Eternal Exchange

The man with many faces stood before the decrepit shrine holding a bag of human bones, a rotting corpse of a fawn, and a branch from the oldest tree.

He had come to summon a demon that had been told of in legend. A child's tale to most, but to the scribes of Lytharius, they were all but fact. 

He had walked the 1,000 steps and through the harsh tundra only to see a grey stone door crumbling beneath the Imber Mountain. The lanterns that pushed up from the dead ground still burned and danced on the frozen soil. The man knew a demon was here, and he had come to summon it. 

He laid out the offering beneath the door and pulled out an obsidian knife, cutting the palm of his hand and dripping it onto the bones, the carcass, and the branch. Then chanted a verse from old Alaria, which translated in the ancient tongue: “Take my soul, take my life, come to me, my endless night.” 

Only no Demon had answered; no demon had answered for four nights. He had laid down camp a mile back and trekked here each night when both moons lay dormant in this week of darkness. He only had four more nights to win the demon's favor until the new year fell on the land. Then he would need to wait another 63 weeks, another 500 days until he could visit again. 

He waited longer until the cold was unbearable. Then wrapped his cloak around him and stood up, gathering his offerings to take. His hand reached for the fawn he had hunted in the Ophira Wilderness. The mother tried to stop the man, but he had found her heart before any revolt. As he trekked up north, it had made for his dinner a fine venison stew with potatoes and carrots. It warmed him up every night before drinking himself into a stupor to do it all again. 

The wind kicked up as he touched the fawn. The flames that danced gracefully on the ground sprung to life. Shooting up in rage and encompassing the darkness. The many-faced man stood up in shock. He stared at the spectacle as the fire grew. He smelt his skin burning, and his fur cloak caught aflame. Panic showed in his iced eyes as he started to run down the mountain, down the stairs, to his camp, but he only made it a couple of steps when the flames died, and the darkness weaved back into place. 

“A man does not take back his offering once that offering is given,” a woman's voice echoed around him. 

As he turned and scanned the wilderness, there were no women, but the grey stone door was propped open through the darkness. 

“Come in,” The women echoed from no direction in particular. “We have much to discuss.”

The man knew the repercussions of walking away. It was written in the legend: offering your soul to something and then returning on your word was to forfeit your life. He knew he no longer owned himself, so he carefully climbed back to the door, stepping over the gifts he had brought and into the stone door. 

           Inside, it smelt ancient, like the beginning of the world. It was sweet, like when the leaves start to die in the Fall; the moss beneath rocks that sat stagnant for ages, the smell of the sun baking clay and coating the world.

The man descended the stairs heading beneath the mountains. Into the belly of the earth, the man wondered if the sound of his footsteps and frenzied breaths were the first sound of life to echo through the stone in centuries. 

The stone stairs reached the bottom, and the hallway before him was coated in darkness. At the end of the hallway, there was a single flicker of light. He followed it until he reached another door. This one was wooden and arched. It reminded him of a cabin he stopped at in Hythe. It seemed foreign beneath the mountain as if a piece of the outside world was preserved. 

As he went to reach for it, the knob turned, and he was staring into what seemed like a living room. The fire bloomed in the hearth as something sweet cooked in the caldron above it. Chairs and a table sat in the middle, and different flora and fauna hung from the walls and ceiling as décor. 

A woman sat in a chair by the fire. “And why has a scribe from Lytharius with many names and faces come to me?” She questioned, her smile arching unnaturally. 

The man did not answer; he only studied her face. It was not one of the demons he had imagined. Big beastly creatures with horns and eyes of pure black. Creatures that could kill you with one look in their eyes. No, she looked like a goddess. Her features were soft and warm. She had red hair that seemed to curl around her body and tanned skin that was freshly sun-kissed. Her red lips were plump and full, and her eyes the color of the sky. He stared into them and thought he saw a glimpse of the universe. He had not pictured this, and the shock left him speechless.

The Demon spoke, “Not what you expect?” She giggled as she gracefully rose from her chair and floated to the man. She grabbed his face and whispered in his ear, “Well, you are mine now, so you must answer. What shall I call you? Why did you come to me?” She pulled back and studied his face carefully. 

“My name is Aleph; I am a scribe from Lytharius, I have come .” 

The Demon laughed, showing her too-white teeth, “Aleph, a scribe from Lytharius, you are a liar and a bad one at that. You can not lie to me; I own your soul.” She slipped through the chairs and danced to the cauldron. “Since I own your soul, I can do what I please, and if you lie, It would please me to kill you.” She took a sip from the boiling pot and set the spoon back in.  

 Aleph pulled his satchel from his shoulders and sat it on the table. He pulled out charcoal and slightly burnt papers from the flames outside. 

“I do not lie.” He stared at her, looking for an introduction, but she only stared back. 

“I have heard legends and stories about you, the Demon who lives under the mountain. The one that takes souls in return for something of value. I have heard that you can gift a man anything they dream of. That you’ve lived for centuries and have seen wars and times unheard of to man. You are not of this world, am I right?” A glow rose from Aleph’s eyes. “You can gift me a story.”

Another laugh came from the Demon, “You want a story from me for your soul? Seems like an unfair trade, don’t you think?”

Aleph smiled. “If I had a story from a demon on my account, I could have fame and riches to my heart's desire. I would not have to live among the scribes deep within the library.”

“Not a lie.” The demon sat on her chair and pointed to the one before her. “Sit,” She commanded. 

Aleph listened and found the chair opposite of her. 

“And what kind of story would you want to hear?” Her eyes grazed the walls of her room. “ Maybe the one about the God of Fire, he who became so obsessed with power he burned down whole cities and, when he grew tired, turned himself into a dragon and locked himself away.” She shook her head. “Or I could tell you about The God of War; it is a sad story that involves killing everyone you love only to have a pile of corpses in your wake.” She looked at the man with gentle eyes. “Do any of those pique your interest?” 

Aleph took his charcoal in his hands and lifted the paper. “I want your favorite story, one that you would be passionate about telling, one that is not legend or myth, something tangible, something real.” 

The woman's eyes grew light, the universe in them dying, and she seemed to change; her eyes turned a moss green, her hair charcoal black and her skin paled. “I have relived this story multiple times, for these souls and their stories are mine. Their name is Aleph Branwyll; he lived in a time you do not remember or ever will. The story starts with a summoning of a demon and ends with a loss of life.”

As I leaned in closer to the table, her face was changing to mirror my own. I stumbled back, knocking over my papers and charcoal sending them clattering to the floor. The demon smiled, my smile. I ran to the mirror hanging on the wall of the room. I had changed, too, I was her. My black hair was red, and my pale skin was tanned. As I looked into the mirror, this face became familiar. It felt like it belonged to me, and I sank into that familiarity. Memories that were not mine rushed into my soul, I felt like I could see it all. As I turned around, Aleph Branywll sat at the table gathering his things. 

“Thank you so much for inviting me in, I have to be going” 

He packed up his charcoal and bag of papers and left me in my solitary. I had been here for a thousand years, and I would stay here for a thousand more. Waiting for another person to wander in the Imber Mountains.