ã€ŠOne Wish from Disasterã€‹


 Vividis, The Potter

    The world could be ending and Vividis would work right through it. While even dogs sought shelter under trees with their tongues lulling out in the sweltering heat, Vividis was bent double in her family¡¯s pottery studio like always. Sunlight began to finally peak over the tall solid mountain into the small town of Tinkerton.

    Vividis felt her eyes burn as she used surgical precision to place small shards of colored glass to her newest piece. Examining her progress, she was pleased with the colors she had chosen. When she fired this vase, the glass would melt, oozing down the sides. With a small gleeful giggle, she moved the vase over to the kiln.

    ¡°You¡¯re up early.¡± Vividis¡¯s father, Merick stated as he came into the studio.

    ¡°Never left.¡± Vividis casually replied. All her focus was on making sure the pot stayed properly upside down. If the lip of the vase was even a little uneven, her entire night¡¯s work would be ruined. Merick stopped gathering his supplies to stare at his only child.

    ¡°After you told me, ¡®I¡¯ll be up soon as I finish this piece¡¯?¡± She could see that her father was furious.

    ¡°It took me all night to make it just right.¡± Vividis defended, as she stepped back from the kiln to get a different perspective on how straight the vase was. Merick could see that what demanded several hours of her time, his daughter could have been resting.

    ¡°Vivi, where did that glass come from?¡± Merick asked while his daughter stiffened up next to him. She would have preferred a good scolding about proper sleeping habits to this topic.

    ¡°Ren¨¦.¡± admitted Vividis, purposely not looking her father in the eye.

    ¡°You still talk to him?¡± Merick tried to look at his daughter¡¯s face properly but she refused to make eye contact. Instead, she tidied up the mess she had made last night.

    ¡°Only when our supplies come in.¡± Vividis tried to sound as aloof as possible. ¡°Last time we met all he could talk about was the demand for stained glass windows.¡±

    ¡°Well, that would explain this then.¡±. Looking over at her father to see what he was talking about she felt her stomach drop. Her father was rifling through the emerald green velvet bag Ren¨¦ had given her last time they met. A bag filled with the leftover bits of colored glass he was just going to throw away.

    ¡°Papa, please.¡± scolded Vividis, swiping at her father to take the bag away by force. ¡°He only gave those pieces because he was just going to throw them away.¡±

    ¡°Vivi, glass is like your unfired pots. It can be broken down and reused. This,¡± Merick shook the bag a little. ¡°Was a gift, not charity. I fail to see why you won¡¯t give this young man a chance.¡±

    ¡°Because I am not interested in marriage, Papa.¡± Vividis took the bag away from her father.

    ¡°No one is saying anything about marriage.¡± defended Merick. He took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. ¡°I just don¡¯t want you to waste your life in this studio.¡± Thankfully, Vividis did not hear what her father said.

    ¡°I came to tell you about a commission.¡± he said much louder, stopping Vividis from starting another project. Vividis made a face.

    Commissions. People who have zero idea what goes into making pottery, barking orders.

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to make a name for yourself you are going to have to take requests.¡± reminded Merick, shooing his daughter out of the studio. ¡°Now go change, wash your face, and at least brush your hair.¡± Fuming, Vividis entered her house just adjacent to the family studio. Sitting in the middle of the living space was Grandmother Jade. Slouched in a chair, Grandmother Jade was soaking her feet in a steaming foot tub smelling strongly of mint. Vividis felt a pang when she remembered the vibrant, graceful woman who used to dance. Looking away, Vividis hurried to get ready.

    * * *

    Vividis tried not to fidget too much in the nice dress her mother picked out. She felt like she was swaddled in a bed sheet rather than wearing an outfit. The commissioner was just as out of touch as Vividis had imagined. Thankfully, her father seemed to be doing most of the talking as the two of them ascended the front steps of the mansion.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°I assume you brought a measuring string.¡± Asked the commissioner, looking at Merick

    Vividis looked between the two men. Her unasked question was answered soon enough as they were lead to what was obviously the ballroom. While her father made the appropriate compliment, Vividis was looking around the room to see what could possibly require a measuring string. There were no shelves or tables upon which to place the pottery. The staircase leading up to the second floor had no place for anything extra either. Anything larger than a three-foot-tall vase was impossible for their family¡¯s kiln.

    ¡°Now the effect I want is for when my esteemed guests descend the staircase, so they are treated to seeing a spiral pattern spreading from the staircase.¡± The wealthy man explained as he led Merick a little ways up the staircase.

    ¡°What?¡± Exclaimed Vividis, looking up at the man.

    ¡°I know. It will be gorgeous! Colorful tiles stretching across the entire floor, a true testament of your talent.¡± the man gushed. ¡°This year¡¯s Fall Festival will accelerate your career for sure.¡±

    ¡°FALL FESTIVAL!¡± yelled Vividis. That was only six months away! It would take the entire family working nonstop just to make all the tiles needed for the job in that time. Let alone properly placing each one in its exact spot.

    ¡°I know I am just as excited.¡± smiled the oblivious man.

    ¡°Now hold on!¡± argued Vividis as her father began talking again.

    ¡°Vivi, dear.¡± addressed Merick, looking down from his spot on the stairs. ¡°I need you to go home and tell Mama and Grandmama that we have a big order coming. One that will change things for the entire family.¡± stressed Vividis¡¯s father.

    ¡°Yes, Papa.¡± nodded Vividis, understanding completely what her father¡¯s words truly meant. ¡®This was not up for debate. Be a good little girl and go home.¡¯ Almost fleeing, Vividis took off out of the ballroom and out the nearest door.

    It didn¡¯t take her long to realize she had headed straight into the garden area. Too caught up in her own thoughts, she had no idea where she was going.

    ¡°I¡¯m lost.¡± Even as she said it aloud, she couldn¡¯t find it in herself to care.

    Vividis knew that today was the last day of her life. Well, not literally. She knew that after today her cheerful days experimenting with her projects would come to a screeching halt. There were two outcomes from her father accepting the commission, and she did not like either one.

    The first would be that her family would fail to complete the task on time. Followed by the utter destruction of their reputation. Then the whispers of failure would dog their every action for years to come. People would lose faith in their abilities and business would dry up.

    On the other hand, the family could complete the task at hand, proving to all that their studio is beyond equal. Sure, it would be a happy time for the family for a while. Vividis just knew that once you complete one near impossible task the bar would be raised that much higher. Once word would get out all sorts of empty headed, idealist, rich types would be calling all hours of the day for grander, more impossible tasks just because ¡®you did it once before¡¯.

    Either way, life will never be the same again. Vividis just wanted things to stay the same. Too distracted by her own thoughts, Vividis failed to see the manmade pond. The pond¡¯s outlying wall was so small it barely reached Vividis¡¯s shin but it was just tall enough to cause her to lose her balance. She managed a squeak as she toppled into the cold water.

    ¡®Ugh. Now I really can¡¯t go home yet.¡¯ Complained Vividis, stepping out of the pond to squeeze the water from her dress.

    ¡°¡¯Tis a shame really. It was quite a lovely dress.¡± a calm masculine voice purred near Vividis¡¯s ear.

    ¡°Where¡¯d you come from?¡± Vividis almost shouted out of panic. The man was dressed simply like the outfits the traders wore. Muted brown adorned with gold trimmings.

    ¡°Calm yourself, my dear. I have come to help you in your time of need.¡± The man leaned in for a second, catching Vividis off guard. His eyes turned from a dark brown to a blue color for a second. Vividis felt her panic leaving her, replaced with a warm contented feeling.

    ¡°My time of need?¡± she parroted back drowsily.

    ¡°Yes. Your aching heart summoned me to this very place, my dear. So, tell me, what ails you so?¡± The man brushed one of the locks of hair out of Vividis¡¯s face.

    ¡°I just want everything to stay the same,¡± admitted Vividis. ¡°I want to create what I want, not be a servant of the highest bidder. I don¡¯t want to marry or have kids. I don¡¯t want to toil until my hands ache. I don¡¯t want to be like Grandmama.¡± Vividis admitted. She loved her grandmama but seeing her always reminded her of what she would someday grow to become, a shell of her former self.

    ¡°How would you like to never have to worry about commissions or growing old?¡± offered the mysterious man. ¡°I can make that happen for you.¡±

    ¡°You can?¡± breathed Vividis. ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°Oh sweet girl, I am the granter of wishes and dreams. As a Djinn, it is my duty to soothe the ache in mankind¡¯s heart. Just say the word and all your troubles will be taken care of.¡± He offered.

    Normally Vividis would be leery of such an offer. Logic took a backseat to desperation today, though. Some part of her mind even felt that she was just dreaming, which made it easier for her say,

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Vividis was seen again after that day. She was seen by every person who happened upon that fountain. The girl with the sad expression frozen in time.

 The Spring Gala

    Like every spring since the settling of Tinkerton, it came; a black rippling cloud that followed in the wake of the final frost. Thousands upon thousands of locusts would swarm to feast upon the tender shoots of this year¡¯s harvest.

    That¡¯s how Richard Sloan saw it anyway. Like the predictability of the swarm of locusts, he too, was there bright and early the day after the final frost. In all actuality, the whole thing seemed utterly mundane to him. It was the same cycle year after year. When the swarm was close enough to hear, Sloan lifted his flute to his mouth, took a deep breath and began to play.

    The warmth of his Talent spread through his body as he played the ancient tune. He urged the feeling of the music towards the mass of insects with all his will. When they were close enough, they followed Sloan¡¯s coaxing towards the barren fields, named for the effect the locusts had on them; but the town had deemed the sacrifice of these few fields worth keeping the farmers¡¯ crops safe. Time trickled on as the bugs kept coming, only to be redirected to their new home, or cage if you wanted to be truthful, where they would live out their lives trapped by Sloan¡¯s Talent¡­or that was the theory anyway. Sloan was only strong enough to coax the insects rather than properly control them. When the last insect was lured, he stopped playing. With a self-satisfied smile, Sloan slipped his flute back into the holster strapped to his belt. The smile only lasted until he took a step and staggered, landing exhaustedly on his rump in the grass.

    ¡°Overdid it again, huh?¡± Came the gravelly voice of the farmer whose field he was in. Face burning from embarrassment, Sloan didn¡¯t feel the need to look up. In an attempt to save face, he wiped his sweaty black hair off his forehead.

    ¡°Here.¡± The man offered. Sloan tilted his head up to see the weatherworn smiling face of the farmer as he held out a canister of water. Thanking him, Sloan took a sip of the warm water. He must have made a face because the farmer gave a chuckle.

    ¡°None of that.¡± The man chided. Sloan refused to look at him. No one needed to know how truly embarrassed he felt. Another year¡¯s worth of practice for naught again. Out of the twenty-eight years he spent, thirteen years of it was wasted effort. Ever since the day he discovered his Talent he strove to improve but now it seemed like it had all been a futile effort. ¡®No use moping about it now.¡¯ Sloan thought as he squared his shoulders. Confident that he wouldn¡¯t faint now, the music Talent dusted off his knees while he stood up. Still finding any excuse not to look at the man, Sloan pulled out his pocket watch to feign that he had a full schedule for today and was not to be held up.

    ¡°Now finish off that water, ya hear? The extra minerals will help replace what you lost sweatin''.¡± Sloan gave a half-hearted nod. Roward knew everything there was to know about water, that¡¯s why his family owned the wealthiest farm for miles around. Makes sense that a Grade A Talent would produce a Grade A farm.

    ¡°I have excellent news!¡± Roward exclaimed. Sloan didn¡¯t reply, instead he got up to head back towards the city. Taking this as a sign to keep talking, Roward proceeded to follow Sloan up the gravel path. Reason number one why Sloan hated talking to people: he loathed small talk, especially when it came down to people bragging about how Talented their offspring were. Or worse, asking when Sloan was going to have children of his own. That last question always stung; he and his wife Phyllis had tried for many years and it seemed that they just weren¡¯t meant to be blessed with a child of their own.

    ¡°Me and the Missus have saved up enough money to send Ruby to Amoria,¡± Roward smirked. Sloan blinked, as he realized that the farmer was still talking and then rolled his eyes as what had been said processed. A tiny, corn spun girl like that would be eaten alive in a large city like Amoria. Ruby may be Talented, but she wasn''t a Grade A. She might want to reevaluate even packing. The City of Amoria was Grade A from the walls to the people milling inside. Everyone there took such great pride in themselves in being the most Talented city in the world that they made life miserable for the less Talented. Those not up to Grade eventually left the city. Amoria had a reputation to keep after all.

    ¡°Amoria, eh? What? Chef Syria not good enough for yah?¡± Sloan teased. With a proud smirk and a careless wave of his hand, Roward kept talking.

    ¡°She¡¯ll be fine. Besides ya ever heard of the sayin'', ¡®Shoot for the moon and even if you miss you can catch a falling star¡¯?¡± Roward asked. Sloan almost vomited at those words.

    ¡®Hokey phrases from hokey people too blind to see the truth.¡¯ he thought bitterly. Life on the bottom of the social totem pole had made Sloan a hardcore realist, though many simply pegged him as a cynic. The cold truth is hard for some to swallow.

    ¡®At least she can come home to daddy and mommy when she fails.¡¯ Sloan thought with equal bitterness. Once Mandatory Basic Learning was completed, Sloan¡¯s family had thrown him to the real world. To this day, he still had the bags his oh so loving father had shoved all his worldly possessions in before tossing them onto the street along with his only son. The bags were one of the only things his father had ever given him.

    ''Well, that wasn¡¯t entirely true.'' he thought as he slid the second-hand flute back in its holster strapped to his leg. That had been the first; even if it was required by the government that parents provide their children with whatever was necessary for them to learn how to harness their Talent.

    From his back pocket, Sloan fished out his workbook. In place of gold or paper money, the government issued a book to record his jobs. Everyone was issued one, filled with blank ledger pages for people to write down jobs they were commissioned for. Once the job was completed, the person who had contracted them for it stamped over the hand-written request of services. Once a month people would approach City Hall for their fair share of earnings. After housing payments and other taxes were deducted, people could receive a credit to spend on other purchases.

    This month Sloan¡¯s book was looking depressingly bare. Again.

    ¡°So you and the Missus going to be expecting soon?¡± Roward asked, nosing about in business that wasn¡¯t his, as usual. Quickly finding Roward''s request on page three Sloan was eager to end this conversation.

    ¡°When it happens. Stamp here please.¡± Sloan instructed, holding open the book for stamping. Roward made a show of patting himself down before admitting he left his stamp inside. Sloan¡¯s eyes narrowed as the farmer went to go retrieve the stamp from the house. Slightly annoyed at the fact he would not get home as quickly as he had promised Phyllis, he followed the Water Talent towards the house. Sloan waited outside while Roward went to get his stamp. While waiting, he looked up at the town he lived in; Rowan¡¯s farm was nestled in a little valley just north of the hustle and bustle of the city.

    ¡°Here ya go.¡± Rowan greeted, holding up the stamp to show Sloan. With a smile, he stamped the book so Sloan could be on his way. ¡°I¡¯ll contact you again if any more of those buggers try to eat the crops." Sloan gave a wordless wave before climbing the steep incline into the city.

    Right hand dipped into his right pocket, Sloan ran his fingers over his pocket watch. It was a small plated pocket watch covered in minuscule dents and various scratches. His heart sank a little, it may have been a cheaply made piece of machinery but it was passed down to him when he finally discovered his Talent. His father decided he would get a hand-me-down rather than buying Sloan a new one. Still warm from his body heat, Sloan popped open the lid to read the time. Annoyed, he read nine forty-three under the lightly scratched surface. Not even lunchtime and he was already exhausted. Taking some frustration out on the watch, he snapped it closed before shoving it back into his pocket. Upon seeing the midmorning rush of people, Sloan chose not to bother taking his hands out of his pockets. Walking through Grade D sector always made him nervous. There were a lot of...desperate types loitered around the lower Sectors.

    Whether Tinkerton was originally built to physically separate the different Grades of Talent, Sloan would never know. What he did know was the town was carved out of the very bedrock of a mountain. Sandy brownstone echoed the sounds of people making their way about their daily business. Squaring his shoulders, Sloan joined the crowd headed towards the market. Several Mineral Talents mended cracks along the roads and walls of dwellings. There were no houses in this part of town, not by the typical definition of the word anyway. The dwellings on this level were simply one large room that you would squeeze your entire family inside whether it was a family of two or ten. Closer to the highest point in Tinkerton, the elitist Grade Bs and As dwelled. Free to touch the sky while the majority shuffled through the dirt.

    ¡®Just like rats.¡¯ thought Sloan, as he turned down the lane towards the market sector where his family¡¯s store/home was.

    Not that anyone in Tinkerton knew how rats lived, or any other animal for that matter. All animals, even pets, were barred from the city. ''Anyone actually living with an animal inside their house might as well live in a barn.'' Was a common answer when asked why that is. So why would a Music Talent whose specialty was influencing only animals living in a city where they were forbidden? The answer was a dirty secret. Even the nicest, cleanest town still needed pest control occasionally. Besides, Sloan never had a reason to leave the only place he¡¯d ever known.

    With skills that only someone who had lived in close spaces for years could possess, Sloan dodged through the crowd towards the Marketplace. A small smile flitted across this face as his beloved wife came into view.

    Near the entrance of a six foot by six-foot market place stall, perched on a stool, was Phyllis Sloan. Phyllis Sloan, who¡¯s kind and sweet nature was only matched by the fierceness of her Sewing Talent. Though meeting her you''d think she was a bit of doormat. On more than one occasion, Sloan had received accusing looks when Phyllis turned to him for every little thing. It wasn''t his fault too many choices flustered the poor woman. She was currently sitting in the middle of a mass of fabric and half-made outfits in a rainbow of colors. Her freckles that browned her cheeks were flushed pink by the warmth of the day. She gazed listlessly out into the crowd whilst directing some small modicum of airflow towards her with a handheld fan. When she stopped fanning, the loose auburn strands that were dancing in the breeze settled around her face softly.

    ¡°How goes saving the town going around naked?¡± Sloan asked, leaning against one of the poles holding up the awning. Phyllis gave a light chuckle before replying.

    ¡°Oh hush. Mr. Save-the-town-from-starvation.¡± she shot back, grinning. Sloan gave a hardier laugh.

    ¡°Only you can make pest control sound like the most important job in the world.¡± The Music Talent sighed while shaking his head. They shared a chuckle that petered off into a companionable silence between them. Pretending to knock nonexistent mud off his boots Sloan counted to three before asking,

    ¡°So¡­uh¡­ anything come for me?¡± Sloan asked, not looking at his wife. He heard Phyllis give a sad noise of her own as an answer.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± Shrugged off Sloan, even though he knew that was not how he felt.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry Richie,¡± Phyllis assured in a kind tone. Sloan could see his wife trying to lean into his sight out of the corner of his eye. ¡°Watch, there will be a huge flock of bats that take up residence in the clock bell.¡± Sloan chuckled more at Phyllis¡¯s wild arm waving than her actual statement.

    ¡°That does sound wonderful,¡± Sloan smiled before stretching his arms over his head. ¡°I think I should head in then. You know, get some more practicing in.¡± Since his eyes were closed, he did not see Phyllis giving him a sad look of knowing. She knew that this time out in the field wasn¡¯t any easier than the others despite her husband¡¯s non-stop practicing. Neither one of them knew what he was doing wrong.

    ¡°Ok. If that¡¯s what you want.¡± She smiled.

    ¡°Yeah, so what do you want for dinner?¡± Whoever got home from work first oversaw dinner. That duty typically fell to Sloan.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­¡± Phyllis paused, tapping her fan against her chin as she thought. ¡°How about- ¡°

    ¡°Dinner at the Remington¡¯s.¡± A voice interjected just to Phyllis¡¯s left. Both Sloan and Phyllis jumped at the sound of the voice. Standing in front of the stall was the most sophisticated looking woman Sloan had ever seen. She looked as out of place as a sunflower in a thistle field. Dressed in crisp bold colors she was picking through Phyllis¡¯s wares with great interest. Sloan gave the woman a once over. Nice shoes, painted nails with the fancy white tips all topped with a neat blond bun. Not a hair out of place it seemed, despite the heat of the day.

    ¡°Excuse me Miss; may I help you?¡± Phyllis asked, giving the woman her undivided attention.

    ¡°You made these?¡± the woman asked, not even looking up. As the Sloan family watched, the woman turned through the various articles of clothing as if she were reading a book. It was impressive that her nails were so smooth that not one of them snagged even on some of the cheaper fabrics.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Phyllis sheepishly admitted. The woman gave a pause in her examination of the clothing to give Phyllis a calculating look. Phyllis looked away at the intensity of the woman¡¯s scrutiny. Even though she was a Sewing Talent, she kept her own attire rather plain. ''Easier to work in without all those frills getting in your way.'' she¡¯d claim in a simple worn out sundress she''d just toss on in the morning.

    ¡°Excellent. I have a business proposition for you.¡± the woman claimed, standing up straight.

    ¡°Ok,¡± Phyllis replied weakly.

    ¡°My name is Jezebel Whit by the way.¡± smiled the now named woman, but Sloan stopped listening out of shock. Jezebel Whit was more famous and more powerful than the Mayor of Tinkerton! The fact that she was now shaking hands with Phyllis caused his brain to momentarily shut down. Wait, Phyllis didn¡¯t look too happy. Pay attention!

    ¡°What she wants to say is yes.¡± Sloan interjected as he slithered up next to his wife. ¡°But Richard, what about the shop?¡± Phyllis asked, half curious, half trying to get out of talking to Jezebel. Sloan gave his wife a look hoping it conveyed just how much of an opportunity she was just about to throw away.

    ¡°I¡¯ll pack up at closing time, don¡¯t worry. I can sell socks. Now go on!¡± Sloan insisted, almost pushing his wife away. Jezebel gave Sloan a toothy grin that was more predatory than pleasant.

    ¡°Alright. If you think you can handle it.¡± Phyllis conceded, slowly walking away.

    ¡°Your clothes practically sell themselves!¡± Sloan assured his wife, sensing Jezebel¡¯s impatience. "Now go on. I got this. Take all the time you need."

    ¡°Wonderful, now we can discuss my commission as thoroughly as possible,¡± Jezebel physically grabbed onto Phyllis¡¯s arm to drag her away. Sloan waved right up until the market crowd swallowed the two of them.

    The very second his wife was out of sight, Sloan¡¯s smile faded. With a resigned sigh, he plopped down on the stool Phyllis had occupied not minutes before. It was going to be a long day; the market did not officially close until the sun went down. Remembering that sometimes Phyllis squirreled away a book for slow days Sloan began to search the stall. Under the table, he found a wooden apple crate filled with¡­stuff. Three pens, a stack of clothing ideas all piled on top of a half-finished project. Curious as to what outfit would require the softest wool yarn available, he pulled it out into the sunlight.

    His heart sank when he recognized the soft yellow creation for a baby blanket. Sloan tossed the blanket back into the crate as if it burned him. It was clearly not for a commission or for regular sale. Sloan pressed his palms over his eyes, he couldn''t deal with this right now. He closed shop much earlier than was originally planned that night.

    Sloan wiped his sweating brow with his sleeve after he set down the last box of clothing. Thankfully, the front of the shop was their front entrance to their dwelling. There was not a single ray of natural light filtering into the room except through the door. He left the door open so he could see the lantern hanging from the ceiling. He took it down to add sugar from the mantle to the fluorescent yeast living inside the lantern. The creatures digested the sugar causing them to glow brightly. So brightly, that Sloan could see even after closing the door.

    Once the lantern was placed back onto its hook, Sloan surveyed the room. Grade C housing allowed for a large bed, a tub for bathing and cleaning clothes, and built in the wall was a lovely wood burning oven. With a lazy gaze, Sloan eyed the cold oven, knowing he''d have to stoke a fire to make himself a hot meal. Too tired to make a proper meal, he decided that a roll of bread stuffed with a sausage link would do. Relaxing in his favorite chair, Sloan fell asleep before his wife came home.

