Eternity Road

by Jack McDevitt

  One of the meetings drew another visitor: Avila Kap, of the Order of Shanta the Healer. It was a clear, warm evening, but she nonetheless wore a nondescript flannel shirt and cotton slacks in place of her usual clerical robes. “I would like to go,” she said.

  Silas could see that Chaka and Quait, as startled by her appearance as he, were now equally discomfited by the proposal. Avila was, after all, bound by the rules of her calling, and could not simply wander off on her own into the wilderness. “Mentor,” he said, “we have filled our roster.”

  She was a tall woman, almost six feet, and she moved with grace. Her dark eyes caught the light, and there was a glint of desperation in them. “Nevertheless,” she said, “I will go, if you will permit it.” She looked at each of them in turn. “We are required to spend several weeks each year in the wilderness, to maintain communication with the Goddess. I’m adept at survival skills, and I can assure you I will not be a burden.”

  “I’m sure you would not.” Silas thought about Flojian, and for that matter about himself. If there was going to be a burden on this trip, he knew it would not be this very competent-looking woman. “Have you permission to travel with us?”

  “Surely that is my concern.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed. “May I ask why you wish to come?”

  She took a long, deep breath. “Because,” she said, “I would like my life to count for something.”

  Silas was feted by the Imperium, given a scroll attesting to his efforts to expand the boundaries of human knowledge, and sent off with a blast of horns.

  Flojian turned his business over to his executive assistant, who promptly unnerved him by promising to explore new avenues for profit. “Don’t change anything,” said Flojian. “Or I’ll have your elbows removed when I get back.”

  On February 16, the twentieth day after they had made their decision, and the eighty-third after Karik’s death, Silas, Chaka, Quait, and Avila rode at sunup to Flojian’s villa, where a dozen packhorses and a barnload of supplies had been gathered. Silas had said good-bye to his friends and relatives, who had, in the tradition of the time, wished him that the wind should block his way, and the rivers afford no crossings. (It was thought this would allay the jealousy of the gods.) He had updated his will, and turned his small house over to a trusted student until his return. “Or until news comes, and my testament takes effect.”

  Avila arrived in forest green shirt and leggings, having discarded both her sacred raiment and her sacred orders. Her superiors were somewhat stirred up at the Temple, even though her action could not have come entirely as a surprise. Nevertheless, they were unhappy with her, and her life in Illyria would henceforth be that of an outcast.

  Flojian hid an ample supply of gold coins in his saddlebags. He didn’t like the idea of traveling with a lot of money, but he knew that gold opens all kinds of doors, and he suspected they would have use for it before they were done.

  Chaka half expected that Raney would come at the last minute. While her companions carried out the final details of getting organized, loading the packhorses, running down checklists, ensuring they had the means of reshodding the animals, she kept looking around, hoping to see him ride in on his big chestnut stallion.

  Several dozen well-wishers arrived and shook their hands. The company mounted their horses, waved, and, in brilliant sunlight, moved out of the villa grounds. They climbed to River Road and turned north. It would have been an exaggeration to say that crowds lined the route. However, there were individuals and small groups gathered along the way, watching, waving as they went by.

  But there was no chestnut stallion.

  8

  River Road ran along the Mississippi to Argon, the northern-most of the League, about ten days’ travel upriver. The road was all-weather construction: In most areas it had a pebble bed and good drainage. It plunged through thick forests of silver maple, bitternut hickory, pecan, and cypress. It passed farms and ranches, navigated among heaps of broken cement and patches of grassland. Concrete causeways carried it through swamps, and wooden bridges across streams and gullies. It hesitated before sites of historical interest: Pandar’s Glade, where the Illyrian hero had turned the tide of war against the Argonites; a restored Baranji fort from the days when the Mississippi marked the western frontier of empire; a statue of a Roadmaker military figure, right arm broken off, with the inscription: HE STOOD LIKE A STONE WALL.

  Chaka was glad to get clear of the well-wishers, to move into the silences of the forest. She had been to Argon several times, although the most recent trip had been almost six years before, a hunting expedition with her family. Those earlier excursions had seemed like journeys to the end of the world. It was hard to realize that this time the outpost city would be little more than a jump-off point.

