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Merchant of fate.

He was a merchant. A traveling merchant, to be precise. He had been traveling this continent for a long time. He traveled from town to town, selling his wares. He never visited a town for the second time. He wasn't one of those traders who staked out a small area and then traveled back and forth, visiting maybe four or five towns. No. He had already visited countless settlements. Countless towns and communities. He had traveled to the remote monasteries and temples, from the far north to the far south. He had brought his goods everywhere to sell them to the people.

Merchants were always welcome in the towns along his route. They brought goods from far away. Goods that were otherwise not available here. Especially when they offered such exotic goods as he did. Most merchants offered their goods for sale in exchange for the various currencies of the individual regions. Not him. His goods were offered in exchange. He couldn't do much with money. He was always on the move and the currency that was perhaps still good and expensive here could be worthless in the next town. He traded his goods for other goods, food, services and favors.

When he came to a settlement, he usually didn't stay long. He would inquire about his customers' activities and then decide what prices his goods were worth to them. His customers were often pleased that his goods were priced so low, as he usually only asked for what they were willing to give.

So he offered an innkeeper a few amphorae of exquisite wine for a supper and a warm bed, a stable boy exquisite medicinal herbs for a place for his horses, a wainwright masterful tools for the maintenance and repair of his wagon and a farmer seeds of exotic crops in exchange for some supplies for his journey.

His trading partners were always happy to do business with him and the news that the merchant, who always had the right thing on offer, was coming to town usually preceded him.

They knew him by many names. They called him Kramer, Hake, Fragner, Greißler, Höker and Wandler or even Detaillist. Many of these names had regional significance, but were difficult to translate.

He had been on the road for so long that he no longer even knew his real name. It didn't matter either. As far back as he could remember, he had been traveling with his wagon. He also didn't remember where his journey had started. Looking at the goods on his wagon, he must have been everywhere.

There were rare furs from the white seals of the northern islands, exotic spices from the markets in the far east, precious shells from the oceans in the west and exquisite wines made by the monks of the southern territories. And so much more besides. For many of these goods, he could no longer remember how he had acquired them or when he had even been there.

But it wasn't just his inventory that was puzzling. His four horses could not be more different. They could no longer be the original horses he had set out with. They were young and strong, but he couldn't remember when he had changed one of the horses, but he must have changed them, otherwise why would he have harnessed a warm-blooded horse from the Isenlanders to his wagon alongside a cold-blooded Midlander, a thoroughbred from the eastern steppes, a pony as used by the coastal peoples? And why couldn't he remember buying even one of these horses?

Likewise, his wagon itself was a chronicle of his travels. Not one plank, not one spoke of one of its wheels was carved from the original wood from which the wagon had once been made. He was sure of it. The wagon was of a design that was often used in the eastern steppes, but it was larger and heavier than the typical one-horse wagons used there. It was not made from the types of wood native to the region. Over the years, so many carpenters, wainwrights and saddlers had worked on the wagon that nothing really fitted together anymore, but the wagon still functioned almost perfectly in its own way.

And he himself? The years as a traveling hand had tanned and darkened his once fair skin. His once red, frizzy hair had been bleached by wind and weather and was now straight. His once sturdy physique was haggard and crooked from sitting on the coachman's seat for so long. His eyes, so bright blue in his youth, were now dull and gray. He spoke so many languages that he couldn't remember his mother tongue.His clothes, typical of his origins, had apparently worn out a long time ago and so he wore a collection of clothes from the countries he had already traveled to.

A customer had once asked him if he wanted to retire soon, as he was already old and certainly tired of traveling. He hadn't known what to say in response. He didn't even know why he was on this journey in the first place.

He didn't know where he came from, where he was going, who he had once been, who he would one day be, he only knew one thing: he was drawn to faraway places, always further, never back.

...

In transit...

His car rolled along the road heading east. He had stopped in a small town the day before. The inhabitants had celebrated his arrival and he had done a lot of business. The new goods that would now find their way to the steppes of the east were piled up in his wagon. According to the innkeeper, the next settlement could be reached in about two days if they traveled at a leisurely pace. He always traveled at a leisurely pace. He had never rushed in his entire life, he would not start now.

It was late afternoon when he passed the looted wagon.

"So there are bandits here. I should watch out."

He muttered as his horses pulled his wagon past the coach. The wagon had been completely dismantled. Everything of value was gone. They had even taken the wheels. Grimly, he saw the bloodstains on the torn tarpaulin and on the broken wood.

"They probably killed the driver... it's a shame..."

He was just about to spur his horses on when he noticed a movement in the ditch next to the wreck. He stood up and looked into the ditch. There was a person lying there. She was still alive. Wrestling with his conscience, he finally decided, against his better judgment, to stop his wagon and look for the person. He applied the brakes and got out of his car. Whip in hand, he approached the ditch. The person groaned as he tried to pull his leg out from under a barrel. She must have fallen into the ditch with the barrel and then lay there unconscious. How else could she have survived the attack?

At first glance, the person appeared uninjured.

"Wait, I'll help you."

He finally said. His statement made the person flinch. When she raised her head, he could see that the person was female and still quite young. The panic was written all over her face and when she saw him, she tried all the more frantically to free herself and escape.

"Don't worry, I don't want to hurt you."

Not that his old, frail stature would have been able to do so anyway. The young woman looked at him with wide eyes. He slowly came closer and braced himself against the barrel. Together they were able to lift it just long enough for the young woman to pull her foot out. Frantically, she crawled a few meters away from him. He stopped and looked after her.