    <hr>

    Over the next few days, when Sloan wasn¡¯t working on his sporadic workload, he was manning the storefront. Phyllis would sometimes sketch out designs in the sunlight. Each one looked more complex and over the top than the one before it. Jezebel came by once a day to reject the concepts before making a vague suggestion of what she wanted.

    How saying ¡®You¡¯re giving me what I am asking for. But it¡¯s still not elegant enough.¡±, was supposed to help anyone was beyond Sloan¡¯s understanding. Nevertheless, Sloan kept his tongue in cheek when the woman would morph out of the crowd. On day three Sloan didn¡¯t bother to lift his head from his hand when Jezebel came for her morning critique.

    ¡°Philly,¡± Sloan called out in his most bored tone. Phyllis came out of the living quarters looking as if she just ran a marathon, hair out of place and clothing looking unkempt. The rings around her eyes were turning a deeper shade of purple by the day.

    ¡°Come in. Come in.¡± Phyllis ushered the high-class woman inside. Jezebel ignored Sloan as she passed him, who was happy to return the favor. The door blocked out any peep of conversation. Bored out of his mind, Sloan felt his concentration slipping when Jezebel came out again.

    ¡°Marvelous. I knew you would figure it out eventually. Now the party is in three weeks so I must have my dress by then¡± the woman reminded her as she straightened her blouse. "You have my address, and the time you are to arrive. Remember, this party may be the only opportunity you will ever receive so make it count."

    ¡°Yes. Of course,¡± Phyllis smiled weakly. Jezebel gave a nod of approval before taking off. She barely gave a glance at Sloan before disappearing again. Ignoring the brush off, Sloan turned back to his wife.

    ¡°Is it the most difficult convoluted design in the existence of everything?¡± Sloan inquired. Phyllis gave a genuine smile at that.

    "You know it.¡± The redhead agreed to hold out the design sketch. The paper was almost completely covered in lines and the occasional note like, ''Must be Bell Blue, not Cornflower Blue''.

    ¡°Is this even physically possible?¡± Sloan asked looking over the sketch. There were more trim and ribbons on the dress than a May Pole! ¡°Do you think you¡¯ll be able to make it in time?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not the issue. I¡¯m concerned about supplies.¡± Phyllis admitted as she worried her lip. Slightly unsteady, Phyllis went back inside the dwelling.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t she already pay you?¡± Sloan asked, staring at his wife.

    ¡°Sorta. She wanted to give my own dwelling just to use as a studio but I talked her into a new dwelling instead.¡± admitted Phyllis, already walking over to her supply corner.

    ¡°Wait, what?¡±

    ¡°See, Jezebel agreed to help me get more clients if I had a nicer shop in a nicer part of the city. I''ve seen it, Richard, it''s on the Grade B sector! It has three rooms! Three! Two are just for sleeping! And as a bonus, she even threw in people to help us cart all our things up there." Phyllis was almost shouting with how excited she was. Looking down at the sketch sobered her up, though. ¡°So, I agreed to let her pay our rent on our new place for six months instead of actual credit. I was ok with it until she rejected all my previous ideas. Oh, Richie! Where are going to get the money?¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    ¡°Take what you need from the account.¡± Sloan insisted, handing back the drawing to his wife. Phyllis looked stunned for a moment.

    ¡°Richard!¡± Phyllis admonished loudly. She looked around quickly before leaning closer. ¡°That is all the money we have to our name.¡± she whispered. In response, Sloan gently cupped his wife¡¯s face in his left hand.

    ¡°Philli. I love you. But you need to stop worrying about money so much. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to really show everyone just how Talented you really are!¡± he reassured calmly. Even though in the back of his own mind Sloan was slightly worried, he knew he had to be strong for the both of them. Phyllis nodded and agreed.

    <hr>

    Phyllis woke up from a fitful sleep. If she was being completely honest, she felt like throwing up every time she even thought about her newest commission. Sure, she had done things like wedding dresses before but never for anyone so socially influential. Before sliding out of bed, Phyllis placed a kiss on Richard¡¯s nose. He wrinkled his nose and gave a sleepy noise from the back of his throat before rolling over to face the wall. With a smile, Phyllis padded over to her workstation.

    She pulled out her pattern ideas with a list of what supplies she would need to make this almost physically impossible project.

    ¡°So many buttons,¡± Phyllis muttered under her breath. With a scowl, she got up from her nest of supplies to the cold hearth to retrieve their account book. The amount carefully penned in was not as much as she would have liked period. Closing the book, she clutched it to her chest realizing that with their limited funds she had to do something she dreaded doing on a normal project. Haggle with her supplier.

    Going through the motions of her morning routine, Phyllis mulled over the potential conversation she would be having with her fabric supplier. Right up until she was making her way down the most industrial portion of town. Groaning, she gripped the strap of her bag as the smell from the dyes filled her nose. A wooden plaque next to the door merely stated, "Fabrics and Dyes". Knocking, Phyllis waited to be assaulted. In an instant, the door flew open to reveal a pleasantly plump woman, entirely too happy to see Phyllis filling the doorway.

    The woman, or Rebecca as she insists on being called, pulled Phyllis inside.

    ¡°Phyllis darling, how are you? Care for a coffee? Tea? Here, sit. We have some lovely linen just woven and ready for dyeing.¡± Rebecca waved her youngest daughter to pour a cup of bitter coffee for Phyllis. At this point, the Sewing Talent was quite used to this over the top treatment. The walls were draped in swatches of various colors/fabric combinations. Not a price tag in sight, just how they liked it. Cheap fabrics mixed with the heavier price tagged fabrics. Phyllis readjusted the steaming mug in her hand so she could ignore it better. To an outsider, this looked like a casual tea time between two women prattling on about fabrics. This was a battle of will and wit.

    ¡°I actually need this for a commission.¡± Phyllis handed Rebecca the supply list to watch the other woman¡¯s eyes widen. Those very eyes iced over to business mode as she set down the list.

    ¡°Let¡¯s talk bulk.¡± Rebecca knitted her fingers together. Phyllis took a bracing gulp as she gripped the saucer of her drink to help calm her nerves.

    <hr>

    Phyllis¡¯s workstation began to consume the living space as the dress began to take form. Time ticked on slowly, without mercy, for the next three weeks. Phyllis spent what seemed like every waking moment on that mess of fabric, barely doing anything for herself. Sloan would literally run back to and from job sites so that his wife could go back to her project that much faster. Phyllis would lie down to sleep after Sloan, only to awaken before he did.

    He even stopped practicing so that he wouldn¡¯t break her concentration. Not that anything really could once she was in the zone. He knew it was for work but it kind of hurt to be living with someone in such a close space only for them not to even acknowledge you. In short, Sloan wanted his wife back.

    Finally, it was the day of the party.

    There were not bats in any belfry but there was an outbreak of rats at Town Hall. Some goods brought in from out of town had enough stowaways to cause a lot of panic. Sloan had to lead them individually to the carefully placed traps. Since a few rats were much smarter than a swarm of locust, the job took more time and energy to complete. After three hours of solid work, Sloan just felt tired. The looks he received when the people found out he could only control one at a time really cut into his already low self-esteem.

    After the Mayor¡¯s Assistant grudgingly stamped his book Sloan left for home. Planning on a simple supper for himself while Phyllis was at her party, Sloan opened the door to his home.

    As usual, Phyllis was sitting in the middle of a mass of fabrics, buttons, and whatever else you could think of, to sew onto a dress. Careful not to tread on any of the rainbow-colored mess, Sloan made his way towards the tub.

    ¡°Another job well done?¡± Phyllis asked. She was straightening up the pile, trying to finish her latest project.

    ¡°Yep. Maybe next time they will check the goods more thoroughly.¡± Sloan called out.

    ¡°That¡¯s wonderful honey.¡± She smiled, looking up from the ribbon she was comparing to the dress. ¡°Now hurry up with that shower. The party is in a few hours.¡±

    ¡°Yeah I know when the party is. You¡¯ve only been slaving over that dress for three weeks now.¡± Sloan complained under his breath. He unbuckled his flute holster before a thought struck him. ¡°And why do you need me to shower anyway? I mean, I was going to anyway but still.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡± Phyllis asked, jerking her head towards the bed. Laid out neatly on top of the quilt was a lovely dress for Phyllis and a quite dashing suit that could only be there for Sloan.

    ¡°Oh no. No, no, no.¡± There was no way he was going to dress up just so that the snotty elitists could laugh at how ridiculous a Grade C Music Talent looked in a suit. Just the way Jezebel Whit looked at him screamed that he was not adequate enough to be married to a Grade A such as Phyllis.

    ¡°And why not?¡± his wife asked, getting up. She was several inches smaller, yet he felt a stab of fear at her steely resolve.

    ¡°Well, for one thing, I wasn¡¯t invited. Anyway, I don¡¯t really think I will fit in there, they aren¡¯t my kind of people.¡± Sloan pointed out.

    ¡°Oh. I just thought we were going to go together is all.¡± Phyllis sighed, looking away. She was picking through the piles with much less spirit now. ¡°You never know, maybe someone has a bat or mouse problem that needs taking care of.¡± Sloan sighed with resignation because he now knew exactly what he was doing tonight.

    "I hate it when you do that." Sloan conceded, much to Phyllis''s delight.

    When it came time to leave, Sloan shouldered the pack with a quick nod from his wife as they departed. The trek was silent for the most part, Phyllis being entirely too nervous about the Gala to say too much. Mercifully, they finally reached the manor, only to be immediately swept up to the dressing room. Once the dress was unpacked, Sloan was shooed from the room to mingle with the guests.

    Officially, the party started at seven on the hour. Guests would file in right up until the hostess would unveil herself to the rest of the partygoers. She would be the last one to arrive and be the center of all¡¯s attention. Just the way she liked it. Jezebel Whit was the wealthiest woman in Tinkerton, with the eyes of a hawk. Her Talent was spotting Talent. So, Sloan wasn¡¯t surprised that she¡¯d spotted Phyllis, though she didn¡¯t frequent their humble market.

    Sloan was now leaning against the wall furthest from the grand staircase, where Miss Jezebel would arrive. To his left bustled the caterers for the event. A flash of strawberry blond caught his attention. To his surprise, little Ruby Roward was placing little hors d¡¯oeuvres in an artistic array on a silver platter. With a smirk, Sloan reached down to pluck one of the delightful looking treats right off her perfect set up.

    ¡°Ow.¡± Sloan yelped, snatching his hand back. She hit him! The little brat outright hit his hand. There was even a little red mark and everything.

    ¡°You can wait just like the rest of them, Mister.¡± the girl chided, not even glancing up as she dusted one of the Deviled Eggs with a little paprika.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s a real how-do-you-do.¡± Sloan snapped. Ruby looked up at the sound of his voice. Looking up from her masterpieces her eyes grew wide at the sight of him.

    ¡°Mr. Sloan? What are you doing here?¡± She asked. Ignoring the sting from the implication that he didn¡¯t belong at a party like this he smiled. As true as it may be, it still stung.

    ¡°Believe it or not the Missus and I got invited here.¡± Sloan tried to look as dignified as possible.

    ¡°Where is Mrs. S anyway?¡± Ruby asked, scanning the rest of the guests. While the brat was distracted, Sloan stole an egg.

    ¡°She¡¯s putting the finishing touches on her own pet project,¡± Sloan replied as he shoved the whole egg in his mouth. Ruby titled her head to the side in confusion. She took a breath to ask her obvious follow-up question as to what sort of project Sloan was talking about but it was cut short by the hired band going silent.

    Automatically, every head turned towards the very top of the grand staircase. Stepping out into the limelight was Jezebel, decked out in the fanciest dress Sloan had ever seen. It was adorned with lace, ribbons, and bows, plus a puffy under-slip to flair the whole dress out more.

    ¡°Welcome once again to my little annual get-together.¡± Jezebel announced with a show of spreading her arms as if to welcome the whole party in a hug. She waited for the three second round of applause before continuing. ¡°This year we have several newly sprouted Talents that I have been dying to show you. So, go forth and mingle,¡± ordered Jezebel. The chatter started up once again as if it had never stopped.

    ¡°Well, at least she is to the point,¡± Phyllis commented. Sloan jumped at the sound of his wife¡¯s voice. Sending her a half-hearted glare, Sloan reminded his wife how much he disliked when she snuck up on him. Phyllis normally just giggled and told him he needed to stop making it fun for her to scare him but their usual banter was interrupted by the sound of Jezebel¡¯s voice.

    ¡°Phyllis, my dear, why on earth are you hiding in the corner?¡± The voice of the Talent Scout cut through their conversation. There was that judgmental look on her face again.

    ¡°Well, you see my husband-¡± Phyllis started, before she was rudely cut off. Jezebel gave Sloan a cruel fleeting look before snapping her attention back to Phyllis.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure your loving and supportive husband does not wish for his partner to waste an ideal opportunity like this hidden away in a corner.¡± Sloan did not like the way she stressed the words ¡®supportive¡¯ and ¡®partner¡¯. Inside his thoughts, Sloan was calling the elitist all the worst insults he could think of.

    ¡°Go on, dear.¡± Sloan urged with a forced smile. She needed this. He was stuck in his career but she wasn¡¯t. Jezebel gave him one last, brief glance look before carting his wife away. Then, just like that, he was alone.

    ¡°Would you like a drink, Mr. Sloan?¡± asked Ruby, holding out a fresh glass filled with chilled cider. Thanking her quietly, he downed the drink quickly before handing it back to her.

    ¡°I need some air.¡± He announced to her as he walked away. Sloan did not wait to see Ruby¡¯s reaction before leaving. People ignored him as he made his way through the crowd. It was as if they were moving around a piece of furniture. Despite the cold shoulder, Sloan kept his eyes level with the double glass doors leading to the garden. The doors were wide open to allow the perfume from the blooming flowers to wash over the party. He stopped at the door to spot Phyllis one more time, then disappeared into the night.

    The crescent moon hung high amongst the countless stars in the sky. If it wasn¡¯t for the fairies lighting the pathway as they fluttered around, Sloan wouldn¡¯t have known where he was going.

    ¡®Fairies.¡± thought Sloan, with a roll of his eyes, iridescent night dragonflies really. Where people got the idea that these mindless creatures were miniature sentient beings, Sloan would never know. A smile tugged at his frown; these were the insects that he had used during his and Phyllis¡¯s first date to woo her. The further he pressed on the more Fairies fluttered to and fro across the path. He didn¡¯t know how far he had walked when he arrived at a clearing with a mid-sized fountain. The moon cast poor enough light that night that if it hadn¡¯t been for the fairies he would not have been able to make out the design of the stone structure.

    Perched in the middle was a stone carved statue of a woman dressed in ancient clothing, shouldering a vase where the water was cascading. Her face was sad: eyes closed and chin tucked; as if holding that vase was a form of punishment. Sloan walked up to give a closer inspection of the woman¡¯s face. The details were amazing, right down to the tiny beads woven into her clothing. He studied the weave in her hair all the way down to the rock she was standing on. One of the fairies skimmed the surface close enough for the light from its body to reflect off something lying at the bottom of the pool.

    Makes sense that there would be coins at the bottom; many used such fountains as wishing wells, hoping for a good favor from the gods. Sloan felt inside his pocket for the spare coins he always carried. Yes, coins were phased out, but sometimes Sloan found them randomly in the crawl spaces of people''s homes. Fiddling with the circular object instead of twisting his fingers helped calm his nerves while saving his hands.

    ¡°How does that song go again?¡± Sloan asked aloud.

    ¡®Wishing well. Wishing well.

    How you cast your magic spell?

    Take a coin, make your wish

    Then toss it in with a mighty splish.

    It was an obnoxiously simple rhyme but it was a tradition taught to all children for as long as anyone cared to remember. He clasped the golden coin close to his mouth to whisper his wish.

    ¡°I wish to be the greatest Flute Talent ever.¡± he wished before dropping the coin in the fountain. It gave a plunk before slipping to the bottom. He waited for a second to chuckle at the nostalgia of it all before heading back. His journey was stopped short by a sharply dressed man.

    ¡°Hello, Richard.¡± Pale as death itself yet strangely handsome, the man had come out of nowhere. It was the stranger''s gaze that seemed to put Sloan off. If the eyes were windows to the soul, then this man was a walking corpse.

    ¡°Geez, anyone tell you that is just creepy?¡± Sloan asked, taking a step back away from the man.

    ¡°I heard your wish.¡± The man replied, ignoring Sloan¡¯s rhetorical question.

    ¡°That¡¯s nice,¡± Sloan smiled before turning away from the new arrival. Embarrassed about being caught making a wish like a small child.

    ¡°I can make your wish come true.¡± continued the man to Sloan¡¯s retreating back. The sheer audacity of the comment made his blood hot. Turning back to the man, Sloan finally gave the stranger a long hard look. He was dressed sharp enough that if he didn¡¯t know better he could have sworn his wife had crafted the outfit herself. The black of his hair plus the shade of black of his outfit seemed to be taken from darkness itself.

    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± Asked Sloan in the most condescending manner he could muster. ¡°How could you possibly do that?¡±

    ¡°Quite easily really. See, I am what your kind calls a divine being. I have powers far beyond your realm of comprehension.¡± The words oozed out of the man¡¯s throat like oil.

    ¡°Divine being?¡±

    ¡°That is correct.¡± The so-called Divine Being smiled.

    ¡°Ok then. Goodbye.¡± Dismissing him, thinking the man was mad or just plain cruel, Sloan turned to flee back down the path he came. His trip was stopped short by the Divine Being standing directly in his path.

    ¡°How did you¡­?¡± asked Sloan. He was glancing behind his back to make sure that there wasn¡¯t another person screwing around with him. Seeing no one, panic took firm hold in his chest as he turned towards the Divine Being.

    ¡°So ah¡­so ah¡­you got a name or something?¡± Sloan sputtered.

    ¡°Djinn. Keeper of Wishes and Dreams.¡± bowed the Being, with a hand on his chest.

    ¡°Well then, um Djinn. What do you want from me?¡± Sloan gave a hard swallow. The Being gave a small pleasant smile.

    ¡°Calm yourself. I do not wish to harm you.¡± Sloan could have sworn the Djinn¡¯s eyes turned blue for the briefest of seconds before turning back to the dark brown from before.

    ¡°Oh¡­ok then.¡± Sloan trailed off, feeling instantly relaxed.

    ¡°It¡¯s quite simple actually.¡± the Djinn answered, walking past Sloan towards the fountain. ¡°You see, I need the emotions of man to survive. The want, the need, and the sheer power of emotion that only your kind possesses. Understand?¡±

    ¡°Not really.¡±

    ¡°To put it plainly, only those who possess the brightest burning desire can summon me. Otherwise, any fourteen-year-old girl with a crush and gold coin could call me.¡±

    ¡°So if you¡¯re here to grant my wish why haven¡¯t you done it yet?¡± Curiosity, along with that curious calmness won over and made him trust the man. If what the Divine Being was saying was true, then this could be the answer to his prayers. The Djinn gave a perfect smile.

    ¡°Now that''s the spirit. I can and will make your deepest wishes come true. For a price.¡± admitted the Being as it stood in front of the fountain. Reaching out, the Djinn brushed the dirt off the woman''s carved skirt.

    ¡®Of course.¡¯ Sloan thought bitterly. ¡®Nothing is free.¡¯

    ¡°Like what exactly?¡± the Flute Talent asked, naturally skeptical.

    ¡°Oh, just your greatest treasure.¡± The Djinn shrugged nonchalantly. Sloan¡¯s brows knit as he thought of what his greatest treasure was exactly. He shoved his hands into his pockets to think about it and felt the warm surface of his pocket watch against his hand. Steeling his reserve, the Flutist looked back at the Divine Being patiently waiting for him to make his decision.

    ¡°How do I know this isn¡¯t a trick?¡± At the question, the Djinn tilted his head slightly to the side in thought.

    ¡°I shall grant your wish first then, if it is exactly as you wanted then I shall take my payment.¡± he offered.

    ¡°Sounds fair.¡± nodded Sloan, trying not to sound too excited. With another quirked smile, the Divine Being clapped his hands together once.

    ¡°Is that it?¡± Sloan had a feeling that the whole ordeal was a giant trick.

    ¡°Are you going to try out your new gift or complain about my lack of grandeur?¡±he said as he waved towards the flute strapped securely to Sloan¡¯s leg. Eyes never leaving the supposed granter of wishes to pull out his flute, he brought the instrument to his lips like he had done countless times before and like countless times before he played the Song of Hearts.

    Instantly his Talent felt different, like he could control anything. Snagging as many Fairies as he could see, he collected them into a brightly colored glowing swarm. Pleased, he gathered more Fairies he felt but couldn¡¯t see. When he gathered a large enough following, he split the cloud into two equal parts to make them dance around in patterns completely independent from one another. Confidence growing, he urged the two swarms higher. Splitting them into fours, he made each cloud fly a separate pattern from the others. Smiling, he stopped playing allowing the Fairies to scatter back into the night.

    ¡°Satisfied?¡± The Djinn was grinning from ear to ear. Sloan didn¡¯t even care that the Divine Being was now standing over his shoulder.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Sloan laughed. For the first time in his life, using Talent made him happy instead of exhausted. With a smile, the Djinn merely nodded his head in reply, content with Sloan¡¯s answer.

    ¡°So I will now be taking my payment.¡± The Djinn stated in a firm tone.

    ¡°Right. Right. Yeah just give me second to get this thing off here.¡± Sloan agreed as he began fiddling with the chain connecting his watch to his belt.

    ¡°There is no need.¡± The now cold voice of the Djinn spoke.

    ¡°Richard? What¡¯s going on?¡± The voice of Phyllis joined in. Sloan¡¯s neck gave a twinge with how fast he straightened up to look in horror at his beloved wife, now standing next to the Djinn. His whole body froze as he attempted to make sense of why she was suddenly there. Right before his eyes, the Djinn hovered his hand near the confused Phyllis and she disappeared into the shadows.

    The sound Sloan made wasn¡¯t human. As he screamed, the Djinn smirked at Sloan¡¯s misery before disappearing into the shadows as well, leaving behind the thought ¡®they always think it will be an easy price.¡¯

    Blinking as fast as his eyes would allow, Sloan tried to will the dread that was closing in upon him to just go away. The shock morphed into a full-blown panic attack. His lungs refused to hold air as the world began to spin. In the end, the world faded to black.

    <hr>

    Phyllis staggered as her senses returned to her. Was she having a nightmare? It seemed like a nightmare, first she was at a terrible party full of horribly shallow people. Second, she fell through the floor to the garden in front of her husband and some shady man in a suit. Now she was standing in the center of a tiled room with only four pillars holding up a vaulted ceiling. Looking around, Phyllis saw a deep black void all around her.

    ¡°This is the strangest dream I have ever had.¡± Phyllis tentatively took a step forward towards the edge of the room. Most dreams she¡¯d ever had up until now involved sentient yarn. Carefully, she leaned against the pillars for support to peer over the edge of the floor. The black void stretched just as far below with a cream-colored pinprick that was getting larger the longer Phyllis stared at it. Unable to look away, she watched the cream-colored object come close enough for her to make out that it was the top of a vaulted roof. Still rooted in fascination, she noticed that the roof appeared to be attached to another wall-less room like the one she was standing in.

    The room kept floating in an upward right until it was level with Phyllis. A woman large enough to crush a carriage, draped in finery befitting a queen, sat in the center of the room. Where a human''s legs should have been a large mottled fish tail took their place. Phyllis¡¯ eyes grew wide as she noticed that the large woman was suspended in water that seemed to magically keep inside the space of the room. The creature noticed Phyllis staring at her and turned to give the much smaller woman a soundless snarl, revealing a large gaping hole where teeth or even a tongue should have been.

