Loud music thumped from within the brick building he sat against. Each beat reverberating through the stone, causing an unnatural thump in his chest. Pol sat in the alley, unconcerned by the people who stumbled out of the doorway a few paces down. The alley was half-lit by soft glowing lanterns strung to the wall by taut rope and nails.
Each thump was done in rhythm opposite to the movement of the smallest arm of his time-teller, the one-of-a-kind device that he guarded with his life.
Approaching steps interrupted his thoughts, and he brushed his long hair out of his face, making sure to represent himself well in case of a potential client. The couple that had walked towards him now passed him, and he looked again at his time-teller.
The door nearest him opened and the thumping that had come from the wall echoed out into the alley, though it was now accompanied by a woodwind that Pol couldn’t identify. He didn’t know who was performing, or how well they were being received but he hadn’t heard any dissent from the packed building and he knew it was packed because he had been out in the alley for hours.
“Either come in or go. We’ve had reports that you’re just sitting out here. We don’t need any enforcers coming looking after you if you’re selling.” The voice was gruff and gone before Pol looked for the source, the only thing that even denoted his passing was the slamming of the heavy metal door.
It took him a moment to stand, brushing out any wrinkles his coat might have gained while he sat. He was dressed for the nightlife, and he knew he looked like most of the people inside wished they did. Sharply dressed, and modestly handsome. Though tonight it did him no good, as no potential clients had approached him.
Pol debated the prospect of going inside, being swept under the current by the wave of music that was almost intoxicating to the soul, but he walked out of the alley and towards the main square of Tessia. He knew he disliked the effects of that specific music, performed with soulsynchors it would cause most people to go into an almost delirious state of whimsy. Something he didn’t have the time for.
The square was mostly empty, save for a fairly energetic couple expressing their affections towards the end of one of the closed shops that lined it. Pol sat at a vacant bench, furthest from the couple and looked at his time-teller.
“Hello, I looked for you in the alley. Guess I just missed you.” A deep accented voice said as Pol noticed the man walking towards him from the alley.
“I’m not sure I know you, stranger.” Pol said
“Right sorry, what a time to be alive!” Ah, there it was, the code given to any who wanted to buy what Pol was selling.
“A time indeed, how much time do you think we have left in this wasted world?” Pol asked.
“Not long, maybe a half-cycle or so.” the man responded. He sat next to Pol, his thin cotton shirt doing little to hide the hilt of his dueling blade, a true sign of the wealthy. He sat one leg over the other in a very nonchalant manner. The arrogance of those who have always been entitled.
“Half-cycle? The cost of living is high, isn’t it far easier to just let the void take us?” Pol hated talking in code, but he learned two cycles ago it was safer to do so than the alternative. He lost five cycles worth back before his precautions became a firm rule rather than a passive option.
“I’d be willing to wait for my whole life for an opportunity like this.” The man said, his bright brown eyes flickering around the dark square.
“Your wait is over.” Pol moved deftly, he could feel his joints ache as he did, the cost of his business. He slid the crown out on his time-teller, rotated the ornate bezel, and let the time-teller begin its machinations. It was inlaid with small semi-precious jewels at intervals around the arms, and overlaid by white gold filigree. It was made to look plainer than most jewelry worn by the high nobility but it still stood in contrast with the clothing Pol most often wore. Sharp though his outfits might be, he wasn’t the heir to a large fortune and his hard-earned funds weren’t spent on frivolous threads. To those who wished to buy his time, his outfits meant very little.
Pol placed his free hand under the hole left by the crown, letting the small glowing sphere drop into it. He pondered at the value of a half-cycle, how it seemed so much larger now than when he had first discovered the time-teller. The minute sphere, no larger than the average pearl, rolled in his palm. Each wrinkle of his palm accented and exaggerated by the soft white light of the sphere.
“By the Ten Gods and their Faceless Mother.” The man whispered. Ah, so he was one of the many who came as non-believers, seeking merely to satiate some curiosity. His accent was hard to place but his choice of Gods made it clear he was from somewhere on the southern continent, far-flung from Tessia proper.
“Even the wizened God of the Ten who rules over time… demands his due.” Pol closed his hand, squeezing the small arcane sphere gently in his clenched fist.
. “Of.. of course.” The man stuttered as he pulled a small slip from his pocket. He held it low by his leg showing the face of it in the scant light around them. A Trenillion mark.
The mark was beautiful in its own way, not nearly as mystical as the arcane sphere that currently shined through Pol’s closed fingers, but clearly, the designers of such rare marks went above and beyond the general craftsmanship put into two-mark coins and the like.
“A beautiful face, though yours is far fairer,” Pol said. He slipped his hand holding the sphere into the strangers, and they swapped valuables. “If you need me again in the future, look elsewhere. I’ll be gone, spread to the winds like the dust we all inevitably become.”
The man stared at him for the fraction of a moment, and then openly sneered at him. As it often was with those of higher births who assumed less of Pol for his illicit trade, all pretense of politeness faded with the transaction complete.
