《A Convenient Fiction》 Chapter I: An Inconvenient Ending Old Man Surret shuffled along a dusty road with dry air, little landscape, and no traffic, out in the middle of nowhere. The aging yet unbent figure drove a stick into the ground every other step. Not a gentleman''s cane, just an unpolished thing he''d picked up somewhere along the way. His gaze focused ahead with an unusual eagerness. His journey was nearly done, and he looked forward to it. His clothes were old, plain, and - no coincidence - dusty just like the road. Just three more things ahead, he knew, and he''d be home. That was how these things went - in threes. The first one was, naturally, a temptress. Not some curvy, smirking goddess, no. She was a woman with kind eyes and a smile. Dark-haired, tan, and wearing jeans and a pale blouse. Someone to talk to, match wits with over a board game, or otherwise relax and pass the time with. She sat on a chair, a glass of lemonade in hand, looking up with interest. Surret just shook his head, with an apologetic smile on his face. Something in his expression told her she''d get no farther. Nodding at him, she reclined and allowed him to pass on in silence. The traveler continued without a backward glance, knowing she''d only be gone. The second was a tormentor, a demonic thing. The roar made that obvious. The choking clouds of smoke and shaking ground were another signs of its nature. The enemy''s form became clear as it tore across a distant rise. The man''s eyes widened in surprise at the form it took. Thick black smoke parted, exposing a dark red pickup, covered with scratches, dents, and dirty handprints. The windshield was spanged in front of passenger and driver seats from impacts, the glass thankfully too dirty to see through. Surret watched the thing charge at him over the road. The roar had grown outragiously loud, an angry noise full of pain and the need to share it. The old man walked briskly off and away from the road, moving more quickly, then finally sprinting toward a dry creek bed. The tormentor gushed smoke around itself as it closed in on Surret, slowing down as it approached. Sooty air fountained out of twin smokestacks, obscuring both of them. Then, from within the choking haze, a screech of tortured metal sounded out, continuing for minutes as the cloud finally retreated. The old man emerged, and walked slowly back to the road. Neither the truck nor the stick to be seen ever again. He trudged forward, alert for his last challenge. In the distance, an intersection became visible. His pace slowed as trepidation set in. Sure enough, loitering at the intersection, a figure in a duster watched his approach. "Please draw a weapon," Surret muttered to himself, as if in prayer. "C''mon, a sword, a gun, a wand, a silver fan ..." The figure looked up as the mumbling man drew near. The traveler tensed as his next adversary pulled up a satchel, which he then set on a small table that the stranger seemingly pulled out of thin air. "Hello, noble pilgrim," the loiterer spoke. His tone was formal, and surprisingly pleasant. "Dammit!" Surret groused. "A bargainer." --- "Ah, not your first time?" the stranger asked. Surret just glared. "Best I lay down the rules, just in case you''re a lucky beginner," the bargainer continued. "We must strike three trades, before you might continue. All of our arrangements will be something you want, but the cost may be something you find dear." "For starters, would you agree to an exchange of names, with a stipulation: these are not to be used to bind either of us, nor written or spoken again in any way that he who is named would not reasonably approve of."This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. After a moment''s consideration, the old man nodded. "Done. Uther Nemo Surret. Just call me Surret." The bargainer blinked. "That really is your name. My own is -" the stranger then made a ululating scream, and looked expectantly. Surret stared. "That sounded like a screech owl with a bad case of hiccups. Is there something I can call you that a human voice could do justice?" Smiling, the being replied, "There certainly is, but such was not part of our pact." The old man sighed, "Very well, would you find it acceptable for me to call you, say, Mephistoph-?" "Let''s not muddy the waters." "Oh, so that''s the name of an actual devil?" "It''s an alias I''ve heard a few others already use. Repeatedly. It''s tacky." Surret considered a moment, before finally saying, "Well, if we''re reaching a Faustian bargain, why don''t I call you Faustian?" The bargainer nodded politely. "I find that acceptable. Now, our second trade. Would you agree to tell me something interesting about yourself in trade for being brought up on some current events of your world?" Once again, the old man mulled it over, then finally nodded. --- "I travel worlds," Surret began. "Clearly," Faustian replied, looking at their surroundings. "There''s more to it than that," the man continued. "I''ve been traveling since I turned ten. Different worlds, too. Sometimes, I''d walk into the closet or lean into a mirror, sometimes when dreaming, a couple times, it even happened during near death experiences." "Okay, that actually is somewhat impres-" "Lost in a rainstorm, lost in a blizzard, chasing a puppy into a cave, magic ring, magic necklace, magic frog ..." "I see." "That one time when the entire Rennaissance Festival went with me. Well, you get the idea. They''re always magical realms, but the magic''s always different, and sometimes a bit subtle. And every time, I''ve somehow managed to come back, although it''s taken weeks, sometimes months. This last time, years. A lot of them." Faustian peered at his client with something that might be mistaken for sympathy. When Surret didn''t continue, he said, "So, as a veteran walker between worlds, you must be aware that time usually passes in a fairly consistent way. There''s some oddity here and there, but a year here is usually a year there. Sometimes six months or two years, but that''s about as extreme as it gets." "Surret, in the time that you spent battling the toadstool fae and establishing the Regency, fourteen years have passed for your family." The old man''s face grew inscrutable. "That''s almost six months for each year you spent there. It''s about the best you can hope for. I suspect you had some help getting it that good." "The Rot Elves promised me fair travels in trade for the return of their crown." "Ah- Well, you can probably guess what has happened. Your son is off in college, and your daughter is about to turn sixteen. Susan wasn''t able to get you declared dead, but you are legally a deadbeat dad, and Tom, her husband, just celebrated ten years together with her." Poker face on, Surret slowly nodded in understanding. Faustian watched him