    Phyllis screamed, backpedaling away from the creature so fast her high-heeled shoe caught her dress. Phyllis¡¯s shoe flew off as an audible ripping noise was drowned out by her screaming. Breath caught in her throat as Phyllis stared up at the ceiling, completely unhurt yet not even touching anything.

    ¡°Aw. You ripped your dress. Tsk tsk we cannot have that.¡± The face of the man Richard was talking to not even five minutes ago invaded her vision. Phyllis¡¯ yelp caught in her throat. With a brisk two finger wave from the man, Phyllis was upright again. With two more hand waves, Phyllis¡¯ dress was repaired with her shoe placed firmly back on her foot.

    By this point, Phyllis was almost hyperventilating from panic. She had so many questions that she couldn¡¯t even make a sound. Noticing his prize¡¯s state, the mysterious man began to speak.

    ¡°Ugh. Introductions. I do hate them so. Here is the short version, I am the Djinn, Mythical Being, and granter of Human Kind¡¯s desires. Your husband sold you to me so you get to live here now. As long as you reside here you will not need to eat or drink. You shall never suffer physical pain nor grow old. Oh, and don¡¯t think you can escape.¡± The Djinn grabbed Phyllis¡¯ arm to spin her around until she was almost falling off the edge of the platform. Terror seized her breath as she realized there was no coming back from a fall like that. ¡°For you see, there is nowhere for you to go.¡± With a harsh jerk of her arm, Phyllis was now back to standing in the center of the floating platform again. Almost sobbing, Phyllis gripped her arm as some way to comfort herself.

    ¡°Shh. None of that, none of that. Fear not my little treasure. This is not where you''ll be staying.¡± Said the Djinn trying to comfort her. Phyllis was finally managing to calm her breath enough to look at the Mythical Being.

    ¡°Then where?¡± Phyllis couldn¡¯t quite ask if where she would be confined to was in this nightmare.

    ¡°Why the treasure room of course.¡± The man then pressed his index finger firmly on her forehead. An icy chill ran down her from the top of her head to her toes. He managed to push Phyllis back so hard with just his finger that she fell backward. Instead of hitting the floor like she thought she would, Phyllis fell inside of a treasure chest so deep all she could see was darkness.

 The Worst Traveling Partner Ever

    Waking up to a headache has got to be the most miserable thing a person could ever experience. Brushing away the pebbles that clung to the side of his face, Sloan blinked away the backlashes of passing out. Speaking of which, why had he passed out? Flashes of the Djinn, his wish, and finally, of his wife being stolen away by the shadows, all rushed back.

    ¡°Phyllis?¡± Sloan called out. Hoping that what he remembered was a very creative bad dream caused by stress. ??¡°PHYLLIS?¡± Sloan shouted, getting up from the cold ground.

    ''She¡¯s not here.'' An unknown voice called back. Sloan looked around for the source. Fairies and the fountain were the only things around him.

    ¡°Quit screwing around!¡± Sloan¡¯s eyes hurt from squinting into the darkness.

    ''Over here.'' The voice commanded. Sloan looked around for any sign of movement.

    ¡°Almost¡­almost¡­.¡± The voice hinted as he scanned the trees. ¡°There. Right in front of you.¡± All that was in front of him was the carved statue standing above the fountain. There was no way. It wasn''t possible.

    ¡°And my nightmare continues.¡± First mystical beings and now talking fountains¡­ what was next? Would his clothes try to strangle him?

    ''His nightmare he says. Try being stuck in the same pose above the same fountain for several hundred years not being able to warn desperate morons like yourself!'' The voice seemed to be coming from within his own head.

    ¡°Yeah sorry about that.¡± He had nothing to really apologize for but it just felt right. ¡°Say, if you couldn¡¯t talk to me before how are you talking to me now?¡±

    ''As far as I can tell we are connected by the power of the Djinn. It seems that after we are touched by his power we become connected to each other.'' The statue did her best to explain. ''I''d go so far as to say by magic.''

    ¡°That¡¯s great. So how do we reverse it?¡± Sloan inquired, brushing aside the flowery words the frozen woman spoke.

    "Reverse what? Oh, the wish. It¡¯s impossible.¡¯ She stated flatly. Anger welled up deep inside him at the final tone the statue woman spoke in. He marched up close to the timeless face.

    ¡°So you are telling me there is a zero percent chance of getting my wife back?¡± he snarled.

    ''Do you think I would be stuck here if I knew of a way to break my curse? He took her to where he resides, the place that only he could travel to and from. Even if you found a way to haul him back, what exactly where you planning on doing?'' She made a valid point but his blood was still singing with anger. The anger quickly fizzled out to misery. Sitting on the edge of the fountain, he allowed his head to drop into his hands.

    Stupid magic! Stupid Talent system. Stupid Richard Sloan! Stupid Mythical Being from Legend!

    With that last thought, Sloan blinked in realization, Mythical Being from Legend.

    ¡°If it is a Being from Legend then maybe there is something I could do about it. There must be some information on them. Like a¡­like a¡­scroll, a song, ANYTHING REALLY!¡± He screamed to the starry heavens.

    ''Or maybe you¡¯re just being an idiot.'' The stone woman suggested.

    ¡°Maybe so, but I have to try.¡± Sloan pointed at the petrified woman as he made his way out of the garden.

    ''Like I haven''t heard that one before.''

    * * *

    The sun was lighting up the sky by the time Sloan had packed what he felt he needed for his trip. Sloan knew that it was too warm for the cloak he flung around his shoulders but he really didn¡¯t care. It would protect him from the rain and double as a blanket. He gave one last look to the home he and Phyllis built together.

    "Mr. Sloan." The voice of Jezebel cut through his thoughts. Turning around, sure enough Jezebel was indeed standing behind him. She had changed and done up her hair in a different style since last night.

    ''Does this woman ever sleep?'' thought Sloan, as he answered, "Yeah?"

    "I was wondering if Phyllis was up and about yet." she asked with a not so subtle look around his back. With a frown, she noticed the packed bag he was carrying. "Going somewhere, Mr. Sloan?"

    "Why, yes. Yes, we are." Sloan tried to sound casual.

    "We?" the woman pressed.

    "Well, you see," Sloan fiddled with the straps of his bag to think of a believable lie. There is no way she''d ever actually believe the truth.  "Philli was so elated after your wonderful party last night, she insisted we race off to find inspiration that was more suited to your refined tastes."

    "I''m not stupid, Mr. Sloan." Jezebel neatly folded her hands down her front. "If Phyllis needed a repose after last night''s endeavor she just needed to say so. However, I do expect something unique when she does return. I''m sorry, when did you say you were getting back?"

    Sloan didn''t say when they''d be back. At this point, Sloan didn''t know if he''d ever return.

    "You know, I''m not really sure when-" Jezebel held up her hand to stop his ramblings.

    "I don''t want to hear excuses. All I care about is results. Please tell your wife that she has six months to create something truly magnificent or else I will not hesitate to throw both of you back into this little hole in the wall you call home. Do I make myself clear?" She was drawn up to her full size as she spoke every word with clear diction.

    "Crystal." Sloan swallowed hard.

    "Good. As promised, the movers shall be here tomorrow. Speaking of which, I''ll be needing that key to let them in." The Seeing Talent pointed to the key he was about to lock his door with. Sloan quickly handed over the small brass object, hoping to get going soon. "When you get back you can pick up your new key at the Town Hall. Hope to see Phyllis sooner rather than later. Tah for now." Sloan waited for her to fully disappear down the street before taking off himself.

    By the time he reached the northern gate the sun had risen to wake up the world. Sloan didn¡¯t spare a backward glance at the only home he had ever known. Either he¡¯d be coming back with Phyllis or he would not be coming back at all.

    It wasn¡¯t even noon before Sloan was already tired from walking. How far he had traveled, he could not have told you¡­ but it felt like an eternity. Yet the town was still embarrassingly close from his current standpoint, looming tauntingly behind him. He had no idea what lay beyond the farm fields surrounding the town, no knowledge of where the next town was or even if he could find any help there. For all he had seen in his life, Tinkerton could have been the only city in existence.  Breathing heavily, Sloan found a wonderfully large rock to sit down upon to rest his aching feet. While he rested, he fished out a loaf of hard bread. He frowned at the bland taste as he looked down the road he still had left to travel. The hard-packed dirt road stretched all the way up and over a hill in the distance. Groaning around the bit of bread, he shoved the rest of the loaf back into his pack and determined to keep going before nightfall came.

    Three equally large hills later, the sun started to sink. Figuring he¡¯d make camp before he ran out of daylight, Sloan managed to find a small path off the road. The path sloped down to a clearing just off the main path. A fallen tree caught between two boulders had a nice Sloan sized crevice for him to sleep in. Shoving his pack into the crevice Sloan went to forage for food. He figured the more he ate off the land the more supplies he had for an emergency. Careful to gauge his surroundings, he picked through the underbrush. Sloan found a shallow but wide stream not too far from where he was camping. As he watched the water trickle over the rocks he spotted what looked like miniature lobsters jetting from rock to rock. Worrying his lower lip, Sloan debated on eating more of his supplies or wading out to catch a few of those lobster-fish.

    Hunger won out as he took off his socks and shoes. Sloan shuddered at the pricking of rocks poking his tender feet. Clumsily, he chased several lobster-fish to the shallower part of the stream to catch them. With his handkerchief, he wrapped his catch so they couldn¡¯t pinch him.

    He caught three medium sized ones before spotting the granddaddy of them all. He was as gray and big as a brick. Pinning the handkerchief holding his catch down with a large rock, he waded out to catch the guarantee of a decent meal.

    Sloan went further in to catch his future meal. Anticipating his imminent capture, the lobster creature swung his fat pincher up to latch onto Sloan¡¯s finger.

    Swearing loudly, Sloan flailed around to dislodge the horrid beast from his finger. With a particularly fierce upswing, it finally decided to let go. Spinning a few times in the air, it landed with a plop back in the water. Panting loudly, he examined his injured digit for damage.

    A loud cackle cut through the usual sounds of the forest. Shocked at the noise, Sloan violently looked around for the animal responsible for the sound. His eyes fell on the most peculiar looking bird he had ever seen. Most of the bird¡¯s body was covered with black feathers with a bright white chest.  What struck him as odd were the sapphire blue tail and wings. As he stared at the way the light caught the blue of the wings, it opened its beak to give another mocking caw. Despite knowing it was futile to scowl at a bird, Sloan did it anyway. To make his crummy mood better he was going make the overgrown feather duster fetch some of the berries that grew in the bush near the tree it was sitting in. Altogether too smug, he pulled his flute from its holster to play the song he knew by heart then-

    Nothing.

    He couldn¡¯t play.

    Well, he could play he was sure, but for some reason, he could not bring himself to play. It took more futile attempts before he knew why he could not bring himself to play. Every time he thought about using his Talent the image of his wife sinking into the shadows burned across his mind¡¯s eye. Frustrated, Sloan shoved his flute back into its holster to make his way back to camp, determined to never use his Talent again.

    ¡°Eh, stupid crow¡­thing.¡± Sloan dismissed giving a gesture for the bird to get out of his sight.

    ¡®Magpie. I¡¯m a magpie you idiot.¡¯

    Sloan was startled for a second. Furiously he looked around for the source of the teenage girl¡¯s voice. The voice was coming from inside his head, just like the petrified woman''s did.

    ¡°It can¡¯t be.¡± Sloan denied. He closed his eyes tight, turning back towards where the voice came from. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes again, praying he would see some surly teen girl. He was sorely disappointed when the only living soul in sight was the obnoxious bird.

    ¡°First a statue, now a bird. I mean, seriously!¡± Sloan shouted towards the bird, who in turn was so surprised that she fell off her perch. Sloan did not give the talking bird enough time to recover as he took off back towards his camp. Taking deep calming breaths Sloan tried to act like he didn¡¯t just talk to a bird. He unpacked his lidded cast iron pot to toss in the lobster-looking creatures. Pouring in a liberal amount of fresh water, he began to sort through the various broad-leafed plants he found. Sloan went to add what he thought was sage when he heard it again.

    ¡®Don¡¯t add that one, unless you want to die.¡¯ It was the voice of the girl again. She seemed quieter than before, though, as if she was talking to him from some feet away. If Sloan wasn¡¯t mistaken the girl had followed him and was now watching him in a nearby tree. Now her advice left Sloan with a dilemma; does he add the leaf?

    A seemingly simple decision was now complicated by one little sentence. Does he add the leaf to keep the illusion that he can¡¯t hear her? Or does he concede that the girl obviously knows he can hear her? Sloan¡¯s hand begins to shake before he shouts

    ¡°What do you want from me?¡±

    ¡®Oh good, you can understand me. For a minute there I thought you were just crazy.¡¯ The girl admitted, winging her way down from her tree. She landed directly in front of him as if she was welcomed like a friend.

    ¡°What do you want, Feathers?¡± Sloan tossed the rest of the leaves away from him. The bird girl puffed herself up in indignation.

    ¡®First of all, the name¡¯s Talon. Second-HEY!¡¯ The girl started to complain but was swatted at by Sloan. ¡®What is your deal?¡¯

    ¡°You¡¯re where the fire is going.¡± Sloan pointed out. ¡°Unless you do want singed feathers.¡±  Sloan looked up from building the fire to smile at the girl. He had only been cursed for a few hours and already found two more of the Djinn''s victims. A few hours back Sloan had kicked himself for not getting the statue girl''s story. Maybe there was a pattern he could manipulate. Like, did the Djinn actually need the rhyme? Was using a coin imperative? Or were both required to perform a proper summoning? The bird looked away in what could only be described as a huff. If she were human again she would¡¯ve crossed her arms to pout. Speaking of human-

    ¡°So what¡¯s your story then?¡±  He hadn¡¯t meant to ask out loud but the question slipped out anyway. Tact was never his strong point.

    ¡®Sorry?¡¯

    ¡°You know. This!¡± Sloan looked up from the blooming fire to indicate Talon¡¯s bird body. Talon went silent for a minute as she thought about answering him.

    ¡®I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡¯ Was all he got for his efforts. Sloan scoffed as he went back to cooking. Typical girl response.

    ¡®Not like you care anyway.¡¯ She added quietly.

    ¡°Oh my yes. That¡¯s why I asked. Because I don¡¯t care. That¡¯s why I tried to start up a conversation; to avoid a conversation. Whoo. I mean weird awkward silence is so much better than, you know, actually talking to one another.¡± Sloan ranted on while stirring the now steaming concoction. Was the water supposed to look that dirty used dishwater color?

    ¡®Alright. Fine. I get it.¡¯ The girl interrupted loudly. ¡®I¡¯ll tell you my story if you tell me yours first?¡¯

    ¡°What makes you think I have a story?¡± Sloan tried to act cool and aloof.  Trying to divert the conversation away from what happened last night.

    ¡®Are we really going to do this all night?¡¯ Talon snapped. Her beak gave a click to match her annoyance.

    ¡°Fine. I guess I could start by saying I have a wife named Phyllis.¡±

    * * *

    ¡®So you sold your wife for power?¡¯  Talon had invaded the camp to sample the food placed in front of her. For some reason, the girl turned bird decided that she would rather spend time with a grump like Sloan than be alone in the forest.

    "Thank you for rubbing it in my face.¡± Sloan frowned before taking a painful swig of his own portion of Forest-floor Stew. A delightfully terrible combination of the creatures he had caught in the river (people called them crayfish, according to Talon) along with several edible plants and one edible mushroom. He couldn¡¯t taste the difference between the rubbery mushroom bits and the rubbery creature bits. Except for the occasion piece of shell, that is.

    ¡®No problem, but that doesn¡¯t explain why you are out here.¡¯

    ¡°I¡¯m looking for a way to get her back.¡±

    ¡®What, from the Djinn? Impossible. One wish is all you get.¡¯

    ¡°You know you seem to be oddly educated about the Mythical Being for a bird.¡± Sloan had a suspicion, but with a being as horribly twisted as the Djinn he had to make sure. Was she another victim or a spy? Apparently, Sloan had a look on his face because Talon was quick to defend herself.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    ''What? You honestly think I have tried to reverse my condition? Do you how many coins I have stolen? No matter how many times I''ve tried he won''t even show up.''

    "So, why a bird? Did you ask for the ability to fly or something?" Sloan kept prodding at both the subject and his food.

    ''Look, buddy, I don¡¯t know about where you come from but that¡¯s just rude! Asking someone you just met something so personal.¡¯

    ¡°Says the girl who was spying on me in the woods. Why were you spying, huh? I bet you were trying to steal some food, or worse, report back to your boss, the Djinn.¡± Sloan had no mercy. The Djinn had the power to change the laws of Talent itself. There was no limit to his power.

    ''Spy¡­for¡­'' Talon¡¯s voice faltered as her mind wrapped around what Sloan had said. ''Do you have any idea what I¡¯ve been through?'' Sloan knew a rhetorical question when he heard one.

    ¡®I¡¯ve spent the last three years of my life on the fringe of something I use to be a part of. No one talks to me; no one pays attention to me. My own family shooed me away. I never even got to say good-bye.¡¯ That last part Sloan was sure Talon never meant for him to hear. But it was something he could never forget, even if he wanted to.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t know.¡± Sloan looked away. Talon¡¯s bird face looked the same way it always did, but he felt the urge to look away nonetheless. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­been a long and very confusing few days. Sometimes I feel like I¡¯ll just wake up.¡±

    ¡®You¡¯ll get used to it.¡¯ Sloan frowned; he didn¡¯t want to ¡®get used to it¡¯!

    ¡°You know what? NO! I won¡¯t. I refuse! I¡¯ll get her back. No, I¡¯ll get both of you back. Better yet, I¡¯ll get him to fix everyone!¡± Sloan declared to the cooling evening air. Talon gave a yawn.

    ¡®You going to finish that?¡¯

    ¡°Back off, scavenger!¡± Even though he protested, he was seriously thinking about giving the girl the rest of his food. ¡°Hurry up bird, we¡¯re almost out of daylight and I need to clean up and get moving. The last thing I need is to wake up with a bear in my face.¡±

    ¡®For the last time, my name is Talon. Like the ones I¡¯m going to use on you if you irritate me. Besides, there are no bears in these woods.¡¯ Talon took off, towards what Sloan assumed was her home. Sloan jammed his pack into the space under the fallen log first, hoping he could trap the warmth from his body with it. With some effort, he managed to curl his entire body underneath his cloak. The overgrowth was just enough to make a semi-comfortable place to sleep.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s good,¡± Sloan muttered out loud without realizing it.

    ¡®Wolves yes. Bears no.¡¯

    * * *

    Blinking, Phyllis woke up face down in a pile of coins. Pushing herself up, she looked around, confused. A white mist hung around her and the piles of golden coins surrounding her. As she pulled a face, Phyllis felt pressure on her left cheek. Curious, she peeled off a silver coin bearing writing from her face. Sub-consciously Phyllis slipped the coin into the pocket where she held her handkerchief. She wobbled as she stood up to get a better look at where she was.

    Pressing her fingers against her mouth, she tried to think about what to do next. As she took a step forward, her heels caused an avalanche that sent her tumbling head over feet. Sprawled in an ungraceful heap, Phyllis screamed in frustration as she kicked off her heels. Detangling her limbs from one another, she realized that she was not hurt. Blinking, she looked over her exposed skin for cuts or bruises. Nothing. She gave her left forearm a hard pinch. When she felt nothing, she tried to pinch harder with her nails. Still, nothing.

    ¡®Am I dreaming again?¡¯ Phyllis thought to herself, as she looked up to see what she could see. The mist looked more like a solid cloud cover that hung over her. ¡°Looks like I am dreaming.¡±

    ¡®Well¡­if I am dreaming then I should be able to- ¡®Phyllis leaped into the air, trying to fly. Gravity promptly yanked her back down like it always did. With a huff, Phyllis plopped down hard on her butt. Still feeling nothing, she flung herself back to look at the stationary mist cloud above her. Annoyed, she attempted to disturb the mist around her with her hand. When doing that accomplished nothing she let her hand fall hard to her side. As her frustration mounted, she turned on her side, trying to figure something out. She reached out to read one of the countless coins.

    ¡®Empathy¡¯ She turned the coin over to read, ¡®I wish I could be a surgeon.¡¯ Confused, Phyllis began to start reading other coins. At the very least, it was something to do.

    * * *

    ¡®Will you quit staring?¡¯ Talon fluffed her feathers. She seemed on edge, not that Sloan noticed anything else besides the chaotic city. Compared to the linear setup of Tinkerton, this entire town seemed almost slapped together. Buildings were all different sizes and colors. When he took a closer look at the buildings, he noticed that some were even made of different materials. Animals called out from their baskets and cages, adding to the din of conversation.

    ¡°I can¡¯t help it. This place is nothing like Tinkerton,¡± The Flutist replied in awe. An unkempt dog sniffed around one of the many food stalls, only to be chased off by the owner of the stall.

    ¡®Oh, it can¡¯t be that different.¡¯ Talon tried to rationalize from her perch on the man¡¯s shoulder. Sloan rolled his shoulder hoping to dislodge his ¡°heavier-than-she-looked¡± companion. In retaliation, Talon gripped tighter, almost poking holes in the tough fabric.

    The key difference in this town from Tinkerton was not just that the main road ran directly through the town but almost every building along the way was selling food. Some merely had raw ingredients, one building was offering to butcher a pig in less than a day for you for only forty Renzies. Sloan had no idea what a Renzie was. Walking past an outdoor caf¨¦, Sloan saw that a woman in a flowy dress was enjoying her steaming mug and pastry.

    Sloan''s stomach gave a rumble. He moved over to the side of the caf¨¦. Leaning against one of the many flower-covered white arches over the doorways, Sloan dug out his credit book. He had some money left over from when Phyllis had to buy her supplies.

    ¡®What¡¯s that?¡¯ Talon¡¯s piped up. Sloan was annoyed she was still here, he¡¯d hoped she¡¯d get bored soon enough.

    ¡°I¡¯m seeing how much credit I have left so I can get some more supplies.¡± Sloan showed the girl his book.

    ¡®Credit? So, is it like money or what?¡¯ Talon asked, leaning in to look closer.

    ¡°Of course it is money. What else would it be?¡± Sloan was not liking where this conversation was going.

    ¡®Well, whatever it is, you can¡¯t use that here.¡¯ Talon stated, sitting up straight again.

    ¡°Pff. And how would you know?¡± he was really hoping she was wrong about this.

    ¡®See that sign over there?¡¯ Sloan looked around to see the sign the shop owner across the street was putting out.

    ¡°Lunch Special: Rosemary Lamb Shank with Rhubarb pie slice only twelve Renzies.¡± he read off the chalkboard. ¡°So?¡±

    ¡®So, this town uses Geld, Renzies, and Peras. And all you have are little pieces of paper with words on them. Which means- ¡®

    Sloan breathed, realizing with horror ¡°I have no money. What am I going to do? I mean, I can¡¯t go back home.¡± By this point, Sloan was starting to panic.

    ¡®You should definitely go home. There is nothing you can do out here.¡¯ Talon said, trying to provoke him.

    ¡°I am not going back without Phyllis.¡± Sloan snarled, batting at Talon. The girl fluttered to the ground with a huff.

    ¡®Fine! Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you. I¡¯ve babes in the woods more equipped to handle the real world than you. I mean, seriously, if it wasn¡¯t for me you¡¯d be dead! What kind of idiot puts something in his mouth without knowing what it is?¡¯ Talon was yelling over their link but her bird body was screeching at him.

    By this point in their bickering, a crowd had formed around them to get a nosy view of the commotion. The normal people could not understand the cries of the bird. To anyone but Sloan it sounded like he was just arguing with a normal bird, albeit one with unique plumage. A murmur broke out among the crowd, as they wondered aloud if someone should alert a guard to have this man dragged off. For once in Sloan¡¯s life, it seemed that luck was on his side. In his haste to repack last night, his bowl had been verging on falling out of his bag all day. With one particularly strong jolt to take a swipe at Talon, the bowl finally became dislodged as it gave one full flip before settling in the dirt, opening up.

