A Heart Made for Bargaining: A Short Tale for a Dark Evening

By Jennifer M. Baldwin

Jack Lightning wants to know his future, and he's willing to bargain with thieves, hags, and monsters to get it. But once his fate is secure, what bargains will come back to haunt him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer M. Baldwin
• Release date: May 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201182649

Book preview

A Heart Made for Bargaining

(a short tale for a dark evening)

Copyright 2021 Jennifer M. Baldwin

JACK LIGHTNING FELT the mists of morning against his pale skin. He was sneaking through the swamp in what should have been a messy business, but Jack loved the muck. Not too long ago, he had inherited a pair of tall leather boots, tough as seal-skin, black as tar, so it was a pleasure to let them slosh in the inky mire. And the swamp was the shortest way. Jack always loved a short cut.

Quiet, Twitch, he said to the black and white stray inside his knapsack. The poor mangy cat was meowing nervously. Its green-yellow eyes didn’t like the water curdling below. Water was the enemy. Jack scratched the cat’s head just behind the ears, but Twitch didn’t like it and pulled away, sinking back down into the darkness of the knapsack.

We’re almost there, said Jack. He slid his finger and thumb along the wide brim of his suede hat. The battered old thing had been with him from the time he was just a skinny urchin on the docks of Amberstone. He knew it was starting to come apart at the seems, and he knew it stunk of sweat and grease, but he couldn’t part with it. It was as much a part of himself as his skin or his teeth. Besides, it kept him warm in the cold, wet mush of this swamp. And it kept his eyes shaded. Better for tricking. Never let your enemies or your marks see your eyes. And he had the biggest mark of his life on the other side of this swamp.

The Old Heron was waiting. It was still hard for Jack to believe that the time had finally come. He allowed his left hand to wade softly into his trouser pocket, feeling the orb inside. What a price I paid to get this one, eh? he thought. The orb was smooth but irregular in shape — it was almost spherical, but somehow one half had decided to bulge a little more than the other, giving it the impression of a globe that had gone saggy. Jack didn’t take it out of his pocket, but he knew that by this time it was already glowing. The Heron would be happy. The orb was getting ripe.

The murky water was getting deeper and deeper with every step. Soon it splashed up around Jack’s waist, forcing him to adjust his knapsack so that it hung across his shoulders, away from the swirling blackness below. Twitch wouldn’t appreciate getting wet, and Jack didn’t fancy facing the Heron without his lucky cat. For the Old Heron — fierce, battle-scarred, and bitter — hated only one