closely for a few minutes, then said "Final bargain, then you can be on your way!" --- "You''ve spent quite some time away from your family, Uther. The kids are grown, your wife has moved on. Anything you owned either belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Schalks, or has long since been sold." "I still have to go back. Also, it''s Surret." "Whatever for, Surret? There''s nothing in that world for you but pain. Your friends and family have moved on. There are no comforts for you there, and there is no magic." The old man drew in his breath. "They need to know. Even if I''m not part of their world anymore, they need to know I didn''t just leave, that it wasn''t my idea. That I endured and made my way, and that they were worth it. Also, anyone who has seen a little boy and girl playing with a puppy can tell you there is magic." Faustian glanced at his customer and paused a moment, then continued, "That magic is gone for you, Mr. Surret. Dame died years ago, and your kids - they''re not little anymore. I can help with this, I suppose. Chrissi is still a minor - how about I make you an offer to legally take possession of her?" Surret started to reply, caught himself, then looked at the stranger with fury showing on his face. "Did you just try to get me to agree to have you Linda Blair my little girl?" The bargainer immediately lost his composure, panic showing on his face. "I, uh, that didn''t. Why don''t you make a counter-offer?" "Fine. Here''s your deal. Stay the Hell away from my family and my world. Keep any beings in any way under your direction away from my family and my world. Send me on my way with no bad intentions on your part, and I won''t call upon the pacts I''ve already made to make you a very miserable devil at the crossroads." Faustian considered it, then nodded. "Fair enough. Done!" Surret looked momentarily surprised, then vanished, mid-yell. --- You may call me Faustian. I''m a Spirit of the Deal. This is my story. Chapter II: An Inconvenient Epilogue A well-tanned boy sat on a chair, and looked intently at the smoking mound of dirt in front of him. While thin, he wasn''t gaunt. His gloves, sandals, and shorts were all fresh and white. Nearby, a nearly-completed hat of the same material hung from the side of a lean-to. Clusters of odd-smelling, large shredded leaves hung alongside it, along with a couple of small looms. The devices were clearly primitive, yet expertly made. "Three surprises," the youth ranted aloud to a nearby myna. The bird found this far more interesting than usual for its species. "That''s how it always goes, isn''t it? First, I''m off in another world again, rather than back on Earth." "Second, I''m somehow in a different, far younger body, that clearly isn''t mine." The speaker then scowled, "And then, the third surprise - I arrive with nothing on me. Not even a stitch!" "I like eyes," the bird replied. The young human looked up in annoyance. The myna continued "If you knew to call me here, boy, you knew there''d be a sacrifice. Seeing what you need always comes with the same -" "Its already been paid," the youth interjected. The bird peered at him closely for a few minutes before finally asking, "... Surret?" "Yes, Munin, it''s me. I need my final Wisdom. A bargainer took a particularly skewed interpretation of a plainly-worded Deal. I need to know the justification for this, so I can have a few other acquaintances help him learn better business practices. Also, I need to help the poor kid whose body I''m currently in. If you can find anything out about him, I''ll need to make that right." The small creature flitted to a closer branch, then cocked its head. "Those are two Wisdoms, Surret, but the second isn''t necessary. I know those clever orbs of yours. You''re just smaller and a bit more brown. Also, smoother on the face." The myna continued, "Say, under the circumstances, you know you could get another first, middle, and final Wisdom." As the creature spoke, it stared at the boy''s face with fascinated hunger. "Thank you, Munin. I''ll keep that in mind," Surret answered. The smallest trace of disinterest crept into his voice. The diviner was fairly reasonable compared to other such beings, but his price was still unpleasant. --- Faustian, in a different place that couldn''t honestly be described as elsewhere, waited for the inevitable visit. It took longer than he''d expected, but he finally saw a winged figure. It diverted itself to greet the tempter before finally alighting on the ground by Faustian. They seemed happy to see each other, if cordial. "I see you''re working with my complement now," the myna began. "I hope you don''t get he-and-she into trouble?" "She-and-he has done well enough," the bargainer replied. "Any buyer''s remorse is entirely my issue. Now, what might I do for you, diviner?"You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. "The obvious,"the bird replied. "An explanation of the Deals that I can pass along to my seeker." "Hmm. He seemed satisfied with the names and circumstances," Faustian considered, "It seems odd that he''d object to his own offer, but that must be it." The bird paused, giving the impression that it was reading something. "You''ve avoided his family and world, haven''t involved anyone else into the same. His objection must be his circumstances. Can you truly say what you had no bad intention?" The bargainer shrugged. "I can see how he might have some misgivings about his circumstances. You can tell that I''ve stuck by our terms. He''ll just have to live with it." The diviner hopped up on the satchel, glaring up at Faustian. "It isn''t that simple, Deal-maker. I have to give him something, or else I fail to deliver. Don''t make escalation my only choice. Tell me something true that will satisfy him." Faustian immediately smiled at the small bird. "Ah, easily done. The customer wanted to be sent on his way. As he himself made clear to me, this way inevitably leads him to many and varied worlds of magic. I''ve provided youth and health to aid him - you notice he sees clearly from both eyes now - and changed his complexion so that the sun on his island paradise won''t harm him. He can relax and live out his life in comfort in his new home. No ugly rejection or reprisals from loved ones ..." "Okay, that''s enough," the myna interjected. The bird clearly wasn''t happy, but was resigned with what he''d heard. --- Surret scowled at the myna. "Munin, this is all stuff I''ve already figured out. Can''t you tell me anything that can help with my situation?" The boy was carefully collecting charcoal from inside the dirt mound, and was somehow managing to keep his clothing from getting sooty. Nearby, a few oddly-shaped rocks were piled up, along with a small mound of bright pink copper coins. The bird hesitangly nodded. "I