The document, though it was only a single page, was crammed full of crabbed writing. Every word was tiny and nearly impossible to make out. For how long I sat there, attempting to read, I do not know. But when I was finally done, I looked up to see the god, for what else could he be, still in the same position as before, hands folded neatly on the desk and staring with patient attentiveness.

The first line read, “The acolyte, in return for magic, enough to fulfill a task shall give flesh as befits the magic used.”

“Flesh?” I asked the god, suddenly queasy. “I don’t need magic. I have it, see”

I tried to cast a spell for light, a simple rhyme, a nursery rhyme Macha had taught me when I was still afraid of the dark. “Star light, Star bright, May night be light as day, and my days be merry and gay.” Nothing happened, so I tried again.

“That’s not going to work”, the god said with the words mashed together as he was propping up his chin with his arm on the table. “You’re dead, dear boy. There’s no life, no magic left in that sad, too young corpse of yours. I could help with that, perhaps flesh is too high a price to pay for now.”

“What do you have to offer? Herne wouldn’t be too happy if you came back empty handed, would he?”

“I don’t care what Herne wants, he could drop dead and rot for all I care”, the venom with which I said this surprised even myself. I had never hated anyone before, not even the other villagers when they turned and hunched a bit when Macha walked by, nor when they raised the prices when we ventured out to be meat and produce. But Herne, whenever I thought of that crooked little man, I felt a hot rage that scorched my throat like a burning shot of whiskey.

“Oh, such a grudge against your new master already I see. Hmm, in that case, you would need something more than flimsy anger to take him down, eh?” he said, conspiratorially, “Don’t worry, I’ve got just the thing for you.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to trade meat for magic? I swear, I’ll only take skin, just a bit”.

I shook my head horrified. “Alright, it was worth a try.” Sighing, he muttered, “What I wouldn’t give for some fresh meat.”

“What to do, what to do?”, he stood up and walked around me, “Skinny, cowardly, no don’t protest you know it too, not too much brain in here” he leaned in flicked my forehead as he came back around behind his desk. “Hmm, the only thing you have plenty of is health and good memories, so pick one. Which could you live without?”

“Health? You know I’m dead right?”

“Oh sure, but you still got all your teeth, don’t you? All your senses are in good order. You could trade your sense of hearing for a generous dose of power. Enough to raze Baile Bo to the ground three times over. I know you have a distaste for the city.”

I was quite fond of my teeth and my hearing. Sure, I might’ve hated Herne and his city, but not enough to trade their destruction for a lifetime of suffering.

“How much is a memory worth to you?” I asked him.

“Depends if it’s good or bad, whether it’s a pivotal moment, or it’s what you had for breakfast”, his voice took on a serious, business-like tone, “I pay better for good ones sure, but sometimes the bad ones are necessary, you wouldn’t know who you’d be without them.”

“I’ll take it, memories for power.”, confidence suddenly swelling in my breast, I’ve always thought about what I could do if I had as much power as Macha did or if I had an ability like superheroes in comics. But now I had an offer to gain just that, just barely within my grasp.

I read the rest of the document hastily. It listed trivial requirements: an iron rich diet, routine exercise, moon bathing once a month, etc. But hidden near the end, squeezed in along the border, a line caught my eye, the handwriting was neat and feminine, a sharp contrast to the messy scrawl that the rest of the document was written in. It read, “The acolyte, after a six-month trial, shall gain all and unrestrained access to the divinity’s power unless the terms of the contract have been violated.” Interesting.

“Any problems? Questions? Concerns?”, the god asked.

“I … um… this portion here”, I choked out the words, if he saw me as a coward already, all the better, I’d play it up and when the six months were up, I’d rob him of everything he has.

I pointed to one of the many arbitrary rules, one forbidding me interacting with any religious figures and visiting any shrine, temple, or church dedicated to another deity. “Why can’t I interact with other religions?”, I ask.

“Ahh that, I’ve had one too many acolytes stolen by those filthy, silver-tongued mongrels they call priests. You don’t need to worry about that” the god said, “You wouldn’t dare desert me would you?” He gave me a knowing look, his blood shot eyes searching my face for any sign of trickery, then traced the line with his finger and as his bony index moved over the spidery text, each letter lifted itself off the page and sank into his nail, darkening it just a touch. I shuddered slightly, perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything. Despite my newfound confidence, I knew I was still a coward at heart.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Now, anything else you would like to amend?” This last word was said with a tinge of menace, enough to raise the hairs on the back of my head. There was in fact, something I would like to change, the bit about renting one of the chambers of my heart to the god as a living space. But my throat gave up on me, and I dared not utter anything but glum acceptance of his terms.

“Good”, he sounded pleased. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a beautiful, wooden fountain pen. The bronze nib was polished to a brilliant shine and engraved with delicate designs. The grain of the rich oak was just barely visible beneath the polish. Exotic, Japanese koi swam across its surface, occasionally sinking into the pitch-black lacquer only to reappear elsewhere. He held it out to me. When I didn’t take it, how could he expect me to handle such a beautiful instrument, he shook it, “Well what are you waiting for? Take it!”