  She was displeased with herself for agreeing to allow Flojian to join the expedition. The little man rode up front with Silas in his finicky, self-important way, and it irritated her that the two seemed to find much to talk about. She predicted to Quait that a few nights on the road would change his mind, and he would return home.

  Silas bounced along on a horse that was too big for him. He’d borrowed a new animal from the Imperium for the expedition; his usual mount was, he knew, too old for the kind of effort that would be required. Chaka thought that Silas looked cold and uncomfortable. But he hung on, trying to give the appearance of a man at home in the wilderness, even raising himself in the saddle on occasion to get a better look at the river, or a eucalyptus, or whatever happened to catch his attention.

  “He’ll be all right,” said Quait. “He just needs a little time to get used to the road.”

  She was grateful to Quait, not only because he’d been instrumental in launching the expedition, but also because he obviously liked her and she needed that right now. Raney’s defection had damaged her more than she was willing to admit, and she traveled throughout that first day expecting to hear him ride up behind them. She played the scene over and over in her mind, Raney apologetic and trying to shrug it all away; she cool and formal, allowing him to sweat. “You’ll have to ask Silas,” she would tell him. “It’s not up to me.”

  “This is the high point of Silas’s life,” Quait told her. “It’s what he’s always wanted to do.”

  “Hard to believe,” she said. “He doesn’t look as if he’s enjoying himself.”

  “He’s not used to riding for long periods.”

  “I can see that. What’s he been doing for the last forty years?”

  “Trying to understand what fuels the sun. The places he would like to go, people can’t get to.”

  Chaka wasn’t sure she understood that, but she let it pass.

  She was suspicious of Avila. The woman was friendly enough, but it was hard to overlook the fact that she had abandoned her vows. Chaka was a believer to the extent that she didn’t like people to ask hard questions, and tried not to think too deeply about the assorted doctrines she’d accepted. Play it safe, respect the gods, and maybe it would pay off. Who knew?

  There had been a time, a generation back, when breaking with the Order would have meant keeping out of public sight for the balance of one’s life. But with the advent of the Republic, the ecclesiastical laws had been liberalized. Avila would be free to live as she wished, although most people would feel as Chaka did, that she was somehow remiss and morally suspect.

  Avila was, however, the only member of the company who had been north of Argon. “We have a retreat about two days’ ride above the city,” she said. “It’s on a ridge, in deep woods. A good place for prayer and contemplation.”

  “Didn’t you worry about the Tuks?” asked Chaka.

  “At first. But no one else seemed very concerned. At least no one who’d been around for a while. The Tuks turned out to be friendly enough.”

  “What did you contemplate?”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “You said you went up there to contemplate. What did you think about?”
>
  Avila laughed. It was a pleasant sound, reserved, amiable, honest. “I think mostly I looked around at the wilderness and wondered what I was doing there.”

  Silas had ridden in closer to listen. “Will we pass the retreat?”

  “No,” she said. “We turn east when we get to Argon.”

  “I think,” said Chaka, “you’ll have plenty of time for contemplation on this trip.”

  They passed a sign. It was from the Roadmaker period, and gave no indication it would ever rust. (The origin of the more exotic Roadmaker materials, which seemed in some instances almost indestructible, remained just one more major mystery.) The letters were black and crisp in the sunlight:

  WALK WITH THE SON

  YOU ARE ON ETERNITY ROAD

  All five could read enough Roadmaker English to grasp the literal meaning. It was nonetheless baffling.

  “What’s it about, Silas?” asked Chaka.

  Silas half turned in his saddle. “It means it’s time to get off the horses and walk.”

  “No, really,” said Avila.

  “I think Silas is right,” said Quait. “We should give the critters a rest.”

  It was cold, and Silas adjusted his scarf. “The Roadmakers believed in a god who tortured people after they died. If they’d sinned.”

  “Barbaric notion,” said Avila. “I wonder if people create the kind of divinity that reflects their own character?”

