“Kara! C’mon, Kara! Speak to me!”
Thermal Draft continued muttering under her breath as she slowly backed away from the Red Man – or rather, the “contract devil,” as the goddess had called it – without taking her eyes off of the creature.
She’d been nervous before, and Kara’s soothing voice had helped to take the edge off of her anxiety, but being so abruptly cut off had immediately reversed that. While Drafty still had mixed feelings about having been turned into a doppelganger, she couldn’t deny that she’d grown used to having the goddess’s voice in her head. For the creature in front of her to not only detect that Kara had been speaking with her, something not even Lex had been able to do, but actually sever the line of communication was enough to leave Drafty on the edge of panic-
“Now now,” cooed the contract devil, still looking at her with a wide smile. “There’s no need to panic. I just wanted us to be able to talk one-on-one without anyone else interrupting. Surely there’s no harm in that?”
Swallowing, Thermal Draft came to a stop, but couldn’t bring herself to relax any more than that. “What did you do to Kara?”
The contract devil burst out laughing at that, one hand going to his stomach as he shook with mirth. “Oh, aren’t you precious?” he snickered, his free hand coming up to wipe his eyes. “Are you really under the impression that I just reached out and muzzled a deity with a wave of my hand?”
Despite her tension, Drafty could feel herself starting to calm down just a little. The laid-back nature of the contract devil was completely at odds with the creature’s fearsome appearance, and it was beginning to erode her fear. “…yes?”
The red-skinned being looked at her for a long moment, then burst into a fresh round of laughter, his entire body quivering such that the scrolls draped from his horns shook, filling the clearing with the sound of rustling paper. “Do you mind if I mention this to my colleagues over in the Ministry of Immortal Relations?” he chuckled when his laughter finally began to trail off. “They’ll absolutely bust a gut when they hear it.”
“Um, o-okay.” This conversation was growing weirder by the minute – this thing was talking like it was some sort of office worker rather than a hideous monster – but that was still preferable to having it try to eat her or infect her with whatever had happened to Solvei’s kin. Licking her lips, Drafty decided to take a chance. “Listen. All, um, joking aside…why can’t I hear Kara anymore?”
“Ah, yes.” Clearing his throat, the contract devil stood up straighter, hands idly smoothing the scrolls draped over his horns. “The simplest explanation is that I’ve rendered you telepathically deaf. Completely harmless, I assure you. I have no doubt that your deity is still speaking to you, it’s just that you can’t hear what she’s saying.”
Drafty frowned at that, but before she had a chance to open her mouth the contract devil held a hand toward her, palm out. “Now, I know what you’re going to say, but I only did it because I didn’t want her filling your head with all sorts of prejudiced opinions about me. I mean, calling me a ‘contract devil’?” For the first time, a pout crossed the creature’s lips, his arms crossing over his chest indignantly. “That’s a slur, you know.”
A lifetime of having been taught to be considerate of others made Drafty cringe slightly at that, unable to help but feel embarrassed at having used that term in her thoughts just now. “Oh, well, I’m sure Kara was just…um…” Realizing how ridiculous it sounded to be apologizing on behalf of a goddess, she switched topics. “So, if you don’t mind my asking, what are you?”
“I,” replied the creature, placing a hand to his chest and closing his eyes as he raised his nose into the air, “am a phistophilus.” He held that pose for just a moment before his grin reappeared, shooting Drafty a wink. “Sounds haughty and pretentious, doesn’t it?”
Drafty couldn’t help but giggle. “Maybe a tiny bit.”
Dropping the pose, the contract devil – or rather, phistophilus – shrugged congenially. “Of course, I prefer to go by my given name.”
“Which is?” asked Drafty, recognizing the prompt.
Sweeping one arm out to the side and placing the other across its torso, the red-skinned creature inclined its head. This time, the gesture seemed genuine rather than jocular. “Prevarius, at your service.” He held the position for a few moments before raising his head, his impish grin returning. “I’d bow lower, but if I did these things would all slide off” – he gestured to the papers draped over his horns – “and I’d much rather not go through organizing all of these again if I can help it.”
That got a chuckle out of Thermal Draft. “It’s nice to meet you, Prevarius. My name’s Thermal Draft, but you can call me Drafty.” She was starting to feel a bit silly now for how scared she’d been, and she couldn’t help but give voice to that thought. “I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but I’m really relieved you’re such a nice guy. I seriously thought you were going to be…I don’t know, some sort of monster or something.”
