As we head back to Smay’s cave, bow successfully retrieved, I navigate while Briareth follows. It’s not like I’m going to let him have control over the map after the last two times he got us lost.

We travel in silence. With nothing much to focus on, my thoughts take the forefront in my mind, returning to the worries of this morning. It’s not like I can do much if my parents don’t recognize me, not like I have anywhere else to go or anything else to do. I’ve never been anything besides a royal prince. It’s all I’ve ever aspired to be and all I’ve ever trained to do. I’ve tried other jobs of course, but only so that I’d get a better understanding of the people. If the people decide I wouldn’t make a good king whenever my father dies, if he dies before me that is, my future would have no meaning. And if my parents don’t recognise me, my fate would be the same.

I sigh and look up. My thoughts are too depressing right now. I have a feeling that Briareth should probably comment about now. It would be the normal thing for him to do, but he stays silent. He looks exactly as I probably was earlier, slightly depressed and quiet. I suppose even Briareth has troublesome thoughts sometimes. Maybe I should pay him back from this morning, cheer him up. Distract him.

“Briareth, we are here. There are stairs in front of you.” Briareth looks up at me confused. “You looked kind of out of it.” I say feeling slightly flustered. This distracting people up business definitely isn’t my strong point. Change of topic… change of topic… I search back through our conversations. “What was so special about the card that Smay had mentioned?”

“What card?” Briareth looks confused. I seem to be botching this.

“Um… I think it was, Queen Bart’s Joker?”

“Do you mean Queen Barthow’s Jester?”

“Yes! That. Smay said that all his stuff was worth a ton, so why does he have a playing card in there?”

“Because some playing cards, and that one in particular, are super rare and powerful.”

“Like ‘they can summon demons’ powerful?” I am thoroughly confused.

“Well, sometimes. But not normally. Those cards are like, mythic rare, and therefore expensive.” We start to climb the stairs.

“I was joking on the summon demons part.” I say. “Where do the demons even come from anyway?”

“Uh, the game makers mind I suppose.”

“Demons of the mind, how would one defeat them? By thinking happy thoughts?” I ask, chuckling. Then something he said registers in my head. “Wait, Game Makers? This is all a game we are talking about?”

“Uhh… yes Faladel, this is a game. You thought in twenty years the rules had changed so much that we are allowed to summon demons?!” Briareth doubles over with laughter, nearly falling backwards down the stairs. I feel mortified, shame causing a flush of pink to color my face.

“Well, you said the cards had the power to summon demons. I didn’t know what to think.” I say, trying to explain myself. It briefly pings in my mind that I seem to have distracted Briareth from his glumness, maybe that will mean this embarrassment is worth it in the long run. But it doesn’t feel worth it right now.

Briareth is still chuckling when we reach the top of the stairs five minutes later. Smay is there to greet us.

“Hey is everything alright? I looked into my scry stone about five minutes ago and watched Briareth double over.”

“I’m fine.” Briareth says, still giggling “Just laughing pains. Faladel thought someone would be able to summon demons with playing cards.”

“Really?” Smay says, looking skeptical, but interested. “Tell me more.”

“That’s not how it happened” I protest, face flushing again, “It was the way you said it. It was unclear! It could have happened to anyone!”

“But it happened to you! That’s what's so funny!” Briareth bursts into laughter again.

“Start over Briareth, tell it from the beginning, what exactly is so funny?” Smay says slightly frustrated.

“Well…” Begins Briareth. I sigh, and leave them to it. I head towards the kitchen and look around, it is huge, with cabinets everywhere and that Icer thing in a corner. There is one entrance to my left, and a fireplace right near it, the rest of the area is filled with counter space and cabinets. I start to poke around in them, wondering what sort of ingredients he has on hand. Smay and Briareth made supper last night and that was a disaster, so while they’re busy laughing over my mistake and chatting about our encounter with the Pseudodragons, I’ll make lunch.

