Decidedly Not Starving...Together

Chapter One

The two sat around the fire pit surrounded by darkness, panting and tending to their wounds. Their scrap had been brief before they were reminded of greater threats than one another, leading to a shaky truce at least until the safety of sunrise. The silence between them weighed heavy as their eyes shifted from the flames to the darkness surrounding them to one another.

Wilson was the first to speak. He rubbed his sore jaw thoughtfully and was grateful that neither of them were formidable combatants. "...I don't understand. Back at the throne you... You died. You turned to dust before my eyes. I can't understand how you're here now."

Maxwell offered a simple shrug, "How many times have you died in the Constant? It's not such a permanent affair here. I suppose I came back just the same. What's more interesting to me," his smooth English voice trailed off just for a moment as if lost in thought, "Is how you're here. The Throne wouldn't want to stay empty. Shouldn't you have been bound to it?"

Wilson seemed a bit taken back by the statement, his mind turning to the strange events that passed after Maxwell had been released. "I-I was! But.." he trailed off. How could he explain it? "There was this woman who showed up, or I think it was? At least the shadow of a woman." As he recounted his tale, he stared into the flames, missing the pointed interest Maxwell now showed. "She freed me from the throne and threw me back...here, I guess. Back to start all over again." With that he picked up a stick, prodding the flames with a bitter pout.

"What did she look like?" Maxwell inquired, curbing his interest the best he could.

"What?"

"The woman that sent you here!"

"Well, it was so fast... She was either fair skinned or made of shadow. Either she wore a fancy dress or tendrils of darkness. And there was this smell, like flowers..."

"Roses," Maxwell corrected under his breath.

Wilson turned to the man, searching his face for answers or else waiting for some elaboration that never came. To busy himself, he turned to his bag, retrieving a few large mushrooms he collected. Slicing them with a stone knife and methodical hand, he took the slices and piked them onto a stick before beginning to roast them over the flames.

"Who are you, anyway? All of this time here and I never knew you as more than the bastard that drug me here in the first place."

"Maxwell," the tall man responded simply.

"Maxwell..." Wilson trailed off, clearly baiting the man to reveal the rest of his name.

"Yes. And what about you?"

"You don't know my name?" Wilson's brow furrowed in confusion, "You mean to tell me, you knew me well enough to trap me in this place but not enough to know my name?"

"And when did you say your name, exactly? I'm a magician not a psychic."

Wilson offered the man an indignant pout, but ultimately relented to his reasoning. "It's Wilson, Wilson Higgsbury, Gentleman Scientist," he finished with a clear air of pride, a smirk crossing his pale lips.

Maxwell had to suppress a laugh at the notion. He didn't know the man's name but he had seen the "science" this man attempted while in the Constant. It was more akin to chaotic guesswork than the rigors of scientific investigation, but he wasn't in much of a position to hassle the man for it. They would need each other, after all, to survive in the strange wilderness that Maxwell had created and now lost control over.

Wilson pulled the mushroom stick from the flames, feeling a couple of the slices for their firmness. Their white and blue flesh felt plump and soft under his grip, granting them an approving nod. He slid the slices from the stick, setting them in his lap before taking a couple and tentatively offering them to his new guest. The air fell tense around them for a moment. In this harsh wilderness, food was as sacred as the soul and to share it was a binding contract for mutual survival. There had never been a stronger olive branch.

Maxwell hesitated at first, contemplating what this gift might mean. It wasn't poison. Wilson kept some of the meal for himself. The offer was genuine, but to accept would mean the two were now surviving together. His hunger took hold, insisting he take the offered mushrooms thus sealing the contract between the two.

The simple cooked mushrooms were both bland and potent, their singular flavor dominating each of their palettes. But their flesh was substantial and filled each of their stomachs in a way so satisfactory that the bitter aftertaste on their tongues didn't matter. The two sat in silence as they ate and for a long time after the silence remained. It gave the two time to observe one another, to take in the strange presence of someone once seen to be an enemy...or a tool. Maxwell couldn't help but notice the heavy circles under the other's eyes, the way he fidgeted and rubbed his face as he stared at the fire. Wilson was struggling to stay vigilant through the night, to keep the fire going and the beasts away.

"...You should get some rest." Maxwell offered, shattering the silence.

"What?" Wilson replied, drawn from his efforts to stay awake.

"You're falling asleep on yourself and there's no sense in us both staying awake. Get some rest and I'll tend to the fire."

"...And why should I trust you to keep watch?"

"Oh, what am I going to do? Kill you? That doesn't work here. I've lost my station in this world. I'm just as much a pawn in this game as you now. Go to bed and come sunrise, we can work out just what we're going to do."

Another silence fell over them as Wilson met the man's dark eyes. He searched them for signs of deception but could find nothing within them, neither doubt nor trust. But his body ached for rest, his mind buzzed with weariness and the prospect of crawling into his tent and curling up into the furs he gathered, warm and safe and silent in the night. He gave Maxwell only a sigh, rising to his feet with a brief nod before walking past the man and disappearing into the patchwork hide tent.

Maxwell watched the man vanish into the tent, untying the door flap to shut out the light from the fire. He sat quietly by the fire for a long minute before tossing a few sticks and another log into the flames, carefully working the fire pit to keep the light bright. But no matter how hard he worked to keep the light going, his eyes wandered constantly to the darkness. He knew what was out there.

Longing swelled in his chest, his heart pining for the shadows as he stared into the blackness at the edge of the fire's light. Did he dare? He must. He rose to his feet, his eyes not leaving the point in the night he fixated on, a point far beyond the camp where not even the fireflies shined. His feet led him trance like to the edge of the fire's light. He could feel the cool of the night against his cheeks even as the flames still warmed his back.

"I know you're out there," he spoke clearly to the night, "I can feel your eyes on us..." He drew a deep breath before stepping further into the darkness, taking each footfall gradually as the light faded more and more from his vision until the night consumed him in it's cold, deliberate silence. His heart pounded in his chest now, aching for something now so close to him. That was when the strange scent caught his nose. From nowhere, the alluring scent flooded him with a warm nostalgia that was almost crippling. Roses.

"Charlie?"