"What are you writing?"
The man with the shaking hand holding the quill looked up from his paper to the stranger. He blinked at Maxine. The paper shook where he balanced it on his knee. His penmanship was equally quivering, no letter's line straight like it should've been as far as the intruding eye could tell.
"What's that?" the man replied, his thinning brown hair moving slightly with the breeze as it came.
"All that writing," Max repeated her obvious observation again with a sigh. "What's it for?"
"Oh..." The man scratched the back of his head, looking from the paper to the Rusalka. He smiled kindly. "It's a will of sorts."
"A will?"
"Of sorts. I'm dying, see."
"Aren't we all?"
"Hah, s'pose you're right. Afraid my condition is more pressing than aging. I'll be dead before the season's through they say."
"You look well enough."
"The deceit of a good trial, I'm afraid," he responded, putting his quill back to the paper. "The break glass is empty for me. A shame. I've never left this city. I wanted to see the sea before I went. The only thing I'll cross off my list now will be a proper burial and instructions for it left behind."
"What's stopping you? From seeing the sea?"
"Ah, I've the means. Not the where-with-all though."
Max sat up on her end of the bench. The sound of crinkling paper and an uneven scribble had irritated her into inquisition. Now that they were speaking, boredom drove the continuance of her quest for useless, personal knowledge. It was a welcomed distraction from the memory of the spear put in her back over a season ago. She could get around now but not without the painful, reminding signals that her body fed her awareness.
"Well," the Rusalka rubbed at her bloodshot eyes. "Why don't you just hire someone to take you?"
"No sellsword with half a wit will drag an ill thing like me along during a time like Cylus. I've tried."
"Told them you'd pay?"
"Uh-huh." He nodded with a sigh. "I told 'em I'd pay 'em wages, pay for supplies, all of it. Road's too dangerous. Weather too shite. I'm a liability, and I can't pay for a proper group to make it safe enough of a gamble." He squinted at his own handwriting. His voice became forlorn. "It is what it is. I was born in this city. I'll die in it, too, like everyone else. Feels like a second death, giving up the dream, but I'll just have to accept fate for what it is."
"Ask me."
The man stopped writing. He looked up from his paper to the steady gaze of the woman staring right back at him. He took in the sight of her, expression a mix of surprise watering down to doubt.
"You...will?"
"Yeah, and him." Max turned her head toward the rustle of a flower bed nearby and whistled. "Here, boy!"
Good, the Barghest, lifted his reptilian head at the source of the wound and bounded over. He left a mess of dirty foot prints in his wake. He waded into the torch light and sat in front of the two masses huddled in their coats.
"You'd do that?" The man perked up some at the sight of the scarred, friendly creature of robust pedigree.
"Forget the wage. You get us horses to ride, the supplies, and buy what I want from..." Max narrowed her eyes to see through the dark. She jerked her chin toward a figure wandering toward them in the darkness. "...Him. We call it even. I'll get you up that road so you can lay your eyes on the sea. Then you can die once."
Uncertainty died at the last sentence Maxine spoke. Hope took its place. The man smiled, and his eyes became glassy with an elation a woman without a certain ticking clock could never understand.
"Please, don't be unkind. Please don't say such things if you're not sure and serious and capable."
"I am. We could leave to-trial if you wanted."
"Oh, bless you!" The man turned entirely where he sat, the paper sliding off his leg and onto the bench, forgotten. "I'm sorry! What is your name?"
"Max."
"Max...?"
"Just Max."
"Very well. My name is Mortimer. It is a godsend to meet you."
"Time will tell. You plan this little trip out or is this a spur of a sick mind?"
"Actually I do have logistics. Come, I've a map!"
Before Max could agree or protest the sick man was up. He stood sturdy for a man apparently prepared to meet Vri, and he was quicker than the hungover addict off the bench. Good's tongue lolled from his mouth, eyes alight at the stranger's joy and energy. The Rusalka reached out to grab the coat of her new client before he managed to get away from her.
"Hold on, hold on. First thing's first."
"Hm?" The man turned his head, looking from Max to where he eyes moved. "Oh! Right. Sure thing."
The pair moved together to meet the stranger lumbering toward the park. Max brought her finger to her lips, and her client nodded his agreement to silence while she spoke to the drug dealer. They murmured. When the price was named, Mortimer paid with a slight frown. He watched the coins leave his hand into that of the stranger. A season's worth of Maxine's vices was pressed into her hand, and the trio parted as soon as they were in her pocket. The sick man, intoxicated with hope, shook off the shadiness of the stipulation and gestured for her to follow him.
Before long they were inside his humble abode. A small fire burned in the fireplace to heat the inside. Candles burned a quiet light for their eyes. Mortimer unrolled a worn map across a large table and lit a lantern beside it. Max squinted, surveying the shapes and lettering.
This must be the Eternal Empire.
"Korlasir is here," Mortimer began to draw her attention to point on the map with his finger as he identified them. "To the Northeast here...are the Volcanic Mountains." He circled the range with his finger, alerting her to the scope of the terrain. "Just south of those are the Hotlands Border Range. East of Korlasir and the Volcanic Mountains is Avaern, near the sea. The road from Korlasir to Avaern is about ten trials. Two trials from Avaern to putting my toes in the water."
The Rusalka looked to the edge of the land mass on the map. Her eyes wandered just beyond the edges of the Eternal Empire and Avaern, finding the familiar shape of an island. The name of the nation came to mind. She banished it harshly and focused back to task.
"Okay," Max nodded her following. "So we take this one here? Through the Volcanic Mountains?"
"That's the one!"
"Safe to assume there are...volcanoes?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Isn't that nice..."
Maxine stared at that portion of the map, internally recoiling. Mortimer seemed to sense it. He frowned as her pause grew.
"That a problem?"
"No." Max rubbed the back of her neck. "I just have a weird thing with them is all."
"A phobia?"
"No." Max snapped, looking up from the map so that Mortimer could see the hardening of her eyes. "Not a...phobia."
"Good. With all the volcanoes and volcanic activity, I'm told its warmer in that region. Dangerous, too, but the roads are maintained and the military keeps an eye. Avaern will be cold. A snowy mess more like."
"And you know the supply count we'll need for both these challenges?"
"To the number."
"Alright. We'll bring this. When are you prepared to leave?"
"In the morning. First turn over of the lanterns."
"Okay. Meet by the gates?"
"Oh, I'll be there. Thank you."
Maxine gave a whistle and Good stopped his snuffling about Mortimer's belongings. He howled and stomped over to her, quick at her heels while she found the door. Her hand reached out for the door handle when she heard Mortimer step out from behind the table with the map, clearing his throat.
"Wait," he bid her, shakily. Max turned to look at him. He soothed himself by clasping his hands together. An earnestness entered his gaze on her. "Why do this?"
"Honestly?" Max laughed bitterly and shrugged. "I've nothing else to do. What about you? Why trust me and my damned dog?"
"Honestly?" Mortimer smiled at his own teasing, mimicking her response. "I'm out of time and hope to spare. I want my one last adventure before it is all over. Even if you're a mistake, I think it's better than dying here and giving it all up. It's my only opportunity to try."
Max offered him a slight smile at that. It was all she could offer him. Her face fell back into neutrality when she turned back toward the door. She turned the handle and pushed it open, inhaling a bit when the cold air hit her. Good barged through the opening into the Cylus dark. Her hand was already in her pocket, sifting around her choice of narcotics, before the door was completely shut behind her.
Dialogue|Thoughts