    A sharp-eyed crowd member who happened by spotted the dropped pottery lying innocently at the madman¡¯s feet. Then an idea came to the stranger. This wasn¡¯t a mad man arguing with an animal out of insanity. No, this was a street performer with his obviously trained pet. Why else would the bird stay near a person trying to grab it out of midair? As the stranger watched, he laughed when the trained bird landed deftly on its owner¡¯s head to peck at the man¡¯s scalp. Admiring the level of commitment to the act, the stranger donated a few bronze Pera coins to the collecting bowl.

    ¡°Knock it off.¡± Sloan ordered as he pulled out the closest thing he had to a weapon. Brandishing a silver flute like a sword, Sloan took a swipe at the bird. The musical instrument made a pathetic weapon as it turned out. At the sight of it, Talon gave a screech of anger before dive-bombing it to snatch it out of Sloan¡¯s hand. With baited breath, he watched her carry her treasure away towards the nearest roof and far out of his reach. Once she landed, she peered down at him before giving her mocking laugh. Swearing under his breath, Sloan took a deep breath to clear the anger from his body.

    ¡°Alright, Talon. You win.¡± he called up to her. He was too hungry and far too tired to fight with her anymore. Pleased with herself, Talon bobbed her head up and down as if she was doing a victory dance. When she finished, she grabbed the flute to bring it back to Sloan. She dropped the silver instrument into his outstretched hand and then proceeded to resume her perch on Sloan¡¯s shoulder.

    Once she settled, the crowd that had amassed around them burst into applause. Several people where so impressed by their display they added more coins to the now half-filled bowl. Blinking in confusion, Sloan picked up his fallen dishware, smiling for the first time since he had started his journey.

    ¡°We should do that more often.¡± Sloan was counting his money in their room at the inn they could now purchase for the night. Talon was perched on the window sill overlooking the outside world. She was fluffing and fidgeting as she kept glancing at the door to Sloan counting his money, utterly oblivious to the world around him.

    The Tuck Inn was located on the edge of town, filled with travelers such as themselves wanting a place to sleep as well as eat. Ever since Sloan checked them in, Talon seemed on edge. She''d always tense up whenever someone would look their way.

    ¡®Yeah. Sure. I¡¯ll peck your head anytime.¡¯ Talon¡¯s voice seemed distant as she fluttered next to the small pile of currency. ¡®What are you doing? You act like you¡¯ve never seen real money before.¡¯

    ¡°I haven¡¯t,¡± Sloan admitted as he put down one of the bronze coins.

    ¡®And you call yourself a grown man. Look, we have plenty of time to fawn over our earnings once we are safely in the woods again.¡¯ chided the bird-girl.  ''How does your town even function without money anyway?''

    ¡°With this.¡± Sloan produced his ledger that he used for shopping back in Tinkerton. Talon gave a laugh as she read over the writing on the pages.

    ¡®That¡¯s not real money.¡¯ Talon was laughing so hard over their link she was cackling again. ¡®You can¡¯t buy anything with paper! It¡¯s not worth anything!¡¯

    ¡°You know, this-¡° Sloan picked up one of the coins to show to the girl. ¡°Doesn¡¯t have any worth either. People give things like gold or credit slips worth.¡± He tried to explain as the teen¡¯s laughing tapered off.

    ¡®Whatever you say. Are we going to get dinner sometime tonight or what?¡¯ Talon changed the subject to avoid the impending lecture she was sure Sloan was brewing.

    ¡°Fine. But this isn¡¯t over.¡± Sloan pulled his bag closer to finding something to put his newest acquisition in. An inner pocket seemed to be a good a place as any. Keeping a few bits of bronze and two silvers to exchange for food, he closed the bag to shove under the bed. ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon enough, don¡¯t tear up the place.¡± With a click of the door, he was gone.

    Talon got comfortable waiting for Sloan to get back. She knew she had to keep as quiet and out of the way as possible. The innkeeper hated Talon being inside enough without the bird-girl causing problems. The door gave a tell-tale creak as it swung open.

    ¡®That was quick.¡¯ Talon commented over their link to who she thought was Sloan. Instead of the angry thirty-something man stood a wiry young man with a too big grin his face. He shut the door behind him so quickly Talon couldn¡¯t escape.

    Talon took to the air, trying to get as far away from the thief as she could. She screeched and banged around in hopes that someone would hear and investigate. Unfazed by the noise or Talon¡¯s flapping about, the thief causally picked up the pillow from the bed as his eyes followed the bird-girl around the room.

    ¡°That¡¯s it. Tire yourself out.¡± The man smiled. ¡°Makes you easier to catch.¡± On the word ¡®catch¡¯ the thief struck Talon with the pillow. With the wind knocked out of her, Talon lay on the floor trying to gather her wits.

    ¡°Now be a good little birdie and take a nice nap.¡± Using the pillowcase, the thief bundled Talon so he could slip back out of the room unnoticed.

    Sloan was humming a little tune he had made up along his travel (before the annoyance showed up) as he made his way back to his room. It was so catchy, it got stuck in his head ever since he thought of it. Careful to not spill the large bowl of vegetable soup or tip over the bottle of apple cider, he took each step with caution.  A person in a hooded cloak was standing up at the top of the steps, waiting for Sloan to finish his ascent up the narrow staircase. Just as Sloan reached the last three steps, he thought he heard the hooded person say ¡°Oh my freaking head¡± as he passed by. For a fleeting second, he thought the mysterious person sounded like Talon. With a small shake of his head, he chalked the whole event up to just being hungry.

    ¡°Hope you like vegetables because that¡¯s all they really had left,¡± Sloan called out as he entered the room. The pillow was lying on the floor naked, the chair had been knocked over, and Talon was missing. Annoyed, Sloan sat the tray of food down on the bed. Did he not say behave while he was gone? Annoyance morphed into a panic when she wasn¡¯t under the bed.

    ¡°Talon?¡± Sloan called out hoping to hear a sarcastic comment.   When none came, he stood up again to look around the room. ¡®The window is shut,¡¯ he rationalized. ¡®She couldn¡¯t have possibly opened the door on her own. So how- ¡®Sloan remembered the stranger on the landing that sounded exactly like-

    ¡°Talon!¡± Sloan grabbed his own cloak and his room key. Something told him this wasn¡¯t going to be your run of the mill errand. Long shadows stretched out in the dying sunlight as people were packing up their animals and wares to go home. Desperate, Sloan hustled up to the nearest person, who was putting chickens in baskets.

    ¡°Excuse me.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re closed. Come back tomorrow.¡± the man snapped, while wrestling a particularly rowdy bird.

    ¡°Listen, I am looking for my pet bird. She is about this tall- ¡°Stretching out his arms to her rough size. Sloan stopped talking when the man roared with laughter.

    ¡°You¡¯re that loony man everyone in the market is talking about. Lost track of it, have you? I knew you couldn¡¯t train a bird; too stupid you see. McLennan lost a whole lot of turkeys last year when it rained. Grwahaha.¡± Sloan rolled his eyes. He didn¡¯t have time for this.

    ¡°Have you seen her or not?¡± Sloan huffed, looking around for any suspicious characters.

    ¡°Just go buy a new one from the peddlers! Get yourself a bear. Now that''s what people would pay to see.¡± The chicken monger had more to say but Sloan had already started to head towards the direction the man had vaguely waved in.

    Out of town merchants dotted the outskirts of the city.  The exotic animal peddlers could be heard before they were visible. On the very end of the camping ground, there were three wooden carts that looked like tiny houses with wheels next to the only tree in the lot, surrounded by tarp-covered crates. Ducking down, Sloan slunk behind one of the larger crates lying around.

    ¡°Master LaRue. Master LaRue.¡± A young man¡¯s voice called out from behind the crate. Careful as he could, Sloan poked his head from around the crate to see what was going on. In the light of the bonfire, Sloan managed to make out that Talon had been caged to be presented to who appeared to be the owner of the caravan. An old man decked out in a patchwork cloak of animal pelts came out into the light. As Sloan looked on he noticed that Master LaRue wore a necklace of animal claws and teeth.

    ¡°You bring me a magpie?¡± Master LaRue bent his crooked back to get a closer look at Talon. ¡°Why?¡± If snakes could talk Sloan was sure that is exactly how they would sound.  The thief swallowed hard before he spoke.

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen it do tricks.¡± The thief did not look the man in the eye. ¡°All on its own. No Talent."

    ¡°Really? That might fetch a price. Put it in with Roscoe.¡± The thief shuffled to collect Talon¡¯s cage to deliver to Roscoe. Sitting on the steps of the third rolling house was a wispy woman covered in a fine layer of grit. She collected the cage with Talon, gave the girl-bird a sneer before attaching the top of the cage to a hook jutting out near the door. The cage swung back and forth, knocking Talon from the perch. The woman gave a cackle as she tapped the bars again.

    "Stupid birdie." the woman mocked, batting the cage, making Talon fall again.

    Wondering how on earth he was going to rescue Talon, Sloan repositioned himself to where his back was resting against the crate. Slightly frustrated, he banged the back of his head against the crate. The crate, in turn, growled at him.

    ¡°Think we feed tiger tonight?¡± A reedy feminine voice asked.

    ¡°Naw. Fed thing yesterday. Don¡¯t need much food in box.¡± Master LaRue replied. The caravan went back to their nightly duties while an idea formed in Sloan¡¯s head. Peering out from around the tiger¡¯s crate, he waited for the perfect opportunity. Under the tarp the crate was not really a crate, it was a cage with one wooden side and the rest were bars. He could control the beast to force the three of them to hand over his companion. Sloan¡¯s hand drifted to the instrument but when he touched it he felt a pit in his stomach again. Cursing his weak nature Sloan smacked his head against the side of the cage again. The entrapped tiger growled again.

    "Yeah, yeah I hear yah." Sloan snapped, chewing on his lower lip.

    Looking back around the corner again something caught his eye. The tiger''s cage was being locked by a simple slip latch. There wasn''t even a lock or anything preventing it from being accidentally opened.

    ¡®Just a tiny little latch. It is almost like they wanted the beast to get out. All you have to do is give it a little nudge.¡¯  Sloan found himself justifying as his hand gravitated towards the latch. Even the tiger was staring at Sloan as the Music Talent''s fingers wrapped around the latch. Both man and beast locked eyes for the briefest of seconds. Sloan knew full well he would be ripped to shreds by the massive predator. As the man stared into the tiger''s eyes he felt no fear. The creature had no ill will towards the man about to free him.

    ¡®Morons. If they didn¡¯t want the tiger getting out they should have locked the cage.¡¯ A malicious voice criticized as Sloan slid the latch open. This whole experience was allowing the darker thoughts a louder voice than he was used to. With a quiet creak, he swung the door open. Ducking under the tarp, Sloan hoped the moving people would provide a more tempting target. From his hiding spot, he heard the tiger¡¯s roar mingle with the terrified screams of the peddlers. Taking that as his cue, Sloan slipped out of his hiding spot to slink around the edge of the camp. As the thief, the woman, and Master LaRue tried to keep out of the giant cat¡¯s reach, a third man burst from the rolling house Talon was hanging from with a flute in hand. Instantly he joined the fray, blowing a familiar tune. Sloan froze a foot from grabbing Talon as the song washed over him. It was the Song of Hearts but it wasn¡¯t. From the tempo to several notes, the song was not right yet Sloan knew what it was.

    ¡®SLOAN!¡¯ Talon screamed, breaking Sloan¡¯s concentration.

    ¡°Right.¡± Sloan breathed, flipping the latch for the bird cage, allowing Talon to fly free. Not waiting to see if the peddlers were ok, the two of them fled into the night.

    They ran back to the Tuck Inn, ignoring the glare that the innkeeper shot them as they rushed up to their room. Sloan grabbed the chair, propping it up against the door. Panting heavily, the two of them stared at the door, just waiting for the poachers to come bursting through their barricade. Sloan slumped to the floor as the burst of energy from earlier began to fade.

    ''Now, what?'' Talon spoke up.

    "Don''t know. Eat our cold dinner, get spotty sleep and leave at the first glimmer of light?" Sloan suggested, not looking away from the door.

    ''That''s the best idea you have ever had.'' Talon said quietly. Carefully crawling up to where his back was flat against the bed board, Sloan and Talon ate their ice-cold meal in silence. The tension could have been cut with a knife when Sloan settled for the remainder of the night still sitting up and facing the door. Talon on the other hand still bobbed around restlessly on the bed. Getting annoyed that her jittery fidgeting was making him more nervous he grabbed the bird/girl. She made a noise of protest only to have Sloan shush her. Folding his arms, he settled Talon onto his stomach. When the normally fussy teen didn''t make a sound or try to move Sloan was worried.

    ''Thank you.'' Talon''s message was no louder than a mouse squeak. In response, Sloan used his right thumb to stroke down the spot between her still shaking wings.

 Amoria, City of Talent

    Even the most basic person in Asthore knew that the capital was Amoria. What most people didn¡¯t know is that there is a line to get into Amoria. While Sloan waited for his turn, he really took in the true magnitude of the towering walls of the city. The city was a refurbished military fort from centuries ago. Where patrolmen once manned cannons, there now were people studiously surveying the sky for weather patterns. Not a person perched on the battlements knew of the bloodshed that the castle had seen. Tight-lipped, Sloan focused on the landscape surrounding the city instead.

    Flat plains stretched for miles around the city. Some scholars theorized that the fort was constructed on a peninsula that stretched out to the middle of a lake that dried up centuries ago. It would make sense as to why the foundation of the city was so much higher than the rest of the plains that surrounded it.

    But none of that was what most people were interested in. Amoria had a reputation as being an elitist establishment that prided themselves on being the best, no matter what the Talent was. As the capital of Asthore, Amoria strove to be the crown jewel to show the rest of the world their country was one to look towards for art and sophistication. No permanent citizen was below Grade A. All those who fell short tended not to last very long.

    No one was kicked out per se, but if you could not perform your Talent up to snuff, finding work was impossible. ''Phyllis would have done well here.'' Thought Sloan to himself against his will. Stifling his emotions, he focused back on the task at hand, finding the Amorian fountain, and hopefully a Djinn coin.

    Near the entrance, people in uniform were talking to and guiding the incoming wagons for inspection towards a set of double doors. When Sloan and Talon got close enough, a uniformed woman guided the two of them to a different area than the wagons. Through another wooden door with an older man sitting behind a wooden desk. Just to the side at a much smaller desk sat a much younger man. Two bulky security guards eyed Sloan as the Music Talent sat down his bag to sit in front of the clerk.

    ¡°Welcome to Amoria. We just have a few questions for you to answer before we allow you into our beautiful city. First, full name please.¡± The man belted off, his pen poised over an official looking form. With another look at the guards, Sloan answered,

    ¡°Uh, Richard Sloan.¡±

    ¡°Very good." The man wrote so fast Sloan could hear the pen scratch across the paper. "Are we here for business, pleasure, or applying for citizenship?¡± The man asked quickly.

    ¡°Pleasure...you know sightseeing, shopping.¡± Sloan answered as the man made a checkmark on the sheet.

    ¡°How long are you planning on staying?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­I don¡¯t know. A day or two?¡± Sloan shrugged. The older man glared over his glasses at Sloan. Feeling like a scolded child, Sloan quickly answered two days. Satisfied, the man wrote the answer.

    ¡°That¡¯s everything, Mr. Sloan. One last little thing.¡± The man reached into one of the drawers in his desk to pull out a lime green bandana. Carefully he folded the square cloth into a triangle. On both sides, he wrote the date for two days from today before handing it to Sloan ¡°As long as you are in the city you are required to wear this bandana. On your head, around your neck, your arm, it does not matter.¡± Under the gaze of the older man, Sloan folded the bandana into an arm band to tie around his left bicep. With a nod of approval, Sloan was allowed to leave through a door to his right he that didn¡¯t see before. As Sloan passed by the younger man he saw that the youth had sketched not only Sloan¡¯s face but a quick sketch of Talon as well. The whole experience made Sloan feel rather uncomfortable.

    All his negative thoughts were quickly brushed from his mind once he entered the opened wooden door to the city. Even in his most wild of dreams, Sloan could never have imagined the actuality of the City of Amoria. Every building was colorful and subtly different than the next. Some buildings were made of speckled stone or were painted with complex murals. He would never admit to staring up at one particular mural containing several animals he had never seen before with his mouth agape. There was no way an animal with a neck that long could exist.

    ¡°How will we ever find anything in this place?¡± Sloan asked, his neck hurting already from trying to take in all the sights at once.

    Sloan was broken out of his reverie by a horse whinnying behind him. He watched the chestnut brown beast carry its rider and deer into the center of town. Since all animals were banned from entering the city limits Sloan watched in awe as people moved around the huge beast as if it were nothing. As he watched the horse walk straight with purpose, he compared this fine creature with the head-strong mare Roward doted on back home. Even the animals in Amoria seemed to be high class as well. Sloan followed right up until the two of them turned to give Sloan a perfect view of the fountain at the center of the city. The horse completely forgotten, Sloan realized that he was now standing on the outside of the town center.

    In the very center of the city was a towering stone spike with water flowing from the where the spike broke through the ground. In a trance, Sloan made his way to the knee-high tile wall keeping the water in. Mouth still agape, he saw through the crystal-clear water each tile making up the fountain floor was meticulously painted in great detail. Life-like butterflies and flowers in all shades and species decorated the bottom. All joy faded when Sloan noticed that several people had tossed money into the water.

    ¡®How many of those do you think made a deal?¡¯ Talon whispered, even though no one else could hear her. The weight of their mission pressed firmer on their resolve the more they thought about what exactly they were up against.

    ¡°Even if it was one person, that is still one too many. Help me find that coin.¡± Sloan whispered, trying to look casual as the native Amorians gave him glances. Talon fluttered down onto the wall to bounce around the outside of the fountain wall. Separately, Talon and Sloan walked around the wall to see if they could spot anything. There was a break in the usual nature inspired tile. Written in careful lettering a tile read:

    Nomad¡¯s Spike

    Drink in life''s knowledge

    May your little time on this plane

    Be not spent in vain

    Sloan wrinkled his brow. ¡®Not spent in vain¡¯? What was that supposed to mean? Looking up, Sloan tried to discern what the message meant when he saw it. Near the bottom of the stone spike, someone had embedded a coin.

    ¡°There it is,¡± Sloan stated out loud. Talon must have heard him because she was by his side in an instant.

    ¡®Where?¡¯

    ¡°Right there.¡± Sloan coaxed Talon onto his hand so she could get a better look. When Talon started to peck at it Sloan almost lost his balance.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Sloan scolded through clenched teeth.

    ¡®It¡¯s stuck.¡¯ Talon reported, fluttering off Sloan¡¯s arm. Trying to ignore the suspicious stares of people passing by, Sloan straightened his outfit. ¡®Looks like you¡¯ll need a chisel.¡¯

    Sloan made a face of discomfort before Talon spoke up again.

    ¡®Hey! Unless you do have a spell tucked up under your cloak, we are out of options.¡¯

    ¡°Right. Looks like we have some shopping to do.¡± Trying not to look too suspicious, Sloan tucked his hands in his pockets.

    While Sloan was poking around the artisan area of Amoria, Talon was starting to see a pattern elsewhere.

    First, it started as Talon noticing the guards walking two by two up the streets. Throughout the day, Talon started to notice the guards walked in pairs and in the same direction. Curious, Talon excused herself to go see where these guards were going. If there is a pattern to how they move maybe there was a way to exploit it. Sticking to the roof tops, Talon kept a sharp eye on the guards. While she followed, the duo made their way around the outside of the Nomad¡¯s Spike. Finding nowhere else to perch, Talon rested atop of the Spike itself. From there she could see that the streets of the city were laid out in a wheel and spoke pattern. Cobblestone streets seemed to be too clean as people hurried along their day. If Talon looked hard enough she could see the number three shaped out of some of the rocks. Come to think about it, the stones the guards just stepped over seemed to make the number two. Thinking it was a trick of the light Talon forgot her mission to follow the guards and looked to see if the other numbers could be seen.

    ¡®No way.¡¯ Talon exclaimed. Sloan may not be around to hear her but she could not hold in her excitement. All twelve numbers on a clock where equally spaced out around the spike. ¡®This, a game changer.¡¯

    Talon was elated by the time the sun was finally setting. According to the giant sundial, it was a little past six today. She had to get back to Sloan and tell him what he had observed. Led by the candle light from the artistic types that stayed up all night, Talon could navigate through the city to where the traveler¡¯s lodged. When she realized she had no idea where Sloan was going to room for the night she perched on a roof. She could look into every single room to see if she could spot him, but that would take all night. When she was about take off to see if she could find a safe place to perch under for the night she spotted it. Flapping in the breeze was the scarf Sloan had worn previously. Heart fluttering faster than her wings, Talon made her way towards that window. Almost clipping the partially opened window, Talon landed loudly on the chair the scarf was tethered to.

    Instead of Talon loudly announcing her triumphant return she was taken aback at the strange sight she was witnessing. Sitting in the middle of the room was Sloan hunched over a piece of rock with a chisel and hammer. The funny part was Sloan took off his shoes and socks to cradle the rock between his feet. With his tongue poking out, Sloan reminded Talon of her little brother when he was learning to tie his shoes.

    ¡®What are you doing?¡¯ Talon got in closer to notice Sloan¡¯s slightly battered fingers. Sloan had hit his thumb so hard, the nail was discolored now.

    ¡°Practicing chipping off parts of rock so I don¡¯t destroy the coin when we go to...¡±

    ¡®Steal it?¡¯ Talon finished, attempting to sound helpful but coming off as condescending.

    ¡°I was going to say liberate Amoria from the Djinn¡¯s curse.¡± Frowning at the practice rock, Sloan picked another place to flake off as he talked. ¡°Anyway, lucky for us the stall that sells sculpting tools also sells practice stones for students.¡± Sloan gave a hard tap of his hammer to have a thick slab of stone fall away.

    ¡®Well while you were off wasting our money I discovered something useful,¡¯ Talon moved back to the back of the chair, using her change in position to make the pause more dramatic. ¡®I discovered that the guards follow a strict pattern when they go on patrol.¡¯

    Sloan stopped working to look up at the bird-girl. He pursed his lips in thought before he spoke again. ¡°Does that apply to the nighttime watch too?"

    Talon had not thought about that little detail. It would be a lot harder to track precisely how often they would pass a certain spot with the aid of a clock. Since the sun clock was utterly useless at night maybe she could use the moon¡¯s position in the sky? No, the moon moves faster around the sky than the sun does.

    ¡®I¡¯m not sure.¡¯ Talon admitted.

    ¡°Were there any lamps lit near the Spike?¡±

    ¡®No. Why?¡¯ In response to Talon¡¯s inquiry Sloan reached for his back, which was overly bloated with entirely too much stuff in Talon¡¯s opinion. From deep within the pack, Sloan pulled out an old pocket watch.

    ¡°If you could find even a small light source you could read the clock and from there we can have a better idea the timetable we have to deal with.¡± Sloan brought the pocket watch closer for Talon to look at.

    ¡°There are a lot of people in this town that work throughout the night. Maybe I can sit outside their window while they work.¡¯ Talon suggested, taking the watch chain in her mouth. Thrown off by how heavy it was she dropped it a second later. The silence that followed was almost palatable.

    ¡°You know, if it is too much for you to handle we can always find another way.¡± Sloan tried to pick up the watch from the floor.

    ¡®Back off! I got this!¡¯ Talon dove for the chain, scratching Sloan¡¯s outstretched hand on the way down. Pride wounded, Talon did not bother to see if she drew blood as she flew back outside towards the Spike.

