The dodecahedron sat idle in the depths of The Windbreak.  Floating at the center of a great mass of trees.  The Shape had been there since before the birth of written history.  At the end of each rainy season, five years, travelers ascended onto the plains paralleling that great stripe of wood.  Each looking to speak their desires to the structure.  The twelve-faced being was said to have self-formed itself on this world, told by the cliff drawings on the ancient walls of Sternum.

The tale of The Trio was a favorite among sootsippers and parents of young children alike.  A cautionary story of three men venturing into the dense woods when the last drop of the five-year rain dried up.  Depending on the teller of the tale they might have ventured for weeks or they might have ventured for months, but the story always ended the same.

The men made it to The Shape.  Floating there in The Windbreak.  And each one laid their eyes upon the sleek surface of each of its twelve faces before speaking their wish.

The first man wished for prosperity.  And so it was.  The second man wished for his wife to bear a healthy child.  And so she would.  The third man wished for a great adventure and a great adventure he would have.

But the being would not be called The Shape if it did not ask anything in return.  It only deals in trades.  And so, on the way back from the giant shape, the first man had become very sick with a disease of the skin, but his fingers gripped gold.

A rider met them at the edge of Dune’s Groove to tell the second man that his wife had had their child and it was a healthy boy.  But his home had been swept away by the shifting ground.  The man begged the first man for some relief, but he would not give any.  His eyes fixated on the gold that held his wish.

The third man had been flagged down by a scout of Sternum’s Sword passing along the word of his mandatory conscription into their ranks.  An adventure he would have.  But he begged the first man to pay his tax of non-committal to the Sword, but the man’s eyes didn’t lift from the circumference of his coins.

And so the tale of The Trio stands as a lesson to any who stare into the horizon towards the Dual Plains in search of desires granted.  The edged sphere nestled in the wood looks to gain as well.  As for what purpose it is not known.

Published by Jacob Fite

My name is Jacob, I'm 30 years old and currently serving in the USAF. Born in Sheridan, Arkansas, USA. I love writing poetry and stories. My first completed story, The Drip can be found here on my blog.

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