"Are you all right?"

He finally asked, looking around. The woman felt her foot and after a moment she nodded.

"Yes, yes I'm fine."

She replied. The traveling merchant nodded and smiled wearily. He prepared to go back to his wagon.

"I'm going to the next village. Shall I take you with me? It's safer with two than alone."

He didn't look back, but walked slowly back to his wagon. If she wanted to go, she would call and just come. He didn't want to waste too much time, it was quite possible that the bandits were still nearby and would return to complete their deed. Just as he climbed onto the trestle, he heard her soft voice.

"Please... take me with you..."

He paused and looked back at her. With a smile, he made an inviting gesture and the young woman immediately set off. She limped slightly, which was quite understandable. Still, she was faster than he was.

*The youth nowadays...*

He thought and climbed sturdily onto the coachman's seat. She sat down behind the coachman on the loading area of the wagon. She looked around the wagon in amazement. Goods were stacked everywhere there was space. She wasn't sure how some of the stacks could still be standing, they looked so unstable. She didn't recognize much of what was stored there. She had never seen much of it before in her life.

"What is all this?"

She asked, looking up at her companion on the coachman's seat. He didn't even look over his shoulders but simply answered.

"Goods for trade. I'm a merchant."

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. She looked at the wagon again in disbelief.

"But what is this? I've never seen anything like it. Where did it all come from?"

She asked.

"From everywhere. I've traveled far, I've been everywhere."

He said calmly, his voice full of affection. She was still looking into the wagon. A lot of things in the wagon seemed incredibly valuable. She doubted there were people here who could even afford these goods, if they even knew what it was they were looking at.

"And what are the people here trading for your goods? I don't think the people here can afford your goods."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"So far, we've always come to an agreement."

It wasn't a satisfactory answer, but she was sure she wouldn't get another.

...

They drove well into the night before he steered the car off the road and stopped behind a large bush. Groaning, he got down from the coachman's seat and went to the horses. One by one, he unhitched them and took off their harnesses. They took a few steps into the meadow and began to graze.

"Aren't you going to tie them up?"

Asked the young woman looking out of the wagon. He shook his head.

"They never go far. They know where good places are."

He replied and went to the back of the wagon. He took the large bucket hanging from the wagon and held it under a green barrel. He opened the tap and let the bucket fill up with water. The cold-blooded midlander came first and almost pushed him away to get to the water. The other three were not long in coming. He stroked them all as they waited for their turn.

When they had all drunk, he pulled four carrots out of a jute sack and gave each horse one. Satisfied, they trotted off. Then the old merchant turned to his passenger.

"If you want to wash up. Here is some water. There's soap in the little red box..."

He pointed to a small red jewelry box behind the barrel.

"I'll see about a place for you to sleep."

He said and walked around the wagon to a large wooden box under the loading area. He pulled out some blankets and set about erecting a kind of tent next to the wagon, stretching the ropes between the wagon and the bushes.

While he was busy, the young woman got off the wagon and went to the barrel. The bucket was still under the barrel. She picked it up and let some water run into the bucket. She then placed the bucket on the edge of the loading area and looked around. It was the middle of the night and there was no one around. She could hear the old man groaning softly as he set up the tent on the other side of the wagon. She smiled briefly and then pulled the simple dress she was wearing over her head and placed it carefully next to the bucket. Likewise the petticoat and her underpants. She was now standing completely naked behind the wagon. She was shivering, but more from excitement - she had never exposed herself in public before - than from the cold. She dipped her hands into the cool water and threw the water against her body. It wasn't exactly cold, but it was still quite chilly and the shock made her gasp.

"Is everything all right?"

Came the old man's question from the other side of the car. She answered quickly, not wanting him to come and check.

"Yes, yes, everything's fine. I was just a little startled, the water is so cold."

She hears an approving laugh from the other side. She quickly continued to wash herself. After she had moistened her body sufficiently, she reached for the small jewelry box. It was a beautifully crafted box and it looked very old. She wondered a little why no one had bought it yet. It would certainly look very nice on a chest of drawers. Perhaps a nobleman's wife or a bailiff's wife... She shrugged her shoulders as she stroked the red lacquered wood with her hand. She undid the clasp and opened the lid. The box was lined with blue velvet, it must have been sinfully expensive. In the middle of the box was a bar of soap. Carefully wrapped in paper. She took it out of the box and smelled it. It smelled heavenly. She didn't know the smell, she couldn't place it, but heaven it smelled good. She carefully took the soap out of the paper and rubbed her body with it. She was delighted at how quickly the foam formed and how intensely the smell spread.

"This soap must have cost a fortune."

She mumbled more to herself than to anyone else. She quickly wrapped it back up in the paper and put it back in the box. She enjoyed the foam for a moment and stroked her body. It was a wonderful feeling. She almost forgot that she was standing in a meadow, completely naked and covered in bubbles. Together with an old man, a complete stranger to her, who seemed to be surprisingly rich, and his four horses. Fortunately, she remembered quickly enough before he turned the corner.

She washed the foam from her body and wiped the water from her skin as far as she could, then got back into her clothes and walked around the wagon. The old man had not been idle and had put up a neat little tent. It was nothing special, but it would give them a roof over their heads for the night.

"I know, I know, it's no palace, but it's better than sleeping out in the open. You have your own mat and your own blanket. Don't worry, I won't ambush you in the middle of the night. Even if you do smell delicious."

