Jack McDevitt - Eternity Road (v1) [rtf]

by Emily

  They camped on the roadway that night, enjoyed rabbit stew provided by Chaka and Quait, and listened to the sounds of the forest. Avila produced a set of pipes, and Quait a Walloon (a stringed instrument), and they serenaded the wildlife with ballads and drinking songs. Silas made the first field entry in his journal, and Avila dispensed with her nightly prayer to Shanta.

  That was a difficult decision, because she knew hazards lay ahead, and all her instincts demanded that she place her life in the hands of the Goddess. But she rebelled. My hands, she thought. It is in my hands, and if I'm going to get through this, I'd better remember it.

  Flojian was feeling extraordinarily good about himself. He had twice stood up to loudmouths now. Not bad for a man who reflexively avoided conflict. He had been replaying the incident while they traveled, watching himself challenge the giant, dis­covering the special kind of joy that an act of courage can bestow. When things go well.

  His father would have been proud. As Avila had been proud.

  Flojian had always ascribed his problems with his father to the fact that Karik had simply not thought much of his son. Flojian had taken no interest in the Roadmaker mysteries, no

  interest in their cities, no interest in the past. He had never walked through the ancient corridors in which his father had spent most of his intellectual life.

  His mother had died when he was two, and Karik had never found time for the child. He'd grown up moving around among aunts and cousins. Your father's excavating a Roadmaker church in Farroad, they would tell him. Or, they found some odd hojjies south ofMasandik, and he's trying to figure out what they are. So he'd resisted the Roadmakers and the Imperium and the library and everything else his father believed in. Just as well. It was all nonsense anyhow. Ironic that he would wind up on this idiot expedition. But the suspicions that had for years engulfed his father's reputation also cast a shadow over Flojian, and consequently over the business. He saw no real choice. Nevertheless, Karik would have approved of his presence. And that fact annoyed him.

  There was a sense of excitement that evening, of finally being on the quest. Tomorrow they would reach the League frontier, and shortly thereafter encounter the first markings left by Landon Shay. The adventure was beginning, and there was an almost mystical sense of crossing out of the known world.

  This was also their first night under the stars. Flojian drew the watch while the others drifted off to sleep. Armed with a revolver, he slipped into the darkness, checked the animals, and circled the camp. The threats posed by highwaymen or by renegade Tuks had receded in recent years, but he was not one to take security for granted. He noted off-road avenues of approach, but did not believe anyone could get close without alerting the horses.

  When he returned to the fireside, only Avila was still awake.

  "Can I get you anything?" he asked. He still felt uncomfort­able in her presence, but he was determined to tolerate her.

  "No, thank you." Her face was ruddy in the firelight. "Big day tomorrow."

  Flojian nodded.

  "May I ask you a question?" she said.

  "Sure."

  "Are you a believer?"

  "In the gods?"

  -Yes."

  He glanced at the sky. The moon was a misty glow in the treetops, and the stars looked far away. "Yes," he said. "With­out them, there's no point to existence."

  She was silent for a time. "I'd like to think they're out there somewhere," she said at last. "But if they are, they're too remote. They shouldn't complain if we neglect them."

  "Even the Roadmakers believed," said Flojian. "They left chapels everywhere."

  "What good did it do them? They're gone. Everything they accomplished is gone."

  The fire was getting low, and Flojian threw a fresh log onto it.

  "Despite their power," she said, "and despite their piety, they were only hostages to fortune. Just like us." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "All the striving it must have taken to build their world." She sat up, drew the blanket around her shoulders. In the trees, something moved. "There's nothing left except concrete and an assortment of junk that won't decay." Her eyes fastened on him.

  "You have to believe in something," said Flojian. "If not the gods, what?"

  "Nights like this," said Avila. "Good food. Good friends. And wine to dull the edge of things."

  yes, there's that hill to the cast, and the line of river over there. And here's where Arin must have stood. Silas made a notation in his journal, and they moved on.