can, yes. Where did you get those?" he asked, the shiny coins catching his attention. The boy smirked. "These are from hunting pigs. I thought this place might be an Earthsea, or maybe a Lord of the Flies. I was wrong, though. It''s Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. The first sow I killed turned into eight of these. I killed a few more and got more coins, then finally coins and a couple uncooked pork chops from a boar. I can''t tell if this strangeness is an incentive or a riddle. There''s nobody here on the island to buy from. Regardless, it''s a mystery I don''t care to spend a Wisdom on. I expect I''ll find out soon enough." Munin blinked. Clearly, the myna had some thoughts on the matter. Moments passed, then the creature said, "I can tell you one of Faustian''s secrets. It will help if you must deal with him in the future." Surret nodded, and so the bird told him. --- The myna had delivered his Wisdom, and was free to go. Even so, he lingered a while. This particular mortal could sometimes be worth to listening to. "It''s the isolation," the boy said. "If he''d wanted to stop me from completing my journey, he could have sent me anywhere. I''m a social creature, and Faustian knows this. And still, he put me on this island without even a volleyball. As far as I can tell, there are no other people, no other nearby islands, and I don''t dare set out to sea. There aren''t even any stars at night." Surret clearly had more on his mind about that last detail, but whatever it was, he kept it to himself. "Maybe there''s something here for you to find?" Munin offered. "There are no roads to follow once I find whatever that is," the boy pointed out. "He must have some sort of plan for you, then," the myna considered. The bird then glanced at the glimmering coins. "Call me again on the third day from now if nothing develops, and I''ll offer you one more Wisdom - for one of those." The boy nodded, and the myna lit off, flying away again. Several minutes after the bird was gone, he plucked out a small cloth tinged of patina from under a loom. Next, he grabbed a small green fruit, then squeezed its juice onto the cloth. He began to polish his coins once again. The determined expression on his face brightened a bit. In spite of it all, he had to admit that he really liked his younger eyes. He was lucky Munin was feeling generous. Chapter III: An Untimely Prologue Dor (never, ever call her "Dory" or "Dotty") wandered through the wrecked village. The sun was setting soon, and the young woman was feeling less than safe. Thankfully, the contraptioneers who once lived here had managed to leave in time. The behemoth had flattened their homes, fields, and clever devices, but nobody had been hurt. All the same, this had to stop, and soon. Even though the great monsters could be avoided most of the time, starvation from another ruined crop would still doom them all. "We haven''t much time, child," said a woman''s voice from a nearby tree. "You can bring no light, unless you want unwelcome attention, and we still have miles for you to trudge before you can ask to Hear what you Need." "Okay, Rhea." A form launched itself from the tree. The young woman still started a bit whenever that happened. The harpy eagle was nearly as big as her, and had a face that was uncannily human-like. She was far smarter than those from Earth, too, and even spoke English in a cultured accent like Dor''s barely-remembered great grandmother Susan. As proud as she was, Rhea found none of this particularly odd. She was one of the windfolk, after all. "When we arrive, you''ll need to stay quiet, and unless she specifically asks you to, do not touch Leastrix. She''s far more ferocious than she looks. Even the behemoths know to leave her alone." Dor shuddered a bit at the thought. The things were enormous. The "smallest" of them, if that word could be used, were still bigger than buses. --- Rhea continued to speak to her as the young woman walked, moving her beak as she did in a way that looked like it should be funny, except it definitely wasn''t. The eagle was many things, but funny was far from any of them. At last, sun just below the horizon, they arrived at a cave. Inside, the flickering orange glow of firelight shone. Dor felt some relief. Behemoths were cave-dwellers, but hated any sort of light. If one was inside, the fire would have been snuffed out. The eagle shook its head at Dor as she questioningly glanced at the cave, then went inside alone. Soft voices issued from within, then finally the eagle spoke aloud, "Enter, human child, and be respectful. The oracle will see you. Walking in, Dor saw cushions, low tables, lit braziers and candles. The air smelled faintly of incense, or maybe perfume. Reclining on one of the cushions was a winged cloud leopard. It was the most beautiful creature Dor had ever seen. She had a nearly overpowering urge to rub its ears or run her hands over its glossy fur. Rhea had done well to warn her about touching the oracle. Those who did often lived, but were never left whole. "Three things for the girl to know. I make this offering," the bird intoned.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. The oracle stretched, then blinked lazily at Rhea. "Why not help her learn these things yourself?" the cat asked in a tone at once petulant and dangerous. "We''ve no time. She must know them now, or else everyone nearby will soon be dying. You''ll have no one to bring you gifts or prey." The sphynx looked annoyed, but accepted the explanation. "We are kin, are we not, Rhea?" "We are," the eagle agreed. "Have the girl make her own offering, then. I dislike taking from kin." "I must do it," Rhea replied, clearly not happy with the arrangement. "The child has her own offerings to make, elsewhere and later." Leastrix glared with hostility at Dor. The young woman remained silent, showing deference to the oracle. "She Needs to Hear three Songs, Leastrix. The Song of Wind''s Gate, the Song of Twilight, and the Song of Homecoming." "Child, look away. Seeing this will gain you nothing. Leastrix, I make this offering," the eagle again intoned. Dor turned away, covering and closing her eyes. She didn''t see what happened next - but the sound made her feel sick. Moments later, the oracle began to sing. Her voice shook, breathing a dissonant power into the air. "Sing with me and learn this, you useless girl. If you don''t, I''ll swipe off your ridiculous dull hands." Struggling with the horror she felt, Dor sang and learned, her eyes still squeezed shut. The heroine memorized her Songs quickly. She didn''t want to the sphynx to lose patience. When at last she was done, Leatrix spoke one last time. "Go. I have done what was required. Leave and never come back." The last light of the sun had long since vanished, leaving the