  Flojian turned to stare at her. “It surprises me to hear a priest talk that way. I was taught that the divine essence cannot be misunderstood, save by willful effort.”

  “That is the official position,” said Avila, refusing to take offense. “Incidentally, I’ve withdrawn from the Order.”

  Flojian rolled his eyes. “Did Silas know you were an ex-priest when he invited you to come along?”

  She nodded. “I haven’t hidden my status from anyone.”

  Chaka tended to side with Flojian on that issue. If there was anything to the old traditions, an ex-priest might well bring them bad luck. She had considered voting against allowing Avila to join the company, but cringed at the prospect of explaining her reasoning. Nevertheless, she determined to keep a respectful distance, in case a bolt did fall from the sky.

  A few miles north of Illyria, the forest gave way to low, grassy hills, which in turn descended into a swamp. The sky had turned gray, but there was no immediate threat of rain. They stopped by a spring.

  The water was clear and cold. Chaka knelt on a rock and scooped it into her hands. It tasted good, and in fact, the day tasted good. She still hoped for Raney’s appearance, but a strange thing was happening: She was anxious to be far enough away from Illyria to be certain that he would not come.

  “Not having second thoughts, are you?” Silas had come up behind her. He pushed his hands into his jacket and assumed the mien of confident leader. She wondered how he really felt.

  “No, Silas,” she said. “No second thoughts. I’m glad we’re finally on our way.”

  “Good.” He produced a cup and dipped it into the stream.

  “I’d feel better, though, if we had a map.”

  “Me too.” He drank deeply and stared thoughtfully at the horizon. “We’ll find our way. Meantime, I’m going to start a journal. We won’t make the same mistake Karik made.” A smile spread across his features. “We’re going to create the travel book of the age. Once we get beyond the frontier, we’ll record everything: foliage, wildlife, weather, topography, ruins, you name it. And charts.” A mile ahead, the road crossed planking and entered the swamp. “If there’s another expedition after this, they won’t have to play guessing games.”

  “The Great Geographer,” smiled Chaka.

  “Yes.” He laughed. “They’ll put my statue in the Imperium, left hand shielding my eyes, right pointing to the horizon.” He demonstrated the pose.

  Chaka gave him a thumbs up, in her own style, both hands.

  They arrived at the Crooked Man just before sunset. The main building was three stories tall, a massive, rambling structure with turrets, balconies, bay windows, glass-enclosed porches, sloping dormers, and parapets. A marble sundial that also served as a fountain guarded the approach. Grooms took their horses, and a liveried doorman welcomed them into the opulent interior. Chaka admired the thick carpets and shining hardwood floors. Murals depicting hunting scenes covered the walls. Stylish furniture from an earlier age filled the lobby and hallways, and lush red curtains framed the windows.

  All of the travelers had stayed there at one time or another. The host of the Crooked Man was a four-hundred-pound giant whose name was Jewel. Jewel’s speech was polished and his manners impeccable. His luxuriant black beard spilled onto a white shirt. His arms were thick as beefhocks. He had great shaggy eyebrows and thick black hair streaked with gray and teeth that looked able to take down a horse. He was capable of ferocious grimaces when dealing with stewards, grooms, and tradesmen. But he was absolutely correct with guests, and called four of the five travelers by name, even though he had not seen some for years. He missed only Avila, apparently thrown into confusion at seeing her in nonclerical dress.

  “It’s good to have you back at the Crooked Man,” he said. “I’d heard that a quest was going out, and if we can do anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.” Unfortunately, he explained, the inn was quite busy just now, and they would have to share rooms. He hoped that wouldn’t be a problem. Since they had intended doing that anyhow, it wouldn’t. Nevertheless, Flojian contrived to look inconvenienced.

  Jewel directed their bags be taken care of, and personally showed them to their quarters, expressing his desire that they enjoy their stay and come again soon to see him. They thanked him and agreed to meet in the dining room at the seventh hour.

  The rooms were single compartments; but they were nevertheless spacious and comfortable, almost as grand as Chaka remembered. The curtains had been opened to admit the last of the sunlight.

