A Terrible Commodity

The cold howl of the wind shook the forest trees, bidding farewell to the traveler that had just passed through. The man turned back, making sure that his cargo wasn't damaged. Behind him followed a broom, floating horizontally and announcing its location with a lamp that hung on its front end. Tethered to the sweeping rear of the transport by a thick rope, his baggage came out unscathed. The worst part is over, he thought with a satisfied smile. He dragged his boots on the grass to rid them of any leftover mud, then mounted his broom. From his coat's pocket, he took out a pair of goggles and put them on.

"Let's go," he commanded.

The broom moved forward, its speed increasing little by little until it reached a comfortable pace. Pulling back gently, the man ascended. He looked over the unremarkable plains, his eyes landing on a warm, blurry speck of light at the distance. A few minutes later, the light multiplied and confirmed that he was on the right track to his destination. The traveler pushed down the broom. Despite the lack of visibility due to the darkness, he managed to land in front of a stone arch.

Dismounting and patting down his hair to a more presentable fashion, the man gripped his broom and crossed the frame. As soon as he did, he felt the weight of the transport and heard his cargo fall on the ground.

"Good evening!" said a voice to his right. It was a guard, clad in blue robes and a hat with a silver plaque on it. He sat in a small booth behind the arch. "Welcome to Soltas. Are you passing through or staying in?"

"Good evening, to you, sir," responded the traveler, approaching the guard. "It is good to see you again, Charles."

"Is that you, Iuvenus?" asked the guard with narrowed eyes. He exited the booth to take a closer look. "It is you!" he said with a smile that added more lines to his wrinkled face. He stretched out his arms and hugged the traveler. "You haven't changed a bit, my friend. It is so good to see you." Charles backed away from the embrace and turned his face, letting out a series of coughs that shook his body. Iuvenus frowned but recovered his expression when the old man faced him again.

"I'm happy to see you too," said the traveler. " I see they still have you out here."

"Oh, you know how it is. Once you're old, you're obsolete. They don't want geezers in charge of anything—or in town for that matter—but they also can't fire us without a good reason. At least my job is secure, which is more than I can say for the new recruits."

"How's the family?"

"We're fine and managing, considering..." said Charles, his voice trailing off. His eyes widened and he looked away to let out another terrible hack that he covered with his sleeve. "The old lady keeps pestering me about transferring closer to home, tells me I can't keep going on like this."

"The old lady may be right, Charles," said Iuvenus, pretending he didn't see some blood on the guard's sleeve. "How long has it been since you asked for the transfer? Three years?" he asked, propping his broom vertically against the booth.

"Five, and I keep reminding them every year. But I'm tired of fighting. There is nothing else for me to gain here, and the good doctor suggested early retirement."

Iuvenus crossed his arms and rested his back against the booth. "How long did they tell you?" he asked.

"The good doctor said I had a year, at most," replied the old man. "This was last year."

"Charles."

"Oh, don't worry, friend," said the guard. "I have done everything I wanted, and everything I needed. The old lady will be okay, and I have no regrets. None." The words lingered, and both men stared at each other. A smirk drew on Charles' face. "But enough about me, friend. Let me get you settled," he said, patting his pockets. He pulled out a thin, black stick with a silver handle.