The old man explained, smiling happily. She smiled slightly, but finally nodded. He held the entrance open for her and waited until she had found her way around, then he nodded.

"I'm just going to have a quick wash. Make yourself comfortable. Don't wait for me to sleep."

He said softly and let the tent cover fall shut. He walked around the wagon and while he was still walking, he stripped off his clothes. He laid them next to the barrel and reached for the bucket. While the water was still running into the bucket, he threw it against his body. The cold hadn't bothered him for a long time. He was used to it. He had been on the road for too long and washed himself like this every day. He worked quickly and efficiently. He had no eye for the beauty of the starry night and no ear for the plaintive song of the wolves in the distance. He knew his horses would not let any wolf approaching them live, and he was sure that the wolves would not like him. He was far too old and too tough.

When he had finished washing, he poured out the bucket, slipped his robe back on and headed for the tent. He could still hear her moving as he approached the tent. He quietly opened the entrance.

"Well, you're still awake..."

He said quietly. She looked at him with wide eyes.

"Yes. I've never slept in the wilderness before. It's scary and it's cold."

She said meekly. He smiled. It was an old, used up, but loving smile. He came into the tent and carefully pulled the tarpaulin closed behind him. It was pitch black in the tent, but he found his way around surprisingly well. He must have done this many times before. With a sure hand, he prepared his bed and lay down. He kept his blanket open.

"I can't really help you with the eeriness, but there is a cure for the cold."

He said calmly and waited for her reaction. It wasn't long before he felt her snuggle up to him. Curled up in her blanket, snuggled up to him and buried under his blanket, she lay with him in the tent. He could feel her relaxing more and more every minute. Eventually she fell asleep and her breathing became deeper and slower. The old merchant smiled.

*Youth. Full of adventure and then when they experience one, they are afraid...*

He thought, before he too closed his eyes and fell asleep.

...

When the old man woke up, the young woman was no longer in the tent. Her scent still hung in the air and her blanket was still warm. She couldn't have been awake for long. He rolled out of his blanket and stood up with a groan.

"Aaaaaaargh..."

He gasped as he tried to straighten his back. He knew why he liked trying to be in a settlement before nightfall. Even the worst bed was better than sleeping on the ground. Just as he was about to reach for the tarpaulin, the young woman opened the tent.

"Is everything all right?"

She asked, looking genuinely worried. The old merchant nodded and smiled.

"Yes, everything is fine. I'm just realizing more and more how old I've become. Sleeping on the ground isn't as good as it used to be."

His voice seemed old and used up, but she recognized the joke in it and reached out a hand to him.

"Come on, stand in the sun, that'll help. I can clean this up."

She said and gently pulled him into the morning sun. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the warming rays of the sun on his back. Behind him, the young woman began to fold up the blankets and take down the tent. She folded everything neatly and stacked it next to the wagon. When she had finished, the old man turned around. He nodded appreciatively at her.

"Very, very good. We'll put it in this big box here."

He pointed to the large crate under the loading area and helped her to stow away the individual blankets and tarpaulins. When they had finished, the old hand walked around the wagon and checked on his horses.

As he had predicted, they were all standing in the meadow not far from the wagon, grazing at ease. He smiled slightly and went to the coachman's seat. He sorted the halters and reins before turning back to the horses. He pursed his lips and gave a short whistle. One by one, the horses lifted their heads and looked over at him. It only took a moment before they all started moving and came to him.

He greeted each of them lovingly and stroked them. He spoke softly to them and gradually put the equipment on them. None of them moved during the procedure. It was as if they had done this many hundreds of times before and the choreography was already second nature to them. Once he had put the halters and carriage harnesses on them, he led them to their positions in front of the wagon. He harnessed them without haste and connected the reins to their harnesses. Despite his age, the complicated maneuvers were surprisingly easy for him and the wagon was soon ready to set off.

"Come on, girl. It's time we got somewhere."

He shouted as he climbed onto the coachman's seat. She came out from behind the carriage and adjusted her clothes. She looked a little rushed.

"I'm coming, I'm coming..."

She replied and climbed onto the wagon. The old man grinned slightly and drove his horses. With a gentle lurch, the carriage set off and bumped back onto the road.

It was still a long way to the next settlement. They would probably not get there until the afternoon. Assuming nothing more unusual happened.

"If you're hungry, have a look in the yellow chest there. There should be some bread and cheese."

He said, pointing to his small yellow chest, which seemed to be hidden among all the other merchandise. She bent down and carefully lifted the lid of the chest. Sure enough, there was half a loaf of bread and a piece of cheese. She took the bread and broke off a piece, it felt surprisingly fresh. She smelled the bread and the smell was fantastic. She shook her head in disbelief. The bread had to be at least two days old, how could it still smell so good and fresh? She bit into it carefully. The crust was crispy and the bread itself was fluffy and tasted as if it had just come out of the oven. She closed her eyes and savored the taste sensation. When she had swallowed the bite, she looked into the chest and took a look at the cheese. It was a soft cheese typical of this region. It was covered in a white mold and had the perfect consistency. She was sure that if she bit into it now, the cheese would simply run out. How could that be? How could the cheese, which must have been stored for four weeks for this degree of ripeness, and a loaf of bread that was more than two days old be so perfect in a simple wooden chest on a traveling merchant's wagon.

She turned around and was about to ask the merchant when he beat her to the answer.

"I don't know why. But whenever I put food in this chest, it's always in perfect condition for eating later. I once put rotten potatoes in the chest. They were fresh again in the evening. There must be some kind of magic on this chest. I can't remember where I got this chest, but I'll never give it away again."