Lunch turned out to be cream of mushroom soup, with a side of warm bread. Smay had had the dough ready, and I baked it. Briareth and Smay hadn’t once poked their noses in while I was cooking, and I was getting rather worried about them. So I went out of the kitchen to tell them that I had made lunch, and it was done. I found a rather convenient bell labeled dinner bell hanging outside the kitchen and decided to ring it. If they were together Smay would be able to alert Briareth to what it was and come find me. I ring the bell and it makes a deep echoing bong that vibrates throughout the cave system. Strange for such a tiny thing. Well, no matter, they could probably hear that bell all the way over in the Pseudodragons cavern.

I decide to set the table while I wait. Smay’s cabinets seem to be organized in a vertical manner. Higher ones contained food and spices, lower ones contained pots, pans, and dishes.

I eventually found the bowls and spoons, and a ladle of sorts; and set about serving. I hung the rest of the soup over the fire I had set to keep it warm and started moving bowls to the dining room. In between laying down Smay’s and Briareth’s bowls and moving mine out of the kitchen, Smay and Briareth arrived.

When I came out of the kitchen with my bowl they were slurping down soup and munching on bread. Briareth waves when he sees me and tries to speak through a mouthful of fresh bread. I can’t understand him and shrug uncomprehendingly. He makes a big show of swallowing first and then says.

“Faladel I didn’t know you were such a good cook!”

“I’ve cooked for you before.” I state dryly, “were your taste buds just turned off those times?”

“No! I just haven’t tasted anything that you’ve made before in a kitchen, with like, a proper fireplace and a stack of spices.”

“He’s right Faladel,” Says Smay, “This is really good. Where did you learn to cook?”

“Eh, I learned it in the castle.” I say, setting down my bowl and sitting down.

“Surely they didn’t have the prince cooking for the servants?” Smay says, shocked.

“No!” I say chuckling. “No, cooking was something I was taught. It was like a hobby. Anyway, what were you two doing for the hour I was cooking?”

“We were chatting, about you... and other things.” Smay says.

“Me and other things? Do I want to know what you said?” I ask.

“I was telling him about the trip to the Pseudodragons, getting information on the Jakaweres, and bargaining information for the bow.” Says Briareth dismissively. I give him a worried look “Oh, nothing classified I promise!” He adds, then says to Smay “You don’t have to make everything sound so sinister.”

“But I like making things sound sinister!” Smay complains. Then he says to me, “Your friend Briareth here drives a tough bargain. You should be proud of him. That skill will come in handy when dealing with the Jakaweres.”

“Why?” I ask.

“The Jakaweres are an, ah, interesting group. They might appear to you as bunnies with antlers, they might look like normal people, or like normal people with antlers and bunnie’s tails. They act according to their own rules, and the reason they have survived this long is because they evolved really fast. Ten years ago they were nothing, and then about 5 years ago they realized they had a monopoly on some ingredients and started to charge through the nose for them. Now they are a main player in our economy.”

“Strange.” I comment, “What caused them to realize that they could charge more?”

“We don’t know.” Smay sighs. “But I’m reasonably sure it wasn’t any buyers who changed their minds.”

“What are we offering?” Pipes in Briareth. Smay sighs again.

“Problem is, I don’t know what they want. I haven’t bought any pepper from them in ages. Also the barter system is volatile. It depends on how useful or pretty something is, and how many people want it, to determine its value. They could ask for dragonfire, or they could ask for bat dung. I don’t know. If they can successfully bluff us into believing that what we have is replaceable, then it will sell for less than it is really worth. But the same works against them, they don’t know what I want to use the pepper for, so they can’t be sure I won’t go to someone else for a cheaper supplement.”

“So we're haggling.” I grin. “How much do we want Smay?”

“Just three pouches of the stuff. I wouldn’t mind if you got extra though.”

Briareth looks up from his soup. “Will we be going this afternoon? Because if so, I want seconds before we go.” Smay laughs.

“Serve yourself, it’s over the fire.” I say, motioning to the kitchen door. “So, Smay, what would you say the value of the pepper is compared to the value of things here or in your hoard?”