    True to her word, Talon found a young man painting into the wee hours of the night to roost. The young man worked until around four in the morning before he finally slumped into bed. By then Talon already had a pretty good idea when the guards patrolled passed the Spike. Utterly tired, Talon returned to the now dark room to grab some rest before morning. On the beautifully stained cherry wood desk the scarf from earlier was spooled for Talon to use. Padding down for the night, Talon lightened to the sound of the watch to lull herself to sleep.

    The two of them slept until the early afternoon but that was ok by them. Talon tried to ignore the gnawing guilt she felt every time she spotted the simple bandage wrapped around Sloan¡¯s hand. Pulling food from his cloak''s deep pockets, Sloan produced a sandwich and deep fried potato slices.

    ¡°We only have one shot to get this right.¡± Sloan reminded Talon as he ate a potato that was cut too thin. Brushing off the crumbs from his front, he moved towards the window to survey the area below.

    ¡®We have a thirty-minute window between the next round of guards to pass by. No pressure.¡¯ Talon joined Sloan at the window.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be fine, just be ready to create a commotion to buy us more time.¡± Sloan firmly reminded, glancing over at Talon.

    ¡®Right.¡¯ Talon admitted with less enthusiasm than usual.

    ¡°Ah, you¡¯ll be fine. What are they going to do? Arrest a bird for disturbing the peace? Now we have a few hours before sunset so I¡¯m going to get some more sleep before we sneak out. I suggest you do the same.¡± Sloan wiped his salt covered fingers on his top before pulling the shades closed.

    * * *

    Sneaking out of the inn was much easier than the two of them originally thought. The inn keepers did not even bother with the lock! Sloan had ¡®borrowed¡¯ a lamp for the occasion. It was a fancy new type of lamp that had a reservoir of sugar for the fluorescent yeast built right into the top. With a twist of the knob, a small amount of sugar was deposited on top of the yeast. In the dim light of the luminous yeast, Sloan and Talon made their way as quick and as quiet as they could. Sloan¡¯s footfalls were the only noise audible in the dead of night. Both drew a breath of relief once they reached the edge of the center of the city. Ducking behind a refuse container, Sloan covered the lamp with his cloak so that the set of guards would pass them totally unaware. Patiently, the two of them waited until the light from the guard¡¯s much brighter lamp faded before Sloan set to work.

    Talon took to a higher point as look out as Sloan rushed to the Spike. He shed his cloak along with his shoes and socks. With the hammer in right hand, the chisel in his left, Sloan was forced to hold the handle of the lamp with his teeth. The taste of copper sharp on his tongue, Sloan went to quick work wading through the fountain to the Nomad¡¯s Spike.

    Heart pounding in his chest, Sloan repositioned the chisel several times to find the sweet spot. It only took one tap in three areas around the coin for it to come off. Sloan was so happy, he almost dropped the lamp right out of his mouth. Careful not to drop any evidence, Sloan recovered the coin. It still had some of the rock on it but he could take care of that later. For the time being the two of them needed to get back to their room at the inn. No one would be the wiser.

    Sloan turned back to collect his shoes and socks when he heard the strangest sound. It was like two rocks rubbing together, but much louder. Curious, Sloan looked back over his shoulder to see the Nomad¡¯s Spike had started to crack from the spot where the coin was lodged. The cracks turned to fissures as the Spike broke further and further. Terrified, Sloan scrambled to get as far away from the crumbling stone as fast as he possibly could. In his panic, Sloan collided with the small stone wall bordering the fountain, sending everything he was holding flying.

    Stone and water were thrown about as parts of the formation broke off. Just as suddenly as the chaos started it was quiet again. Ears still ringing, Sloan could make out the shouting from the guards that heard the commotion, residents close to the Spike were throwing their windows open to see the cause of the sounds they had heard. In the collected light from the guards and the houses, Sloan saw the full extent of the damage.

    All that was left of the Nomad¡¯s Spike was an ugly pile of rock at the center of a once beautiful fountain. Sloan was roughly seized by his arms before he had a chance to recover his wits.

    * * *

    Sloan wasn¡¯t even given any time to mope either. Sometime during his stay in prison, he fell into a fitful sleep before being hauled off to court first thing in the morning. Sloan was woken up rudely first thing in the morning by a guard banging on the bars of his cell. As he was blinking away sleep, the guards already were trying to get Sloan in a pair of too-tight handcuffs. Arms secured behind his back, Sloan was led out to the courtroom.

    The entire room was silent as Sloan was led to the small raised platform in the middle of the room. Behind him, Sloan could feel the glaring gaze of the audience.

    Presiding over him appeared to be a fresh-faced woman at a glance, but the muted tone of her skin clued anyone that she was wearing Leper¡¯s Paint. A substance mostly used by people cursed with unsightly pockmarks or even an uneven complexion they wish to hide.

    "Richard Sloan vs. the City of Amoria. Mr. Sloan, you are accused of the following, out after curfew, falsifying official documents: you stated you were here sightseeing and shopping, and finally," The Judge gave a deep sad sigh. "The malicious vandalization of a national treasure." She read off the case with a chipped no-nonsense manner as the audience looked on. The first thing he had noticed once he was settled into the sunlit room was just how packed it was. Sloan was guessing that destroying a priceless ancient artifact would warrant some attention.

    ¡°How do you plea?¡± She asked, setting down the paper. Sloan blinked to try and pay attention.

    ¡°Guilty.¡± Was all there was to say. Below the raised platform, the Judge, and court scribe, was a highly-polished cherrywood table that had all the evidence the guards had collected at the scene of the crime. Each piece of evidence was placed delicately on top of pure white cloth with little tags with a letter of the alphabet next to it. The Djinn coin was not from the A through C evidence, more than likely it had been lost in the rubble, waiting to be found. The judge gave a quipped ¡®Right¡¯ before shuffling through more papers that were in front of her.

    ¡°Very well. Now here in Amoria the punishment fits the crime. Unfortunately,¡± the judge paused, looking up from her paperwork to give Sloan a fiery glare. ¡°There is no real punishment for destroying the pinnacle that our very town was built around. I have no choice but to combine the punishment for vandalism as well as theft. In addition to you doing free labor for the town of course.¡± The judge finished, flipping through several more papers in front of her. She was quiet for a minute as her frown grew deeper while she read through each page.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°It is a pity that you decided to rob from the very city that graciously allowed you in. In more barbaric times you would be publicly executed for such treachery. However, we do not live in such times.¡± A small quirk in her right check hinted her remorse in that statement. ¡°Instead you shall be put to work under the city, using your Talent to better the world. Like you are supposed to.¡±

    The judge spoke that sentence in a flint sharp tone. Instead of shame, Sloan felt nothing. It was as if all his guilt had permanently left him. Emotions that should be whirling around inside were silent. As if Sloan, had forgotten how to feel. He had failed. Plain and simple. Phyllis would be forever trapped as the Djinn¡¯s trophy, Talon would spend the rest of her days curled up alone in a tiny nest, never to speak to anyone ever again and there was nothing Richard Sloan could do about any of it. Who was he kidding, he was caught by a couple average people. There was no way he could take on a Mythical Being!

    He couldn¡¯t be any more worthless now as he was, being a low-level Music Talent. So, trapped in the increasingly dark thoughts, Sloan didn¡¯t hear the judge¡¯s inquiry.

    ¡°Sorry?¡±

    The judge sighed heavily before asking again, ¡°Talent, Mr. Sloan! What Talent do you possess to better Amoria with to make up for your crimes?¡± Sloan¡¯s throat tightened up. What could be possibly said?

    ¡°Mr. Sloan, I asked you a question.¡± she reminded him, barely looking up from her writings. Sloan tried to work his throat to make the words ¡®I can¡¯t. It¡¯s too painful.¡¯ Instead all he managed to sputter was,

    ¡°I¡­I¡­I-¡±

    ¡°ENOUGH!¡± Barked the judge. ¡°I do not know what you are playing at but mark my words if you do not co-operate with this courtroom and take your punishment with stride, I will have no choice but to send you to the Camp Hope.¡± The judge threatened, causing a collective intake of breath from those present.

    ¡°I know.¡± Was all the Flutist could say. The judge looked taken aback for a second before pulling her composure again. Her expression was much softer now as if she didn¡¯t like the idea of what she was about to do.

    "You do realize what you are saying Mr. Sloan? Claiming you have an unrealized Talent is very serious. Camp Hope can mean a lifetime sentence if you are not careful, Mr. Sloan. Do you still claim you have a unrealized Talent?"

    "I do." Lied Sloan. The entire courtroom erupted with noise. In a city filled with the most elite of skill, having no Talent was the equivalent of a death sentence.

    ¡°Very well. As punishment for the defilement of a national monument, theft, and refusal to co-operate with this courtroom I sentence you to permanent banishment to the Camp Hope.¡± The judge finalized her sentence with a clear bang of her gavel.

    It was over.

    It was all over.

    * * *

    ¡°What am I missing?¡± Phyllis muttered. For a while now, Phyllis had been sitting in her under dress, barefooted, sitting on top of one of the many coin piles. She had spent every waking moment trying to figure out some sort of pattern to the chaos. At first, she started to sort the wish coins by the wish itself. As she read through the wishes, all of them seemed utterly random. Some wanted power over others, others wanted material possessions. Sorting the coins was impossible and with nothing to write on, trying to remember every wish and sacrifice proved to be just as impossible.

    ¡°There has to be a pattern. There has to be!¡± Phyllis pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. ¡°Maybe I just need a break.¡± Wondering what Richard was up to, she got herself comfortable on the piles of coins and dozed off. Watching Richard hard at work trying to rescue her inspired her to try and figure out some information from the inside. Everything else in life they had done together, this was not going to be an exception.

    Blinking against the harsh sunlight, Phyllis eagerly looked around for her husband. Her happiness to see Richard again melted off her face. Head bent, hands bound by heavy shackles and chains, Richard was shuffled to a covered wagon. Phyllis rushed over, forgetting that Richard could not hear her.

    ¡°Honey, what happened?¡± Phyllis reached out to touch Richard but her arms went through him like before. Growling in frustration, she began to pace a little. ¡°Ok ok. This is fine." Phyllis tried to breathe and get control of her feelings but she couldn''t hold it in anymore. "This is not fine. None of this is fine. What did you do? One minute you¡¯re reading in a library, the next you¡¯re getting arrested. I¡¯m trapped in another plane of existence and here you are getting arrested! I mean just- ¡°Phyllis had stopped saying anything intelligible. While she was having her rant, Richard was tethered to the inside of the wagon and being shipped off. Another guard tossed Sloan''s pack roughly into the cart as an afterthought, causing a loud noise that drew Phyllis back to what was happening.

    ¡°Wait. No. Come back.¡± Phyllis tried to catch up to the cart when it all went dark again. More angry than startled, Phyllis looked around. She was seated in the same chair she was sitting in back when Jezebel Whit had taken her to Remington¡¯s. Instantly, Phyllis noticed the usual bustling dining area was completely empty.

    ¡°You! What do you want?¡± Phyllis straightened up in her nicely padded seat. The Djinn had appeared in the seat in front of her as if he had been there all along.

    ¡°Not much, my dear, not much. You seemed a little,¡± The Djinn took a deep breath through his nose. ¡°Distressed.¡± Phyllis took her own deep breath to calm herself a little more. Show no weakness. He might be a Being of great power but he was still a businessman.

    ¡°I told you before, I¡¯m not buying what you are selling,¡± Phyllis told the Djinn firmly. The Being knitted his fingers together to rest his chin on.

    ¡°So noble.¡± He smiled, the man before his expression turned dark. ¡°So foolish. Do you and that shaven monkey of a husband truly believe you can best me? I have seen mothers sell their children for coin. Entire villages burned to the ground all in the name of love. Humans blame everyone except themselves for their misfortune. All I do provide the tools; your kind does the rest. So long as there is even the tiniest seed of greed in the human heart, I will live on.¡± Phyllis was paralyzed as the once handsome Djinn¡¯s eyes began to grow red and his voice began to sound distorted.

    ¡°Whether you make a deal or not is your choice.¡± The Djinn went back to his usual lighter demeanor.

    ¡°However,¡± the Djinn pointed to Phyllis. ¡°You should know when Richard¡¯s life ends, so does your own.¡± With a shooing motion, Phyllis was back sitting atop the coins again. Her whole world boiled down to the ever-increasing dark thoughts in her head. Phyllis must have fallen asleep while over thinking again because she was now standing in front of Richard again.

    The man she agreed to share her life with, broken before her. A small sob escaped his throat. Phyllis sat next to her husband even though neither one could touch, she hoped that her feeling would reach him even though they were worlds apart.

    ¡°How are we going to get out of this one?¡± Phyllis asked with no reply.

    * * *

    The trip to Camp Hope took three agonizing days. The two men escorting him kept him under lock and key the entire trip. Bathroom breaks were almost unbearable under the eyes of two men watching your every move. A word was not exchanged during the long stretches of the road. Sloan was still chained to the inside of the covered wagon, even as they traveled further south through more barren land. Sloan would find himself staring, unfocused, out the back of the wagon, not even hoping to see Talon. She wasn''t coming. Why would she? Following Sloan now would not bring her any closer to becoming human.

    Not that any of that mattered to Sloan anymore. He had completely and utterly lost everything. All that could be heard was the steady clopping of hoof falls as the scenery slowly rolled by.

    Roughly mid-day on the fourth day of travel, Sloan was startled out of his stupor when the caravan stopped. As he blinked out of his daze one of the guards gruffly unlocked Sloan¡¯s shackles while the other tossed his pack onto the ground.

    ¡°Ain''t nothin¡¯ of value to steal here, thief.¡± The guard smiled before spitting near Sloan¡¯s feet. Rubbing his sore wrists, Sloan allowed the wagon to pass as it flipped around to go back home again. It was early summer but Camp Hope did not seem to have gotten the message. People were bustling about their way, wrapped in crudely patched shawls and cloaks. Picking up his pack, Sloan was happy he decided to pack his cloak as he made his way through the town. He was surprised with just how dirty and pathetic everything looked. All the buildings looked like they were mismatched piles of clay. Some even reminded him of houses made out of cookies. Wary, Sloan tried not to make eye contact with some of the less savory looking characters peering at him through open doors. Even the sky looked grayer than should be natural.

    Across from where Sloan had been dropped off, he immediately noticed the nicest building in the whole camp. All of the other buildings resembled storage sheds. A man could barely be seen from a shadowy alleyway, patching a hole in the planks with a mud compound. He stopped his work on patching up a wagon to train his eyes on Sloan instead. Out of the corner of his eyes, Sloan could see the subtle movement of something in the man¡¯s mouth being fiddled with. Whether it a blade of grass or a nail, Sloan did not dare risk making eye contract to find out. Pretending like nothing was out of the ordinary, the flutist chose to examine the house in front of him. The banner draped over the second story balcony boldly stated that this dismal collection of houses was indeed Camp Hope. Utterly lost on where exactly he was supposed to go, Sloan guessed that the mansion would be the best place to start.

    The streets were barren of people but the windows and doorways had curious eyes peeking out from the shadow. Subconsciously, Sloan started to walk faster trying to get away from the stairs. When two children scurried from under an overturned wagon, Sloan bolted towards the door. Terrified, he knocked so hard on the door it hurt his hands. A few minutes later a bored looking woman opened the door.

    ¡°Can I help you?¡± The woman leaned against the doorframe. She was dressed like one of the male servers at the Gala. Sloan glanced nervously over his shoulder to see if any of the townspeople had left their houses.

    ¡°Um yes. See, I am new here and- ¡°

    ¡°Follow me.¡± The woman sighed, moving aside to allow Sloan to enter. Her shoes clicked loudly in the empty foyer. Sloan followed the woman up the sweeping stairs, to the only open door on the second floor. A man with a short but very curly hair style was writing on papers on a desk facing the door. The whole scenario reminded Sloan of when he checked into Amoria not even a week ago.

    ¡°Ah. It¡¯s been a while.¡± The man commented, shuffling the papers he was working on to make room for several forms he just pulled out. ¡°Please be seated.¡± The man seemed nice enough as he gestured. The chair in front of this desk was much nicer than the last one Sloan had sat on. Class and elegance seemed to shine from even the corners, making a stark contrast to the stick and mud town just outside the balcony window.

    ¡°Now I already know why you are here. No presentable Talent of course. But what I want to know is how you have avoided using Talent for this long.¡± The man looked up from his papers to really get a good look at him. For some reason, a slight chill went down Sloan¡¯s being while he was being examined.

    ¡°The flute and holster strapped to your leg suggest that you wear them out of a want for a Music Talent or to throw suspicion if the subject ever came up. The wear around the third hole on that holster suggests you started this ruse at a younger age to avoid being singled out. Which just leaves the question of who was taking care of you all this time before your luck ran out?¡± Inquired the man, squinting at Sloan as if that would help him see better. When Sloan did not answer quickly enough, the man pressed on. For a second Sloan was wondering if he was supposed to answer the question. ¡°No matter," the man continued, much to Sloan''s relief. "You are here now and that is all that matters.¡±

    Sloan was asked standard questions about his name, his age, if he was here alone or did he have a family. Except for his name and age, Sloan lied like a rug to avoid anyone tracing him back to Phyllis or Tinkerton. Even though she wasn''t here anymore, Sloan could not bear a scandal linked to her name. When asked if he had a non-Talent related skill, Sloan mentioned helping a Sewing Talent sell her wares. He purposely left out that he was married to said Sewing Talent but that was neither here nor there.

    ¡°Shop keeping experience eh? Well good news Mr. Sloan, we have a job for you.¡± The camp administrator smiled as he finishing writing on the forms. ¡°Now we don¡¯t have traditional currency here but we do have a rations system that allows everyone to be equal.¡± The Admin pulled out a metal tag with a hole in it. Raised letters on it stated it was ¡®Temporary1¡¯. ¡°Here is your temporary Ration Tag, do not lose this. I suggest a necklace. Preferably one that has been braided.¡± Taking the tag, the cold metal was quickly warming under Sloan''s fingers.

    ¡°Your permanent tag will be delivered to your residence before your next scheduled ration administration date. Oh, and speaking of residence, the good Madame here will be showing you to your accommodations.¡± The Admin gestured to the still bored looking woman who had silently stood behind Sloan this entire time. ¡°And like I said before, you are in luck. Your housing will be right above the Camp Store, which is also where you will be working. Alright, I believe that is everything. If not, heh heh, I know where you live.¡± It was an attempt at a joke Sloan was sure but for some reason, it did not feel like it. It sounded distinctly like a threat.

    The woman was already trying to usher Sloan out of the office by this point. Sloan had to jog to keep up the sharp march of the woman leading him down and out into the town. At the sight of the woman, many residents morphed into the shadows as she passed by them. They passed several housing units until they came to the only other two storied building Sloan had seen since he¡¯d arrived. It was a nice two-story house that had the bottom floor gutted and reformatted to have more space for open storage. The entrance had been fitted with a door that could double as a counter if you just opened the top portion. Sloan noticed that all the windows on the bottom floor were barred. The Madame helped herself inside with the aid of one of the many keys she pulled from inside her dress pants. He tried to see as much as he could but the rooms on the first floor were too shadowy. From what he could tell there were boxes in various states of being packed strung across the floor. Along the walls, he could tell there were fully packed boxes, neatly stacked almost to the ceiling.

    ¡°Martin Kosway! Your presence is required.¡± Commanded the Madame. A few seconds passed before a man descended the corkscrew staircase coming from the rooms above.

    ¡°What¡¯s this then?¡± asked the stick of a man. He wore a graying patched up apron over his equally pathetic clothing. He seemed to be permanently muted gray like the town outside.

    ¡°Richard Sloan, your new shop assistant. He has been assigned to share housing with you as well. Are these terms and conditions acceptable?¡± The Madame had a matter of fact tone of voice that left very little room for argument.

    ¡°Like I have a choice.¡± Martin sarcastically replied.

    ¡°Very good.¡± The woman turned on her heel before heading out of the shop. Martin locked the door behind her before turning back to Sloan. The two of them shared an awkward silence before Martin spoke up.

    ¡°Well, as she bellowed, my name is Martin.¡± The man smiled, holding out his hand for Sloan to take.

    ¡°Sloan.¡±

    ¡°Well, Sloan, if it is all the same to you I¡¯d like to start orientation tomorrow. You know, allow you to settle before I work you to the bone and all.¡± The man said with a chuckle. Sloan smiled weakly, he wasn¡¯t in the mood for jokes. He followed the shopkeeper up the tight spiral staircase to the living area.

    Compared to the graying bland white walls of the storage area below, the upstairs was a sunset of color. Warm yet subtle tones were splashed over every wall. Curious, Sloan peered closer to the uneven colors.

    ¡°Made it myself. The paint doesn¡¯t like the sand I mix into it but it is better than the awful white color.¡± Martin commented, making his way over to the wood burning stove. ¡°On an unrelated note, can you cook?¡±

    ¡°A little. Most of what I can make involves setting food next to an open flame.¡± Sloan placed his bag next to an open space near an overturned crate. Threadbare carpet with patchwork quilts made up much of the open area. For not having any luxury items the upper living area still seemed quite comfortable.

    ¡°Flatbread with cheese sound ok? I don¡¯t have a lot of food to share at the moment.¡± offered Martin. Getting a glimpse of the man''s shoulder, Sloan could see the man was not lying. He was pretty sure there was more dust bunnies than food on that shelf.

    ¡°Sounds great. Hey wait a minute, what about all that food down there? You know, in those crates?¡± Sloan pointed down towards the storage. Martin stopped working to look at Sloan, his blue eyes squinting.

    ¡°That¡¯s the Camp¡¯s food.¡± The man explained, slowly gauging Sloan¡¯s reaction. ¡°Look I don¡¯t know how things are done where you are from but we only get food shipped out here once a month. So, all that you saw, that is all we have to live off for the next three weeks.¡±

    ¡°Geeze.¡± Sloan frowned. Sure, it seemed like a lot once it is all piled together but it sure didn¡¯t look like enough to supply a town.

    ¡°Your face will stick like that if you don¡¯t stop.¡± Martin prodded Sloan between his eyebrows. The strange little man offered the flatbread with the melted cheese on top on a battered plate. Forcing his face to relax, Sloan thanked him for the food before biting into the outside of the bread.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry so much. I¡¯ll explain everything in the morning. For now, eat and rest up. Your room is at the end of the hall just past mine. We are the only other building in the Camp with indoor plumbing so if you want you can wash up in the bathing room across from my room. The hot water only lasts for like five minutes so be mindful of that. What else, oh yeah, work starts at sunrise.¡±

    ¡°Sunrise?¡±

    ¡°Well yeah, no one owns a clock so we just use the sun.¡± Martin shrugged before taking a bite of his own bread.

    ¡°Makes sense.¡± Sloan conceded before eating the rest of his food with more gusto. Martin finished first before disappearing into the first room down the only hallway. Richard followed shortly after, trying not disturb his new boss. The room was pathetically bare and dusty. On the floor, covered in an inch of dust, was a sleeping mat. Mentally exhausted from the current events, Sloan dropped the bag next to the door. Not wanting to deal with any cleaning now, he slipped off his cloak to lay on top of the filthy mat. Still dressed in the same clothes he wore the last three days, Sloan lowered himself down on top of his cloak to try and get some sleep.

    After what seemed like a few minutes, Sloan was jolted awake. Covered in a layer of sweat and breathing like he just ran halfway across town, Sloan looked around the room for the cause of his panic. Trying to regain his breath, he kept repeating to himself it was just a bad dream and not real. Regaining his breath, he laid down to attempt to sleep again. If it was just a dream, why did it feel so real?

    After what seemed like all night Sloan still couldn¡¯t fall asleep. Unlike every other dream he had, this one was still as crisp and vibrant as if it had actually happened. Not like it mattered, time was irrelevant here. The silence was the worst part. Come to think of it, this was the first-time Sloan didn¡¯t fall asleep from utter exhaustion since he left Tinkerton.