The old man told her and slowly steered the car along the road. The young woman wasn't a bit smarter now, but she hardly cared, she had a delicious breakfast just waiting to be eaten. She bit into the cheese with relish and held the bread under the cheese as a precaution, and sure enough, it leaked out. Viscous, purulent yellow. Just as it should be and it tasted phenomenal.

Sated, she leaned against the coachman's seat and looked once more at the merchant's collection.

*Who is he going to sell all this stuff to?*

She thought, trying to make sense of the seemingly random collection of items the merchant was carrying. Every other merchant she knew had a specialty and usually didn't have too many other items that didn't fall into their area of trade. But this cart contained everything possible. Pots, pans, small crates and boxes probably filled with all sorts of jewelry and trinkets, tools, clothes, fabrics, amphorae probably filled with fine wines, and who knows what else was hidden in this mess. She was very curious to see how he would offer his wares for sale.

...

They drove on in silence. It wasn't until late afternoon that the next settlement came into view. It was a small village. Farmers, a church, an inn, a blacksmith. The usual for a village in these parts. But that was fine for the merchant. He always found his customers everywhere. No matter where he opened his wagon for his customers, they flocked in and eagerly traded his goods.

The lone guard at the entrance to the village leaned wearily on his spear and barely lifted his head as they rolled up. The old man saluted the man in the dirty uniform and was waved through boredly. They rolled the cart onto the village square in front of the church and circled the well twice to find the best spot for the wagon. When it finally stopped, some of the villagers had already arrived. The old man climbed down from the coachman's seat and walked around the wagon. He took two long poles from the other side of the carriage and opened the tarpaulin of his carriage. He propped the tarpaulin up with the poles and stood in front of his carriage. He took a deep breath.

...

Needfull things...

"Needfull things, ladies and gentlemen. Things that everyone needs and doesn't yet have. Come closer and take a look around. Here you'll find everything you need, everything you want and everything you didn't even know you wanted. Come closer, step right up. Needfull Things, in your community."

His voice was surprisingly powerful and it sounded so... inviting. The young woman watched in complete amazement as the residents came closer and looked at the display, or rather the mess on the wagon. The old man stood by the wagon and explained to the potential customers what exactly they were looking at and why they needed this particular item right now. It was amazing.

"... yes, this is a typical oyster knife. You see, you unfold this blade and use this movement to open the oyster without damaging the inside of the shell. This is incredibly practical. You can then open the oyster and slurp the contents with a little lemon... Yes, amazing, don't you think? You can slurp it up and make as many obnoxious noises as you like... But of course. No household should be without one of these... if you're anyone, you should definitely buy it, and it's the last one I have. Just imagine, you'll be the only one in this place who has such a knife... How much? Oh, you know... I don't want to take your money for it... You're a grain farmer, aren't you? You know, I need feed for my horses. If you give me, say, four sacks of grain in exchange, then we'll come to an agreement... Of course I'll wait here for you... take your time..."

She shook her head. They were several weeks away from the sea. And there was no major river here either. What was this farmer doing with an oyster knife? But she didn't have much time to think about it, as the merchant was already talking to the next customer.

"... oh yes, a truly royal piece of jewelry. I bought it at a bazaar in the jungles in the south. It is said to have once belonged to Leiram herself... Oh, Leiram? The queen of the Amazons. A cruel despot who subjugated her people for many years. She often wore nothing but her jewelry. This necklace was worn like this... exactly... the amulet then covered... exactly... I can see you know your way around. But it would certainly suit your mistress. Quite exquisitely, in fact. It is made of the purest gold. Look how it shines in the evening sun. You can only get this shine with pure gold... The stones?... Well, this is jade. A rare stone. Yes, maybe not as valuable as diamonds and emeralds, but you won't see it again at these latitudes. It's not found east of the Dragon Mountains... the Dragon Mountains... the border mountains to the Midlands... yeah that's pretty far away... definitely a unique piece and worth a fortune with this story... Well, I see you're a good person, an honest person. I don't want to ruin you financially... you know, the sword your grandfather left you. It has no real value to you. You are not a swordsman, but I would accept it in exchange for this piece of jewelry... Yes, go, I'll wait for you here..."

Again she was completely confused. This piece of jewelry, if it really was what he claimed, was worth more than the whole village together would be able to raise. And he traded it for an old, jagged sword? Why? What was behind it? But again there was no respite, the merchant was already at his next customer. A little girl, she could barely see over the edge of the wagon. She pointed her finger at a very elaborate red dress.

"...Oooohohohooo an excellent choice... let me just get it off the wagon for you... It belonged to a princess of the barbarian peoples in the far north. She was beautiful. Her skin was as white as the snow, her lips were as red as this dress, and her hair was the color of copper... I bought this dress from her daughter. When the princess wore this dress she was not much older than you... yes, just feel the fabric, feel how soft it is. It is woven from the spun wool of glacier sheep. That makes it light, soft and still keeps you warm... yes, beautiful, isn't it? They say the princess's father traveled all the way to the eastern kingdoms to buy the pigment to dye the fabric this red... would you like to have it?... yes, it's terribly expensive. You know? All my goods are unique... that means that each of them only exists once in this world. That's what makes them so expensive... but I'm making you an offer... an offer you can't possibly refuse... I know that your grandmother was a herb witch and that she left your mother her book of recipes. Your mother doesn't collect herbs, so she doesn't really need the book, does she?... Exactly, it's just lying there gathering dust. Bring me the book and the dress is yours... Right... I'll wait here."

