Just a Little Trillion-Year Soul-Binding Contract

The Sleeper—one of the famed Protectors of Altador and a member of its illustrious council, not that the other council members seemed to appreciate her much at the moment—looked up from the scroll on her desk to the three beaming dark faeries standing in front of her.

“Soooooo,” said Vanity. “What do you think?”

The Sleeper looked back down at the parchment Malice, Vanity, and Spite had just presented her with.

We DO HEREBY DECREE a bond of commitment, allegiance, and sisterhood to that of our rightful monarch...

Thunder rumbled outside the Sleeper’s office window, and she wondered if the Dark Faerie Sisters had waited for suitably-dramatic weather before bringing her this contract.

“I have several questions,” said the Sleeper, carefully.

“Sure!” chirped Spite. “Ask us anything you want!”

“We’ll answer whatever you ask,” said Malice.

“As stated in the contract,” said Vanity, “we’re bound to follow whatever orders you give.”

“The contract,” the Sleeper echoed. “Yes. That.”

Before the three younger dark faeries had come barging in, the Sleeper had been making notes on some new legislation Gordos was proposing. It was late at night, which was the Sleeper’s favored time to work. For one thing, she was less likely to be interrupted.

Given the dullness of the task, she hadn’t really minded the sisters’ interruption a few moments earlier, but she certainly hadn’t been expecting this.

She inhaled slowly, trying to figure out where to even start.

“I… certainly appreciate your sense of loyalty,” said the Sleeper, “but this is all… it seems a bit much.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Malice asked.

“Well,” said the Sleeper, “the part where you state that your souls will serve me, even beyond death, is… it’s quite a commitment, don’t you think?”

“Of course it is,” said Spite. “As Mom always used to say, if you’re going to kick a Kadoatie, aim for the treetops.”

The Sleeper blinked. “Not a turn of phrase I’ve heard before,” she said, “but I suppose I can follow the metaphor.”

She wondered, not for the first time, where exactly the Dark Faerie Sisters had come from.

With their pale blue skin, blue-black hair, and a full four wings apiece, they resembled each other enough to make the Sleeper suspect they shared a mother, but as they hadn’t offered up that information, she hadn’t pressed.

They’d approached her out of the blue a few years ago, introducing themselves as Malice, Vanity, and Spite. Those were odd names for dark faeries, so the Sleeper assumed they’d chosen those names themselves, and they’d never offered a matronymic, either.

The sisters had told her they’d arrived in Altador not too long ago, then asked if she might be in need of a few loyal assistants.

Despite their total lack of references or experience with clerical work, the Sleeper had accepted.

Her secretary had, at the time, recently quit. He’d claimed he had to leave the position due to “personal matters,” but she suspected that it had something to do with the Sleeper’s ongoing… disagreements with the rest of Altador’s council.

He’d worked for her for nearly a decade. She supposed it shouldn’t matter all that much. After all, she’d lived for centuries and had seen plenty of staff come and go.

Still. It had been quite a change when he’d left, all of a sudden.

So the Sleeper had figured she might as well give the trio of dark faeries a shot, and she’d been… well, she supposed they’d done all right. They more-or-less did what the Sleeper asked of them in a mostly-timely fashion, though the Sleeper got the sense that the trio’s true talents weren’t necessarily in clerical work.

But what the Sleeper appreciated most was that all three three sisters seemed eager to lend a sympathetic ear whenever the Sleeper complained about her fellow council members and the state of the city. Even if they’d done nothing else, the Sleeper would have been willing to keep them on her staff for that alone.

Though she’d hardly expected those cathartic gossip sessions to lead to the rather intense contract now sitting on her desk.

“Even so,” said the Sleeper, “as glad as I’ve been to have the three of you around, you’ve only worked for me for a few years.”

“They’ve been pretty great years, though,” said Spite.

“Yeah,” said Vanity. “You don’t overwork us, the pay isn’t bad at all, and you almost always let us have weekends off.”