“In current prices? Well, I would probably trade it for gold, even bag for bag, but the Jakaweres won’t really want that most likely. They might want dragonfire, which I like to keep a precious commodity. The fire loses all magical properties when transferred to another source, and the pepper is probably worth at least twenty-four hours of the stuff to be claimed at any time. But not over forty-eight. You know what? It’s probably best If I just tell you what to do.” Briareth comes back from the kitchen with his bowl full.

“But Smay,” he says hearing the last bit. “Weren’t you banned? You can’t go to the Jakawere tribe, that’s why we're doing this in the first place.”

“I don’t have to be there to see and hear you.” Smay smiles naughtily like a child with a plan to steal the cookie jar, reveling in his own brilliance. “Because I have these.” Smay walks over to a cupboard in the dining room and pulls out a mysterious device held on a small strap. It looks like a giant black X with funky spinny things on each end and a circular lens that looks almost like an eye pointed outwards. The device looks slightly larger than my hand and seems designed to hang about a tiny creature’s neck.

“I stick one of these on one of the giant bloodsucking sentient mimicking bats,” Smay continues, “and I can see and hear what they see and hear, as long as I have this.” He produces a smaller unit that could easily fit into my hand. It’s pure black and shiny, but not the shine of a stone, this is made with something else. It is mostly flat with two little sticks poking up near the top. I wiggle one curiously, but nothing happens. Briareth looks up from his soup, and comes over to look.

“What are they Smay?” He asks, and I chip in with, “Where did you get them?”

“I call these my Spy Transmitter, and my Receiver. I found them a few years after I found the Icer when I returned to the shipwreck. I’ve modified them so they could fit a bat. It has a range limit, but you should be fine, the Jakaweres home is well within distance.”

“How does it work?” Briareth asks.

“Same as the Icer I guess. All the wires inside have to do something right? Although, I never could get these to work.” He flicks one of the spinny things with a claw. it turns, going fast at first and then slowing down until it stops. “Maybe they’re for decoration?” He says, but doesn’t sound convinced. “Anyways all I have to do to start it up is this.” He flicks a switch on the back of the transmitter, and then dangles it from it’s strap, and presses a small circle on the pad near the sticks. I jump as the screen starts to glow.

“What in the world!” I whisper, looking down at it. Briareth yelps and jumps back in surprise, stunned by the sudden light. I look closer and as my eyes adjust to the change I realize that the formerly shiny black screen now shows a picture of the room from the eyes of the X shaped device. Some areas flare briefly, then adjust, and Smay slowly turns the Transmitter so that it is facing us, and on the Receiver we see us looking at the Receiver from an outsider’s perspective.

“That is so cool!” Briareth exclaims, and I agree with him.

“I’ve been waiting for an excuse to use this.” Smay says fondly, patting the transmitter gently, setting it spinning. The spinning shows up on the Receiver as a confusing mass of color. “If I like the deal, the bat watching you will fly off, and soon another bat will return with the agreed upon amount. Don’t tell the Jakaweres that you are in communication with me, leave them guessing.”

“Of course.” Briareth responds promptly. I nod in agreement, but one part of this plan troubles me.

“How will the bat know to fly away?” I ask

“Oh, the bats have their own special way of communicating messages. I don’t pry into their secrets, I’m not that stupid.” Smay says. “Here’s a map of where you are supposed to go. Get going now, and I’ll clean up, and send the bat out after you.”

The Jakawere camp isn’t far, and we reach it before the bat catches up. When we arrive though, we are halted at the outside of the cave by two creatures that look normal enough. They are wearing suits though, which is rather strange for guard duty. Maybe it is some sort of uniform? As we approach the one on the left unhooks his spear from a post and puts it across the doorway. His buddy leans over and unlatches a suitcase on the ground that I hadn’t noticed earlier. He starts to quickly put something together, and I hear his partner scold him.

“Idiot, the Shaman and the revered one say we have to be ready for an attack at all times. In a battle there is no time to stop and unpack your spear. What if they are hostiles?”

“Give me a break,” Grumps the one on the ground “I got up late this morning and didn’t even have time to grab breakfast!”