Slowly, she recognized the pattern. He gave up his goods voluntarily, he didn't want to make any profit from them. He traded them for things that at first glance seemed completely irrelevant. Mostly things that the inhabitants themselves would never think of. But how did he know about these things? How could he know the residents so well? It was a mystery.

"... My lord please be careful, it is razor sharp. This falcion belonged to the captain of the Imperial Guard at the court of the Sultan of D'ashtan. The Grand Vizier was beheaded with this weapon. A very historical piece and a great topic of conversation at your next party... yes, it is in excellent condition. Despite its age, it has no rust and is still as sharp as ever... yes, it is indeed made from the legendary Damascus steel... there are only a few weapons still in existence made from this steel... just feel how light it is and how well it handles... truly, the weapon of a hero... well, the value of such a piece is hard to determine. The hilt alone, with its decorations and inlaid gemstones, is worth a fortune, the blade is priceless... No... No... I won't take your daughter in exchange... although, is she pretty? ... hahahaha... no, jokes aside... but I heard you once served in the army yourself... right... I could agree to a trade... your old armor... you don't fit in there anymore anyway... right, that old thing... why? Why not? I'll be able to trade it again... somewhere else... exactly... a good deal..."

The man ran from the scene. The young woman looked after him. She shook her head. None of this made any sense. Not at all.

Well into the evening, the old merchant traded one piece of jewelry after another for old trinkets, supplies, tools, relics, favors and promises. All the customers were more than happy to have made a good deal. The old man had happily closed the wagon cover when the last customer had left satisfied.

They took the wagon to the blacksmith, who would take care of the wagon and horses for the night in return for a few lumps of exotic ore. Then they went to the innkeeper, who had promised them a comfortable bed and a royal meal in exchange for some fruit, which was not available here, and an amphora of delicious vinegar that would enhance all his dishes.

In disbelief, she sat on the bed in her room and watched as the old man got ready for bed. She shook her head.

"How?"

The merchant turned to her with difficulty and grinned.

"What do you mean?"

The old man asked and sat down on his bed. He had exchanged his robes for a thin nightgown and given her a similar shirt. She looked at him inquiringly.

"How do you manage that? That you sell these things to these poor people and for these completely worthless items."

The old man stretched with pleasure and smiled. He made a fifty-fifty gesture.

"Well, it doesn't always work, and sometimes I get a really bad deal. But in the end, every stop has been worth it. I always have just the right thing for each customer and they always have just the right thing for me to trade."

The young woman grabbed her hair and looked at him angrily.

"But how do you know what they have in their cupboards? How do you know that this girl's mother was left a book? How do you know this guy was in the army? And why are you giving away such priceless goods in exchange for such worthless trinkets?"

She was talking herself into a rage. The merchant calmed her down carefully.

"I don't know, it's like an intuition. I see the people and I know what I want from them. I don't know if they might have something else more valuable to trade, I just know this is the item from their house that I want for these goods. And I know they'll give it away willingly because they're sure it's a great deal for them. As for the value of the barter items, it may be that those very items will be in high demand in another country. These are things I'll find out when the time comes."

He explained calmly. He looked around and smiled. Before she could find an answer to this statement, he stood up with a groan.

"It's a really nice room, but always those horrible idols. They litter the rooms with them every time."

He went to the head of his bed and took off the 9-pointed star, which was the symbol of faith of a local religion. He carefully placed the wooden carving in the drawer of the small cupboard next to his bed. He mumbled something about headaches and bad dreams when he was in a room with these symbols of faith.

"But that was the star of Andralante, she is the patron saint of travelers. Shouldn't this deity be the very one whose protection you are hoping for?"

The young woman asked. The old man rubbed his hand and sat down again. His smile was still on his lips, but it seemed tortured.

"I don't know if I want to place my fate in the hands of a deity who allowed you to be assaulted. I've never asked for the protection of a saint and nothing has ever happened to me. But let's not argue about that. Let's go to sleep. It's a long way to the next village. I'd like to set off quite early."

The young woman nodded. She could see from the way he argued that there was no point in discussing it with him. He would stand his ground and not accept any other opinion. Perhaps he was right. He had been traveling for a very long time and apparently nothing worse had ever happened to him. Still, turning down the protection of the gods was stupid. She knew only too well that the gods kept a close eye on the goings-on in this world and intervened when in doubt. She was sure that it was a twist of fate that he had passed her wagon before the bandits returned. It was no coincidence that he had saved her. But that was a discussion for another day.

"Yeah, you're right, let's get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."

She agreed and lay down in her bed. It was a heavenly feeling. The mattress was freshly filled, the comforter was fluffy, soft and warm. She would sleep very well. The old man did the same. When he finally lay down, he sighed his relief at not having to sleep on the floor or in the stable. She extinguished the candle and darkness descended on the room. It wasn't long before they were both snoring away.

Neither of them noticed how the symbol of faith in the drawer slowly charred and gradually disintegrated into ashes. Nor had the young woman seen the wound on his hand. It healed slowly. It would be gone by the next morning.

...

