The Payment

by Michelle E Lowe

“No,” Freya gasped, snatching her hand away. “It cannot be. Pierce died first!”

  Pierce strolled up beside her with his hands clasped behind him. He smirked. “Well, well, someone’s in the soup pot now, eh?” he quipped with a bounce in his step.

  “This can’t be.” Freya shook her head. “I followed the rules.”

  “I am afraid not,” disagreed the djinn. “For you followed the wrong version of the story.”

  “What do you mean?” Robin asked, stepping in closer.

  The djinn turned his vibrant white eyes on him. “Whatever story she was told, it wasn’t the correct version. She failed at adhering to the real rules left by the Priest.”

  “You don’t say,” Pierce said before slapping Freya once on the back. “Congratulations! You’ve buggered it up.”

  Freya looked at him, her face pale with shock. “No,” she croaked weakly. “This is my djinn. I had this planned for years.”

  Pierce’s expression turned severe. “Plans change, love.”

  “Father,” said the djinn. “What should be done about her?”

  Pierce studied the djinn who was both his son and his niece. “What the bloody hell are you asking me for?”

  “Because you have abided by the rules.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Eh? How’s that?”

  “You have sacrificed yourself. According to the rules of the Priest, the one who wishes to take possession of the newborn djinn must give his or her own life in any fashion as payment.”

  “You mean to say Freya herself could have killed me at any time after my fate thread was broken?” Pierce asked.

  The djinn shook its head. “She need not have killed you at all.”

  Pierce was quite a moment before bursting into loud laughter right into Freya’s ear. “Oi! You’ve done it now!”

  “What should we do with her, Father?” Kolt asked again.

  Pierce stifled his laughter and returned his focus to the powerful djinn at his command. He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that he, Pierce Landcross, was in control of a power so great, he could crush the world by simply willing it. He had to admit that it was an intoxicating rush.

  “Landcross,” Robin interposed. “End her.”

  End her. He liked the idea. Perhaps he could have her ripped in half or turned into a slug inside a bowl of salt.

  “No,” Marian intervened. “Pierce, you cannot. She is at your mercy now. There is no need for you to eliminate her completely.”

  Marian had never dealt with this woman the way he and Robin had. Yet, she had a point. Freya stood utterly vulnerable before him now. She was no longer capable of harming or killing him, which would have prompted him to defend himself. Not to mention his niece was present and probably watching them. How could he strike her mother down right in front of her?

  “She is too dangerous to be allowed to continue living,” Kolt pointed out.

  “No!” Vela shouted, her voice coming from somewhere within the djinn. “She is my mother. Please, please don’t take her from me.”

  Pierce didn’t fancy the spot he was in, yet Kolt, like Marian, had a point. Freya was in her own right a powerful being with a creative mind that was set on gaining control. She needed to be stopped, but there was only one way he could think to do that without stamping her out altogether.

  “Right, this is what’s going to happen,” he said assertively. “Vela, darling, I won’t extinguish your mother, but she can’t go on existing as she is.” He turned to Freya, who eyed him fiercely. “You’re going to be reborn into a being on another world far from here. You’ll become a completely different creature without a drop of memory from any of your previous lives. You’ll simply start over.”

  “You bastard,” she seethed. “You’ll take me away from my daughter? How could you?”

  “Don’t.” Pierce held up his hand to stop her. “It’s better than what you wanted to do to me and my family, isn’t it?”

  She only glared at him as if this whole thing was his doing in the first place.

  “Kolt,” Pierce addressed the djinn. “Make it so, eh?”

  “Mother?” Vela whimpered.

  Freya looked to the djinn who was reaching out to her. “Never forget me, child,” she said to her daughter as she placed her hand on the djinn’s.

  The white glowing eyes grew brighter, engulfing both witch and djinn. The light suddenly flashed out and they were gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The True Story

  Pierce shook his head, trying to shake away the spots in his eyes. “Uh. S’pose that’s it, then.”