“You poor bastard.” The man stood and spat on the ground near Pol. “With your foul mystics and blasphemous practices. The Ten will drag you down and chain you to the fires below long before you turn to dust.” So, he was a Prondir noble, as they were the only ones who believed in The Ten and the fires below.
“Have a pleasant night sir, and enjoy the borrowed time, may it serve you well.” Pol said as he stood. His left knee popped and just from the simple motion of standing, he felt the air escape him. This was the last sale though.
“Borrowed? Borrowed!? It is not borrowed you duershi!” The venom practically dripped from his upturned lip as he spoke. “I have paid you a bounty fit for the One King, crowned by the Ten themselves!”
“My apologies, had I known you had such hatred for one such as myself, I would have declined your business. Now if you will excuse me.” Pol said, taking the higher road as he often did. He watched the energetic couple as he left, none-the-wiser to the amount of magic or marks that just traded hands no more than twenty paces from them.
Pol arrived at his make-shift home before the second of the two moons reached its zenith. He moved through the motions of unlocking the door, his hands trembling as he did. With the Trenillion mark, he now carried he could escape his bonds and pay off the remainder he owed. He would even still have just enough left over to live his life in peace.
The home was borrowed, of course, originally belonging to some obscure member of the upper-class without quite being nobility. Judging by the cartons and crates a merchant, though there was no other evidence to support the opinion.
Pol walked towards the living area passing a polished mirror as he went. He wasn’t surprised by the visage that stared back at him but disheartened. He was young, though he looked far older than even double his age. His hair that had been a deep brown before the sale was a peppered grey and the slight wrinkles at the edge of his eye were deeper than those around his mouth, a sign that he didn’t often smile.
The living area was already set-up, arcane diagrams and sigils drawn onto the floor. Pol set the time-teller in the exact center of the diagram and began the process to summon forth its inhabitant. It had been over ten cycles since he discovered the time-teller and that long since he had met the being that lived within.
“Long time, no see. Well, that’s not accurate, I’ve watched you keenly.” A fairly exaggerated figure stalked towards the edge of the circle, her face pure looking despite the glow of her red eyes.
“Tenundra, good to see you as well.” Pol said, taking a step back from the outer edge.
“I didn’t say it was good to see you. You look as if you’ve wasted away.” She ran her finger along the circle, tiny sparks of white light shooting off as she did.
“The cost of a mortal selling their own time. Something you happened to neglect to mention when we first met.” Pol said.
“You have always tried to be so honest. Have you spent your years well?” Tenundra asked.
“Frankly? No. I swindled and fought, lied and stole, and finally resorted to selling my personal time to pay off the debt I owe you. But you’re aware of all that… aren’t you?”
“Yes. So what have you brought to pay me off?”
Pol emptied his pockets, he set a wrapped bundle on the floor, its contents bulging out slightly. The bundle practically unwrapped itself and the contents floated towards Tenundra.
“Finger of an ancient mage-king, blood of a netherling, and a piece of paper?”
“A Trenillion mark. And not just an ancient mage-king… the ancient mage-king Merthur the Brazen.”
“Ah. You think this completes your debt?”
“Yes, I do.”
Her eyes bore into him, weighing and judging. Pol knew he had borrowed more time than he had any right to, but if he didn’t make this exchange, the Prondir would have the last laugh. He had been shown by Tenundra what would become of him, and chains and flame were awfully close.
“I accept your trade. Your debt has been paid in full, with time to spare. Would you like the balance… to restore you to some youth?
“Yes, please. My bones ache, and my back hurts. I would like nothing more than to return to my younger form. Perhaps get my life back from when I first stumbled into this mess?”
Tenundra pondered his words and then smiled.
“Of course master Pol, you will be granted time back to the point of when you stumbled into this mess.”
“Now before you get any ideas–” Pol felt invigorated, he felt the energy flow into him and the air escape his lungs as his body was shaped and twisted by the arcane magic that Tenundra wielded. He was interrupted completely and when he opened his eyes she was gone. Pol glanced around the room and cried. Tears flowed uncontrollably, and they wouldn’t stop. Pol screamed at the top of his lungs, belted the shrillest cry he had made in the last twenty-eight cycles.
Tenundra came into his line of sight, scooping him up and cradling him in her arms. She took the visage of a woman, the time-teller around her wrist.
“Hush hush child, I will raise you. You overpaid my love, but I couldn’t bear to leave you, I’ve grown attached over these long cycles. The Faerin always pay their debts, and this Faerin will raise you as one of her own.” Tenundra cooed as she cradled him. She continued to whisper soft things to him as she left the home of the merchant.
***
“And that is what I saw clear as day in my own home!” Geron said tipping his mug towards some of the other local merchants that he met with every week.
“Oh, and I’m guessing the Ten showed up to clean the mess left behind?”
“Faerin are no more part of the Ten, then the hounds of Lechki are part of the flames,” Geron argued back. Eager to share his tale with anyone that would listen, though most often didn’t. What most took away in fact, was that Geron drank too much, or listened to too much soulsynching music for his own good.