sky much like pretty much everything her sometimes-friend Aimee wore: pitch black. Stumbling around would eventually get her killed, as would spending the night outside with the giant creatures roaming about. Her only remaining option was about as bad. Taking a deep breath, Dor called a Wind''s Gate and was blasted into the air. Her voice was already strained, but she kept singing, occasionally skipping and plunging groundward, only to resume her rapid flight. The winds would take her where she needed to go - to a treetop eyrie, home to Rhea herself. Dor slammed into the branches, screaming roughly as she grabbed at anything to keep from falling what she knew to be hundreds of feet. In the daylight, it was scary enough, even though she knew the place to be large and well-constructed. In the absolute darkness of that night, it was terrifying. She cried out and wimpered uncontrollably for what seemed like hours. Finally, her hands shaking, she drew out a small flask, and drank down all of the stale, metallic water inside. Panting and shaking, she fumbled a lighter from her pocket. Flicking it a couple of times, she finally gained enough visibility to make her way further up the tree. Miraculously, the cold air had little wind. Climbing still wasn''t easy. Rough bark scraped the skin on her palm, and a slight slip caused her to drop the lighter in a panic. Once again, in absolute dark, she ascended until her branch began to sway. Giddy with fear and exhaustion, Dor breathed deeply, then hesitated with unexpected embarassment. Fairy tale worlds were really amazingly humiliating sometimes. The feeling didn''t last long, though. The people of this land were better than most of her classmates, and they needed this. Finally, regaining control of her voice, she shouted out, "I AM MAGIC, AND IT IS MY JOB TO WAKE UP THE STARS!" --- Somewhere, in another world under the same sky, Surret bolted upright in his sleep as a distant echo reached him. Gobsmacked, he stared up as strange stars slowly glimmered into existence, along with an eery melody that set his teeth on edge. Chapter IV: A Late Start, a Meeting, and a Disaster There is a truism of sorts, no matter the world wherein you find yourself. Meetings are often not the best way to pass the time. The spirit sometimes known as Faustian climbed a great tree in the middle of nowhere. This particular tree, which was larger even than the true giants of Earth, the redwoods, was of such enormous height that the air thinned noticeably at the top. Unfortunately for the bargainer, this was exactly where he needed to be. The overcoat-wearing spirit gripped and hauled himself and his satchel up in a manner that was both awkward in appearance, and tenacious. Things had to be done in the proper way, after all. If he was going to gain the cooperation of his fellows, he had to play by their rules. For now. Eventually, the unusual nest on the top grew nearer, and at last, he reached the lower bounds of it. The nest was made mostly of sticks, all closely woven together in an intricate manner, forming walls and even roofing and an interior, complete with stairs, windows, a dining table sized for two, and other comforts typical of a small but well-appointed apartment. A black-clad young woman with dark feathers woven into her hair watched his approach with a flat expression. Briefly, the climbing figure paused. His jaunty smile was perhaps a touch strained as he clambered over the edge of the nest. "If you want me to intercede with my twin, I''ll be asking quite the price," the Spirit of Want stated coolly. "Your expression seems far less friendly than the one you had for that mortal, Surret during his trial," the Spirit of the Deal stated. "Then again, the rest of you is different as well, so I suppose there is some sense to it. If you don''t mind, I''d like to speak to our third partner together." "I may begin to mind quite soon," the young woman pointedly replied. Together, they flickered out and arrived outside a large, malodorous cave. Shrieks and howls issued from inside, after which a familiar-looking man charged out, his eyes maddened by agony. His body was covered in scratches, was sweaty and more than a little in need of washing. His hair and beared were filthy. A small toothpick impaled his left ear. The bargainer looked distastefully at their third, then finally asked, "What exactly are you doing in a mortal''s form?" The Spirit of Pain replied, "I''ve found a new form, one with gobs of pain in it. I normally have to hit them once or twice before they hurt like that last one!" He sounded very impressed, indeed. "So, Deal-maker," he continued, "why have you sought us out?" "Your complement," he nodded to the seeming young woman, "has made me aware of a complaint of that very mortal. He''s in a world that should hold the likes of him for some time, but he''s also known to be surprisingly sharp. Lifetimes of quests and adventures, all survived, and mostly triumphed. He may see me as his next challenge." The tempter spoke up, "His Need to return was great, she said, "He would not depart from his path." The tormentor spoke up. "His Pain was great, and yet he still strode quickly and surely." The bargainer replied, "His Worth is great, and yet his home is gone. I''ve done what I can for him. I must now see if he can find a new one for himself." The other two looked as though they had tasted something bitter. The Spirit of the Deal continued, "If you hear of him seeking this place out, you would do well to let me know. In return, I will make it clear to him that his dealings are exclusively with me." The other spirits considered, then agreed. And so, sometimes-Faustian''s first two mistakes were completed.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Having concluded his business, the bargainer returned to his own place, a small trading post made of wood with carvings, hard tack, and a few brass devices set out as merchandise for a traveler. --- Dor awoke the morning following the first star-rise the world had seen in months. The behemoths, snarling and screeching in protest, had returned to their lairs, driven back deep into the ground to sleep for another age while the stars continued to blaze overhead. She''d done it, and she was thrilled. The young woman left the borrowed bed in the great eyrie, and helped herself to cold, bitter tea that had been left steeping a few days ago. Rhea had some trick to singing what she needed, but Dor had not had the time to learn. At the thought of her companion, Dor''s throat caught, and she coughed out, spilling much of the brew. After the coughing fit passed, the heroine waited for her throat to clear, then finally relaxed enough that she could breathe and sing. She was hungry, still thirsty, and had a perfect storm of emotion brewing, made worse