  “You did a good thing, Pierce,” Marian praised him.

  “Cheers, milady.”

  “Should we wait for the djinn to return?” Robin suggested.

  Pierce rubbed behind his neck. “Erm. Y’know, I think I’m gonna go explore for a while. I’m sure Kolt will find me no matter where I am. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all, Landcross,” Robin said. “Head out as long as you need. After all, there is an abundance of time here.”

  Pierce set off on his own again, heading in the same direction where he’d spotted the light in the mountain.

  If he hadn’t remembered what had become of his brother, Joaquin, when his memories of traveling through time returned to him upon his death, he’d have searched for him. Pierce missed his big brother, and seeing his face again would have been one of the most fantastic moments of his life—or afterlife, rather.

  He cut through the forest and spied a man wearing a stovepipe top hat standing by the trees beside the path. He appeared to be waiting for Pierce.

  “Oi, you’re able to travel in the In-Between, too?” Pierce asked none other than the Teller of Forgotten Tales.

  The metal mask on his face turned toward him. Pierce was only too happy he wore it.

  “I can visit countless places,” the Teller of Forgotten Tales stated.

  “Grand,” Pierce grunted enviously.

  “So, you are in command of the djinn,” the Teller of Forgotten Tales remarked in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

  “S’pose. It turns out Freya got the story wrong. Did you have something to do with that?”

  “All stories have different adaptations. Every tale begins to adapt other sides to it. When I told ‘The Story of the Priest,’ I merely disclosed part of it.”

  “But not its entirety?” Pierce guessed.

  “That tale has never been uttered in its entirety. Otherwise, there was a chance someone like the Trickster would have heard it and told the nymph, Temenitis. Regardless, enough about the story has been known, such as how to bring about the djinn, which has proven dangerous, as you have discovered for yourself.”

  Pierce rubbed his throat and thought about the rope snapping his neck. “I take it you didn’t want me having the djinn. Otherwise, you’d have told me about the laws.”

  “I wanted no one to gain control over such a force. My desire was for the witch’s plan to fail—which it would have, regardless. However, it would not have stopped her from continuing to try, and perhaps, eventually, she would have succeeded in bringing a djinn into the world.”

  “She won’t be a problem anymore,” Pierce stated.

  The metal mask nodded. “I am aware. You have done exactly what we hoped you would do.”

  “We?”

  “To claim possession of the djinn, one must offer up a payment—their own life—delivered by the hands of a relation, which you have achieved, thanks to your elf grandfather.”

  “Wait a tick. It was Durothil who did me in?”

  “He was the executioner at your hanging.”

  Pierce clutched his chest and took a step back to keep from falling over.

  “Why did he do it? Why not get me the bloody hell out of there? Make us vanish or something like that, eh?”

  “Because the plan called for you to die.”

  “Plan? Did you and my grandfather map all this out behind my back?”

&nbs
p; “No,” the Teller of Forgotten Tales answered in that deep voice of his. “I had no hand in it. This was between Durothil and your grandmother, Élie Fey.”

  “Grandmum? She’s been informed about the Priest’s laws?”

  “Indeed. She has taken the journey and, in doing so, has evolved into the person she was meant to be.”

  “Taken a journey, eh? S’pose we all have in our own way. Tell me, what are the rules?”

  The Teller of Forgotten Tales considered the question as if pondering whether or not to answer. “To bring forth a djinn, the bloodlines of those from which its power will originate must come together. This part is true.”

  “Just not the bit about relatives being unable to kill each other?”

  “You have a very bad habit of not knowing when to quit talking,” the Teller of Forgotten Tales pointed out.

  “Aye. Reckon I do.”

  “Only when these bloodlines are united and the Life-bringing Spell is used can the djinn be reborn.”

  Before Pierce could stop himself, he asked, “What’s the Life-bringing Spell?”