We draw closer and they stop chatting. The one standing cries, “Halt! State your business, or go no further!”

I put my hands forward in a gesture of peace. “We come from the dragon Smay, we wish to trade with the tribe.”

“You don’t look like traders.” calls the one on the ground, still hurrying to put together his spear. “You have no goods to trade.”

“The goods will be delivered upon completion of the transaction. Could we please enter or speak to someone with authority?”

The guards speak in lowered tones to each other for a while, and try as I might, I couldn’t hear anything. Eventually one turns around and calls into the camp. A child comes out and chats with them for a bit. Then the guards turn back to us.

“You may come forward,” Says the one on the right who had just finished fixing his spear. “We’ll have to check you for weapons, while Pon-kyle here finds the Shaman, he will decide if you are traders, as you claim to be.”

We step forward, and allow ourselves to be frisked while the kid runs back in the direction of the camp. When we are done, my sword and Briareth’s bow have been taken away, but the guards didn’t find any other weapons, and the child has returned with the Shaman in tow.

The creature called the Shaman is a rather small unimpressive character. He looks like some mix between the jackalope and the person form. He is short with brown, slightly furry skin and antlers, but he walks on two legs and has normal ears. He has hands, not paws, wears a suit and tie, and carries a briefcase like all the others. But his eyes are strange, like unearthly black orbs seeing through the darkness and shadows to pierce impenetrable walls. Pon-kyle runs over to the Shaman, and whispers in his ear. The Shaman nods at him, Pon-kyle runs into the camp, and the Shaman turns to look at us. I glance up, and see Smay’s bat perched on a ledge above us.

“You come from the large one?” says the Shaman suspiciously. “He knows he isn’t welcome here.”

“And so he sent us in his place to conduct transactions.” I say smiling. Niceties are easy, the trick is not to give anything away during them.

“Hmmm…” the Shaman says, seemingly reluctant to let anyone in who was even connected to Smay. “You, shorter one.”

“Who, me?” Says Briareth, I give him a look, who else would the Shaman be talking to?

“Your vibes are as of the large one’s. You cannott be allowed into the revered ones presence. The taller one shall come alone.”

“Wait a minute!” I say. We are to be separated and this Shaman states ‘vibes’ as a logical reason for it? Do they think we are idiots?!

“What!?” shouts Briareth at the same time.

“Don’t worry you will both be safe, I promise as a shaman. But the shorter one should stay here and be entertained.” I frown at him. Briareth stares.

“Why does Faladel get to go meet this revered one but not me?”

“Your soul is chaotic on top, like the large one’s, too much like his. The tall one’s soul is different. On the surface it is calm, but it has powerful turbulent undercurrents. He is different enough that it will not cause trouble.”

“You can see souls?” I ask, disbelief evident in my voice. I have no knowledge of the Jakaweres besides what Smay has given me, but seeing souls is impossible. Unless this ‘Shaman’ gives me some proof, I will continue to believe so.

“How can a soul be turbulent!” Says Briareth, looking as though he knows he should be insulted but isn’t sure why.

“Just accept it. Go with the flow. All souls are streams, grey and murky. Even the revered one’s stream is grey- though through his swims colors and creatures beyond my comprehension -it is still a stream. If the water of a stream is fast, causing bubbles and bumping against rocks as it thunders toward the afterlife, then it is a turbulent stream. If all is quiet up top, and it looks almost like a lake as it flows silently onward, but it has a hidden undercurrent, then it is like the tall one’s current. Powerful, but stifled, not yet finished growing.

“Now the short one will be entertained by some performers, and the tall one will come with me, that is if you still wish to conduct negotiations.” Go with the flow? I frown. He is laying it on a bit thick, or does he actually believe the stuff he’s spouting? This proves nothing other than that he needs glasses.

“We find this acceptable.” I say, Briareth looks as if he’d like to object, but then he thinks better of it, and his mouth clamps shut. As the Shaman leads me away I notice another group of strangely dressed Jakaweres coming to Briareth. The Shaman notices me looking over my shoulder at Briareth as we are separated.

