act18d3

Skadi.

You've fallen, Skadi. The old you could've made chunks out of them with just a touch.

Mister José, I am not that bloody.

Hard to say. You've changed, then. You even gave them a chance to escape.

Possibly.

What wind blew you back here again? Why were they waiting to spring you—something to do with me?

I don't know.

I hear you're not in our line of work anymore. Joined some... pharma company? What are you shirking good, decent work for to tromp around these rundown outskirts again?

You're well-informed, Mister José. This time I need you to help me out.

The old man licks his rolling paper, and pulls out some second-rate tobacco from his pouch.

Several years have come and gone. Here I thought you'd folded, seeing as you went through plenty of Kazimierz bounty hunters. This far out from Kazimierz, and I could still hear word of what you'd been up to.

Always thought you only knew how to make big ruckuses.

But you've been quiet as this now.

You came roadrollering in all the way from Minos country like a tow truck, just to find me? Go on, then, tell me what you want.

I need to get to Sal Viento.

Sal... Viento?

Don't tell me. Even you've never heard of the place?

No, I've heard. Out of all us information peddlers, only I must've heard. The question's you—what makes you want to go there?

There's nothing there anymore. Few decades ago... close to nothing left after.

So close to such a vast patch of ocean, and you think anything'd be left? No better than bare frames left, letting the wind and all through.

Many bounty hunters wanting to get up to those abandoned cities, just like beastlings pouncing on a rotting burdenbeast corpse.

All of them thinking there's still meat they can pick off. They don't know whatever they swallow there might as well be a batch of poison.

Iberia. All of them think this unspeaking Iberia's just like Kazimierz and Gaul, treasure all over the map.

Hah, there's nothing there at all. When a place has nothing at all, it's likelier than all it could have anything.

So do you tell those bounty hunters anything?

If they ask me to sell info, I'll sell it. As far as ones like me go, whether those folks come back or don't, it's all business.

Fact is, they don't come back at all. Not one ever comes back.

Two weeks ago, a team came to me. Lackeys of the 'Daggerhorn.'

He had equipment leagues better than all these runts lying around. Very experienced too. Brought more than ten with him. Still haven't seen them again yet.

Very many wonder about where they went. They could've been caught by the Penal Battalion, or it could've been the Iberian Defensa's doing, but I've heard tell of a different possibility.

Over there be... monsters.

Oh.

Or it was the Inquisition that got 'em. I don't know what's a more wretched end.

Monsters or people, my sword draws little distinction. There are only those who block my way, and those who don't.

Alright, alright. You can't be going to Sal Viento for a holiday, that much's for sure.

I need to find someone.

What poor bastard has your wrath this time?

This time's different. It's my... It's someone I knew from before.

Before you even knew me?

Much before.

Here I thought they'd all left. Or died. At least, that's what you told me back in those days.

That's why I'm searching. There's a few things I need to figure out.

You've been searching for quite some years, yeah?

That whole ruckus from last time couldn't have been for any knights' treasure's sakes.

You told me before. People ought to move forward.

Did you bring a treasure map with you?

What?

There're many, some of them even old hands. They travel the barrens, traveling and traveling, and forget where they wanted to go, or what they were even looking for.

They just keep on traveling. They don't know starvation, they don't know exhaustion.

Until the barrenlands do them in.

They were too weak.

Weak? No matter how much stronger, a hunter could still never conquer the boundless barrenlands. So many hunters die for no sure reason out on the road, and don't even know what they're searching for come their deaths—that's not an ending that suits you.

Why are you telling me all this?

As if I've never told you before? They wouldn't rival even the tiniest Ægir machine.

You're strong. So did you save my son's life?

I'm sorry.

Don't say sorry! I'm not trying to flog you here. I'm trying to get you thinking. It's you who hasn't forgiven yourself, not me.

I only regret that I didn't break his legs, stop him following an old papá in his old tracks. Nothing to do with you.

You say you came from the sea. I've never heard of any other sea than the one in Iberia. You're someone I don't know.

So what about you? Is there no one you don't know?

Because that's the kind that killed my son. Someone you don't even know.

That's the sort of thing I'm afraid of.

Never mind it. At least the people you talk about wouldn't spend day and night plotting to kill me. What are you thinking of doing in Sal Viento?

I have a friend who's been taken there.

Strange, that.

Take this. Map.

Alright. What do I need to give you?

Give me?

You sell intel. One thing for another. You've given me information, I'll give you what you need.

(Flicks cigarette ash)

Let me think... That year you brought my young Juan's body back, you handed him to me. Head and arms all still attached to him. So, now we're even.

Mister José, my greatest thanks.

I'll be going, then. Take care.

Stop! Are you in such a hurry to get yourself killed?!

Hm?

Hey. Tell me—has anyone ever said anything like that to you before?

No.

Then you need somebody to tell you well.

You're strolling straight into an Iberian city dressed in all your bounty hunter clothes?

Yes.

You really haven't changed, Skadi. Here I am parching my mouth, and I might as well be the wind for all the good telling you anything does.

The Iberian Defensa'd have you ten times over for looking like that!

And how much time are you ready to waste on them? How much longer can the person you're looking for wait? Iberians aren't like these lousy bounty hunters. They're not that easy to break clean of.

You want to suggest something to me.

I can lend you a few things. Take this harp.

Harp?

Can you play? I remember you played before.

I can.

Good, all the better. Would be fine if you couldn't, long as you pulled off the act.

Change into these too.

What clothes are these? They're very strange.

Whether you're used to them isn't the point. Iberians are.

From now on, you're the wandering singer Skadi.

Go where you want now, singer. Follow the map, go by the waterways, and you'll get there soon enough. This you can do, Ægir.

Farewell, Mister José.

Skadi!

Don't you die out there. You have to die with someone, someone you know.

Right.

Help—Help me!

What are these things... they—they're tangling me, they won't let go! Chopping them apart doesn't even work. Is the entire coast all monsters like this?