  The Teller of Forgotten Tales seemed accustomed to his interruptions. “It is an ancient spell utilized mostly by gods to create living beings, even characters from out of stories. They use it to bring their own tales to life. Others have used the spell to create a living place to hide in.”

  Pierce’s thoughts turned to that bastard, Gog, who had tried to steal Taisia from him, and then to Eilidh, who was created to serve as a hibernation vessel for Orenda.

  “The Four that Freya spoke about,” Pierce said. “And that bit about being the only remaining parent. None of it was true?”

  “No. Anyone could have brought the djinn about, and anyone could have owned it so long as they obeyed the rules. However, if there is more than one person involved in becoming a djinn, as it was with your son and niece, then only one of them is allowed to dominate. Because Kolt is the offspring of the ruler of the djinn, he automatically gains supremacy.”

  “Uh,” Pierce mused. “Imagine that.”

  “A djinn is only permitted one master,” the Teller of Forgotten Tales went on, “which is where the story has been twisted around, it seems.”

  Pierce was starting to put it all together. “And because Joaquin and Frederica died without being killed by a relative, they couldn’t have the djinn.”

  “That, and to take possession, the master-to-be must die on the same day of the djinn’s rebirth. And to return to life, the master only needs to wish it.”

  “Those rules are much simpler than the ones you went on about in your storytelling.”

  “I never mentioned any rules, even under the safety of my tarpaulin. To our good fortune, there are only a handful of us who know the true story, and the Trickster wasn’t old enough to know it himself.”

  “But you know,” Pierce pointed out. “You must be a real old geezer.”

  The Teller of Forgotten Tales was quiet for a long moment. With the mask on, it was next to impossible to discern what he might be thinking.

  “Yes. I had lived for many millennia before I became the Teller of Forgotten Tales.”

  “Oi, you were someone else before?”

  “I was,” he answered, taking up his tall walking stick, propped against the tree beside him. The ink jars tied to it clanged against each other. “I did not want anyone else to know about the Priest’s laws, much less bring forth something so dangerous. However, there was a reason why your grandparents decided that you should be master, and why the Priest himself gave his blessing.” He clasped Pierce on the shoulder. “I hope you discover this reason and do the admirable thing. Farewell, Landcross. I believe you and I shall meet again someday.”

  The Teller of Forgotten Tales headed for the path that Pierce had come down. Pierce watched him go before leaving the opposite way and continuing his journey toward the mountain.

  At last, he arrived at the rocky cliffside. There he discovered a cave with a light burning inside it. Pierce decided to climb up to see who was in there. He felt he needed to.

  He made it to a short ledge that led to the mouth of the cavern and went in. He followed the warm amber glow, and the farther he went, the more the rocky surroundings began to vanish. Tools, blueprints, and machine parts lay scattered on the ground. The walls transformed into steel, and railway tracks stretched out before him across the dirty floor. The cave soon opened up into the train factory.

  “This is where it ended for me,” Volker stated, standing in front of the locomotive that had crushed him to death.

  “Your life? Aye, I know. I killed you, remember?”

  “My pain,” corrected the albino.

  Volker turned around to face him with those bright red eyes of his. Even if Pierce hadn’t had a djinn on his side, he wouldn’t have been afraid. The wanker had no more power to harm him.

  “For the first time in years,” Volker elaborated, “the physical agony is gone.”

  Pierce clasped his hands behind him and sniffed. “I reckon you can thank me for that, eh?”

  Volker narrowed his eyes. “I thank you for nothing, Landcross. You have damaged me worse than anyone.”

  “Don’t you be blaming me for any of this shite, chum. If you’d just left me alone, none of this would’ve happened to you.”

  Volker snorted. “You don’t understand. I couldn’t leave you be. By nature, I am a psychopath, the kind who is sadistic and likes to hurt people.”

  “Oh, you’re not one of those cute and cuddly psychopaths I’ve heard about?” Pierce quipped.