The next morning, before the cock had even crowed, the two travelers' room was bustling with activity. The old merchant was up surprisingly early and getting ready to leave. He had also woken the young woman and urged her not to dawdle. They left the inn before the innkeeper had even left his quarters. As agreed, there were two packages of provisions on the counter. The merchant nodded approvingly. It was always a pleasure to work with professionals. They took the parcels and went to the blacksmith. Here, too, everything was still dark and the embers in the forge were only glowing faintly. Smiling, the merchant went to the back and found his horses in the pasture. They were well cared for, freshly shod and already waiting for him. He opened the gate and they came quietly to him. He greeted them affectionately and led them to the wagon. Here, too, the minor repairs had been completed to his satisfaction. While he harnessed the horses, the young woman looked around. It was amazing. People simply trusted him and he trusted them just like that. His goods just lay on the wagon and the wagon just stood behind the smithy. Anyone could have helped themselves, and with the mess on the wagon, how was he supposed to notice if something was missing? She climbed onto her seat behind the coachman's seat. The old man soon followed and climbed onto the coachman's seat.

They left the village quietly.

The journey to the next village would take several days. Enough time...

...

Consequences...

Every single deed has its consequences. This is a law of nature that no one will ever be able to escape. An action is followed by a reaction. You should always be aware of this.

You should also always be aware of that: If an offer appears too good to be true, then it is most likely too good to be true.

When the merchant left the village at the crack of dawn, nobody noticed him and his companion. The gate guards were asleep. The alcohol they had been offered had not failed to have an effect. When the first villagers were woken by the rooster, the traveling merchant and his wagon were already far, far away.

That was perfectly all right, because all the villagers were still very happy with their new possessions. They celebrated the merchant who had given them his valuable goods so cheaply and celebrated themselves for being able to keep their gold.

But as it soon turned out, not all of his offers were as good as they had hoped.

There were the two men who had each exchanged a piece of jewelry and a falcion with him.

One of the men soon realized that the other's mistress was his wife. He had noticed it when he had caught his wife proudly displaying the other man's piece of jewelry.

In his boundless rage, he had set off with his newly acquired Falcion to confront the other man. He found him in his house, writing a letter to his mistress, describing in flowery detail what he would do to her the next time they met. The latter, cornered by his betrayed husband, could not talk his way out of it. Finally, he admitted that he had been in love with the other man's wife since childhood and, encouraged by this confession, he added that he would fight for her favor. They chased each other through the adulterer's house. He was horrified to discover that he had exchanged his old sword, which his father had left him, for the piece of jewelry that now adorned his mistress' loins.

In his unbridled rage, the betrayed man finally slew the adulterer. However, when he returned to his wife and told her about what he had done, he was not welcomed with open arms, as he had perhaps expected. No. His wife, in her grief, confessed to him that she had never loved him. She had only married him because her father had demanded it of her at the time. He had been the better prospect and that had tipped the scales. Now that her one true love was dead, she also no longer wanted to live and threw herself into his falcion.

Lured by the shouting and the argument, the village guards found the betrayed widower, the bloody weapon still in his hand next to his wife's body. Assuming that he had killed his wife in anger and since he was still armed, the guards rushed at him with all their might and killed him on the spot. If only he had been wearing his armor, which he had exchanged for the falcion, he would probably have held out long enough to clear up the misunderstanding, which became self-explanatory when they found the piece of jewelry and countless love letters.

There was also the little girl who had swapped her mother's recipe book for a beautiful red dress from a distant kingdom in the north. She was so happy with the dress that she didn't want to take it off. The village jokingly called her the red Zora. At first she didn't even realize it, and as no one in the village really knew anything about medicine, no one else noticed either. The little girl had an allergic reaction to the dye in the dress and by constantly wearing the dress, she was also constantly exposed to the dye.

Over time, itchy pustules formed and the girl began to scratch herself sore all over her body. The lack of hygiene and knowledge meant that the sores eventually became infected and the girl lay down with a fever. Her mother, ignorant and far from any healer, asked the priest for help. He was unable to help and his prayers were not answered. The girl eventually died of her infection. If she had not given the book with the recipes to the merchant in exchange for the dress, the mother could have found a simple recipe in it. It described how she could have made an antibiotic from some locally available mushrooms that could have saved her daughter's life and, subsequently, the lives of many villagers. But they only discovered this the following winter.

And why hadn't the priest's prayers helped? After all, he was a man of God and the congregation were devout believers. Perhaps it had something to do with the object he had exchanged with the merchant at the end of the day. The priest, a fervent advocate of the idea that people should live in asceticism and not indulge in earthly desires, had found a special manual on the merchant's wagon. Written by monks in the Far East, it described in minute detail all the possible techniques and positions that the inclined person was capable of. It was the Tao of Love (illustrated, expanded edition). In his greed to own this work, which was outlawed in these parts, he had offered a sacred relic from the shrine of his church in exchange.

Only the gods themselves knew what would happen to the village until it regained the favor of the gods.

And the man with the oyster knife. Well, he quickly realized that it really was a great oyster knife, but without oysters, it was completely useless to him. He had traded his expensive seed for a completely worthless object. The lack of yield from this field would cost him dearly the next season.

The blacksmith, who had taken on the horses and the wagon for some exotic ores, also felt cheated in the end. The value of the ores should not be underestimated. There was no question about that, but he couldn't work them. His forge was unable to produce a fire hot enough to melt and process the ores.

Only the innkeeper, whose food was now even tastier thanks to the vinegar and who for a short time had very exotic ingredients for his dishes, rejoiced and was convinced that the exchange, even if it seemed unfavorable to him at first, had only brought him advantages. He was just a little angry that the merchant had taken the idol.

...

However, the two travelers did not notice any of this. They were already far away from the village when these tragedies took place. Most of the time they traveled silently along the roads on their way to the next village.