The pen was surprisingly heavy, it weighed what as much as a full mug of ale. I couldn’t imagine how long it would take to write the contract before me.

“Where do I sign?” I asked. There was hardly any room on the page for me to even make out individual words let alone enough space to sign my name. The god looked down at the page, “So sorry about that, here let me” whisking up the paper. He shook it then handed it back to me, the document had grown an inch or two. I signed, the beautiful, heavy pen sank deep into the page and the ink flowed freely leaving thick heavy lines in something that resembled my name.

“Ahh, I love that smell” the god said, taking a deep breath, “fresh ink on a new contract”.

He slid the paper towards him, picked up that beauty of a pen, and signed the pen with a graceful flourish. Holding the page between thumb and forefinger, a flame slowly crept up from where he pinched it, devouring his name before I could read it. He let go, the fire and paper simply hovering in midair.

“It’s been ages since I’ve signed a new contract. You don’t know how many people just leave as soon as they land here. Hardly any have come in the last, god I don’t even know how many years.”

At that my heart leapt into my throat. Just what had I gotten myself into?

“Wait, earlier how did you know I was with Herne? I never mentioned him. And I never got your name”, I’m ashamed to say my voice did trail off at the end there.

“Figured it out eh? I know everything you know kid, this is your mind”, spreading his arms out to emphasize his point, “I’m a bit embarrassed to say I took a peak while you were still wandering about. “As for my name, it’s Azaroth, but don’t tell Herne that. He’ll go into his little library, filled with his trifling mortal knowledge and he’ll come to some conclusion that I’m some minor ocean deity or whatnot. And when he does let him, alright? Don’t mention me and don’t use my power until you get to a point where you can wreck some real havoc.” Azaroth looked at me knowingly and raised an eyebrow, “Alright?”

I nodded.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you!” he held his hand out for me to shake. But when I was a bit too slow, he simply grabbed mine and as he did, I felt a sharp, burning pain on the back of my hand. A sigil of a koi wrapped around a crescent moon had been burned into my flesh. A second later, I found myself back in the courtyard with Herne and Deidre staring curiously at me. I was still standing but the glass of wine I had been holding lay at my feet, red splashes on my pants and shoes. It must have been in that haunting place for a few minutes since Herne and Diedre were looking at me with eager attention, but no longer than an hour as the sun had not yet fully risen.

“So, who’d you see?”, asked Herne, “male or female? young or old?”

“Were you scared to death?” asked Deidre. “Did you piss your pants”, glancing down.

Herne grabbed my hand, peering intensely at the sigil, still warm and stinging, trails of blood running down my arm.

“What is this? A fish? I’ve never seen this before.”

Fear and anxiety sank in my stomach. The god I had met was almost certainly mad, insane, a rogue agent with malevolent intents.

I yanked my arm back, the back of my hand still steaming slightly from the fresh burn. Pain rippled down my arm as I flexed my fingers, I hissed at the sudden sting. It was a fish like Herne said but painted in a way that resembled a relaxed stroke of a brush, an effortless sort of elegance.

“What did you do to me?”

Herne simply raised an unconcerned brow. “I helped you, more than you would ever know.”

He then spun on his heel and called out. “Now, to the library, children”

The library, like the rest of the house was ancient and smelled heavily of mildew. Cobwebs wreathed the corners and crowned the walls. Rows of bookshelves packed full of messily stuffed books filled the room. But with the sun just barely beginning to rise, sending orange rays of light slanting through the tall windows, it looked … cozy and inviting. Almost like Macha’s kitchen, crammed full of drying plants and potions.

Whatever I had expected Herne to find in the library, an arcane tome of lost knowledge, a wizened old librarian with the ability to answer any question, it was not impish creature standing before us.

“What is that?” I whispered to Deidre.

“A book”

“No, I mean that” I said, emphatically, nodding towards the creature.

“A book, didn’t you hear me, it’s a shoseki, you dunderhead. Haven’t you any basic knowledge of spirits?” She looked at me like I was a yapping lap dog, no worse, like I was a piece of dung that she had found, tragically stuck to her new shoes. “They’re objects that turn into spirits after serving humans for a hundred years” she explained, each word dripping with disdain.

“Oh”. I turned back to Herne and the creature. Looking at it again, it did look a bit like a book. Its body thick and rectangular with thin spindly limbs. Each breath it took was accompanied by a faint rustling sound and I could almost see the pages rustling. Its head was small, compared to the body, and looked almost like a turtle with its large, bulging eyes and a beak for a mouth.

Herne spoke to the shoseki in a low and formal voice, then waved me over. I inclined my head in greeting, unsure whether the creature spoke English or not. Herne grabbed my newly branded hand and presented it to the shoseki which peered intensely at the mark and spoke to Herne in a quiet rasping voice in a language full of light vowels and a skipping rhythm. After the shoseki had finished speaking, its heavily lidded eyes trembled and slowly started to close, its limbs curled into itself, and when it was finally asleep, only a book remained. A perfectly ordinary leather book, titled ‘On the origins of Gods and Myths’. There was no author.