by her short night''s sleep and the lingering pain in her hands from a horrific climb on rough bark. Dor struggled enormously to think beyond what she''d recently been through, and decide on her next steps. The Lands of Song and Artifice were safe until the stars grew tired again. The time for that would be decades in coming. She needed to get home before she was missed. The young woman thought back over her training her mother and father had given her. From an early age, she''d been taught to sing, dance, climb, tumble. She''d learned several languages, and important words like "food" and "medicine" in many others. Later on, she was taught camouflage, archery, first aid, and how to dress and cook wild game. She could even start a fire using the "rub two sticks" method, but kept a lighter on her so that wouldn''t be necessary. She even had a set of light, insulated gloves that she had kept in her jacket pocket. Her mom would probably chew her out for losing those. Reviewing how well-prepared she was actually did help quite a bit. Her breathing and pulse had slowed. It was time to leave. She could recover and work through things when she was safe. Leaving the interior of the eyrie, she took deep breaths and began to warm up her voice. Finally, she launched into the Song of Homecoming, and the winds blew her to where the worlds converged. --- Dor shortly arrived in a strange eyrie, home to another of the wind-folk. In daylight, her landing was far less hazardous, although the height still alarmed her more than she wanted to admit. From within, someone startlingly familiar stepped out, and smiled mischievously at her. "Aimee?! What the hell?!" "Hey there, Dor. Come in for some lemonade?" Her sometimes-friend asked. Dor''s head was spinning. Her classmate had certainly never mentioned being an immortal bird guardian of wind and song. Also, wasn''t the problem of the Lands that the guardians were scarce to the point of having none young enough to awaken the stars? Almost stepping past the threshold, the heroine stopped herself. "Nice try, ''Aimee''" she said. The other girl slumped her shoulders. "Aw, you got me!" she said, although she seemed far less peeved than Dor had expected. "Here, drink this. I offer it freely, with no expectation of payment. You have earned it by besting me in a trial of wits." Dor cautiously accepted and sipped the drink, then nearly dropped it when the nest vanished around her, resolving to a large, nasty-smelling hole in a cliff. Inside, wild, animal noises echoed, growing louder as moments passed. The Spirit of Pain leapt from within, roaring at the young woman. The form he was in had enormous potential for agony, he''d known instinctively. The distraught girl in front of him was already agonized and he hadn''t even hit her yet! "My God, Uther?! Is that what happened to you?!" Dor cried out. "UTHER!" the madman screamed out, then lunged. A moment later, his arm wrenched out of its socket and his knee and other, softer parts struck forcefully, the tormentor groaned and fell on his side. Dor wondered if she''d regret her decision to revert to jiu jitsu twists instead of throat punches. On the balance, she thought she''d regret killing her biological father more. Having heard the name screamed out, the bargainer quickly approached, only to find the nearly-sixteen-years-old girl aiming a rock at the prone form of his tormentor partner. This, of course, was the spirit''s third mistake. "Dad, if you''re in there, if you understand me, tell me what''s going on! I can get you help!" --- On an island, hard to reach except by a certain myna bird, a youth in odd ruby armor sharpened a bronze spear. A knife of the same metal was sheathed at his waist, and an array of arrowheads lay nearby. A lacquered bowstave leaned against a tree. The myna lit on a branch near the boy, then said "A couple days early, I know, but something came up." "A penny for your thoughts, Munin?" the boy said, tossing a gleaming coin to the bird. The bird lunged, caught it in its beak, then landed, dropping the coin alongside itself. "The one you named Faustian has broken your pact," the bird happily chirped, "Thrice." Chapter V: Going Out of Business The teenage girl held a softball-sized rock in one hand, glaring at the subdued man she believed to be her biological father. Looking on, the bargainer silently shook his head. It was time for him to intervene before his partner caused further embarassment. Dor felt the world once again shift around her. This time, she found herself outside a small trading shack. On the porch, a figure in an overcoat sat on a rocking chair, satchel on his lap. The girl quickly adjusted her position, taking aim at the stranger. "Congratulations," the man said, "You have passed your second trial. Lest the experience haunt you, they were both spirits, as am I. Your father isn''t here." "My father is back in reality with Mom," Dor shot back. The guy who gave me half my genes and my tenuous connection to reality is God-knows-where." The stranger nodded in acknowledgment. "Very well. I am to be your third trial. We must Strike Three Trades, and then you may continue." Dor''s eyes narrowed. Deals with strangers were practically never good things. In her experience, about half of them were fae abduction attempts. The figure took her silence as permission to continue. "I am expecting another visitor soon, so I''ll keep it short. Do you consent to an exchange of names, with the caveat that neither of us may use the other''s name to bind or otherwise use in a manner that the other would not likely approve?" Dor mentally parsed through this, then said, "Following our agreement, let us simply never say each other''s name again, without prior consent." The bargainer nodded. "I am," here, of course, he made the same incomprehensible screech he''d made on so many other Deals, then smiled pleasantly. Dor scowled in return. "Dorothy Erin Shalks, call me Dor," she replied. "Your name sounds like antique modem noise." The stranger responded, "The nature of that name may be discussed as part of a future arrangement. To keep things civil, though, I''ll add that Uther Nemo Surret has referred to me as Faustian. You may feel at liberty to do so as well." Despite her earlier comments, the teenager riveted her eyes on the spirit, outrage plain in her expression. "Second Deal," Faustian continued. "Would you consent to tell me some things of interest about yourself in exchange for information about your world that you would find useful?" Exercising a great deal of self-control, Dor finally nodded. "I travel worlds," she began, "I''ve done so since I was ten. When I was younger, my Mom and Dad - adopted Dad - told me it might happen. They put me through some hard core survival and martial arts training, taught me to sing, to speak