“But between you and me,” said Malice, “it’s been getting a little boring. Not to rush you or anything, but are you planning on taking over the city anytime soon?”

The Sleeper straightened in her chair. “What makes you think I’m planning anything of the sort?”

The words came out more harshly than she’d intended. For all that she’d been having… thoughts along that line, she also didn’t want to invite any extra suspicion.

Not when the others among the Council had grown increasingly distant.

Even Altador. Even him.

“Oh, please,” said Spite, perching herself on the edge of the Sleeper’s desk. “We know the signs.”

“Proposing ideas to your fellow leaders, only to have them rejected,” said Malice. “Getting into arguments. Pushing away people you were once close to. Turning down invitations to gatherings that your peers are attending, then brooding the whole time they’re gone.”

“Not to mention the fact that just the other day you said, and I quote,” said Vanity, “‘Sometimes I think we gave the crown to the wrong person.’”

“Ah,” said the Sleeper. “Yes. I did say that, didn’t I.”

She’d become a bit loose-tongued, it seemed, after finding people willing to listen.

“Don’t worry,” said Spite. “We’re not gonna tell anyone. In fact, we think it’s great!”

“And we want in,” said Malice. She tapped the contract with one nail. “Hence the contract.”

“Hence the contract,” the Sleeper echoed. The outright-treasonous contract with the our rightful monarch bit. Not that she was about to tell on the sisters, either.

The Sleeper looked back down at the contract. “Hm. I see you’ve decided I’m now your sister.”

“Yep!” said Spite. “We’ve always wanted a big sister!”

“Well, one of us has, anyways,” said Vanity.

“Technically,” said Malice, glancing towards Spite, “I’m already your big sister.”

“By like thirty seconds!” Spite protested. “That doesn’t count.”

“You’re just mad you hatched last,” said Vanity.

“Wait, are the three of you really triplets?” the Sleeper asked.

“Yes,” said Malice. “Our… well, I don’t think we need to delve too deep into the past. But we were all created at the same time, more or less.”

Triplets were almost unheard of for faeries. With Neopets, triplets sometimes happened unexpectedly, but faeries typically created their own daughters with a spell that produced only a single faerie egg which would, shortly thereafter, hatch into an adorable faerie larva.

The spell could be modified to create more at once, but who in their right mind would want to raise three ravenous magic-eating young faeries at the same time? Surely that would tax even the most patient, magically-powerful mother.

“Who is your mother, anyways?” the Sleeper asked.

The sisters glanced at each other, looking strangely shifty.

“That’s… not important,” said Malice.

“Normally I’d agree,” said the Sleeper, who wasn’t exactly fond of discussing her own past. “But while I’m provisionally willing to have a few new sisters, that seems like it would make your mother mine, as well. And I don’t need another one of those.”

“Oh. Um,” said Vanity. “That won’t—I mean, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Yeah,” Spite added. “I don’t think our mom wants any more daughters. Three’s just the right number for her.”

“Good,” said the Sleeper. “I’d hate to have some stranger come flying in one day to ambush me with a hug and ask if I’ve been eating enough.”

“That definitely won’t be a problem,” said Malice. “In fact, after this, I think the three of us younger sisters should go write our mother a letter asking her to stay as far away from Altador as possible.”

There were clearly some relationship issues going on here that the Sleeper wasn’t privy to. But she wasn’t sure she really wanted to be. She supposed people with living parents were entitled to have a complicated relationship with them.

And at the moment, the Sleeper had more immediate things to concern herself with.

Such as the rest of this contract.

“Even if, theoretically, I were to want to make myself the sole ruler of Altador,” said the Sleeper, “which I would obviously, in this hypothetical situation, rename… what’s this about ‘everlasting darkness’?”

“Come on,” said Spite. “We’ve heard what you’ve been saying—about how you want to ‘spread the glory’ of Altador. You’re thinking about world conquest, right?”

“Hypothetically, I might be,” said the Sleeper.

“Then you should do something about the sun,” said Vanity. “It’s terrible for my skin.”