    Frustrated, Sloan violently turned over to see his still packed traveling bag sitting in the corner where he left it. Acting on a whim, Sloan went over to the bag to feel around for his watch, maybe the gentle tick of the gears could help lure him to sleep. In the dark he was surprised to feel the handle of the lamp as he groped around. Sloan pulled out the lamp he accidentally stole from the inn. Everyone was too upset about the destruction of the Nomad''s Spike to notice that one little lamp was stolen from the inn he''d been staying at. Since there were no candles in the room, Sloan chalked it up to at least a little good luck to go back to looking for his original objective. When he found nothing, Sloan remembered he gave the watch to Talon the night he was arrested. Huffing in frustration, he shoved the pack away from him again to go back to his shoddy bed. All Richard Sloan, the Talentless widower, wanted to do was sleep so he could wake up to his new life in this frosted over town. Closing his eyes, he hoped to find some peace while he slept.

    Rat Tat TAT

    Sloan jumped at the sudden rapping at his window. They were on the second story! A quick fumble for the yeast lamp shown light on the familiar silhouette of none other than Talon, the annoying bird.

    ¡°Talon?¡±

    ¡®Who else could it be? Now let me in!¡¯ the bird-girl demanded. With great effort, Sloan got up to let the girl in. A cold breeze swept in after her as she winged her way into the room. Snapping the window shut, Sloan yanked the curtains closed too. She circled the room once before dropping Sloan¡¯s pocket watch with a loud thud.

    ¡°What on Earth are you doing here?¡± Sloan was, in fact, incredibly pleased to see her.

    This would make it even more disappointing when he told her the bad news.

    ¡®Couldn¡¯t let you go wandering around without this, could I?¡¯ She dropped the small drawstring bag Sloan hadn¡¯t noticed she¡¯d been carrying. To his surprise, nestled at the bottom was the Djinn coin.

    ¡°But how-?¡± He started to ask but couldn¡¯t quite finish it. Talon preened her left wing for a second before answering.

    ¡®You see, after you dropped the coin it rolled quite a ways before stopping. We¡¯re lucky I found it in all the rubble. Oh, nice work on that by the way, love how you destroyed the several-thousand-year-old icon of my hometown. I then tried following the cart that was taking you away. Do you know how hard it is to fly with a coin in your beak and a heavy watch in your claws? Very hard, actually.¡¯

    ¡°My hero.¡± Sloan said dryly, looking down, He felt the coin through the crushed velvet fabric, he weighed the whole thing in his hand. ¡°But I won¡¯t be needing this anymore.¡± With that, Sloan tossed the bag containing the coin right next to the bag he¡¯d been lugging around for a while. The metal coin made a small thud as it made impact with the wall.

    ¡®What? WHY?¡¯ Screeched Talon. She yelled externally as well flapping her wings as if she were flailing her own human arms. Sloan swatted at Talon to move her off his bed. She flew over to the back, out of his reach. Dust was already starting to cling to Talon. Sloan flopped on his bed as if he were boneless, watching the dust cloud settle down around the room again. Even the dirt seemed to have given up here.

    ¡°Because you were right, this whole thing was just a stupid fool¡¯s errand. I have no idea where I am going or even what to do when I get there. It¡¯s just like you said before ¡®completely stupid and the most idiotic idea ever.¡¯¡± The pause after Sloan¡¯s speech weighed heavily in his heart.

    ¡®So that¡¯s it then?¡¯ asked Talon. Her voice seemed to cut through the misty fog of Sloan¡¯s depression. ¡®All that we-have-to-try talk? All that boasting...was all just a lie?¡¯ Talon shouted.

    ¡°Whoa. Easy.¡± Sloan commanded, sitting up. At this rate, they were going to disturb Martin.

    ¡®I trusted you. I actually trusted you! Here I thought that if anyone was going to do something it would be you.¡¯ Talon accused. She flew from her space out of arms reach to sit on his knee. They had argued before but never so close, she was smaller than the length of his arm, yet, looking into her black eyes¡­ Sloan knew fear.

    ¡°Wait a minute, no you didn¡¯t!¡± Sloan said as he remembered. So what if her sharp beak was extremely close to his eyes? Sloan was now mad. ¡°From the very moment I met you all you¡¯ve ever done was complain about my plans or called me an idiot. Not once have you ever had a kind word or any hint of encouragement.¡± Sloan reminded her, taking the defensive. He was officially done with her negative attitude and her condescending ways.

    ¡®And yet you still kept going.¡¯ Talon shot back. Sloan blinked for a second, this was not the way he thought this argument was going to go. ¡®I watched you deface public property. And for what? One tiny clue that might not mean anything at all.¡¯ Sloan was slightly taken aback by how unsteady Talon¡¯s voice sounded now. If the girl could cry Sloan was sure would have tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She hopped off his knee to the floor. She took several steps away from him showing him her back.

    ¡®I wanted you to quit ok? Because¡­because you gave me hope. If you quit earlier then it would hurt less than if you were to build me up so much just to have it shattered.¡¯ Her voice cracked over their link. Sloan reached out as if to pat the bird-girl on the head but he stopped himself. He felt he had no right to comfort her right now. Not when he was the one that caused her to feel this way.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Talon.¡± he apologized before he rolled over onto his side. He even closed his eyes as to not have to look at Talon anymore. ¡°You should go home in the morning. There is no reason for you to stay anymore.¡±

    ¡®I don¡¯t have a home.¡¯ She replied quietly. Sighing, Sloan got up from his bed to rifle through his pack. He pulled out the scarf, which was now deemed Talon¡¯s scarf, to pool it into a bowl shape.

    ¡°Here. Get some sleep. Our new life starts in the morning.¡± Sloan muttered in a tired voice. Without looking at her, he went back to bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

 Camp Hope

    Surprisingly enough Martin was more casual about Sloan keeping Talon than he had originally thought.  The store owner leaned forward to be eye level to the bird sitting on the back of the dining room chair.

    ¡°Just don¡¯t mess up my floors m¡¯kay?¡± He asked. Talon attempted to give a swift rebuttal meant to defend her honor. Instead, all Martin could hear was squawking from an indignant bird.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough, Talon.¡± Sloan sighed, taking the bird off the chair. He lifted the girl onto his shoulder to calm her down a little. Talon promptly turned her back on Martin, doing what could only be called a pout.

    ¡°She¡¯s full of spunk,¡± Martin commented, smiling at Talon¡¯s feathered back.

    ¡°You have no idea.¡± Sloan groused, making his way to open the shop for the day.

    ¡°Right, so we have two weeks to get that food you saw down there into crates. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll be supervising.¡± Martin waved Sloan to follow him down the spiral stairs.

    ¡°Ok, so first thing is first.¡± Martin started off by going over to what use to be a living room. Inside were crates that stacked neatly on top of one another. Each stack stood taller than Sloan and there were dozens of them. ¡°We take this.¡± Martin held up a red leather-bound book with the current month and year marked on the front. ¡°And we look for the first family to receive their food. Let¡¯s see, today is the twelfth so that means we start with the Hearthfellows.¡± Martin made some scatting noises under his breath as he read the notes in the book. ¡°So four kids under sixteen with two parents. That equals- ¡°

    ¡°Wait! Wait! There are kids here?¡± Sloan asked in an offended tone. Martin looked up from the notes to give Sloan a look of confusion.

    ¡°Well yeah. Boy meets girl and well¡­you know.¡± Martin tried to explain plainly.

    ¡°No. No, I get that. What I don¡¯t get is why they are here. As in why are children being raised in a place like this?¡± Sloan was so confused he was starting to get angry. None of what he was hearing was making any sense.

    ¡°Just because you have a kid doesn¡¯t mean you automatically discover your Talent.¡± Martin explained as if he were speaking to a fractious child.

    ¡°But doesn¡¯t anyone ever leave Camp Hope?¡± Sloan pried. Martin thought for a moment before answering.

    ¡°Not that I know of. We have a Specific Training Facility but no one really uses it. Not that I blame them, no one has to pay for anything here. Sure, housing here may not be Amorian quality but a lot of people here were born here so they don¡¯t know any better. Finding your Talent, finding work just to compete with the Amorian elite? That¡¯s not a life. No, we¡¯re better off here. What more do we need?¡± The shopkeeper seemed blissfully happy at the level of mediocrity that Camp Hope was stagnating in. Sure, Martin was happy but compared to the other living arrangement he''d seen Sloan would wager not many people shared his sentiment.

    ¡°Goals maybe,¡± Sloan muttered under his breath.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Martin was broken out of his concentration to pay attention to Sloan again.

    ¡°Nothing. What did that family need again?¡± Sloan tried diverting Martin¡¯s attention away from their current topic.

    * * *

    It took four days for Sloan to slowly become accustomed to packing the supplies for the rest of the camp into crates. Wheels of cheese, fruits and vegetables, flour, and salted beef were mixed together in a crate.

    Luxury items such as new clothes had to be specially requested before they were sent down with the next supply shipment. Marked with chalk, each filled crate was neatly placed in a row on the ground in alphabetical order.

    Talon had yet to speak another word after she admitted to having no home. She would take off in the morning and be back before nightfall. The once swollen pack Sloan had been carrying around was shrinking, as one by one, items were being taken out. By the time the twelfth day had rolled around all cookware had been moved to the kitchen. Clothes hung out to dry on a line strung from one end of Sloan¡¯s room to the opposite side. An outside observer would have thought the grumpy man lived here this whole time.

    On day fourteen Sloan was met with the reality of what living in Camp Hope truly meant. Since his conversation with Martin about the children living in the camp, he hadn¡¯t given them a second thought.

    When Sloan was hustled downstairs to help hand out the supplies, the flutist stopped short on the stairs. Hearing about the children was completely different than seeing them in person.  Martin shoved a graying apron into Sloan''s hands before bustling over to the door.

    ¡°Here¡¯s the deal, people will present their tag, I¡¯ll read off the name and you are to grab their boxes. Simple enough.¡± Martin pointed sternly at Sloan before opening the top portion of the door.

    The first woman in line didn¡¯t give a hello or even a smile as she handed over her metal tag. Martin carefully looked at the tag (making sure it was an officially minted tag, or Sloan assumed), then flipped through the leather-bound book to find the page that matched the name.

    ¡°Ok Sloan, we need the Ferrier boxes.¡± Martin announced over his shoulder. Sloan briskly walked back to the line of crates to find ¡®Ferrier¡¯. As fast as he could, Sloan grabbed the two crates and made his way back towards the entrance. With a smile, Sloan handed the crates to the woman. She refused to smile as Martin used a piece of charcoal to make an impression of the woman¡¯s tag. The woman took her tag and her crates wordlessly before disappearing back into the camp. This exchange kept strong for the next few hours. Sloan¡¯s back had started to twinge from the bending and swooping when the guards that were patrolling the line started to shoo people away.

    The sky was starting to grow dark out, signaling the people to head home. As the guards made sure the people were properly dispersing, Sloan could hear the loud complaints about how horrible of a job Sloan and Martin were doing. A pain of guilt struck his heart as children shuffled back home without their rations.

    ¡°Ah, don¡¯t feel too bad.¡± Martin said, slapping Sloan on the back. ¡°There is always tomorrow.¡±

    True enough, the next day and the day after that people streamed in to grab their crates. It took seven days for the camp to receive their rations for the month. When the last man left with his supplies the two were finally able to breathe again.

    The fourth week of the month was dedicated to resting up before the next shipment. Every so often people would return their crates to be refilled. Martin would check the crate for special requests. While receiving the next month''s ration ledger, Sloan ended up staring at the ceiling of his room, nursing his sore muscles. During Sloan''s staring contest with the ceiling, Talon came back from one of her many flights.

    ¡°You''re back early,¡± Sloan commented, not looking at her.

    ¡®Some kids were throwing rocks at me.¡¯ Talon offhandedly replied. The silence stretched between the two, causing Sloan to grumble while he migrated to the living area to maybe escape the awkwardness. Utter boredom led to Sloan poking through random containers shoved up into a corner. A crate, like the ones they used downstairs for the rations, contained a stack of drawings and a metal tin labeled coloring wax. Sloan chuckled, as he couldn¡¯t even remember the last time he saw coloring wax let alone colored with any. Rifling through the drawings, Sloan was very surprised at what he was looking at. Sunsets, sunrises, and even a little creek that could not possibly come from eight colored wax sticks¡­ but here they were.

    ¡°I¡¯m back and look what¡¯s for dinner!¡± Martin came up the stairs, jubilantly holding up three medium sized fish dangling from a string. Like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, Sloan froze, still holding the drawings. ¡°Well if I knew you¡¯d be snooping around I would have taken you with me.¡± Martin threw the fish in the sink with a thud.

    ¡°How about you put those doodles away and wash up to help with dinner?¡± Martin seemed more embarrassed than angry. Not wanting to push his luck any further, Sloan quickly put everything back where he got it.

    Neither man spoke a word as the two of them scaled and deboned their meal. Martin was lopping off the head of the last fish when Sloan spoke up to break the tension.

    ¡°You have such an amazing Talent! But why-¡± Sloan started to ask, but was quickly cut off.

    ¡°Do I live in a village full of No Talents?¡± Martin asked. Sloan nodded.

    ¡°Nothing I can draw is original. Everything I draw is a mere copy.¡± Scales went flying as Martin scrapped them off with aggravation. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s not even a real Talent.¡± There was a pressing silence for a second. The shopkeeper stopped preparing dinner to lean against the counter.

    ¡°Besides, even if I were to get properly signed off as an Art Talent or whatever, where would I go? All I¡¯ve ever know was the confines of the Camp. How many masters out there would want someone from Camp Hope?¡± Before Sloan could take a breath to reply, Martin cut him off again. ¡°None. Camp Hope has never produced a single Talent worth any merit. And they never will. You want to know why?¡± Sloan could barely swallow before Martin pushed on. ¡°Our Basic Education system is a joke and our Advanced Talent Administration is in shambles. And no one cares.¡± Martin took several calming breaths before going back to cleaning the fish. ¡°Fish pie sound good?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t ever want to leave.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question. The whole conversation felt odd coming from Sloan. Up until the beginning of spring of this year, Sloan had never left Tinkerton. Even when he was kicked out of his parent¡¯s house he never went too far.

    ¡°I have a great life here.¡± Martin said, defending his position. ¡°I have a purpose, clothes on my back and food in my belly. What more do I need?¡± Sloan knew that the question was a rhetorical one but he answered anyway.

    ¡°Is it a crime to want more out of life?¡±

    ¡°Sounds like something a self-entitled jerk would say.¡± Martin replied.  At Sloan¡¯s hard look, he continued explaining. ¡°Constantly wanting more, never being satisfied.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s better than becoming stagnant and rotting away.¡± Sloan shot back.

    ¡°Humph. You sound exactly like my father¡­ before he killed himself that is.¡± Martin jutted his chin towards the ceiling, attempting to look more intimidating.

    ¡°What happened?¡± Sloan asked. The flurry of heated emotions turned chilling in that instant.

    ¡°My dad thought he was destined to be an amazing treasure hunter. His Talent was discovering lost things, so in his mind, that meant hidden treasure as well. You know what he found? The rockslide that killed him.¡± No one said anything for a full minute before Martin spoke up again. ¡°You¡¯re going to kill yourself you know.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather die trying than live never knowing.¡± were the final words Sloan spoke to Martin. The two of them ended up working on the pie in near silence, with Sloan going back to his room while it baked.

    Sloan was stretched out on his bed trying to get comfortable when his outstretched fist hit something soft. Looking up to see what he hit, he saw the bag that contained the Djinn coin. With nothing better to do, Sloan opened it up to look at the smelted bit of currency. Up close and in the light the coin was shiny as could be and not a single nick or blemish to be seen. How long had this been stuck in the Spike? The coin must have been magic to last so many years in the elements.

    Come to think of it, Sloan had no idea how much the coin was worth. The most he had ever held in his hand at one time was a few silver pieces. So Sloan had never actually seen a gold coin up until he stole this one from the Nomad''s Spike. For some reason the actual age of the coin never occurred to Sloan.

    ¡®I know that look.¡¯ Talon piped up. ¡®What did you find?¡¯

    ¡°What does this say to you?¡± Sloan asked, holding up the coin for Talon to read.

    ''Maso Meso Thelioma.¡¯ Talon read. ¡®Sounds foreign.¡¯

    ¡°Or old.¡± Sloan countered. Rolling over, Sloan crawled over to his traveling bag to retrieve the small coin pouch at the bottom. He pulled out a few bronze pieces to compare to the gold coin.  He turned the coin over in his palm to read the tiny letter smelted on the surface. With his non-dominate hand, he brought up the magic made coin to compare it to the normal coin. In his right, was the coin bearing the S for Scheelite. To his left was the Djinn coin bearing the capital letter A.

    ¡°A.¡± Sloan read aloud.

    ¡®What?¡¯ Talon asked.

    ¡°A!¡± Repeated Sloan a little louder.

    ¡®I am right here. What?¡¯ Sloan blinked, finally catching on.

    ¡°No, the letter A. This coin was minted in a city starting with A.¡± Sloan explained. He set the two coins side by side on the floor for Talon to see.

    ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡± Talon argued. She hopped over to the coins. ¡°All money is minted in Scheelite. My father was a Mineral Talent who apprenticed under one of the Goldsmiths there. The money is mined and melted there to prevent forgery.¡± Talon rattled off like she was a Mineral Talent herself. With a smirk, Sloan turned the coin to its reverse side. Under the face of a person neither of them could name was the date and first letter of the place where the coin was minted.

    ¡°Even those minted in 1485?¡± He asked. Talon had no reply. Instead, she peered closer to the mountain on the back. While the more current coin had the Amorian Spike on it, the Djinn coin had a mountain. The more recent coin had ¡®Through unity, we prevail¡¯ while the old coin had a collection of letters that meant nothing to Sloan.

    ¡®That looks like Mt. Theo.¡¯ Talon said casually . Sloan¡¯s eyes went wide as a thought occurred to him. He snatched up the coin to pull mere centimeters from his face. The tallest singular mountain in Asthore was Mt. Theo or the Great Mountain Theliotha.

    ¡°¡¯Maso Meso Theliotha.¡¯ Mt. Theo.¡± Sloan blinked for second then breathed. The image of a mountain drawn in a book he read almost a lifetime ago flashed before his eyes.  ¡°Amoria.¡±

    ¡®You don¡¯t think-¡¯ Talon started.

    ¡°Oh, but I do,¡± Sloan assured her, pulling all their clues closer. ¡°Here¡¯s what happened, a man makes a deal with the Djinn¡± He slapped the coin on the floor. ¡°things go wrong, yada, yada, he tries to return the coin back where he got it. Where did he get it? Mt. Theliotha. Why Theliotha? Because at the base of Theliotha is the most elite Talent capital, ripe with people willing to pay anything for a taste of the good life. " Sloan tapped the coin¡¯s surface for emphasis.

    ¡®That¡¯s kind of a stretch don¡¯t you think?¡¯ Talon asked slowly.

    ¡°It all makes sense! What more desperate place than an entire city filled with nothing but the best Talents in the country?¡± Sloan asked loudly. He was excited. Sitting up, Sloan was too excited to lie down anymore. He reached back into his bag to pull out the map he thought he¡¯d never use again.

    ¡°Now, if it took us three days by horse-drawn buggy then it will take us¡­two weeks to reach Amoria.¡± Sloan calculated. Remembering the harsh environment he noticed on the way down, Sloan wasn¡¯t foolish enough to believe he would survive the way there.

    ¡®There is no way you could walk back. It was hard enough for me and I can fly.¡¯  Talon pointed out. Sloan worried his bottom lip. The whole situation was looking more and more depressing. First, they would have to find a way out of the camp. Then there is the trip all the way to Amoria. And then what? Climb the mountain and what? Look for what? Sloan crossed his arms and rested his forehead on top of them. He just needed to calm down and think for a second. Truth be told, Sloan had not had a decent night¡¯s sleep for the last few days. Every night his dreams were filled with places he¡¯s never been with people he had never met. Everyone making the same mistake¡­ wishing to the Djinn. One thing was for certain, though. If he stayed here, Phyllis would be lost forever.

    Raising his head from his arms, Sloan lifted himself up from the floor. He assembled every scrap of information he had collected into a neat row next to his bed.

    ¡°Let¡¯s see. We have a Magical coin, a novel written by a man who claimed to have walked in the Other Realm in his dreams, and a story about a stained glass window I have a mental image of.¡± Sloan tapped his head when he mentioned that last bit of evidence.

    ¡®Do you even remember what the window looked like?¡¯  Talon sounded more sincere than her usual snarky self. Sloan frowned as he tried to recall what he saw.

    ¡°I think so. Maybe it would be better if we drew a picture.¡± Sloan was now trying to think of what to write on. He would need colors and the only person who had colors was-

    ¡°I hate to interrupt your conversation, but dinner is ready,¡± Martin called through the door. Bird and human eyes met and both knew exactly what the other was thinking.

    Dinner between Sloan and Martin was usually quiet but today the silence was suffocating. Sloan was busy running various scenarios in his head about asking Martin to borrow his coloring wax. Taking a bite out of one of the potatoes and chewing slowly, Sloan wondered if the two of them did an amazing job making this pie or he was getting used to eating the bland food. Deep in thought, he almost didn¡¯t hear when Martin said, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, next week we will be getting your share of the rations.¡± Martin poked at the crust of the pie. Sloan stopped chewing when he heard that. Of course. All that food must come from somewhere. If Sloan could get a pass to leave the town, he could hitch a ride back to where the supplies came from. More than likely Amoria. Plotting his next move, Sloan eyeballed the art supplies piled in the corner. First, he needed to get all his clues assembled.

    The pocket watch ticked on loyally in the dark. Sloan was lying wide awake into the late hours of the night, biding his time. Midnight seemed as good a time as any to sneak out into the living area to borrow Martin¡¯s drawing supplies. Even a crude drawing would be better than the already fading memory of the stained glass window in his mind. Navigating by memory and feel alone, Sloan managed to get the supplies he needed.

    Drawing by candlelight, he held a hushed conversation with Talon about the exact details of the window. It took entirely too long and the picture came out terrible but all the details the two of them could remember were present. Putting everything back where he got it with equal stealth, Sloan had a wide grin on his face after he put the lid back on the box where he had gotten the supplies.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡±  Martin asked, causing Sloan to jump in surprise. Just like back in Amoria, Sloan was caught in the act. Fortunately, the man looked entirely too tired to fully comprehend what he was seeing.

    ¡°Well, you see.¡± Sloan tried, floundering. Martin''s eyes zeroed in on the box his roommate held not three minutes ago.

    ¡°Are you trying to steal my art supplies?¡± Instead of sounding mad, Martin sounded more confused.

    ¡°Borrow! I borrowed some of your stuff.¡± Sloan corrected, holding up his index finger. Martin blinked sleepily before turning back towards his room.

    ¡°You could have just asked.¡± The Art Talent muttered before disappearing into his room. Puffing out the breath he was holding, Sloan returned to his own room for the rest of the night.

    Another nightmare but this time it was interrupted by Martin banging on the door.

    ¡°Wake up! You don¡¯t get to sleep in just because you stayed up all night!¡± Martin announced as he barged in. Groaning, Sloan hid his head under the cloak he¡¯d been using as a blanket. Even Talon was grumbling as she tried to get comfortable again. ¡°What¡¯s all this then?¡± Martin asked, poking around the neatly lined up clues.

    ¡°A stained glass window.¡± Sloan answered, pulling the cloth from his face. No use trying to sleep now. In a rather insulting way, Martin squinted and turned the picture various ways to make sense of what he was seeing.

    ¡°Is that what they are supposed to look like?¡± the man asked, now holding the drawing out at arm¡¯s length.

    ¡°Well no.¡± Sloan admitted, now sitting up to take the picture back from his roommate. ¡°See, this is supposed to be a man and this is a waterfall.¡± Martin¡¯s frown grew deeper as Sloan pointed out the different parts of the window.