A sad look crossed Prevarius’ face then, giving a rueful shake of his head. “It’s alright, I’m used to it by now. When you have red skin and black horns, a lot of people tend to react badly to the sight of you. Not like being an adorable little pony, I would imagine.”
Drafty shrugged, the motion making her mangled wing ache a little…which reminded her about what Solvei’s family had mentioned regarding the phistophilus in front of her. The fact that they’d been so callous in their plans to attack ponies while being so deferential toward Prevarius struck her as odd now. “Yeah, well, not everyone’s friendly toward ponies. Those winter wolves who brought me here, for instance.”
His expression turning uncomfortable, Prevarius suddenly seemed to find the trees around the clearing very interesting, avoiding eye contact with the pegasus. “Ah yes. Them.”
Silence fell, and Drafty – feeling more confident now – slowly moved closer to what she was hoping was a new friend, if there was a good explanation for what had happened. “Earlier today I met a winter wolf named Solvei, who was running away from the rest of her family. She said you did something to them, that you made them sick somehow.”
Sighing deeply, Prevarius brought a hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before finally looking back at Drafty. “You look rather cold,” he announced without preamble. “Before I explain what happened, would you care to warm up?”
The offer made Drafty blink, not having expected that much consideration. “I, um…yes, thank you. That would be lovely.”
This time Prevarius’ smile was pained. “Of course. Really, I should have offered such hospitality when I first saw you. It’s just that this level of cold doesn’t really bother me, and well…let’s get a fire going, shall we?”
Pointing toward the far edge of the clearing, a trio a bright red beams spring from Prevarius’ outstretched finger. Drafty jumped, but the thin shafts of light weren’t aimed at her, firing instead at the snow-covered ground. Except a moment later, as the beams struck home and the snow began to rapidly melt, she saw that the phistophilus hadn’t been aiming at the ground. Rather, he’d been aiming at a fallen log which had split into three pieces, the broken timber hidden underneath the snow. Now they were free of their white coverings, and as another cold breeze blew through the clearing, the scorch marks covering the logs’ exteriors looked warm and inviting.
“There we are,” announced Prevarius. “One bench for you, one for me, and one to make into a nice campfire.” With that said, he strode across the clearing, making his way toward the middle log. Kneeling down, he reached a hand toward it, and Drafty trotted over just in time to see flames appear in the palm of his hand, conjured up out of nowhere. Holding it closer to the wood – now completely dried thanks to the scorching ray he’d shot at it previously – he waited a few seconds for the log to catch fire. Once it did, he nodded in satisfaction before stepping back, the log already beginning to blaze brightly.
Drafty didn’t wait for an invitation, clamoring onto one of the free logs with a groan of relief as her hooves were finally free of the snow-covered ground. After being cold for so long, the heat from the fire was heavenly. Across from her, Prevarius sat down, making sure to push the papers hanging from his horns back from the fire. “Feel better?” he asked, his easy grin back in place.
“Yeah,” murmured Drafty, momentarily lost in the thrill of being warm again. Glancing from the fire toward Prevarius, she held out her left wing hopefully. “I don’t suppose whatever magic you have can fix my wing?”
Prevarius shook his head, his expression turning apologetic. “I don’t have the power to heal.”
“Oh. Well, it’s not that bad anyway. I bet in a couple of days, it’ll be good as new.” She really hoped that was the case; it didn’t feel like any bones were broken, so with any luck, once the soreness went away she’d be back in flying condition in no time. “So…the winter wolves?”
Again, Prevarius’ expression turned troubled. “I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” added Drafty quickly, worried that she was asking for too much. After how nice he’d been, pushing him for answers about why his companions were so bloodthirsty seemed inconsiderate.
But Prevarius shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine. They brought you were, so you deserve some answers. It’s just…do you have a trade, Drafty?”
“What, you mean like a job?” When Prevarius nodded, she did the same. “Yeah, I’m a weather pony. It’s my special talent, see?” Turning, she showed him her flank. “See my cutie mark? I’ve known ever since I got it that my destiny is to bust clouds, make it rain, build rainbows, stuff like that. Why?”