“Do not worry for your friend, tall one, he is safe with the performers.” He seems to consider his statement. “Unless he tries to copy the fire eaters, then he might die. But otherwise he should be perfectly fine.” As we pass through the camp I notice other Jakaweres, even the women and children of this tribe are dressed in suits and ties, I see one little Jakawere walking beside another whom I assume to be his father. He tries to copy his footsteps exactly, but his legs are smaller, so for every third step the kid has to take a sort of hop-skip to catch up. Occasionally he looks up to his father to judge his facial expression and then tries to mimic it. It is hilarious, I even let out a small chuckle. The shaman notices immediately, and looks to see what caught my attention. He smiles at the sight, “Oh, Nay-mel.” He murmurs “When will you learn that it is better to be your own man than to try and walk in the footsteps of another?”

When we reach the tent at the center of the camp, the Shaman pulls back the doorway, which is made of woven grasses. I marvel at this culture that is a mix of professional, and comfortable; of old and new; of modern technology, and ancient designs.

This particular tent’s entrance is built like the entrance to a grand hall in a castle, so the first thing we see is a long hallway. It’s lit with lamps held from the ceiling on chains, and has large closed wooden double doors at the end. One way in which this hallway differs from one in a castle though is the designs drawn onto the wall. They seem to tell a story as the watcher moves through the front hall and towards a larger room.

In the first design there is the picture of a glowing basket found by some of the Jakaweres in their animal form, in the next design the Jakaweres open the basket and find a glowing child, the pictures progress through the child’s life, showing him creating new designs, showing off blueprints to some Jakaweres, and signing treaties and overseeing harvests when he is older. As we get close to the end of the hallway the designs seem fresher, and at one point they just stop, but there is a lot of room left, as if the artist was planning to add more.

The Shaman has been silent this entire time. I look at him, now that there are no more designs to study. Surprisingly, he is gazing at the designs that my eyes just vacated, smiling fondly as he traces the child's face in one of them.

“Who is the child?” I ask. The Shaman starts, as if my presence surprised him.

“He is the revered one, the one you will be working with.”

“Surely he is older now though,” I comment, my mind reeling with this new information. “Why haven’t you updated the designs?” Does he have to be older? Smay did say that the Jakaweres started to evolve super fast five years ago, but that would mean that this kid in the designs would have still been a baby when he began to boss them around. He would have to be brilliant, or these Jakaweres would have to be crazy, or he is older; all of which seem equally likely right now.

The Shaman stays silent, but beckons me forward and opens a door at the end of the hall into a throne room.

The person on the throne looks super young, I guess the pictures weren’t outdated after all. He isn't a Dwarf, and nor is he an elf. He isn’t any of the creatures that I have seen in the mountain either. I don’t know what he is, and that unnerves me.

His face, which wasn’t dealt justice by the designs, is almost angelic in nature, a classic celestial, with pale smooth skin, bright clever blue eyes, and blond hair that looks as soft as a chick’s down hanging in tiny bangs over his eyes and to his shoulders.

The Shaman walks over and bows reverently, the boy smiles at him, and beckons him closer. The Shaman smiles back gazing at the child as if he held open the gates to the realm of the gods and comes closer draping his head across the child’s knee, his antlers not brushing the cloth. I silently watch them do this strange formal dance that has no tune.

I’m out of my depth here. Even the tribe’s religious leader treats this kid with the utmost respect. My mind races. What is he? How and why is he here? Why didn’t Smay mention him?

The boy’s head turns to me, and a smirk crosses his face. He can’t know. No way. I had schooled my features before he was done with the Shaman.

“You weren’t expecting to have to trade with a child were you Elfin Prince?” His voice rings through the chamber like a hundred tiny bells. First rule of trade, unsettle your opponent. He has definitely mastered this, but I won’t back down. He has sources of information throughout the cave system, so he probably knows what I’m here to trade for. He may have even already turned away other offers of Smay’s.