“And it gets too hot in the summer,” Spite added.

“And it would cause widespread panic, which would be so fun to watch,” said Malice.

“Unfortunately,” said the Sleeper, “we do need a certain amount of sun to make the crops grow. And as powerful as I am, I don’t think I’m capable of bringing eternal night to Neopia.”

“Maybe not now,” said Malice. “But with this little contract…” She tapped a nail on the parchment. “You now have three talented, unquestionably-obedient servants who will help you on your rise to power. In your service, we’ll find a way to blot out the sun itself if that’s your desire.”

“Which just leads to another question,” said the Sleeper. “This contract doesn’t just have you swearing to obey my every command—which is nice, don’t get me wrong—but swearing your very souls to me, even beyond death itself.”

“Well, yeah,” said Spite. “If we ever screw up really badly—not that that’s likely!—we want to make sure you have incentive to bring us back.”

“Even if just as a revenant or specter or something like that,” said Malice. “Being a terrifying undead creature of darkness doesn’t sound that bad.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Vanity. “I like this body. I’ve put way too much effort into my skincare routine to wind up as a zombie and have my skin start falling off. Like, ew.”

“I’ll try to avoid having any of you wind up as ghosts, zombies, zombie ghosts, or anything of the sort,” said the Sleeper.

“Thanks,” said Vanity. “You’ve been a pretty decent boss so far. That’s one of the reasons we decided to write up this contract.”

“And you’ve been pretty decent assistants,” said the Sleeper. “Still, you’re offering me a trillion-year term of service. Doesn’t that seem like rather a lot?”

“Well, duh,” said Spite. “You can’t swear your undying loyalty to somebody for just six weeks or something. That’d be silly.”

“Yes,” said the Sleeper, “I suppose that would be. Still, a trillion years?” Would Neopia—or its sun—even exist a trillion years from now?

“We thought about saying ‘for all eternity,’” said Malice, “but we thought it would be best to have an end date, just to be safe. After the trillion years, we can either renew the contract or part ways. I think that’s reasonable.”

“Of course,” said the Sleeper, looking back down at the contract. “Perfectly reasonable. Just… why me?”

“You’ve been pretty good to us,” said Malice.

“And we think you’re going places,” said Vanity.

“So we want you to take us with you,” said Spite. “To take over this city, to conquer the world, to blow up the sun—”

“We’re not blowing up the sun,” said the Sleeper.

“Fine, to not blow up the sun,” Spite said. “Anyways, we want to help you succeed so we can share your success.”

“Also, our mother’s spent years bugging us to make something of ourselves,” said Malice.

“And she wonders why we don’t visit more often,” said Vanity.

“Anyways, we’ve been looking for someone like you for a long time,” said Malice. “Someone powerful who longs for yet more power. Someone who could use the assistance of three faithful followers, and who will properly reward those three for their aid.”

“The proper reward is important,” said Spite. “That’s why we put it in the contract.”

“I saw that,” said the Sleeper.

For through Her we shall receive unbridled power and the birthright to do as we so shall please forevermore...

“And the best part is,” said Vanity, “you don’t have to worry about us ever betraying you. We can’t. This contract binds us, body and soul, to your service.”

“There’s really nothing worse for a newly-crowned usurper than to start suspecting everyone around them of plotting their downfall,” said Spite. “It’s one of the classic ways a ruler can cause their own downfall.”

“See, there are a few options,” said Malice. “Either they’re right, and the people close to them are plotting their downfall so the ruler has to get rid of them, or they’re wrong, but the ruler is so suspicious they get rid of them anyways.”

“And then they’re all alone,” said Vanity, strangely somber. “No one to help them. No one to tell them they’re about to make a fatal error. No one to save them from the next knife aimed at their back.”

“We’ve seen it happen plenty of times,” said Spite.

“What do you mean, you’ve seen it happen?” said the Sleeper.

“Um, I mean we’ve read about it,” Spite replied. “In history books.”