    ¡°Ugh. Fine!¡± Martin snapped out of the blue as he snatched back the picture. Confused, Sloan watched Martin storm out of the room. ¡°You coming?¡± Martin¡¯s voice called out from the living space. Walking out with Talon perched on his shoulder, Sloan saw the Art Talent grab several sheets of plain white paper along with the coloring wax and even a few leftover charcoal/chalk bits. The three of them sat on a bare patch on the floor so they could have a flat surface to work on.

    ¡°Ok, let¡¯s see what we got.¡± Humming to himself, Martin began redrawing the stained glass window. Occasionally Sloan or even Talon would make a correction but for the most part, Martin worked in silence.

    ¡°Well, what do you think?¡± Martin asked, sliding the paper over to his captivated audience. Even the spots where two pieces of glass meet where spot on. The chalk made a nice white snow color against the off-white paper.

    ¡°Wow, this is really good. This looks exactly like it should.¡± Sloan declared, his eyes raking over the details. The coin, the book, the myth, and now the window. They now had every clue to the puzzle they¡¯ve seen so far. Now all Sloan had to do now was leave Camp Hope. Sounded like a task easy enough to accomplish for the world¡¯s best Flutist. Never mind the fact that he hasn¡¯t even played a note in months. If it is for Phyllis rather than selfish gains he could muscle his way past his guilt. Looking away from the picture, Sloan saw Martin picking up a charcoal bit to draw some more.

    ¡°You should come with me.¡± Sloan offered out of the blue. All that raw Talent being utterly wasted here in this depression hole. Martin didn¡¯t bother looking up from his sketch of Talon to answer, ¡°Where are we going?¡±

    ¡°Amoria.¡± When Sloan said that Martin dropped his coloring wax. The man looked up from his drawing to give Sloan a hard to read expression, it was a mix between confused and worried.

    ¡°You¡¯re serious.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question. Resigning to the fact he won¡¯t be getting back to his art, Martin cradled his chin in his hand. ¡°And how are you planning to accomplish that?¡±

    ¡°Well, how would someone go about getting signed off on their Talent here?¡± Sloan queried,  trying to act casual.

    ¡°Theoretically, that person would be tested by the Administrator to prove he has a Talent before a pardon is given. Mom didn¡¯t want to talk to me about it after dad died, so I couldn¡¯t tell you the details.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯ve never even tried, have you?¡±

    ¡°My father died pursuing his dreams. And for what? I just don''t know if it was even worth it." Martin stared down at his own half-finished artwork. Absent-mindedly Martin tapped the end of the charcoal on the floor leaving tiny black marks. "If you want to apply for release go ahead. All you have to do is get an appointment with the administrator. If you get written off, you can hitch a ride back to Amoria with Abigail.¡± Martin explained before finishing his Talon drawing.

    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Sloan pressed.

    ¡°That¡¯s it. If you don¡¯t mind my asking, what is your Talent anyway?¡±

    ¡°I am a Flutist.¡±

    * * *

    The first day of the month, supply day. Apparently, a woman named Abigail travels all the way from Amoria with everything the camp needs. She was going to be his ride back to the city. With a smile of satisfaction, Sloan plopped down his bag near the spiral staircase. As soon as the three of them unloaded everything, Sloan was packing his share of the ration before going on his way. Even Talon seemed in a more upbeat mood. When the two of them went downstairs they were greeted by a peculiar sight.

    Martin was dressed in what Sloan assumed was his best clothes. His normally messy blonde hair was slicked back in some semblance of composure. When Martin heard Sloan walking up behind him the man turned for a brief second with a quick ¡®hey¡¯.

    ¡°You look fancy today.¡± Sloan commented, coming up behind the twitchy man.

    ¡°What¡­ no. I dress like this all the time.¡± Martin tried to play off casually.  Sloan¡¯s scathing remark was cut off by a horse¡¯s whinny. Martin had a little spring in his step as he bolted for the back door in the kitchen-turned-records room. Following behind, Sloan caught a glimpse of the driver of the wagon.

    Phyllis would have a cow at the rough patchwork on the men¡¯s jacket she wore over her flowery dress. The woman adjusted her wide-brimmed hat to look at the Martin¡¯s bustling attempt to talk to her. She smiled at Martin¡¯s energetic hand waving. When she spotted Sloan she stopped talking.

    ¡°Hello. Who is this?¡± The woman stared at Sloan with a hard look.

    ¡°This is Richard Sloan. Richie, this is Abigail. Abigail, this man believes that he will be leaving with you tomorrow.¡± Martin scoffed while Abigail giggled. Instead of trying to defend his honor, Sloan made his way to the back of the wagon to grab the first box labeled ¡®soap¡¯. The giggling duo pitched in to help a moment later. Surprisingly enough, the three of them were finished just after the sun went down.

    ¡°Who knew having just one  extra person would help so much?¡± Abigail asked, dabbing her neck with a handkerchief. The three of them had made their way upstairs to make a small meal of cheese on bread with jerked meat. Sloan got up from the floor to stretch out the muscles that had tightened while he sat.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m headed to bed.¡± Sloan announced. Martin and Abigail followed in getting ready for bed.

    ¡°Oh that¡¯s right, the room you usually occupied is being used by Sloan.¡± Martin slapped the side of his head. Abigail smiled while saying she¡¯d be ok with camping out in the cart like she usually does. The voices of Martin and Abigail faded as Sloan wrapped in his cloak, praying for dreamless sleep.

    It was very early morning when Sloan left for the Camp Administrator¡¯s house. While he walked past the living room, Sloan saw Martin and Abigail were lying close to each other, their hands almost touching. Seems they stayed up late talking. Talon scoffed and made a snide remark that Sloan ignored. Sloan focused on gearing himself for whatever test the Mayor would have for him. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the door of the Camp Administrator. He took a deep breath before knocking on the solid wooden door. The same woman from before answered the door again. She gave Sloan an even harsher glare than before, as if he had done her some personal wrong.

    ¡°Can I help you?¡± She asked but sounded like the idea of being in his presence sickened her.

    ¡°Yes. I would like a test or evaluation¡­. thing.¡± Sloan tapered off as she kept staring at him.

    ¡°Right. Leave that thing outside.¡± The woman indicated to Talon. Talon puffed herself up for a second before taking off.

    ¡®I¡¯ll be around.¡¯ Talon took off out of sight. The woman led Sloan up to the office where the administrator was sitting at his desk. Instead of the smile he was kind of expecting, the Admin looked rather mad.

    ¡°Mr. Sloan, I¡¯d be lying if said I am happy to see you.¡± Sloan was taken aback when he heard that. The entire month he¡¯d been here Sloan barely took a step outside. At Sloan¡¯s look, the Admin went on to explain.

    ¡°Yesterday I received some rather upsetting news about the reason you were sent to our lovely Camp. But that is not the reason for my displeasure. For, you see, the Nomad¡¯s Spike has been a beacon of hope for all the Asthore. Before Amoria was even a city there was just the spike that had a bubbling spring at its base. The weary travelers claimed the water with a single coin from the chief¡¯s own purse. The coin, to this day, symbolizes the founding of not just a city but our very country.¡± The Admin gave a pause, allowing Sloan to squirm a little in his seat.

    ¡°This is where you come in. Fortunately for you, the water still flows from the base of the Spike despite being destroyed. However, the chieftain¡¯s coin is still missing. The Mayor of Amoria has sent me a letter asking me to retrieve the coin from your person.¡± At that bit of information, Sloan swallowed hard. This was not going at all like he¡¯d originally thought it would.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have it.¡± Sloan protested too quickly. The Admin raised his eyebrow at that statement. ¡°See, I dropped it when the Spike crumbled. I lost it in the rubble.¡± Well, that was at least half of the truth.  The Admin puffed out an air of frustration. He got up out of his chair to face the window.

    ¡°I know about your little feathered friend.¡± The man commented as casual as possible. Sloan''s spine stiffened at the thinly veiled threat. ¡°So here¡¯s my theory, and tell me if I am wrong but here goes.¡±

    ¡°You attempt to steal the coin from a national monument thinking you could make a pretty little profit. But you weren¡¯t expecting the Spike to crumble as you pass the coin off to your little friend outside there. When you were being tried, you told the judge you had no Talent to avoid the no doubt years of hard labor you¡¯d be assigned. Once here you laid low until one day you¡¯d suddenly discover your Talent out of the blue. You assumed I¡¯d sign off on your obvious Talent and send you back to Amoria. While being transported back to Amoria you planned on getting the drop on your guards using your little friend out there.¡± Sloan could only stare at the man as he laid out a pretty drawn out plan that sounded clever. ¡°But that is not going to happen today or any other day. Here is what is what is going to happen, you will relinquish the coin so it can be returned to Amoria where it belongs. You will be sent back to Amoria to fulfill your sentence. Or we can search your belongings and you live out the rest of your days as a No Talent. The choice is yours.¡± Sloan stifled a scoff. Some choice. The only option now was to pick hard labor or imprisonment. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    ¡®Run.¡¯ Whispered a breathy voice. The darker thoughts raced through Sloan¡¯s mind about the horrors Phyllis may have suffered while being imprisoned by the Djinn. All logic was bleeding out as the more desperate thoughts flooded in. Before he realized it, Sloan was out of the chair, backing up towards the door. Sloan did not get far because the woman from earlier was waiting for him on the other side of the door. She grabbed Sloan¡¯s arm to twist it painfully behind his back.

    ¡°Thank you, Rita.¡± the Admin complimented, walking towards Sloan. The two men stared hard at one another for a few tense seconds. With one smooth motion, the Admin bent over just low enough to unholster Sloan¡¯s flute. The man weighed the instrument in his hand for a moment before addressing Sloan.

    ¡°You won¡¯t be needing this anymore. Pity, this is such a lovely instrument. Wonder how shiny buttons made out this will be.¡± With that, the Admin waved Rita to take Sloan away. ¡°Rita, order some guards to search the outlet for the coin. It seems Mr. Sloan will be staying with us longer than we originally thought.¡±

    ¡°Sir.¡± Rita dutifully replied. Sloan¡¯s mind was racing, trying to find some way out of this situation. Rita steered Sloan all the way to the foyer when the front doors opened to reveal an excited looking Martin, holding his art supplies box.

    ¡°Oh hey, Richie how¡¯d¡­it¡­go.¡± Martin¡¯s excitement turned to confusion when he noticed his friend being manhandled. Normally Sloan would viciously correct the man but now wasn¡¯t the time. Rita ignored the newest distraction to lead Sloan off to a room elsewhere in the building when Martin tried to stop her.

    ¡°Excuse me, what is going on here?¡± Martin asked, trying to grab Rita¡¯s arm to stop her. Rita, in turn, shrugged off Martin¡¯s hand so violently the Art Talent dropped his supplies all over the floor. Unknowingly, Rita stomped on several coloring wax sticks, causing her to lose her balance on the overly polished floors. With a sickening crack, the bodyguard¡¯s head hit the floor and she stopped moving. Sloan knelt to check her pulse.

    ¡°Oh my! She¡¯s dead! We killed her!¡± Martin panicked.

    ¡°We?¡± Sloan asked, looking up from the bodyguard. He was fully satisfied with the steady strong pulse he was feeling.

    ¡°SOMEBODY CALL A DOCTOR!¡± Martin called out. Sloan launched forward to cover the flailing man¡¯s mouth.

    ¡°She¡¯s not dead you idiot! Look.¡± Sloan commanded nodding towards the woman stirring. ¡°See? She is fine. Now if it is ok with you I¡¯d like to get out of here.¡±

    ¡°But- ¡°

    ¡°Now!¡± Sloan commanded, pulling Martin out of the building. The two of them raced towards the outlet at top speed.

    ¡°What do we do now?¡± Martin asked, locking the front door.

    ¡°Well, we can wait here- ¡°

    ¡°Uh huh.¡±

    ¡°And get arrested.¡± Sloan offered.

    ¡°Or?¡± Martin pressed.

    ¡°Skip town?¡± Sloan suggested.

    ¡°Skip town?¡± Martin repeated. ¡°That¡¯s exactly what we were trying to do! Are you crazy?¡±

    ¡°I ask myself that every day.¡± Sloan lightly commented. Sloan then ignored the affronted sputtering of Martin in favor of grabbing food off the shelf. Martin stared at Sloan while catching his breath.

    ¡°You can help you know?¡± Sloan snapped.

    ¡°Don¡¯t bother. I already packed.¡± The outlet keeper admitted, looking away.

    ¡°When-?¡± Sloan asked.

    ¡°Last night. I was finally able to show my drawings to Abigail and she said I had Talent. And then you were trying to get out of here and I thought¡­maybe I could too.¡± Martin shrugged. Still looking away from Sloan, Martin saw several tall burly men coming towards the store.

    ¡°Ok enough male bonding, we got to go.¡± Martin stated, pushing away from the door.

    ¡°Where? This is the only entrance besides the kitchen.¡± Sloan pointed out. Martin thought for a second.

    ¡°The roof?¡± He offered. Sloan¡¯s face broke out into a maniacal grin.

    ¡°That¡¯s perfect!¡± Sloan exclaimed before rushing up the stairs.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s not,¡± Martin admitted to only himself. Realizing he didn¡¯t have a choice, he rushed up the stairs after his cohort. When Martin made it up Sloan was already shouldering his bag to climb out the window. The windows overlooked the solid awning covering the porch so their descent would be too high up. Yet still-

    ¡°This is a bad idea.¡± Martin complained, watching Sloan climb out the window. Cursing under his breath Martin, grabbed his own much smaller bag from near the kitchen to follow the madman. Without another word, the two men carefully stepped out onto the awning. The awning was slightly slanted to help melting snow run off the building. One wrong move and the two of them would tumble right off the side. They both picked their way across the roof, trying to avoid rotting shingles that littered the surface. Sadly, one of the steps Martin took was a bad one for he fell right into Sloan, who promptly fell off the roof.

    Surprisingly, they were both relatively unharmed. Covered in the dust they kicked up, they fell onto a pile of tarps in Abigail¡¯s wagon. While Martin was still reeling over their luck, Sloan grabbed one of the tarps to throw over them both.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on out here?¡± Abigail demanded, storming out of the Outlet just as one of the guards arrived.

    ¡°Ma¡¯am, it would be best to clear off before things get hairy.¡± the man warned.

    ¡°Clear off? Where are Martin and the other guy?¡± Abigail asked.

    ¡°All I can say is that they are in a lot of trouble that you should distance yourself from.¡± the guard pressed, trying to be as gentle as possible.

    ¡°Fine.¡± Abigail conceded in a sad tone. The cart jostled a little when she remounted. ¡°Come along, Basil.¡±

    There was a snapping of reigns and the cart began to move away from the store. Sloan almost didn¡¯t dare to breathe as the sounds of the store being ransacked got further away.

    ¡°Sir, it is the bird!¡± A voice called out, freezing Sloan¡¯s blood.

    ¡°Quick. Follow it. It will lead us to its master.¡± Said a second voice from further away. To Sloan¡¯s surprise, the sounds of the guards faded away. After a few long minutes, Sloan was finally able to relax. No matter how annoying she may be, Talon got the job done.

    Once the adrenaline from fleeing town began wearing off, Sloan began to feel bored. Time ticked on slowly with only the occasional bump in the road to break the monotony. Martin had either fallen asleep or passed out from the heat some time ago. Fear of even sneezing would alert Abigail to their presence. Sloan refused to move. Sloan was left alone to his thoughts. When he began to question things such as food and bathroom breaks, the cart stopped.

    Sloan paused while he heard shuffling near the front of the cart. It went quiet for a second.

    A breath later, the sharp end of a rapier pierced through the tarp stretched between the two fugitives. With a flick of her wrist, Abigail tossed off the covering. Peering down at them like a cat over her prey, Abigail had her weapon trained on Sloan. ¡°Well. Well. What critters crawled into my cart?¡± Abigail asked brightly. Martin gave a dopey smile up at her.

    ¡°Hey, Abby.¡± He slurred as her face turned a shade of pink. ¡°What are you two doin¡¯ here? I thought y¡¯all got arrested.¡± Abigail tried to change the topic as she casually sheathed her weapon.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s a bit of a long story.¡± Martin smiled, trying to seem as innocent as possible. Abigail raised an eyebrow in disbelief. All conversation was cut short by Basil screeching in terror.

    ¡°Basil what is-oh no.¡± Both stowaways were forgotten for the horror that was staring them down now. Looking over the side of the cart, Sloan saw a pack of wild dogs closing in on the cart. If it were wolves it would be different. They seemed to garner some fear towards humans. Even though it was only four dogs, Sloan knew these brutish breeds could take down an elk.

    ¡°Don¡¯t just sit there! Find something to defend yourself with!¡±  Abigail commanded. One of the wild dogs grew bold as it charged Basil. The old horse delivered a well-placed kick to the dog¡¯s ribs, sending it flying back into the brush. The second dog, a Chow, was much smarter as it leapt onto the riding bench of the wagon where Abigail was standing her ground. Focusing on finding something to defend himself with, Sloan dove into the traveling trunk wedged under the riding bench.

    The cart wobbled as another dog attempted to get at the two men in the back. Martin smacked the dog with his pack, causing it to fall off the wagon. Panic settling in, Sloan began tossing items out of the trunk, searching for anything. Then he found it. Lying tucked in one of the corners of the bottom of the trunk was a hand carved wooden flute. All guilt for everything was suppressed as he brought the instrument to his lips.

    He blew a singular note that seemed to fill the air with his will. Even Basil calmed at the sound of the note. The sound from the wood was different than the sounds he could make with the metal flute. Maybe it was the fact that it was at least an inch shorter than his previous flute or maybe the simple fact it was made of wood, either way, Sloan didn¡¯t care. Using the Song of Hearts, he urged the dogs back to the wild. Once the last tapered tail disappeared back into the brush, Martin and Abigail finally relaxed. Adrenaline fading from them their bodies, they slumped over from exhaustion.

    Sloan, on the other hand, remained rigid. His body was still singing from using his Talent. His entire being was drinking in the magic he had produced. This was even better than when he used his Talent the night of the Gala. It was kind of funny really, his old Master was adamant about how technology would one day overrule all facets of Talent. So much so that he refused to let Sloan play with nothing else but the metal flutes.

    ¡°Is he alright?¡±Abigail¡¯s voice cut through Sloan¡¯s thoughts.

    ¡°No clue. Hey, buddy?¡± Martin inquired, poking Sloan in the leg.

    ¡°Mmmm?¡± Sloan hummed back, clearly still in a daze.

    ¡°Abigail was talking to you.¡± Martin informed him, looking up warily at his former employee.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°I was just thanking you for your quick thinking is all. If you hadn¡¯t reacted when you did we wouldn¡¯t have survived.¡± She looked annoyed by something before speaking again.

    ¡°Well anyway. I guess I am in your debt now.¡± Abigail sighed, settling back into the driver¡¯s spot.

    ¡°So does that mean you¡¯re not taking us back then?¡± Martin pressed, climbing up into the front seat next to Abigail. The woman gave a suffering sigh as she snapped Basil¡¯s reigns to urge the horse forward.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get too excited, I am only taking you as far as Amoria. And that is all!¡± she plainly stated.

    ¡°That¡¯s fine by me. How¡¯s about you there, Richie?¡± Martin asked over his shoulder. Leaning between the two in the front, Sloan steadied himself against the motion of the cart. He had slipped the wooden flute back into his leg holster out of pure habit. Even with it being an inch shorter than his original instrument, it still poked out just enough to be grasped.

    ¡°So what, is that it? No guards? No threats?¡± Sloan pressed, looking up at the road worn woman.

    ¡°Nope.¡± The merchant said back. She didn¡¯t even bother looking away from the road to answer him. Sloan made a noise as a response as he slid down to sit in the back. As he tidied the back of the cart from earlier, Abigail began speaking again.

    ¡°You are an amazing Talent, Richie- ¡°

    ¡°Sloan.¡± The man in question corrected her.

    ¡°Sloan.¡± Abigail corrected herself. ¡°You could have easily used those wild animals to your advantage, but you didn¡¯t.¡± She gave a pause before continuing. ¡°I think that gives you one free pass.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Sloan replied quietly. Martin immediately began talking rapidly to Abigail. While Martin began recalling exactly how the two of them ended up on the lam, Sloan made himself comfortable. A smile broke across his face as he spotted a speck of black in the distance. Sloan was sure Talon had quite the story when she finally rejoined him.

    * * *

    ¡°Nope,¡± Phyllis announced as she tossed a coin over her shoulder into the sea of other coins. Stripped down to her under dress, she was a sight to behold. To her immediate left, flattened out as much as possible, was her party dress. Coins were laid neatly in little rows with the wish side facing up.

    The root of her behavior started three weeks ago, around the time Richard was arrested. In a fit of misery, Phyllis had curled in upon herself to have a good cry when her hand touched the coin embedded in her forehead. Instantly, Phyllis was dropped into the memory of Richard making the deal with the Djinn. As if she was an outsider looking at a play, she watched her husband make his mistake.

    When the memory was over Phyllis awoke back in the Djinn¡¯s treasure room. She looked around, utterly thrown off at what just happened. Trying to recreate the event, Phyllis realized that the only thing she had done differently was that her hand brushed up against the accursed coin embedded in her forehead. With a slight bit of hesitation, Phyllis touched the coin on her head again. The memory of the day Richard made his wish played before her once again. The second she came back to the treasure room she grabbed the nearest coin to look at it more closely.

    It was crazy, she knew. There was no telling if her idea would even work. Or worse, it would work too well and she¡¯d be lost in a loop of someone else¡¯s memories. Contemplating her next move, Phyllis tossed the coin back in the sea. Touching her temples, Phyllis tried to think about what made her coin so special.

    Screwing her eyes shut, she wracked her brain to try and scrounge up a mental image of the coin she bears. It only lasted for a split second, so the memory was hazy at best. Eyes flying open, Phyllis felt stupid, all she had to do was fall asleep and she¡¯d be transported directly towards where Richard was. Flopping gracelessly on her back, Phyllis forced herself to go to sleep.

    Waking back up in reality next to Richard still felt like waking from a nightmare. With a mental shake, Phyllis reminded herself that this wasn¡¯t a leisure visit. No, this Sewing Talent was on a mission. Richard was heading towards a room Phyllis did not recognize at first. For being a prisoner, the accommodations were better than she¡¯d been expecting. Even though logically Phyllis knew Richard couldn¡¯t hear her she still slipped in after her husband. Distracted by the lines of clothes drying over a bathtub, Richard pulled his now dry cloak off the line, causing Phyllis to smile.

    ¡°And you said you¡¯d ¡®have no use for that sort of thing¡¯.¡± Phyllis quoted with a giggle to herself. A brief flash of yellow caught her attention. Hidden under a thick layer of dirt was a mirror. Squinting with all her might Phyllis tried to get a better look at the coin embedded on her face. The words, ¡®I wish to be the greatest Flute Talent ever¡¯ reflected just like before. The only difference was the material the coin seemed to be made from, silver rather than gold. Face mere centimeters from the glassy surface, Phyllis tried to see if she could pull the coin out. A pull from around her middle stopped all further experiments, Richard was leaving the bathroom. Choosing to follow rather than waking up back in the treasure room, Phyllis followed.

    The room Richard entered caused Phyllis to pause, the room was an utter wreck. Dusty, full of cobwebs, with a dingy pile of clothes in the shape of a mattress. Richard threw the nice, custom made cloak his wife made him on top of that dirty pile. Completely void of all energy, Richard crawled on top the dirty pile to wrap up in the cloak to sleep. Phyllis never thought she¡¯d ever seen anyone go to bed so sad before. Looking around, Phyllis realized something was missing.