  The river was the Ohio, which wandered down from the northeast to join the Mississippi at Argon. It was a majestic, wide stream with forest pushing into the water along both banks. She could see downed bridges in both directions.

  Most of the roads in League territories had been generally cleared of hojjies. But now the ancient vehicles began to grow numerous. One hojjy contained a pile of apparently indestructible toys buried under the dust in the back seat. Flojian found another with a case that was made from a leather-like material, but which could not have been leather because it was still pliable and in good condition. When they opened it, they found writing instruments and metallic devices and disks like the ones on display in the museums. They also found a notebook cover with the imprint EXECU-TRAK. But there was only dust inside. "Pity," said Silas. "They were able to make everything permanent except paper."

  At about midday, another road came out of the woods and looped up to connect with them. Chaka unfolded the map Shannon had drawn for her. "This should be it," she said. "There's a marked tree here somewhere." As they spread out to look, she heard a familiar voice, and saw Jon Shannon sitting on a fallen log. "It's over here," he said.

  Quait drew his gun.

  "Don't shoot." Chaka slid out of her saddle and hurried for­ward. "It's Jon." She embraced him. "You're a long way from home," she said.

  He nodded and she introduced him around. Shannon shook everybody's hand.

  "This is where it starts," he said. He pointed at a tall cotton-wood. Three lines were carved into the trunk at eye level, par­allel to Wilderness Road.

  "What does it mean?" asked Flojian.

  "It means you're on the right road. Keep straight. Whichever way you're traveling." He untied three horses and

  led them out of the woods. A broadbrimmed hat kept the sun out of his face, which seemed devoid of expression.

  "Have you changed your mind?" asked Chaka. "Are you coming with us?"

  "Yes," he said. "I think I'd like to come along, if the offer's still open."

  "Why?" asked Quait.

  He shrugged. "Not sure. It just seemed like the right thing to do."

  Silas glanced around at the company. "Anybody object?"

  "I've known Jon a long time," said Chaka. "He's just what we need."

  Quait wondered whether the competition had just arrived. But Shannon looked as if he knew his way around the woods. "Okay by me," he said.

  The Ohio looped away to the north, and after a couple of days they lost sight of it. A giant highway crossed above. It had par­tially collapsed and blocked Wilderness Road. "Used to be a tunnel through here, I guess," said Shannon. Cottonwoods on both sides of the rubble were marked with the parallel lines. Stay straight. "We climb over and continue on the other side," he said.

  Within a half-mile, they plunged into heavy forest and Wilderness Road petered out. "Did we go the wrong way?" asked Silas, standing glumly at the head of a half-dozen horses.

  "They're headed for Beekum's Trail," said Shannon. "It isn't far."

  A thick canopy shut off the sunlight. They moved single file through bushes and thickets. The trees, which were mostly elm and black oak, were marked every fifteen or twenty yards, and Chaka began to develop an appreciation for Landon Shay's foresight.

  Ruins appeared. Brick walls, hojjies, an old church, a factory, some shops. Some of the structures were crushed between trees, mute testimony to their age. A metal post had been pushed over, bearing a rectangular sign.
Silas wiped it with a cloth.

  700 MADISON

  "It's a street sign," Silas explained. "There are quite a few of them on display in the Imperium." A few minutes later, they found a second sign, bigger, with an arrow under the legend: ALBEN BARKLEY MUSEUM.

  The arrow pointed up.

  "Strange name," said Chaka.

  They picked up Beekum's Trail late next morning. It was nar­row and heavily overgrown.

  "Who was Beekum?" asked Avila.

  "A legendary bandit," Silas explained. "He supposedly col­lected tolls from anyone who passed here. Tolls or heads."

  "He was killed by Pelio," said Quait. The equally legendary Argonite hero.

  They crossed a tributary of the Ohio on a rickety bridge and stopped to catch some fish for the midday meal.