and read Latin, Mandarin, and Arabic, enrolled me in a private school, and made my life a big heckin'' chore. They did the same for my brother, but he lucked out and hasn''t once slipped out of reality."If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. "Anyway, this latest time, I ended up in a place Mom described to me as the Lands of Song and Artifice. The Singer-to-Winds was gone, and giant monsters were ripping the lands apart, so I got some help from a ..." Dor choked up, angry at her sudden distress. Rhea was not a friend, and could be harsh. Even so, she''d probably died to restore her world. As the teenager spoke, a small bird came into view, flying improbably fast from a distant hilltop. Faustian started looking impatient, then finally interjected, "I suppose that''s good enough. Well, there''s no two ways about it, Dor, you''ve missed your birthday, but should be home Christmas Eve." Dor let loose an annoyed growl and lobbed her stone to the side. The bargainer immediately said, "Third Deal. Let''s make this fast. I hold in each hand a pill. If you take the red-" "Forget it," the young heroine said flatly, "Taking pharmaceuticals from a stranger I just met is dumb. Taking them from an interworld trickster is the dumbest idea, ever. No Deal." The spirit grew agitated, rubbing his head. "Fine," he replied. "Make a counter-offer." Dor, still angry at him, said "Let me have my birthday." "I''m afraid you''ll need to be specific here," Faustian stated, "What do you want for your birthday?" "Cake, a party, and presents," Dor replied. "Done." Faustian stated as the teenager vanished. Now, to the next matter. --- Following this meeting, the Spirit of the Deal quickly summoned his partners, gesturing to the approaching myna. "We''re having company soon," he said. "This will be our dissatisfied customer, Surrett." As he spoke, a warm breeze wafted through his shop. The landscape blurred, replaced by a tropical island more suitable for their visitor. The myna landed lightly on the bargainer''s satchel, a small pinkish coin grasped in one claw. "You all know what this is about," the bird began, "The mortal whose Deal you so creatively struck is aware of agreements you''ve made with my complement and this one," he glanced at the tormentor. "This means that they were in some way under your direction when they encountered Surret''s daughter. Then you defaulted a third time by striking your own Deals with her." The Spirit of the Deal frowned somewhat upon hearing this. His partners, in contrast, were clearly scandalized. "The girl acknowledges a different father," the bargainer replied. "Immaterial," the bird stated. "Surret himself considers her family and created the Deal implicitly to defend her from you." "He should have worded his offer better, if that was the case," the strange man continued. "The girl called me ''Dad'' when I took his form," the tormentor offered. The bargainer winced upon hearing this, causing the myna to cackle with glee. "Surret!" the bird called out, "Your daughter acknowledged you as kin! The bargainer has failed three times to honor his pact, and so must make restitution for each transgression." A tan boy wearing reddish armor and wielding a bronze spear strode up with a cautious expression on his face, his attention focused entirely on the bargainer. "You must have exchanged quite a bit to put me in these circumstances," Surret said. "A little bird told me you can''t do much at all on your own aside from trading services with others, Faustian." "This is true, Surret, but I''m not sure how that knowledge benefits you," the Spirit of the Deal replied. A hint of frostiness crept across his normally professional expression. "Deals can''t be used by a mortal, unless they''re the very ones that mortal has struck." The boy shrugged. "I have a specific request of you, Faustian. You will call in no favors for this, and will not seek me out again, afterward. It will take you but a moment. Agree to do this one thing for me, and we are even." Faustian looked at him suspiciously, but finally nodded. "Very well. Restitution and noninvolvement in exchange for one brief personal service. "Good," Surret replied, "Sell all the Deals you keep in your satchel to Munin for his shiny copper coin." The bargainer said something less than professional. --- A strong wind blew across the beach at that moment, annoying Surret. When he blinked his eyes clear, the spirits were gone. "Well done, Munin!" he cried out. Noticing he was alone, the boy immediately looked around, suddenly very suspicious. Chapter VI: Traveling Salesman In a formless non-place beyond the Worths, Wants, and Pains of mortals, four spirits had a sort of conversation. While wholely alien in essence, their concerns were not so unintuitive. Had a human being witnessed and comprehended this, they may have seen something like what follows. Want of Vision: I offer the shiny pink copper coin! Fulfill your Deal with the old-child-mortal and offer me your bag of wishes! Strike Three Trades: I offer you my wishes, yet doing so makes me destitute. May I trade you for a set of Wisdoms as well, using our normal arrangement? After this, let us never seek each other out again. (The being''s form shimmers, revealing countless eyes on its skin, clothing, and the shadowy interior of its overcoat. Here and there, a gap is present where an eye might otherwise be.) Want of Vision: Acceptable! (Exchanges and leaves.) Vision of Want: My Complement is as happy as I''ve ever seen him. This is the first time in an age he did not idealize me as a satchel. Longevity of Dolor: Your Pain is increased, yet not. Strike Three Trades (with a new gap in his innumerable eyes): You are both correct. He has greatly reduced my Worth and made it his own. This was unavoidable, as dealings with such crafty spirits so often are. Strike Three Trades (continuing): Now, I must propose another Deal with the two of you. Vision, accompany Dorothy Erin Surret-now-Schalks until she returns home, and I shall then speak to you for an hour as men measure them about your beauty, your wit, and your Worth. Vision of Want: Three hours! (Exchanges and leaves.) Strike Three Trades: Secondly, Longevity, should you also accompany Dorothy Erin Surret-now-Schalks until she returns home, I shall grant you what Pain I have. Longevity of Dolor: I''m afraid it''s not enough, Strike. Strike Three Trades: Very well. It will take some time afterward, but I offer you a good measure of Uther Nemo just-Surret''s Pain as well.