The hole had not yielded much. There had been a ceremonial sword, a few coins, and a letter tucked into the breast of his tunic. He had stared at it, sealed with gold wax and emblazoned with a feather. He had thumbed the symbol with reverence, his breath catching in his chest, and had tucked the letter away unopened.
That would be for another day.
This place he had crawled into was neither the afterlife nor the void, but some other-realm. His last thoughts had been of marble arches and dark earth, and his first sight upon waking had been the emerald crowns of woodland giants. He had died in a land of familiarity, and had woken in a foreign realm.
He had walked for what felt like days. Without warning he would collapse, his body shaking as his nerves flared to life and his muscles seized. His heart would unexpectedly clench, the pulse of it racing one moment, and then slow to a crawl. His lungs would erupt with dirt and dust, ash flowing from his mouth and nose as if he had inhaled great bouts of smoke. He would catch sight of scarlet ribbons trailing through the air, or glints of steel alight with his death.
And always he heard the soft murmur of a voice. No, no, no!
Despite the unpredictability of his ailments, he pushed on. He found himself free of the forest, and a road had beckoned him south. He had seen no one at first, but then the world had filled to brimming with people. The road had become alive, and he had followed the coursing flow of the river-road until it had found him in the very belly of a metropolis. Around him the world came alive.
For a moment, a brief moment, he felt relief.
He stood amidst the thrall of the city, and he let himself behold the world he had found. The streets turned and twisted; the people turned and twisted with them. The smell of the sea - of brine and wet - intertwined with the smell of man and horse. People pulsed around him, a river of flesh and blood and life. The city was alive; its heart was the people in it.
He heard laughter - the easiest sound against the backdrop of a roaring city.
"Need a drink, dolly?" A woman laughed from the eave of a building. She hung off a man's shoulder, her insistent hands dragging him towards the dark mouth of a building. The man shrugged and followed her in, his face alight with a soft grin.
Dragon stared at the sign that hung overhead, the voluptuous mermaid swaying to and fro causing his lips to twitch with a sardonic smile. He wove through the crowd, his mind made up. The dark mouth of the tavern greeted him with the warmth of its patrons; their body heat warmed the place and perfumed it with sweat and brine. He stood in the doorway, eyes scanning the room. It brimmed with life as the city had.
He moved to the bar and pulled the coins from his breast pocket, his finger brushing the seal of the letter. The coins in his hands stared up at him. There were two. "For the ferryman," he muttered, and shut his fingers around them.
"What would you like?" The barkeep asked in passing.
Dragon glanced at the coins in his hand.
"Water," he said, tucking the coins away.
For the ferryman.
