One Pebble to Rule Them All
Every Trade Has a Cost
A Curious Trade
He was looking for treasure, as always.
But all he found was a pebble—ordinary, dusty, no more remarkable than his last idea.
Still, he rubbed it clean on his tunic until it caught the light. Down the road, a child crouched near the hedgerow, fingers stained from plucking berries.
"Would you trade some berries for this gem?" he asked.
The girl squinted. “It’s a pebble.”
“Yes,” he said, “but a shiny one. And they say it grants magic—if you rub it hard enough.”
Her eyes widened. She bit her lip, then handed over a stained handful. The man bowed like a magician. “A fair trade.”
From Fruit to Fortune
A baker down the road fanned his pies with a woven straw lid, decorating the crusts with fruit.
“These berries,” the man said, “are the sweetest you’ll taste all season. Perfect for your pie.”
“They’d better be,” grunted the baker. He took them, added them to a pie, and handed the man a warm slice still steaming at the edges.
The crust flaked like golden bark. The man took a bite, then spotted a traveler slumped against a rock, boots dusted with mountain ash.
“Hungry?” he asked, lifting the pie.
The man sniffed. “I’d give anything for that.”
“Like what?”
The traveler loosened the strap on his back. “Take my pack. I’ve finished my journey.”
And so the pebble had become a pie, the pie a pack.
Blade and Bear
Later, by a river bend, a soldier cursed beneath a tree. “My pack! Gone. I left it for one moment, chasing my damned horse.”
“Lost something?” the man asked.
The soldier turned. “My commander’ll flay me.”
The man offered the pack.
“In return?” the soldier asked warily.
“Well,” said the man, eyeing the second sword strapped across the soldier’s back, “you’ve got a spare.”
The soldier hesitated. “It belonged to a fallen comrade.”
“Better in use than rusting.”
The soldier nodded and unstrapped the blade. “May it serve you well.”
It did. For about half a mile.
That’s where he met the bear.
A Dangerous Bargain
The bear didn’t appreciate negotiation. The man offered the sword, the bear offered its teeth. In the end, the man walked away bloodied but victorious, dragging a sodden pelt behind him.
By sunset, he was drying it on a rock when a carriage tore around the bend.
“Out of the way, peasant!” the driver shouted.
“What’s the rush?” the man asked, stepping aside.
“The prince is burning with fever. We must keep him warm until we reach the castle.”
The man held up the bear pelt. “This might help.”
A Royal Request
At the castle gates, they ushered him in like a hero.
The king, pale and trembling, clasped his hands. “My son lives because of you. Name your reward.”
The man looked around, slowly.
Jewels. Gold. A velvet throne. Then—
He pointed. “I’ll take her.”
The princess, lips parted in disbelief, looked to her father.
“She is my only daughter,” the king said. “But my son lives. Go with him, child. Treat her well,” he added with a strained voice.
“I will,” said the man, bowing.
But not all trades are as they seem.
The Cliff’s Edge
They walked mountain paths, the wind sharp as a blade. On a cliff’s edge, the princess halted.
“I’ll throw myself off this rock if you don’t let me go.”
He frowned. “What could I trade for your heart?”
She turned slowly. “Your soul.”
He didn’t blink. “Deal.”
She smiled. Her skin shimmered, cracked, and blackened. Horns spiraled up from her brow. Fire flickered in her pupils.
“Thank you,” said the Devil. “Your soul is mine.”
“But what of your heart?” asked the man, barely keeping his footing.
“I have none,” said the Devil, grinning.
“Then the deal is void. Return my soul.”
The Devil pouted theatrically. “But I want it. It’s cunning, cruel, clever—an exquisite specimen.”
“Well,” said the man, tilting his head, “what would you trade for it, seeing as you’ve no heart?”
The Devil scratched its chin. “There’s nothing more precious than a soul.”
The man smiled slowly. “Then give me your job.”
A New Devil
The Devil hesitated. “Deal,” it whispered.
And vanished in a puff of sulfur.
The man’s tunic smoked. His eyes darkened. Power settled on him like ash on a grave.
He walked on.
Where his feet touched the ground, grass curled to cinder. Trees hushed. Dogs howled and fled. He smiled at the panic. It felt... comfortable.
And then he saw a young boy crouched beside the road, turning over stones.
“Hello,” the Devil said, his voice like crackling coals.
The boy looked up. “Hi.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for treasure,” the boy replied.
The Devil crouched and picked up a pebble, small and worn smooth.
He held it out. “Here. Try trading this.”
The boy took it, turned it over in his palm.
“It’s just a pebble,” he said.
The Devil’s grin widened.
“Oh, but this... this one could change your life. For all eternity.”
The End.
We did this once when I was a Girl Scout. We started with a teabag, and after about an hour of trading we found ourselves in the posession of quite a nice backpack. I've always wondered what would have happened if we've had more time to trade. I really wanted a horse. But maybe its a good thing we stopped when we did...
I did not see that coming.
Trading is always risky. Look at what happened to Esau and Jacob.