a small group of particularly beautiful Kitsune before quickly turning his head away.
“Oh, Duncan! Fancy seeing you here!” a familiar voice called out to him.
What the…
Lucy Carpenter strolled past a pack of rowdy Centaurs and made her way to Duncan. She had shed her modern look and was dressed in something more fitting for a vampire masquerade instead.
A black, ankle-length tailcoat wrapped elegantly over her high-necked dark red waistcoat, fitted with golden buttons on her sleeves. The bottom half of her outfit consisted of a pair of contrasting white shorts, and her black and slightly translucent pantyhose peeked out from underneath.
“You’ve got business in Japan, aye?” Duncan asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Why, yes, I do!” Lucy replied happily as she took out an envelope, waving it at him. “Fubuki sent word to me after so many years!”
“Who, the Kitsune?”
“Indeed! She bids me to her dwelling to renew acquaintance,” she sighed wistfully. “Oh, I cannot wait to hear her regale her tales.”
“Good for you.” Duncan flashed a small smile, glancing at the letter—
An acute dizziness struck him again, with almost twice the intensity this time. He hissed in pain and dropped to his knees. His mind swirled in confusion. Was he imagining things? Or did he just see that same hexagon symbol on his funeral invitation on Lucy’s envelope as well?
“Again? Duncan, what’s going on—”
Two loud horns blared from the Witch’s Train before Lucy could reach for him. She glanced back urgently, muttering under her breath.
“Hey, you there. What’s your name?” She pointed at Hilda, her voice authoritative yet polite at the same time.
“H— Hilda?”
“Hilda, am I right? I assume you’re taking the train with my friend, Duncan. Take care of him, will you? I have to catch this train.”
The teenager nodded nervously, and Lucy broke into a warm smile.
“Thank you, love. And charmed to meet you, Hilda.” The vampire swivelled on her heel, blowing up a gentle breeze as her tailcoat flared out dramatically.
Duncan steadied his breathing as the dizziness subsided, watching Lucy rush off to flash her ticket at the train guard. A set of small hands helped him to his feet.
“What happened, Duncan?” Hilda asked, her eyes wide with concern.
“Tis… Tis nothing of import, lass.” Duncan forced an assuring smile. “Come, let us join the queue. Our next train’s coming soon.”
A masked man observed the two of them silently from behind a rock column. He slipped away into the shadows.
ns216.73.216.133da2
and then Add to home screen.