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Longevity of Dolor (pleased with himself): Done! (Exchanges and leaves.) Strike Three Trades: Lastly, I must exchange with my Complement. Trade Three Strikes appears. Strike Three Trades: My twin, I am obligated to provide a safe journey to a young heroine. Will you do this by our regular terms? Trade Three Strikes: (Exchanges and leaves.) It takes some time for the quadrisected parts of Strike Three Trades to reform back into a quivering whole. Upon doing so, he leaves. --- Want and Worth are as a silken strand to a grand web. Want is a force that pulls toward its object. What one wants, be it a warm meal, clean and attractive garments, or the misery of enemies, one must act to obtain. Worth lies in the desires of many. If you hold what others badly want, you have great Worth. And so it is that many may have small Want for a shiny pink copper coin. It now falls upon sometimes-Faustian to find the best trade for his possession. In general, a copper coin is the basest of currencies, perhaps worth several tin coins, but often not. In some worlds, the copper might be worth a good meal or two. Scarcity of a good conductor and cheapness of food in an industrial market might make for a fine trade. The Spirit of the Deal, striding from world to world, considered the coin itself. The last trade, he knew intimately. Rubbing his thumb over it, he felt the trade before that: it had purchased a single Wisdom, an exchange unprecedented in the bargainer''s considerable experience. The third previous trade was from the realm that produced it as reward for the life of a feral sow. A shiny pink copper coin had some Worth, but in the right circumstance, this particular coin would be very valuable, indeed. At last, the first Wisdom led the spirit to the market he required. There was a great deal of screaming taking place, and not only because he''d forgotten to reform himself with the acceptable number of eyes. --- Surret reclined on an embroidered hammock that he''d recently finished, a sheet of woven fiber he''d called palm linen covering him. He''d started on a pillow, now that that project was done. Finding the right material to stuff it with was a bit of a challenge. He was starting to think myna feathers might do the trick. He had no clue what had happened to his old guide and found himself annoyed and concerned in equal measure. At this point, the young hero felt a very familiar sensation. Desperately, he lunged to grab his spear, bow, woven bag, and palm-linen towel. He succeeded just as the world around him fell apart. He hit the floor in the middle of a hastily-scrawled chalk pentagram. A middle-aged bearded man in stained and torn robes looked at him in a mix of desperation and triumph. In his hand, he clutched a pink copper coin. "Hero of the Ages!" he exulted, "You return to us in our hour of great need!" "The End of the World is nigh," the robed man continued, "for the second time this week. Please fix that, it''s getting so a sorceror can''t get any sleep." Distant screams and roars grew louder. Surret cursed and rubbed at his forehead. Chapter VII: Cake Walk, part 1 In the High Duchy of Waynesford, the good folk held an attitude of cautious optimism. It had been nearly a week and a half since the last apocalypse, G?tterd?mmerung, ascension, or other potentially world-ending event. It was downright tranquil. Perhaps they could at last move out of the cellars and churches and get back into the fields or otherwise return to work. A sign painted in robin-egg-blue letters, gilted about the edges, hung in front of a clean-looking store with appealing displays of all manner of unusual gewgaws and knickknacks, many of which were glowing, hovering, or emitting a barely-heard droning. The forementioned sign read "Earl Koenig''s Beast-hunting & Convenience." A smaller sign underneath added helpfully, "Now Under New Management!" It should be noted that Earl was the name of the previous owner, and not in fact any form of title. Within, a prodigiously-moustached knight chatted happily with the proprieter about his splendid new giant peafowl mount, which was in fact tethered out front, flaring its tail periodically in a way that confounded nearby traffic. Concluding his business, the affable man left with a packful of new supplies, vaulted onto his mount, and rode off cheerfully as pedestrians, riders, and carts all desperately maneuvered to avoid his charge. For the most part, they succeeded. The New Management placed each coin meticulously within a safebox while turning to give a nearby clerk direction for various recent acquisitions from his departed customer. A moment later, the front door slammed open. Bells jangled loudly, and the well-dressed store brute and clerk both startled. A very irate boy with well-tanned skin and armor perhaps made from some kind of red ceramic strode in, clearly with a headful of steam. The manager smoothly faced him, taking on a demeanor of courteous interest while revealing a patch over his left eye. He liked this patch a lot. Its color scheme was a precise match for the store sign. It also had its intended effect on a particularly difficult customer. For a change, Surret was speechless. --- Secluded in a private room, the pair spoke tersely over cups of spiced and heated apple juice. "What did you do to Munin?!" the youth demanded. "I made a Deal with him, per your instruction," Faustian replied. "Nothing else. "What were your terms?" the young hero continued. "He won''t show when I call him." "I''m afraid there''s little I can say to give you satisfaction," the merchant apologized. "In your situation, I wouldn''t trust anything a bargainer told me." Surret glared at the one-eyed spirit. Finally, he growled out, "Three trades, and I''ll be on my way." The spirit leaned forward. "I will tell you truly of my last dealings with your spirit guide, if you will plead forgiveness from my employees, whom you startled with your brusque entrance." The youth said, "Before we go any further, I want it to be clear that I do not agree to any terms with you until I say ''Accepted.'' Not including just now." Faustian nodded. "Very well." "Fine. I will say I''m sorry. Accepted." The bargainer replied, "I made the following Deals with the one you call Munin, after which he happily flew off with my satchel." "Per my restitution to you, I exchanged my satchel for the coin. I then made the bird''s usual exchange," he pointed to his eyepatch, "Lastly, we agreed to mutual avoidance. He then flew away, quite happy with the arrangement." Surret thought it over, then said, "I''d like to bargain for a Wisdom." Faustian replied, "I''m afraid I will only offer it as my final Deal." The young hero glared, shook his head, then said "Fine! Fine, okay." He stared off to the side, thinking for a moment. The spirit interjected, "I can arrange a gift from you to your daughter. There would be some stipulations, though." Surret immediately glowered at the bargainer with obvious suspicion. "Out with it." Faustian took a deep breath, then said, "I or those I''m directing will