“Our mother was, ah, really big on history,” Vanity said. “And usurpers. And other people who want to be in charge, but who turn out to not be as good at it as they’d thought.”

“But obviously we don’t want anything like that to happen to you,” said Malice. “Hence the contract.”

“Even if you can’t trust everyone, you’ll always have an inner circle you know will never, ever betray you,” said Vanity.

“For a trillion years, at least,” said the Sleeper.

“Like I said,” said Malice, “we can always renew it in a trillion years if things go well.”

The corners of the Sleepers lips curved up slightly. “Yes. I suppose we can. Though I do have one more question… that bit towards the end, where you say ‘With these sips of ambrosia and unbreakable contract, we gain ichor.’ What did you mean by that?”

“Well…” said Vanity. “Ichor’s like… this mythical thing, you know? What people have instead of blood when they’re not just people, but something more. Together, the three of us are strong, but we’re just three faeries, in the end.”

“And I’m just a single faerie,” the Sleeper said.

“You’re not, though,” said Malice. “You’re one of the legendary heroes who founded this city. You have a shrine built in your name where people light candles and whisper their hopes.”

All of the Protectors of Altador had shrines set up throughout the city, though the King was quite firm that they weren’t shrines to the heroes they depicted but the noble principles those heroes sought to embody. Even so, it wasn’t uncommon for people to leave candles, small tokens of their esteem, or letters of their gratitude at the shrines.

These days, the Sleeper’s shrine seemed to have rather less than anyone else’s. The last time her shrine had gotten any real attention had been decades ago, the last time the city had been at war.

Her people had appreciated her then, when her mighty magic had helped drive back their foes. In those days her shrine had been covered with candles, flowers, and notes singing her praises.

No longer. These days, she was lucky if anyone besides her bothered to keep her shrine clear of dust and debris.

“You’re not just a person,” said Vanity. “You’re a legend. And we want to be a part of that legend. The ichor’s a metaphor, mostly, but… we know there are ways a person can become something even beyond a legend. Maybe we’ll all find it together.”

The Sleeper wondered, briefly, what “beyond a legend” was supposed to mean before Spite piped up again.

“Even if we don’t,” said Spite, “we’ll have made our mark on history. We’ll become legends, just like you. No one will ever forget the Dark Faerie Sisters and the one they serve.”

“Speaking of which,” said Vanity, “Right now people call you the Sleeper, but have you ever considered picking a different title? Something a little more intimidating?”

“I’ve thought about it, yes,” said the Sleeper.

“Great! Let us know if you want any suggestions,” said Vanity.

“I’ll give that some thought, as well,” said the Sleeper. In truth, she already had an idea in mind, but... to start using it would mean leaving part of her old self behind.

She’d been the Sleeper for so long that, despite everything, the thought gave her some pause.

But maybe it was time.

As sudden as this all seemed, and as suspicious as the Sleeper might otherwise have been at being offered something that seemed too good to be true, the Sleeper could see no loopholes in the contract. The three sisters really did seem willing to bind themselves to serve her for the next trillion years.

They’d placed no conditions under which they could break that contract nor reservations by which they could shirk any orders she gave. They could be at death’s door or beyond it, and they’d still have to drag themselves out of their sickbed or actual grave to be at the Sleeper’s beck and call.

These three faeries, who she’d only known for a few years, already trusted her infinitely more than the other founders of Altador who’d known her for centuries.

The Sleeper had won her seat among Altador’s founders by slaying a monster to save Altador’s life, and she’d proven her worth, again and again, by using her magic to destroy monsters and strike down the city’s enemies. But these days it felt like the others wanted her to keep her mouth shut and fade into the background until they saw some use for her.

She wanted to make the city strong—to make it safe. But the other founders wouldn’t listen to her when she explained the obvious way to do that, which was for the city to start annexing its neighbors, and then their neighbors’ neighbors, and so on, until the whole world was their domain.

Sure, it had been decades since the last real threat from a neighboring city-state, but this peace couldn’t last forever. There would always, always be another monster to threaten everything they’d built unless she could shatter the monster’s eggs before they hatched.