  Beekum's Trail curved north and the forests began to change. The familiar red cedars and white oak and cotton-woods held their own, but new trees filled the woods now, of types they had never seen before. The Ohio reappeared on their left and they camped several consecutive nights along its banks.

  These were pleasant evenings, moonlit and unseasonably warm, filled with easy conviviality. They were now in their third week, and everyone was becoming more or less accus­tomed to life on the open road. On March 7, they came to the place where the great river threw a branch off to the north. "That's the Wabash," said Shannon. "Keep an eye open. There's a ford just ahead, and that's probably where they were heading."

  They found two sets of markings, both on cottonwoods, pointing into the river.

  "He likes cottonwoods," said Flojian.

  Shannon took off his hat and wiped his brow. "Shay'11 use them wherever he can," he said. "Makes it easier for us to know what we're looking for."

  Chaka was studying the river. "That's a long way across." Shannon smiled. 'It's not as deep as it looks." "Not as deep as it looks?" she said. "It looks pretty deep." It wasn't the depth so much as the current that gave them

  trouble. Toward the middle of the river it became quite swift.

  Piper stumbled and went down and was almost swept away with her rider, but Quait and Avila came to the rescue.

  When they reached shore, they quit for the day, wrung out their clothes, and enjoyed a fish dinner.

  The trail now moved north along the Wabash, past a sign on a low brick wall: HOVEY LAKE STATE CAME PRESERVE. The river was narrower than the Ohio, a placid stream covered each day until late morning with mist. There was no road. The weather turned wet and cold, as if crossing the Ohio had put them into a different climate. The first night they found shelter in a barn. Sleet fell in the morning, and miserable conditions persisted for five consecutive days. The good cheer they had felt during their week on the Ohio dissipated.

  On the thirteenth, as they crossed another giant roadway, the weather broke. The sun came out, and the day grew warm. To the west, the new road soared high out over the Wabash, and stopped in midair.

  Chaka sat on Piper, watching Silas try to sketch the scene into his journal. "Not a bridge to travel at night," she said.

  They rode into a glade bounded on the far side by a low ridge. Shannon brought them to a halt. "This is worth seeing," he said.

  Chaka looked around and saw nothing. The others were equally puzzled.

  "The ridge," said Shannon.

  It was long and straight, emerging from the trees to their right, passing across their line of advance, and disappearing back into the forest. It had a rounded crest, covered with grass and dead leaves. Otherwise, it was remarkable for its lack of noteworthiness.

  "It's not really straight," said Shannon. "It only looks that way because you can't see much of it. In fact, it makes a perfect circle. Seventy miles around."

  Avila leaned forward in her saddle. "The Devil's Eye," she said.

  One of the horses was nuzzling Chaka.

  "You've heard of it?" Shannon looked surprised.

  "Oh yes. I knew it was out here somewhere, but I didn't expect to see it."

  "The ridge is always the same height. Sometimes the land drops away and it looks higher. And sometimes the ground rises and the ridge disappears altogether."

  "What's the Devil's Eye?" asked Chaka, feeling a chill work its way down her spine.

  Avila dismounted and shielded her eyes. "It's supposed to be the place where the Roadmakers conjured up a demon to help them look into Shanta's secrets. So they could steal her divinity." She looked uncomfortable. "I always thought it was probably just a loose configuration of hills. That people were exaggerating about the geometry."

  "Oh, no," said Shannon. "Nobody exaggerated about this place."

  "How'd it get here?" asked Flojian, his voice hushed. "It can't be natural."

  Shannon let them look, and then led them back into the woods, following the ridge. They were riding upslope, and con­sequently the summit was getting lower. Beyond the crest, the tops of several ruined buildings came into view.

  Chaka guided her horse close to Shannon. "Do you know what it is?" she asked, hoping for a more mundane explana­tion.

  He shook his head. "I have no idea."

  Silas could have identified Christianity as a major religion of the Roadmaker epoch. But his information was limited to the few volumes that had survived into his own age. He could not have known, for example, that, of the long panoply of supernatural names mentioned in the Scriptures, only the Devil's lived on.