It was only on the third day, when the young woman woke up in the morning, that she felt the urge to speak to the old man. Like every day, she got ready in the morning. She had almost gotten used to the cold water from the barrel. When she had washed and dressed, she helped herself to the food box and had a hearty breakfast. She knew the old man would sleep a little longer. She sat on the coachman's seat and watched the sunrise. She enjoyed the early rays of sunshine on her face and watched the meadow begin to steam as the sun evaporated the morning dew. She looked over at the horses, who were lying huddled together in the grass a little away from the wagon, still asleep. She smiled. It was a terribly beautiful idyll and she was almost sad that she would be disturbing it later. But it had to be done. It couldn't go on like this. Now that she had traveled with the old man for some time and had seen how he acted and what the consequences were, she had to intervene. That had been her mission from the beginning, that had been the reason why she had taken possession of this body. Not that the previous owner of this body would have had anything against it...

It was a while before she heard the familiar sound that announced the old merchant's awakening. She heard him groan almost pitifully as he rose from his sleeping place. She almost felt for him when she heard his joints crack. Finally, he came out of his tent a little disheveled and looked around.

"Oooh... I'll have to think of something else... I can't do it like this anymore..."

He complained about the pain in his back and tried to stretch. He slowly came forward to the coachman's seat and looked up at her.

"Have you been awake long?"

He finally asked quietly and the young woman nodded.

"A little while. Listen, we need to talk to each other. This charade has to end."

Her voice sounded calm and tired. The old man smiled an eerily furrowed smile, but he nodded. Slowly, he climbed onto the coachman's seat and sat down next to her. She handed him a piece of cheese, which he gratefully accepted. He bit into it with relish and chewed thoughtfully. It gave him a little time to prepare his explanations and arguments. He was sure he knew exactly what was coming next.

"I know who you really are."

The young woman said calmly. The old man nodded. He swallowed.

"Yes, Gabriel, I know. I know who you are too. But why are you here?"

His voice suddenly sounded completely different. Above all, it sounded from everywhere and nowhere at once. The old man hadn't even moved his lips. The young woman grinned.

"Now Mammon, why do you think I'll be there? Father's not happy about you constantly causing trouble around here."

She was still speaking through her body. Her voice remained that of her human body and was completely calm. There was no anger in it, no reproach. She was simply stating the facts. The old man remained seated calmly. Mammon's voice was everywhere.

"Well, he's early to think of that. I've been here since... wait for it... forever, always on the move. And now all of a sudden it's a problem? Let me guess, one of my clients was one of his prophets?"

There was mockery and denial in his voice. But Mammon didn't really sound angry either. It was more like forbidding a small child to continue playing with matches. The young woman turned to him. Her face reflected something like annoyance.

"That doesn't matter. You know that Father usually waits a while before he intervenes. In any case, he's decided that enough is enough. He sent me to show you the error of your ways."

Now the old man turned to her. His grin seemed somehow out of this world. Mammon laughed in the background.

"My faults? In my ways? I haven't made any mistakes. Everything I've ever done has had a purpose. Everything that has ever happened has had a purpose. My purpose. And what's wrong with giving people what they want. I have never harmed anyone. I wasn't involved in any of the tragedies that happened after my visits."

He sounded a little more indignant now. The mockery was gone from his voice. The young woman smiled. It was a joyless, cold smile.

"No, you never got your hands dirty yourself. But you knew exactly what would happen and you accepted it. You manipulated these people and you have countless people on your conscience because of it."

The old man rolled his eyes and waved them away.

"Don't give me that old chestnut. I have only given people exactly what father calls 'free will'. I have not forced any of them to enter into a trade. And unlike some of our brothers and sisters, I didn't even demand their souls. I merely made them an offer. A fair exchange. An item that has no value to me in exchange for an item that has no value to them. You can't hold me responsible for the fact that they accept the trade every time. Not for that!"

The young woman shook her head vigorously. Her face reflected something like anger. The old man simply grinned.

"No, Mammon. That's not how free will works. As long as they don't know the consequences of their actions, they can't really make a free decision. As long as you withhold necessary information from them, they can only make an ill-informed decision. It is not fair to withhold this information from them. To let them run into an open knife."

The old man wagged his finger.

"No, Gabriel. It works the same way. This way and no other. No one knows all the consequences of their actions. Not even our old man. And you could have intervened in the village three days ago at any time. You could have saved every single one of those poor lunatics. But that's right. You don't intervene. Earth is a neutral zone. This is not the battlefield. Bullshit. You know as well as I do that ever since Father let us fall, this Earth has been the battlefield. We just agreed not to fight with our true powers. But father has tried to win this earth for himself just as often as the Morning Star has tried. No one here is innocent."

For the first time, she showed more than minimal emotion. She stood up and for a moment it seemed as if she wanted to slap him. The old man simply remained seated and smiled.

"You know very well that I'm not allowed to intervene directly. We have promised not to influence people directly. And unlike you, who are constantly manipulating people. We do hold up to that promise. And don't even get me started on the fact that father let you fall. You didn't want it any other way. He has repeatedly asked you to repent, to change your ways and to return to him. It was you who slapped his hand away time and time again."

The old man leaned back and had a relaxed expression on his face. Meanwhile, Mammon's voice sharpened its tone considerably.

"We slapped his hand away? Who was it that pushed us away because he wanted to take care of his 'creation'. His creation, which we deserve credit for creating. His creation, which he placed above his children, including you. When we demanded our reward and recognition for our part in this work, he let us fall. And when we rebelled, he cast us out. So who slapped whose hand away here. And you don't seriously believe that just because I change my ways now, he'll take me back. No, even you can't be that naive."