Only no one else seemed to understand that.

Once, Altador had looked at her and seen a hero.

But now, whenever she put forth her plans to make her city the most powerful force in Neopia, her fellow Founders looked at her as if she might be a monster.

But not these three. Malice, Vanity, and Spite looked at her with as much admiration as if she’d invented the concept of night itself, offering their service and their sisterhood.

How could she possibly refuse?

She’d been unhappy for quite some time, now. Something had to change. Something had to break.

And if something had to break, maybe it was time for her to start breaking things.

With the sisters’ help, she could turn her idle dreams of taking Altador’s throne into reality.

Her three new soul-sworn minions could be depended upon for support. They’d demonstrated that already.

And as for the other Protectors of Altador…

Well, with a few little memory-rewriting spells and some moderate mind control, she could ensure they were all just as loyal to her as Malice, Vanity, and Spite planned to be.

“Very well,” said the Darkest Faerie, smiling, “I’ll accept your generous offer. Where do you need me to sign?”

“Oh, you don’t need to sign,” said Spite. “It’s already a done deal. We’re yours for the next trillion years.”

“Ah,” said the Darkest Faerie. That was a little unsettling, actually, but she could hardly complain. “In any case, I think you’re right. It’s high time we start working on putting the rightful monarch on this city’s throne… and after that, the rest of Neopia.”

The gleeful grins on the sisters’ faces and the worshipful look in their eyes told the Darkest Faerie she was making the right choice.

~

Sometime later and someplace else, a faerie (who was somewhat more than just a faerie) received a letter.

There was little question of who had sent it. There were only three possibilities, and those three tended to do everything together, including letter-writing.

The faerie opened the letter, read it, and smiled. She was pleased enough that she opened up a certain heavily-enchanted bottle and read the letter to the inhabitant, who seemed to appreciate it as much as she appreciated anything that gave her a few moments of relief from her solitary confinement.

Then, once the faerie had sealed her prisoner back up and put the bottle away, she began writing her response.

My dear daughters,

I’m more than pleased to hear that you’ve started on a plan for world domination.

I’d worried that letting the three of you witness how often ambition leads to ruin had suppressed that drive in you, so I’m delighted to know that isn’t the case. You needn’t fear I’ll think less of you for choosing a position a step away from the spotlight; after all, I’ve seen more than enough rulers rise and fall to know that the throne isn’t always the best place to be.

A trillion years is a touch long to swear your souls to anyone, but I know I’ve always taught you that if you’re going to do anything, it’s best to do it thoroughly. I’ll trust that you know what you’re doing. And if it turns out that you don’t, I also trust that you know better than to expect me to save you. As much as I love the three of you, my girls, I can only act according to my nature.

Altador seems a fascinating land, though your uncles and I never found it quite suitable for our purposes in the past. It’s developed a bit more potential recently, but since you’ve asked that we not get involved, I’m certain I can convince your uncles that we shouldn’t interfere in your new patron’s affairs. (Though we shall be watching with great interest.)

You may rest assured that if your newly-chosen patron falls, as so many would-be conquerors do, her failure will be entirely of her own making.

As confident as you seem in your new “sister,” I advise you to prepare for that possibility.

Still, as busy as I’m sure the three of you will be, I hope you’ll find time to visit sometime soon. Perhaps around the winter solstice? If you’re amenable, I thought it might be entertaining to let your original mother out of her confinement for a few minutes. That way, she can properly beg your forgiveness for trying to trade you for her own survival.

I can’t deny your sweet little faces did convince me to spare her life when she, like so many others, failed me and your uncles. And she seems to have so little hope these days that I’m drawn to offer the possibility that, someday, she might earn her freedom. But it’s up to you, of course. Either way, I intend to keep her in that bottle for a good, long while to come.

Do take care, and have fun with your plans for global conquest. Your uncles and I wish you victory, abundance, and glorious vengeance against any foes that may stand in your way.

Your loving mother,

Ambition

     The End.