Prevarius raised a brow as he examined her cutie mark, but only for a moment. “Well, my destiny is…I suppose you could say that I’m a facilitator.”
“A facilitator?”
“As in, I assist those who want to make something happen,” answered Prevarius. “Not for free, of course. I have to make a living just like everyone else. But if there’s something you’re trying to accomplish, and it looks like it’s beyond your reach, I can help you get it done. These” – he lifted a hand to indicate the scrolls draped over his horns – “are all contracts that I’ve made. We tend to carry them around for safekeeping. Hence the whole ‘contract devils’ thing.”
Drafty bit her lip. “About Kara saying that…”
But she didn’t have a chance to say anything else as Prevarius chuckled, though this time there was a resigned undertone to it. “You shouldn’t feel bad. Most gods don’t like us. They tend to teach that faith is the answer to most problems. Or that their church can find a solution. Or that the real answer is the eternal reward they promise their followers in the afterlife. So when someone like me comes in and offers to fix things for a fair price, it tends to make the gods look bad.”
Thinking back to how Kara had tricked her into becoming a doppelganger, Drafty wasn’t sure what to say to that, finally deciding to return to the original point. “So that’s what you did for Solvei’s family? You helped them fix a problem they were having?”
“Precisely.” Prevarius gave her an earnest look now. “Specifically, the fact that they were going hungry due to the sudden change in the weather. It was a little unorthodox, and I’ll admit they’re not as sightly as they used to be. But now they can range further thanks to their wings, their bodies are tougher, so they can take down stronger prey, and they’re even resistant to heat, so that they’ll be able to hunt widely even after this cold snap ends and temperatures return to normal, instead of retreating to their icy mountaintops the way they normally would during the warmer months.”
“But they’re talking about attacking ponies!” protested Drafty. “They were saying there’s some pony village or something nearby and they’re going to eat everyone there! Except the ones they’re going to bring to you…”
“I know,” answered the phistophilus with a forlorn shake of his head. “And this is probably going to sound cruel, but there’s very little I can do about that.”
“What are you saying?!” Rising to all fours, Drafty pointed at the contracts draped over Prevarius’ horns. “They only got those wings and tougher bodies and everything because you gave them to them, right? So just take them back! Cancel their contracts or whatever!”
“The entire point of a contract is that you can’t back out of it just because you come to regret it,” corrected Prevarius gently. “That’s as true for me as it is for the other party. And as awful as it is to say, hunting is what wolves do. If they were to lose everything they’d gained, they’d go immediately back to starving. Is that fair to them?”
“But…” Drafty couldn’t finish, remembering how Solvei had burst into tears when she and Lex had fed her. “But there has to be some other way,” she finished, slumping in place.
“I’m trying to find one,” agreed Prevarius. “But so far, all I can come up with is getting them to agree to bring at least some of the ponies they hunt down to me first. If I can cut a deal with them, they might be able to get away without being eaten.”
“You’d make them sign a contract in order to save their lives?!” Drafty couldn’t help but feel aghast at that, thinking of how Lex would never have demanded a deal be cut in order to help somepony who was in trouble.
“I know how it sounds,” admitted Prevarius. “But my ability to allocate resources is highly limited without a signed contract. I can do little things like this” – he waved a hand at the fire he’d created, still burning steadily – “but I work at the Ministry of Mortal Relations, which means that I have bosses just like everyone else, and if I started giving our services away for free, you can bet that they’d have something to say about it.”
Drafty slumped back down. “No way…”
“I’m afraid so,” replied the phistophilus gently. “Which leads me to ask: may I borrow one of your feathers?”
The request was an odd one, but after everything he’d done for her, Drafty didn’t feel like she was in a position to refuse. “Sure,” she mumbled, still a bit distraught as she leaned over and clamped her teeth around one of the feathers on her damaged wing. It came out easily, and she passed it to the phistophilus.
“My thanks,” he smiled, examining the base of it.
Despite still being upset by what was going to happen to a village full of innocent ponies, Drafty couldn’t help but feel curious. “What did you want it for?”
“I think a better question, my dear Drafty…”
Spinning the feather around in his grasp, Prevarius held it by the base, as though it were a quill. His other hand plucked a long scroll – a contract – off of one of his horns. Holding it up, he placed the tip of the quill to the paper, giving her a pointed look.
“…is what do you want?”