  “In my former life as a Romanian prince, I impaled scores of people, including rats and insects, while imprisoned. You carry residues of your past existence with you in the new lives you lead. I find myself unable to escape it, for none of us has any say in what kind of life we will live next. I’ve wrestled with the demons that have followed me. I managed to overcome my childhood nightmares in my previous life but failed to settle my business with you.”

  Pierce thought about what a hell that had to be—trapped inside such a disturbed head. And if Volker was a psychotic because of the dark deeds of his past, which were still haunting him. He wondered if they were driving him mad to the point that he needed to continually conquer old horrors in order to clear out and make room for new ones.

  Volker turned and placed a mechanical hand on the nose of the iron horse. “Perhaps, when I return, I’ll be a serial killer. In the meantime, this reflection of where I died is where I shall dwell. Goodbye, Landcross.”

  Pierce left Volker Jäger there to wallow in his own misery. He went walking through the crimson forest, letting his instincts guide him to his next location.

  After a while, he heard the sound of waves lapping against a shore.

  The sand enfolded his shoes as he walked in it. He stood, staring out over an endless pink and yellow ocean. There was no sun, only colorful clouds in the sky.

  “Father.”

  Pierce looked over to the djinn standing beside him.

  “’Ello, son. What happened with Freya?”

  “It is as you requested. Never again will she bother us.”

  “Aye? How’s Vela holding up?”

  “She’s upset. She hasn’t stopped crying. Naturally, she is afraid of what is to come.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “The more we use our power, the more we become part of one another. Soon, she will have no conscious mind as I take full control of our body.”

  “Bloody hell,” Pierce gasped. “That’s awful. Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  “It is entirely up to you, Father. We belong to you. You command us. Whatever you wish, we shall make it so.”

  “Huh? How about peace on earth?”

  “That is vague. Peace is seen differently through different eyes. You will need to be more specific and consider what others would want. It’ll take a lot of energy to make it happen.”

  “Really? I thought peace would be rather basic
.”

  “It isn’t. Not for mankind.”

  “I see. Then, let me ask you. Do you want this? Being a djinn?”

  Kolt was silent a moment. “Although this power we possess is unlike anything that exists, I am curious about whether this was how the djinn came to be in the first place. Joining bloodlines of different beings, I mean. And if so, what sort of individuals were they? Were they goodhearted people, who, after having such great supremacy for so long, eventually become so careless and destructive that they needed to be destroyed?”

  Pierce shrugged. “It’s possible. Power has a way of changing folks, and not for the better. Maybe, over time, the djinn simply lost themselves.”

  “I believe so, too. I don’t want it, Father.”

  I hope you discover this reason and do the admirable thing.

  “Aye, son, I don’t reckon so. I’m sure Vela feels the same. The girl deserves to live her own way.” Pierce sighed deeply. “Right. Then I command you both to—”

  “Wait, Father,” Kolt interrupted. “Isn’t there anything else you wish?”

  “Erm?” he mused, scratching his head. “Oh. How about bringing Frederica back from the dead?”

  The djinn bowed its head. “Mother and I discussed it after we took care of Freya. She decided it wasn’t right to go against the Fates, and so we bid our goodbyes before she and Oskar moved on.”

  Pierce was utterly crestfallen. “She left? Bugger. I never got to say goodbye.”

  “Mother asked me to give you a message. She says she loves you and wishes you well wherever you go. Her wish is not for us to mourn her, but instead, to celebrate our memories of her.”

  Pierce smiled. “That mum of yours was a spectacular woman.”

  “You, however, can return.”

  “Come again?”

  “You may not be in the boundaries of the Fates any longer, but the fact remains that you were always meant to live a long life. We can send you back.”

  Pierce’s jaw dropped.

  “Blimey. Really?” He rubbed his throat nervously. “What about, erm, my cause of death? Don’t care to live with a broken neck.”

  “We will repair and restore your body as if nothing happened to it.”