Now the slap resounded across the meadow as Gabriel could no longer hold back. The smug grin on the old man's face remained as he slowly turned his head back to her. The handprint was clearly visible.

"Father sent me explicitly to make you this offer, but I'm beginning to think you're not worth it. You don't want to be saved. Let me tell you. Father won't wait much longer. You know what will happen if he intervenes himself. You remember the last time he did that."

Now the old man began to laugh. His laughter sounded strangely distorted with the echo of Mammon's voice in the background.

"Oh yes. I remember. Belial had done a great job of inciting those poor lunatics to build that tower. And when they had almost done it, father came down and scattered them, took away their language and made it even easier for us. Or do you remember the story of the Flood... "I wash the earth clean. All sin shall be washed away." Don't make me laugh. Even Uriel was against it back then. He should have listened to him."

The old man calmed down again and the young woman just shook her head. She sat down again and looked at the old man sympathetically.

"You poor demon. You understand so little. He only did all those things to show you the error of your ways. To show you that no matter how many times you corrupt people, he will take that corruption away and start again if he has to. Each time he has reached out to you afterward and given you the opportunity to return to his bosom. Of course he is still angry. He is displeased that in all these years, centuries and millennia, you still haven't learned that he is all-powerful and that you can't win. He could just wipe you out. You know he already has. But he doesn't want to. You are still important and dear to him and he doesn't want to lose you completely. Open your eyes, explore your heart, come back to us."

The young woman reached out a hand to him. The old man looked at the outstretched hand. He hesitated.

"It's not that simple Gabriel. And you know that. I, along with our siblings, fell eons ago. We are so far away from the light of our father that it is not easy for us to step out of the shadows. Even if he really means this offer, I don't know if I can accept it. Not without the others. And you know the Morning Star will never accept such an offer. He was the first. Even before his son. He has fallen the deepest. He will never accept the offer."

There was something like sadness in Mammon's voice. Sadness and resignation. Carefully, the old man raised his hands and closed the young woman's hand, pushing it back towards her. The young woman offered no resistance. She looked sadly at her hand and the old man's hands.

"You know what will happen if father intervenes this time. Don't you? He promised. And he's never broken his word."

The old man nodded his head prudently.

"It's not too late. Correct your ways. Return to the right path."

She continued before slowly standing up and getting down from the coachman's seat. The old man watched as she slowly took a few steps away from the carriage and finally just fell over. He raised his hand and wanted to say something, but hesitated. He knew Gabriel was no longer there. He slowly lowered his arm and looked at his hands. They were old.

...

Epilogue

How old could this body be? He did not know. 75? 80 years? Could well be. He paid little attention to the bodies he took over. He always knew that there was a supply. That was the good thing about humans, there were so many of them. He tried to remember how many he had already possessed. Hundreds? No. Thousands? Probably thousands. He'd been playing this role for ages and most of his bodies didn't last very long. It had taken him a while to understand what it took to keep a body alive longer. He had developed the chest to keep his supplies fresh, so at least he didn't have to worry about that too.

He thought about what Gabriel had said. He knew his father had threatened that if he had to intervene one more time, it would be the end. He would make "tabula rasa" as he called it. He had never believed that it would ever come to this. He took a deep breath and stood up. It was time to harness the horses.

He climbed down from the coachman's seat and called his horses to him. They came running to him faithfully and waited patiently to be greeted and to have their harnesses put on. As he did every day, he led them to the wagon and harnessed them. It was a well-rehearsed dance that they already knew in their sleep.

As he sat back on the coachman's seat, he looked again at the body lying in the grass just a few meters from the wagon. He looked up at the sky, his expression agonized. He took a deep breath and got off the buckboard again. He walked around the wagon and picked up the shovel.

It took him quite a while to bury her. It was only a shallow grave, but it felt like the right thing to do. As he stood in front of the grave, he looked at the small hill and thought again about the discussion. He was too old to change his ways now. He had been doing what he was doing for... well forever.

He went back to his wagon and stowed the shovel away.

It was still a long way to the next village.

...

In another place, a figure was kneeling that seemed to insist entirely on light. Her eyes were fixed on the ground and she waited patiently for HIM.

"Arise my child. It's good to have you home again."

The voice seemed to come from everywhere. It sounded good-natured and patient. The figure rose in a slow but flowing movement.

"I am also pleased to be here again, father."

The figure's voice sounded reverent but joyful.

"Tell me, do you think he can still be saved?"

The figure seemed to be thinking.

"Father, if anyone knows this, it's you, isn't it?"

A good-natured old laugh rang out from all around.

"Good answer, but in fact I'm not sure. My son had spoken out for the fallen. He made me promise that if even one of them could still be saved, they would not be lost."

The voice paused. When it sounded again, it sounded very thoughtful.

"Mammon is the one of them who is most likely to return to the path of virtue. But he's been among humans for so long that he's almost one of them. I don't know if he can still find his way back."

The figure nodded, but raised a finger.

"He buried my body. And he's still thinking about our conversation. I don't think he's completely lost yet. There is hope."

The figure explained and turned to a large portal that materialized behind him. It opened silently and another light figure entered the room.

"We will see. There is still time. Uriel has not yet given his consent."

The voice from the background spoke up again.

"I will shine my light on him and I will watch him. I will see... and then... then I will make...

my judgment...