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.
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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."