Tim's Fourteenth Trade

He watched as the immortal avatar of all things fair in the universe waved her hands, searching something to balance out his request. Tim was willing to give away Wisdom’s loyalty, something he had received in a odd, round-about way. Giving it to the Creator of all things made the trade all that more interesting, all that more dangerous.

Something in the back of his mind was tickling away. An unfamiliar feeling, but it seemed important, and so Tim pushed it aside. Until Justice paused, that is, when the tickle turned into something else, a burning, roaring feeling.

“I think I’ve got just the thing…” Justice croaked, pausing her hands.

“No!” Tim blurted before he realized what he was doing, “Just… wait!”

What was happening? Tim felt itchy, hunted. He didn’t know what Justice had been about to do, but deep in his soul, Tim knew it was going to be the wrong thing. Breaking out in a cold sweat, he felt his breathing become shallow, panic setting in.

"What's happening to me?" he said to the old woman.

"My gift," the voice of Wisdom said in his ear as she sidled up to him, "The boon I gave to protect you, to allow you to intuit a better path. You have begun to use it."

He looked at the Mother of Immortals so close at hand, his eyes locking on her own, his knees threatening to buckle. Closing his eyes, he steadied himself, then spoke.

"So Justice isn't making the right choice?"

"My daughter, though fair and just, lacks the insight to please you appropriately," Wisdom cooed, "Her choice would fit the need, but would not serve you best. I suspect she delved too deeply into my Husband's being, my lord, something with disastrous potential."

"What do you propose then?" the ancient voice of Justice cracked, more than a hint of annoyance at her mother's intervention.

"Instead of looking at what you could take from my Husband," Wisdom said, "Perhaps you should look at what he has already given."

There was silence at her enigmatic suggestion. Tim opened his eyes, careful not to stare at Wisdom directly, wondering what it was that she meant. His gaze wandered to Justice, who had carefully raised her hands, concentration on her face, and slowly swiped them in front of her eyes. Then she paused. Her eyes went wide. She glanced at Tim, then at her Father, then back at Tim.

"I've found it."

There was no itch. No sweats. No sense of alarm. Tim felt perfectly at peace.

"Whatever it is," he said, "I think it's the one."

"Then let's do this thing!" the ancient woman cackled, thrusting a smoking first forward, then waving both hands over her head, “It is done! The trade is complete.”