“True, I wasn’t expecting a child, but that explains why the hallway isn’t finished. They wish to save room for future deeds.” Flattery is always good. I glance up and see the bat got in, it is hiding in plain sight, on a tiny ledge above the child’s head. Brilliant. This way I can look at it without needing to turn my head, and nobody else would notice it. The Shaman is too busy staring at his master, and unless the child glances up for some reason, he won’t even notice.

“It appears you know how this game works, unfortunately for you, I know too. So how about a first trade?”

“What do you have in mind?” A first trade? Perhaps he means it to be a sign of goodwill?

“Yes, you stop with the flattery Faladel, and I will tell you my name. Smayhellionthostvalisonknoll is probably curious as to who I am, and I have no doubt he is somehow watching this transaction, so it has no loss on your part, and actually some gain.”

“You'd-you'd tell him your name-” The Shaman interjects “Revered one, that really isn’t necessary-”

“It is necessary if I deem it necessary, how many times do I have to tell you Un-amu. Besides it is only the name your tribe has given me, it’s not like it is my true name. Even I don’t know that, and I know pretty much everything. I’m actually rather curious to find what information Smay could draw from the name you have given me.” The Shaman, Un-amu, bows his head in acceptance of the gentle reprimand.

I am surprised by the suggestion, it is rather generous. He only asks that I speak plainly, and in return I gain information for Smay. While Un-amu protests at the revealing of the name, I glance up to the bat. It flutters its wings slightly. Is that a yes? Or a No? Maybe we shouldn’t have had the bat leave as the signal that it is fine. I turn my glance back to Un-amu and the child, who have stopped talking now, and are looking to me for an answer.

“I see nothing wrong with the deal.” I say.

“Excellent.” The child grins, pleased. “Best to get the unnecessary bits out of the way first eh? My name, the one my adoptive tribe has given me at least is Sus-ciel, you are here for the pepper I suppose?”

“Correct.” I say. Is there anything else I can add on to that? Sus-ciel seems to mull over this, and the silence drags on. It feels like it has been a minute at least before he finally breaks it.

“We don’t have much of that this year, so it will be higher priced than normal.” He states, “How much do you need?”

“Three pouches,” I respond, “Although we wouldn’t mind more.”

“When you say we, who do you mean?”

“Smay, Briareth, and I. Were you expecting more?”

“No, just curious. The horse didn’t seem sentient, but one can never really tell, I find. Three pouches is a lot, it will be expensive. What are you offering?”

“If you know about the horse, you know what we have to offer, so the real question here is how much do you want?”

“Not much, only 50 hours of dragonfire, to be claimed and or traded at any time; fifteen barrels of prime bat dung, and 12 packets of special mushroom spores.”

“What? That's ridiculous! Dragonfire is super rare, Smay is the only source. Maybe 12 hours, 3 barrels, and 2 packets.”

“Give me a break, we are having a drought! 48 hours, 12 barrels, and 4 packets.”

Un-amu watches us with awe in his eyes. As if no matter how many times he sees it, he can never get used to the rapid-fire exchange, and the battle between wills that goes on underneath.

“18 hours, 5 barrels, 4 packets; how will dragonfire and dung help?”

“It's not just the dragonfire and dung, it’s the spores too! Also you obviously enjoy the quality of the spices grown. 40 hours, 12 barrels and 4 packets. If I made offers like this with all my customers I’ll go out of business.”

“If you're going to use the spices argument, you should have had the negotiations with Birareth; I disliked the fajitas. 24 hours, 12 barrels, and 4 packets;” I fire off, “Last offer.” I add before he responds. He grins at me, enjoying this.

“You’re a tough one, I’ll cut you a special deal; don’t tell anybody, but you can have four bags at 32 hours, 12 barrels, and 4 packets. I’m robbing myself, but you seem to be good at this game, and I’d like to keep my options open for the future. Someday I’d like to expand beyond this puny mountain, keep in mind this favor till then.” He folds his fingers under his chin, “Deal?” I shoot a glance above him, the bat is gone.

“Deal.” I respond smiling. There is only one question left now. How will one bat manage to carry twelve barrels of dung?