  10

  The ridge was matted with leaves and dead grass, and sprinkled with black cherry trees and yellow poplars. It was almost flat now, muscling into a rising slope. An old road crossed and curved in toward the ancient buildings.

  Three of an original group of six or seven were still stand­ing. Two were gray stone structures, half a dozen floors, win­dows punched out. The third was constructed primarily of large curved slabs of the kind of material that looked like glass but couldn't have been, because it was still intact. All of the walls within six feet of the ground were smeared with arcane symbols, reversed letters and upside-down crosses and crescent moons and flowing lines. "They're supposed to suppress local demons," Avila said.

  The glass building was about ten stories high. On the roof, a large gray disk had fallen off its mount onto the cornice and seemed on the verge of plunging to the terrace below. Rows of double windows lined the upper floors. At its base, wide pseudo-glass doors opened onto the terrace.

  There was also a barn and a greenhouse, of more recent vintage. But they too looked long abandoned.

  "Ever been inside any of them?" asked Quait.

  Shannon shook his head. "Bad luck, inside the loop."

  "You don't really believe that," said Chaka.

  "No. But that's what the Tuks say." He shrugged. "I never saw any reason to go in."

  Quait was beginning to steer them toward it. "I wonder what its purpose was," he said.

  "Religious," suggested Avila. "What else could it have been?

  Still, it doesn't make much sense, even in those terms. It's not very inspirational, is it?" She shook her head, puzzled. "You'd expect that any ceremonial use would take place at the center. It would be, what, twenty-some miles across? So from the cen­ter, even assuming the trees didn't block your view, you still couldn't see the ridge. The effect at best would be that of stand­ing in an open plain."

  The ground dropped away again and the ridge reappeared. Silas spotted a spring and reined up. "Why don't we break off for the day?" he said.

  "It's a little early," suggested Shannon. "You don't really want to stop here, do you?" He did.

  Quait was reluctant. Not because he was superstitious; he just didn't believe in pushing his luck. He would have been perfectly happy to get well away before dark. But he didn't want to give in publicly to fright tales. And apparently neither did anyone else, although the horses seemed unsettled.

  Finally, Chaka took the plunge. "It might be haunted," she said. "It's possible."

  Silas smiled reassuringly. "It's all right, Chaka." He g
lanced around at the others as if he expected their moral support. "There's nothing here to worry about."

  They all looked off in different directions. So they made camp at the foot of the ridge, and within the hour were seated around a fire, finishing off venison that had been left over from the noon meal. The night had grown cool, and the general mood was subdued. There was no loud talk; Quail's Walloon stayed strapped to a saddlebag; and the occa­sional laughter had a hollow ring. Silas tried to lighten the atmosphere by commenting on how easily people are taken in by their own fears. If anything, his remarks deepened their gloom. Quait sat during the evening meal facing the long wall so nothing could sneak down on him.

  The buildings were hidden by a combination of forest and ridge.

  "Does anybody know anything more about this place?" asked Silas. "How about you, Avila?"

  Avila shook her head. "The official position of the Order is that the Devil's Eye is of no consequence, an artifact like any other artifact. But we know that some of the Roadmaker ruins retain a life force, that there are stirrings, and possibly unholy activity. The common wisdom, although no one in authority will admit it, is that there might well be a diabolical presence." She tried a smile. "I don't want to unnerve anyone. But the Mentors would be horrified to know that we were here."

  "Damn," said Shannon. "That's just what I was trying to tell you."

  "What about it, Silas?" asked Quait. "Are there devils in the world? What do you think?"

  "No," he said. "Certainly not."

  Flojian was sitting wrapped in a blanket, his face moving in the firelight. "The truth is," he said, "that we don't know the way the world works. You'd like a nice mechanical cosmos. Silas. Cause and effect. Everything very mathematical. Supernat­ural forces need not apply. But we don't really know, do we?"