  A low fire heated a pair of water pots in the chamber she would be sharing with Avila. Oil lanterns burned on either side of an enormous bed with large down pillows and a quilt. A freshly scrubbed wooden tub gleamed invitingly near the fireplace, on a raised wood platform designed to draw off excess water.

  Two serving boys arrived with buckets of fresh water. Avila gave them coins. “Thank you, Mistress,” said the taller one. “Just ring the bell when you want more.”

  Both women were covered with dust from the road, and a bath would be the first order of business. But Chaka shrank from the task. There were no modesty curtains in the room, and the prospect of removing her clothes in the presence of one who had been ordained to Shanta was daunting. She loosened her neckerchief and hesitated, suddenly aware that Avila was watching her. “If you don’t mind,” said Avila, with a hint of amusement, “I’ll claim the privilege of the older and go first.”

  There is nothing quite like nudity to strip away titles, pretenses, and reservation. Before twenty minutes had passed, Chaka found herself admitting to her companion what she had not admitted to herself: She felt rejected by Raney, and she was at that moment recognizing that the future she’d thought they would have together lay in ruins.

  “You may be fortunate,” Avila said. “If you truly loved him, I don’t think you’d be here at all. So maybe you’ve learned something about yourself.”

  “Maybe,” Chaka said. All the same, it hurt.

  “Why are you here?” asked Avila. “The cost seems to be higher for you than for anyone else.”

  Chaka explained about her brother and Avila listened without comment.

  “How about you?”

  “It’s a chance to escape,” Avila said. “And the Roadmakers are interesting. If this Haven really exists, I wouldn’t want to miss my chance to see it.”

  Chaka was seated in the window, watching the western sky turn purple. “I expect,” she said, “that if we do find it, it’ll be a ruin. Like everything else.” She described the time travel concept in Connecti
cut Yankee and said how she wished such a thing were possible. “I would love to have seen their cities when they were whole. And to have traveled on their roads before the forest took them. To have seen how the hojjies actually worked.”

  “Wagons that needed no horses,” said Avila. “I’m still not sure I believe it.” She stood with one foot on a low stool, scooping hot water out of the tub and pouring it over shoulders and breasts. Suds ran down into the drains. (Illyrians did not sit in bathwater until they were clean, and would in fact have been horrified at the notion of doing so.) “But you’re right: We could learn a lot if there were a way to take one of the highways and use it to travel back a thousand years. Or whatever it is.”

  “Maybe in a way,” said Chaka, “that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

  After Chaka’s bath, they dressed in clean clothes, strolled downstairs, and swept into the dining room in high spirits. A slab of beef, tended by a cook, turned slowly on a spit over an open flame. There were roughly twenty tables, each illuminated by an oil lamp. About half the tables were occupied by guests who seemed already well into their cups. Their own party had commandeered a corner stall. Quait waved, and all three men looked their way. Their glances lingered just long enough to bring a rush of satisfaction to Chaka.

  Wine and brew were flowing enthusiastically, and the place was filled with laughter and the sizzle of beef. A young man sat on a raised platform in the center of the room, one leg crossed over the other, fingering a guitar.

  Drink, my love,

  Though stars may fall and rivers fail,

  I will not care so long as

  I have you.

  Quait poured wine for Chaka and Avila and refilled the other cups. They toasted the quest, and then rose, one by one, collected metal plates, and went over to the spit. The cook sliced off a large piece of meat for each, scooped some peas out of a pot, and added two ears of corn dipped in melted butter. Chaka picked up some bread and an apple.

  When they’d got back to their table, Jewel entered the dining room, carrying a glass of wine. At his appearance, the musician stopped and the house fell quiet. When he had everyone’s attention. Jewel held the glass high. “This is our finest,” he said. “And tonight I want you to join me in toasting some special guests of the Crooked Man.” He directed everyone’s attention to Chaka and her companions. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have the honor to host a group of very special people this evening. Silas Glote and Flojian Endine are leading a party of explorers who are going to try to find some lost books.” He glanced back at Silas. “Do I have that right, Silas?”