    ¡°Where¡¯s your friend?¡± She asked, not expecting an answer. The bird, Talon, if she remembers correctly, was missing. ¡°I guess it is to be expected. He he. Look at us. Who are we kidding? A couple of fools on a fool¡¯s errand.¡± Phyllis laid down on the floor facing Richard. She reached out to attempt to stroke her beloved¡¯s face but she couldn¡¯t. Her touch meant no more than a shadow to him. Tears of frustration welled up in Phyllis¡¯s eyes. Out of sheer habit, she dipped into her handkerchief pocket only to have a silver coin fall out along with the cloth. Seeing the silver coin caused her heart to jump a little. She picked it up to examine it.

    On one side the words ¡®I wish to sing like a bird¡¯ were inscribed just like all the others. Turning it over, she saw the text ¡®Human form¡¯. Puzzled, Phyllis had literally no idea what that even meant. Even more flustered than before, Phyllis went to cover her face with the hand still holding the coin. The second the two coins made even the most minute of contact it triggered Phyllis to be drawn into the memory.

    Phyllis was now plopped right in the middle of a busy city bustling with people. From directly behind her a young female¡¯s voice spoke,

    ¡®Wishing well. Wishing well.

    How you cast your magic spell?

    Take a coin, make your wish

    Then toss it in with a mighty splish.¡±

    As per tradition on the ¡®splish¡¯, the wish maker threw in the coin. Turning around, Phyllis was less interested in the little girl making her wish than seeing Richard standing next to said little girl. When Phyllis went to call out, the Djinn descended like a liquid smoke.

    ¡°Clever. Clever, girl.¡± The man smiled with a wicked glint in his eye. ¡°But sadly, not clever enough.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Phyllis groused. The Djinn casually place his arm on her shoulder to turn her away from Richard wandering around asking random passer by what was going on.

    ¡°You see; you are not the first living prize I have ever taken nor will you be the last. When you¡¯ve been doing this as long as I have you tend to learn from your mistakes.¡± The Being rotated his wrist to produce two gold coins. ¡°Thelma and Herbert here used this very trick to discover where my fountains resided. Almost got them all too, if only Thelma here could have lasted a little bit longer. Then again, that¡¯s nature I suppose. You, humans get too much Magic in you and just lose your minds.¡± The Djinn tossed the coins away just to have them dissolve into smoke. ¡°A little ironic seeing as that all you have is your Talent at the end of the day.¡±  The Djinn mentioned as an afterthought. Phyllis glared, internally debating whether he was lying or not.

    ¡°Tell you what...¡± The Djinn wrapped his arm further around Phyllis¡¯s shoulder to draw her in closer. ¡°I¡¯ll keep letting you use my treasure to show your husband these visions under one condition.¡± Phyllis narrowed her eyes in distrust. The Djinn gave a chuckle. ¡°Before your life expires you make your one wish.¡±

    ¡°Why do you do this? Trick people under the false pretense into signing their life away to you.¡± Phyllis blurted out. ¡°What could you possibly gain from causing such misery?¡±

    ¡°Life, my dear.¡± The Djinn leaned in so close to Phyllis¡¯s face she was able to see a band of fiery red pulsing through the irises of the monster. ¡°I live and breathe the misery you brought upon yourselves by your own greed. You creatures bemoan for trinkets and adulation to the point you sell your very souls to me. Claim the moral high ground all you want but I¡¯ve seen what your kind is capable of and it keeps me well-fed. So¡­¡± The Djinn drew out the word longer than was needed. ¡°Do we have a deal or not?¡±  Phyllis looked down at the ground for a second before looking back up to reply,

    ¡°Deal.¡±

    * * *

    ''So, I banked left around those two buildings that have like a foot between them, right? Then I spotted an open window. Quickly I dived right in to see if the morons would follow me.¡¯ Talon explained, hopping up and down while she told her story. Sloan hummed and hawed at the correct places. From the other side of the campfire, Martin and Abigail watched Sloan as he talked to Talon.

    ¡°Why is he talking to that bird?¡± Abigail whispered.

    ¡°Maybe it is a Music Talent thing.¡± Martin suggested. Sloan couldn¡¯t hear a word they were saying over Talon¡¯s in-depth retelling of her harrowing escape. Abigail shrugged her shoulders in favor of looking for an apple to eat. She hummed as she counted through her food stock.

    ¡°Um, guys?¡± She called out. Even Talon stopped talking at the nervousness in Abigail¡¯s voice.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Asked Sloan and Martin at the same time. Abigail took a breath before answering.

    ¡°Seems we have miscalculated exactly how much food we have left.¡± She explained, moving back towards the fire.

    ¡°Meaning?¡± Sloan asked. Abigail sighed loudly.

    ¡°We only have enough food for breakfast.¡±

    ¡°WHAT?¡± Martin, Sloan, and Talon shrieked  together. Though all Martin and Abigail heard was a loud bird squawk. Abigail motioned for them to calm down.

    ¡°You¡¯re a food merchant. How can you possibly be out of food?¡± Martin asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­agh! That isn¡¯t my food. Everything I ship is for the town I am delivering to. My food, on the other hand, is stored in my trunk away from the shipment. If I don¡¯t do that I would be eating away at my profit margin. Literally!¡± Abigail shot back.

    ¡°So now what do we do?¡± Sloan asked, rubbing his head. ¡°I mean really, who packs just enough food for the trip there?¡±

    ¡®Well¡­¡¯ Talon trailed off.

    ¡°Shut up.¡± Sloan snapped back. Martin and Abigail shared a look of concern. Talking to yourself was one thing. Arguing with yourself and losing was another.

    ¡°Anyway.¡± Martin interjected. ¡°We cannot go back to Camp Hope. So, all we can do is move forward. Abigail, are there any edible plants around here?¡±

    ¡°Well, yeah. There are some root vegetables and the like.¡± She admitted. ¡°Not four stars but they will sustain us until we get where we are going.¡±

    ¡°So, no meat?¡± Martin slumped.

    ¡°Well, kinda. If you are lucky enough to actually catch them, there are wild hare and the occasional deer.¡± Abigail nodded. Martin didn¡¯t seem too pleased by the new bit of information.

    ¡°It¡¯s best not to think too hard about that just yet.¡± Sloan comforted him. ¡°After all, it might take less time than we think to get to Amoria.¡± Martin and Abigail nodded in agreement. As the four of them turned in for the night, a thought occurred to Sloan as he slipped the flute under his makeshift pillow.

    A spotty second day of travel lowered moral dangerously quickly. The water supply was rationed to the hardest working member of their group, Basil. While he drank, his human counterparts were left to squeeze water from cacti. Martin insisted on being the one to search for food after Abigail provided the transport while Sloan kept them safe from wild animals. When he came back from gathering, Sloan could tell it was going to be a long hungry night.

    ¡°Just enough for the three of us.¡± Martin admitted, showing them the three tubers along with a few edible berries. Taking his frustration out on the cactus core he was squeezing for water, Sloan¡¯s idea from last night popped up again.

    ¡°I could do it.¡± Sloan whispered aloud.

    ¡®Do what?¡¯ Asked Talon. She didn¡¯t even bother to stop preening her feathers.

    ¡°Get meat.¡± Sloan replied in the same hushed tone. That got Talon¡¯s attention.

    ¡®How?¡¯ She asked. Sloan stopped twisting the cacti core to talk to Talon. ¡°You¡¯ll see. HEY, YOU TWO!.¡± Sloan yelled towards Martin and Abigail, who were working on the fire for the night.

    ¡°Yeah?¡± Martin said, walking a little closer to hear better. The man looked miserable and tired.

    ¡°How¡¯s about I go looking for food this time around?¡± Sloan casually offered. The Art Talent perked up a little bit at the chance to sit down for a change.

    ¡°Really?¡± Martin attempted to keep his voice steady.

    ¡°Sure. Sure.¡± Sloan set aside his project to have Martin switch places with him.

    Taking the machete, Sloan wrapped the belted sheath around his waist before he made his way to see what he could find. Sliding down a dried-up riverbed, Sloan took out his stolen flute, much to Talon¡¯s surprise.

    ¡®Well, it is about time!¡¯ Talon exclaimed excitedly. ¡®Wait a minute. Let me see that.¡¯ Sloan held the flute closer for Talon to get a proper look. ¡®This isn¡¯t yours. Where did you get that?¡¯

    ¡°Oh, Abigail gave it to me.¡± Technically, she never asked for it back so Sloan planned on keeping it until she asked.

    ¡®That was nice of her, but what happened to your other one?¡¯

    ¡°Oh, the Camp Administrator decided to keep it to try to get me to give back the Djinn coin.¡± Sloan couldn¡¯t care less at the moment, though. He¡¯d been itching to try out the flute in its full capacity.

    ¡®What? That¡¯s insane!¡¯ Talon squawked.

    ¡°Yeah, well, I am a thief and I did steal part of a national monument so I can see where he is coming from. Alright, the moment of truth.¡± Sloan started playing, expecting the rush of energy he always felt while using his Talent. At one point, he had closed his eyes and started to reach out in all directions rather than at a specific target. Further and further, Sloan felt his Talent latching onto animals the longer he played. Only when Talon cried out in fear was Sloan¡¯s concentration broken.

    ¡°What in the world?¡± Sloan exclaimed when he saw the cause of Talon¡¯s outburst. Bugs, lizards, two hares and even a deadly rattlesnake were lined up in neat little rows staring pointedly at Sloan. Even though Sloan wasn¡¯t using his Talent anymore the animals stood stark still as if waiting for further instructions.

    ¡®Do it.¡¯  A voice breathed, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.

    Sloan didn¡¯t even hesitate. In a fluid moment, the Music Talent slid the machete out of the sheath to decapitate the rattlesnake. Talon screamed as the animals scattered. Trance broken, Sloan blinked to look down at the flailing body of the snake. With a quick swear, Sloan quickly took several steps back to avoid getting bit by the snake¡¯s fangs.

    ¡®WHAT WAS THAT?¡¯ Talon screamed while she bolted off Sloan¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°Dinner. I just didn¡¯t expect to get such a good catch.¡± Sloan used the machete to bat the now still snake¡¯s head far away from him.

    ¡®You just lopped that thing¡¯s head off.¡¯  the bird-girl stated as if saying it out loud would make it more real. ¡®How¡¯d you get them to stand there like that?¡¯

    ¡°The same way I¡¯ve always done, with the Song of Hearts.¡± Sloan picked up the snake by its rattled tail, trying to keep the bleeding part away from him.

    ¡®I meant after you stopped playing.¡¯ She paused at the question. How did he keep control over the animals after he stopped playing?

    ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain.¡±  Sloan diverted, trying to drop the subject. In all actuality, it was incredibly easy to explain. It was a power the likes of which no man should possess and Sloan knew it. Feeling the will of the animals break under Sloan¡¯s Talent felt good. Rubbing his arm, Sloan felt the goose bumps still prickling on his arm from the exhilaration. He wanted more.

    Returning with the now still body of the snake, Sloan and Talon made to return triumphant from their hunt.

    Since making camp and food gathering was top priority, getting back Amoria was taking twice as long as it normally would have.  Each day, Sloan became more irrational and irritable. By day four, Talon decided she didn¡¯t want to go look for food with him anymore.

    Perched on his shoulder, Talon noticed that every time Sloan played, she started to feel the effects of the song. Her mind would become muddled, eager to obey the commands at a moment¡¯s notice. The effects wouldn¡¯t last long but it still left Talon shaken. On this morning, Sloan had risen earlier than usual. Disturbed from his sleep by yet another nightmare Talon assumed, judging by how he always woke up violently. Usually, the man would wake up just to turn over and go back to sleep. Instead, he slipped on his signature cloak to fight off the still icy desert air to grab his flute. Talon chose to stay behind instead of following this time as she feigned sleep.

    ¡°Come on Talon, let¡¯s go,¡± Sloan commanded, not looking at her. Acting on its own accord, Talon felt her body spring to obey. With a quick fluff of her feathers, Talon was already perched on Sloan¡¯s shoulders before she could protest.

    ¡®You¡¯re up early.¡¯ Talon attempted to make small talk. Sloan made a grunt as he just kept walking. Sloan found a mound of sand to stand on before taking out his flute. Talon braced herself, dreading the playing of the song already. He pressed the instrument to his lips before belting out a loud, long single note. A warm gust of air brushed passed the two of them as nothing happened. Talon released the breath she hadn¡¯t realized she¡¯d been holding.

    ¡°KeeeeyAAA!¡± The screech was a sound from Talon¡¯s nightmares. Descending from the sky was the form of the biggest bird of prey she had ever seen. In that instant, Talon had a flashback from when she was first turned into a bird. Razor sharp claws, outstretched, crushing her wings, crippling her while a knife-like beak would rip into her. Talon fell backwards in a panic as Sloan was too focused on having the winged death land heavily on his outstretched arm.

    ¡°Bring me fruit.¡± Sloan peered into the bird¡¯s eyes in a voice that wasn¡¯t quite his own. It was like two people were saying the exact same thing at the same time. The bird gave a smaller keen in reply before taking off again. Righting herself, Talon fluffed her feather to get what sand she could get off them.

    ¡®It¡¯s kinda scary how good you are getting at that.¡¯ Sloan walked over to allow Talon to walk back to her place on his arm.

    ¡°I know. I had no idea this level of Talent could be achieved. It is really invigorating.¡± Sloan gave a shiver.

    ¡®Cold?¡¯ Talon asked, hoping that Sloan wasn¡¯t getting too attached to his new-found ability. She couldn¡¯t really blame him even if he was. Either way, tomorrow they¡¯ll be in Amoria and then¡­

    The terrible plan. Who knows, maybe the plan was brilliant in its simplicity. Or, it was their one-way ticket to the afterlife. Talon cleaned her left wing, really thinking about the rest of her life. What if her life was cut drastically short now that she was in a bird¡¯s body? Thinking even further in long term, would she even be ok if she lived to be a hundred while being a bird?

    Right now, all Talon really wanted was to be enveloped in a warm hug, with her mother patting down her hair telling her everything was going to be ok. If she could cry, she would have started by now. Ever since she met Sloan, Talon knew she could never go back to an endless search for food while not being dinner yourself. Now that she had a taste of human warmth and comfort, Talon craved it worse than when she was first changed. Even if her life ended tomorrow, Talon refused to allow herself to be a victim any longer.

    For the final leg of their trip to Amoria, no one really spoke. Martin and Abigail never really left each other¡¯s side, while Sloan would brood. Talon would settle nearby, watching, waiting¡­for what, she didn¡¯t even know anymore. She would just have to wait. Sleepless nights made Sloan short tempered and irritable, to say the least.

    Both Talon and Sloan were nervous as to how they were going to get in this time since the two of them were criminals. While Martin and Abigail were talking up front about what Martin was planning on doing with his new-found freedom, Talon and Sloan were having their own conversation. Sitting with both legs dangling off the back of the cart, Sloan was looking exhausted. Deep, purple bags hung heavily under Sloan¡¯s eyes as he stared blankly at the ground.

    ¡®Ok, so what is the plan?¡¯ Talon asked from her perch on the side cart.

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s kind of a long shot and flimsy at best.¡±  Sloan blinked at the passing ground.

    ¡®Are we talking about getting into Amoria or defeating the Djinn?¡¯ Sloan gave a weak chuckle before answering.

    ¡°Both, I suppose. I mean¡­ all I got is hiding inside Abigail¡¯s trunk.¡± Jerking his thumb behind him, Sloan answered.

    ¡®Even for you that is a weak plan.¡¯ In response, Sloan shrugged before lying back to look at the sky. ¡®I mean seriously, you spent a week thinking of that.¡¯

    ¡°Hey, I was doing other things, like gathering food. What were you doing?¡± Sloan accused,  pointing at Talon without lifting his head.

    ¡®Oh no. Do not pin this on me. See, you¡¯re the idea guy while I¡¯m the one who has to literally swoop down and rescue your sorry hide when things go wrong. Which, might I add, is all the time.¡¯ Even though no one was watching her Talon fluffed up her feathers anyway. Puffing out a breath of tired air, Sloan slung his arm over his eyes to shield them the sun.

    ¡°If that¡¯s the case let¡¯s just start with that.¡± Sloan countered weakly.

    ¡®Actually, that isn¡¯t a half bad idea. If we create a big enough distraction, we can just slip right on past everyone. That still leaves us needing some form of ID, trust me they are just as strict when it comes to residences so we need that. So how are we going to do this? Do I just fly in or what?¡¯ Talon rambled off, waiting for Sloan to chime in. When she was met with silence, Talon looked down to see Sloan had fallen asleep. She could easily wake him up but instead, she said,

    ¡®Sweet dreams.¡¯ And she meant it.

    * * *

    ¡°Ok, we¡¯re here!¡± Martin announced, startling Sloan awake.

    ¡°What¡¯s goin¡¯ on?¡± Sloan bolted upright, looking frantically around. Behind him, Martin and Abigail had dropped down from the driver¡¯s bench.

    ¡°We¡¯re here in Amoria.¡± Martin smiled. Looking closer at his surroundings, Sloan noticed that they were at a different part of the outer wall than when he first came here. Apparently, merchants and traders entered in a different part of the city than just pedestrians. The cart was second in line to be inspected. Guards collected the carts when the inspecting area was clear. Standing up, Sloan noticed several other people inspecting the carts wearing yellow bandanas.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got an idea.¡± Sloan still had his eyes locked on the now shut double doors. ¡°You know how you¡¯re always coming in to cause a distraction so I can get away?¡±

    ¡®Yeah?¡¯

    ¡°Hows about we start with that instead.¡±

    ¡®Now you¡¯re talking.¡¯

    ¡°Ok, so to start you¡¯re going to sit on top of that the ledge up there and wait for me to throw my hands up. That¡¯s the signal. Now, when I give the signal you¡¯re going to dive bomb in the inspecting area to cause a great ruckus. While everyone is trying to catch, you I¡¯ll swipe a bandana off one of those workers and then slip right into the city.¡±

    ¡®Not as terrible as your other plans but hey, you¡¯ve been lucky so far.¡¯ Talon admitted.

    ¡°Love you too. Now get going, it¡¯s almost our turn.¡±

    ¡°Hey, Sloan? Ya coming?¡± Martin called out when he noticed that his friend wasn¡¯t making his way to the check-in area.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll be right there. Just need to get something out of the trunk.¡± Sloan called back, noticing the doors to the inspection area opening again.

    ¡°Sir is there a problem?¡± Asked a female guard approaching the cart.

    ¡°No ma¡¯am, just need to get something out of the trunk.¡± Sloan smiled.

    ¡°Well, if you just follow your companion to the proper door I can guarantee whatever it is you are going to get will be safe.¡± The woman patiently assured him.

    ¡°You know what? I understand. Just traveling stresses me out so much I get a little paranoid time to time. I¡¯ll just let you do your job then.¡± Sloan lifted his arms to show he was harmless.

    Talon gave a loud screech as she descended into the open doors. What the two of them weren¡¯t expecting was Basil being startled so bad he took off running. People dived out of the way to avoid being trampled by a terrified horse dragging a cart. Sloan fell on his face when Basil took off. To make matters worse the cart in front of theirs hadn¡¯t fully exited the inspecting area. Basil made a sharp turn to try and avoid ramming into the other cart. During the turn, Sloan was tossed from the cart, along with his bag. Rolling several times, Sloan allowed the world to spin around him as he regained his senses. People started to crowd around to see what was going on when Talon called out.

    ¡®What are you doing? We need to get going.¡¯ Talon called out in both their link as well as making bird noises.

    ¡°Oh, my back.¡± Sloan complained as he picked himself up out of the dirt. Nothing felt broken but it was much harder to breathe now.

    ¡°Sir, do you need a doctor?¡± Asked one of the bystanders. In an attempt to look perfectly happy, Sloan mustered up a grin and waved off the person.

    ¡°I just need to walk it off a little is all.¡± He waved slowly, slinking away from the concerned citizen.

    ¡°Alright then.¡± The young man frowned, confused on what he should be doing. He looked torn between forcing Sloan to go get looked at but still trying to be respectful of his wishes. During the man¡¯s internal debate, Sloan picked a direction and took off. Stumbling through the crowd, Sloan eventually made it to the town center. With the bulk of the pain simmering down, Sloan could see the changes made to the fountain. The township had left a fair amount of rubble left over from the original Nomad¡¯s Spike as a base for the new statue. Rising from the rubble was a bold white marble carved phoenix, wings spread as if it were about to take flight. Embedded on the breast of the symbol of rebirth was a new coin.

    Only by the fires of adversity can the Phoenix can be born.

    ¡®Wow, that¡¯s cheesy.¡¯ Talon had apparently found Sloan. Surprised, Sloan didn¡¯t notice the bird-girl¡¯s arrival. He didn¡¯t even bother to look at her.

    ¡®Traitor.¡¯ Whispered the wind. Sloan flinched subconsciously.

    ¡®Here is your bandana.¡¯ Talon indicated to her claws. Sloan reached up with his right arm to grab it when he felt a twinge of pain. Peering down, he noticed there was now a large hole in the elbow of his sleeve.

    Through the hole, Sloan could see his elbow scraped red and bloody from the fall. Now that he noticed it, he felt the wound throb with pain.

    ¡®Ouch that looks bad.¡¯ Talon sounded remorseful.

    ¡°Yeah, well it wouldn¡¯t have happened if you just would have stuck to the plan.¡± Sloan took the bandana to wrap around his left forearm.

    ¡®ME? What¡¯d I do?¡¯ Rolling his eyes, Sloan paused while he made sure the knot was properly secured so it wouldn¡¯t fall off.

    ¡°You spooked the horses. That wasn¡¯t part of the plan. You know how much damage you caused back there?¡± Sloan waved his hand back toward where they came in.

    ¡®Hey, nobody could predict that Basil was going to freak out like that, ok? Besides, it all worked out in the end.¡¯ Talon gave a full body fluff as if to shrug off responsibility.

    ¡°You know what? What¡¯s done is done. Let¡¯s just go pick up some things.¡± His tone dripped with false joviality.

    ¡®Yeah, sure.¡¯ Talon agreed, showing no emotion.

    Neither one of them attempted to start up a conversation as Sloan shopped. Utterly annoyed as she was at her companion¡¯s behavior, Talon knew the coldness she was feeling towards Sloan would wear off. Talon decided to follow near Sloan rather than perch on his shoulder like they¡¯d been doing. Being that close to him made her feel¡­prickly. Like when a new feather was trying to come in after a molt. Just thinking about it made Talon¡¯s full body shake just to get rid of the phantom tingle.

    ¡°ARE YOU KIDDING ME?¡± Sloan roared. Talon took to the air for a second, fearing they were under attack. When she realized it was her companion shouting, she flew down to hear better. Sloan¡¯s face was twisted into a snarl. The stall clerk was pressing himself into the barrel behind him. Probably in hopes it would swallow him up.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to tell you, sir. The price is clearly- ¡°

    ¡°Are you calling me stupid?¡± Sloan inquired in a tone that would freeze the sun. ¡°I can read. I also know that vendors, such as yourself, like to hike up the price of goods to turn a tidy profit.¡±

    ¡°I assure you that all of my goods are fairly priced. We have the best apples in the country so the prices- ¡°

    ¡°Ugh. I have no time for your excuses- ¡°At that point, Talon was done. Sure, Sloan wasn¡¯t the sweetest person she had ever met but he had a good heart beating underneath all that gruff. Now Talon didn¡¯t even know what to make of him. Figuring that hiding out in a tree for a while might be a better option at this point, Talon took off.

    ¡°TALON! GET BACK HERE NOW!¡± The command broke in, shredding through her thoughts. Talon was reminded of the time her father pulled her backward by the collar of her shirt. Her wings seemed to freeze up, causing her to free fall backward. Fortunately, she managed to regain control before she hit the ground. With a great effort, Talon managed to find a safe spot to regain her wits. Satisfied with his charge¡¯s new compliance, Sloan went back to badgering the stall clerk. Leaving Talon to wonder what her eventual fate would be.