need an exception from you to interact with her. No harm will come to her. You cannot sign the gift or place writing of any sort upon it. I will take care of the wrapping. In trade for this, tell me why you call her Chrissi." The boy boggled at this, then finally said, "Okay, those terms are accepted. It''s short for Christmas Girl. She was born December 22nd."A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Faustian stared off for several seconds, then finally shook his head. "It was close enough," Surret carped. "Very well," the spirit replied, "I offer you one Wisdom for a price I know you''re willing to pay." His one-eyed stare caused the boy to look away. Surret thought several minutes about this, rubbed at his eye, then quietly said, "Those terms are accepted." The bargainer stood up, holding a small coinpurse in one hand. He then said, "Please render payment with the shiny pink copper coin you offered the myna bird. I''ll reserve one Wisdom for you, delivered upon payment." --- Three spirits met in a place that was not. Together, they discussed their given task. Trade Three Strikes (brandishing a spear): We are to provide a party and presents. The cake is arranged. I have the present. Longevity of Dolor: The girl would feast with her friends? Let us hit her until she tells us - Vision of Want: There is no need, Longevity. I know those she''d Want at her gathering. Also, we are promised to see her home without injury. Longevity of Dolor: Hit her lightly, maybe? --- Samantha Ray Jackson, or Sammi-chan as she liked being called, was an unusual young woman. Her grades were good, of course. Her attire was almost always impeccable, usually schoolgirl formal, complete with a small tie. Her hair was a large part of her uniqueness - a natural afro, inherited from her father, as were her lips and nose. Her skin, however, was light cream, from her mom. The other teens generally left her alone, or were friendly enough. But if she was being honest with herself, Sammi-chan had to admit she constantly felt like an outsider. Naturally, she threw herself into manga with abandon. She was also a little bit spoiled by her dad, who would surprise her with things like new issues of her favorite books, new clothes, or sometimes odd cosplay items. This last category is the reason why she wasn''t surprised in the slightest by the authentic-looking katana waiting by her bedroom door. The surprise started when she picked it up. Not only did it have a unexpected amount of weight to it; it spoke to her in archaic Japanese ("!"). Her mind reeling, she nearly dropped it as her bedroom walls fell away, a bigger surprise reveal of a completely different world. Looking nearby, she spotted two other girls that she knew. Jen was there, looking every bit as stunned as she felt. Aimee, on the other hand, was possessed by her usual nonchalance. Both girls had weapons. Jen had an enormous, battered Scottish claymore. Aimee had a gnarled black wand that looked like something right out of a fable. Jen wore oversized grey Nike sweats. The large girl worked out constantly to try to keep her weight and figure under control. It seemed like a hopeless battle, made worse by chronic eczema. Her sword was not just drawn; there was no sheath in sight. She seemed angry, but was handling it well enough. Aimee looked at her wand in distaste, finally slipping it partly into her purse. "I''m not that kind of girl," she sternly told it. "What kind is that?" Sammi asked. "This thing talks. It said I was a chanter of the dead. Just because I put on some makeup and like things noir." "Wait, yours talks too? Also, necromancer ... never mind." Sammi stopped seeing Aimee''s face sliding toward a frown. "Mine said I''d get to hurt things," Jen quietly said, looking vaguely horrified. Suddenly, several fires shot up over the top of a nearby rise. At the same instant, their classmate, Dor, arrived on a blast of wind, wearing scuffed and dirty clothes, a somewhat terrified expression, and holding a lacquered red spear with a bronze tip polished until it seemed golden. --- "Do you happen to know anything at all about this?" Aimee asked, looking as if she was put out by a bad prank. Dor''s face turned red. "I kinda wished for a birthday party, and something decided to grant it. Sorry?" she grimaced. Aimee rolled her eyes as Sammi''s face immediately animated with glee. "Ohmygawd! Happy Birthday, Dor!" Dor looked her way and smled, "Hey, thanks! Look, just keep moving ahead and we''ll figure it out. I''ve done this a few times." Her ''party'' immediately stopped and stared at her. Dor shrugged, "Looks like a dungeon realm of some sort. We get through it and we get home, probably with some sort of reward." The young women walked cautiously down a path through a thick bog. Within a few minutes, they were at the rise with fires on top. Nearby, a small, twisted man with grub-like skin picked his nose as he ate a handful of something muddy. "Oh, adventuresses!" he screeched, cackling at them. "Head on in! In this place, things work out the wrong way. For instance," he glared at them with anticipatory malice, "The cake eats you!" The girls looked from one to another, confused. The pale man glared at them for nearly a minute, before finally driving his fist into his forehead in annoyance. He then stomped around and kicked a lever into place, causing large white letters on the rise to spring into visibility. They read, BD-16: Tomb O Cakes "The cake will eat you," the grubby caretaker followed up spitefully. The large O in the sign encircled a tunnel leading into the rise, just tall enough to walk through. After several minutes, Dor and her party hesitantly entered. Moments later, they emerged to howls of schadenfreude from the twisted man. "There was nothing in there but a sign and a bunch of cake blocking the passage," Dor said as she looked at the malevolent imp. "''Sorry about the cake-in, please use the service entrance.'' You know anything about that?" "Not a thing," the wizened man said, dripping with sarcasm. Jen looked at her sword, suddenly. "It says I should chop him up, but just a little." The man snarled and lunged, his form shifting to reveal a pair of housefly-like wings, and a filthy vestigal tail. Dor batted him down with her spear before pinning him to the ground with the tip digging into his chest. Their enemy sneered, breathing hard in a bug-like rasp. Finally he retched and spat something on the ground before vanishing in a cloud of greasy, sulfurous vapor. The others didn''t seem too eager to do anything, so Dor finally stooped down and picked through the gob with a leatherman she pulled from a pocket. It was a note scrawled on a candy wrapper: Those who''d use the servant''s way Seek the sigil serpents say. "Just great," Dor said, "A dungeon realm with riddles."