Forever the Road (A Rucksack Universe Fantasy Novel) (18 page)

Jay moved forward. The voice in Jigme’s head faded until he could hear himself again. Jigme reached up and grabbed the daypack, right where the fabric bulged. Jay stepped between the statues and touched his palm to the black stone.

From where his hand clutched the daypack, Jigme could feel the thing inside move faster. Its sound got louder too. Then there was nothing inside Jigme’s mind but the voice.

“Back to the flame and the boiling sea,

Back to the fire, back to truly free,

Back before life, when all fire was me—”

Something pulsed out of the black stone like a wave sweeping out over the city. Jigme could hear screams and shrieks, fears that leaped like flames from building to building, soul to soul. The force of the wave knocked Jigme and Jay backwards onto their arses. A tremor quaked through the ground.

“What?” Jigme said. “What was that?”

“That song,” Jay replied. “It’s that damn song again.”

Worlds away, the screams faded. In front of them, the stone seemed no different than before.

Jigme tried to get to his feet, but his legs kept tumbling him back down. Jay didn’t fare any better at first, but some desperation seemed to rip through the tourist’s body and stiffen his legs.

Jay reached out. The strange fire had left his eyes, but that was no comfort. Now they blazed with an urgent fear.

“I don’t understand,” Jigme said.
 

“I don’t either,” Jay replied. “And you know what? I don’t want to. Forget this. Forget Agamuskara. Forget India. I’m out of here.”

He didn’t look at Jigme. Jay just turned around and ran up the alley. The mists closed, leaving Jigme alone.

Jigme thought about following, but the black stone seemed to sing to him. He stood and stared at it, wondering what had made Jay so afraid.

Now I know how Amma can live,
he thought as he walked back to the world beyond the heart of the city
.

Big as an eclipse’s shadow, the understanding brought a grin to his face. Jigme began to run.

T
HE SHOUTS
, offers, and curses couldn’t slow Jay’s pace. From the mouth of the alley to the street beyond, he ran, daypack bouncing and the thing inside whooshing so fast he wondered if the friction would make it tear through the fabric. Everest burned his mind, as did the parade the day before, with the song that was like setting someone’s mind on fire. A grinning flame passed through his vision every time he blinked, so he tried not to. But it didn’t matter; a voice like clinking coals in a stove singed his thoughts.

I’m getting out of here,
Jay thought.
I left Everest in a hurry; I’m going to leave here in an even bigger one. Find a way to ditch this thing, then hop a train to Kolkata, fly to Bangkok, and lose myself in Thai beer. Forget this place. Forget these people. Forget all of it. Just keep going, Jay. Just keep going.

He was relieved to see no sign of Jade, Rucksack, or anyone else at the Everest Base Camp. Once inside the dorm, Jay locked the door and started packing. He rearranged his daypack, threw a t-shirt over the thing, and refused to look as it floated above the guidebook, snacks, water bottle, and various traveler detritus inside his pack.

Next, he unhooked his money belt and set it on the bed. He took out his passport and the photo. From the cash underneath, he counted out bills and estimated what should be enough for a train ticket east, plus money for food and beer along the way.

As he put the rest of the cash back into the money belt, the photo stared at him. For five years he’d looked at the picture. Now he looked closer. The faces now seemed to frown. But how could a photo change?

“Sorry, Mom and Dad,” Jay said. “I have to get out of here.”

He tucked the photo back into the money belt, avoiding the glares of his parents, and then wrapped the belt around his lower belly. He glanced at the bed.
Nearly forgot my passport,
he thought. As he reached for it, a knock on the door made him look up.

Forget it,
he thought.
Ignore them and they’ll go away.

He sat on the bed and waited. There was no use going to the door when he had no idea who was outside. Not Jade or Rucksack, that was sure. It was Jade’s hostel. If she wanted in, she would announce herself and then unlock the door if no one opened it for her. Rucksack didn’t need to knock with anything but his voice.

What about Jigme?
Jay thought.
Would he have followed me back here?

Guilt panged at him like a kicked shin.
I convinced him to go down that alley,
Jay thought.
He was scared, he kept saying we shouldn’t, but I hounded him to come. What was all that guff about travelers and fear? I was damn near wetting myself, and I don’t even know why. But I had to go…

Had to go.

Just like Everest. He’d been hauling arse to get out of Tibet before the Chinese police could catch up with him. Instead of cutting south the fast way from Lhasa to the border with Bhutan like he’d planned, he’d set out southwest. A few narrow escapes kept him on that road, fleeing into the Himalayas until he showed up at Everest Base Camp, wondering why the hell he was there. Somehow it had worked. No one had looked at him twice, and maybe the Chinese police hadn’t figured he would go to such a place.

But it made no sense to Jay that he’d gone. Then there was that night with the moon and the mountain—and again, the next day, the feeling that he had to go. Had to leave Everest for India. Skip Nepal and go straight into the heat of Agamuskara.

It’s like I’m not deciding anything lately,
he thought.
Something else is doing the deciding for me. And I know what.

Jay stared at the floating lump in his daypack. The t-shirt spun softly in the air. The thing had gotten slower and quieter again.
I’ll chuck it down the loo,
he thought.
Let the roaches have it. Then I’ll block off the hole with my Guru Deep India book. Forget India. I don’t ever want to see this place again.

He reached to pull off the t-shirt and grab the stupid floating thing. It spun faster—and the knocks on the door became louder.
Dammit
, Jay thought.
They’re still here?

“Mr. Jay?” said a voice. “Ah, Mr. Jay, thank goodness we have found you.”

Jay froze.

“We have come to help, Mr. Jay. Could you open the door, please?”

“Just a minute!” Jay said. If they were still there, they weren’t going away. Jay glanced at the windows. No way out through the bars outside. If he was leaving, he was leaving through this door.

But he was getting rid of the thing first.

He reached for the t-shirt again, but what was underneath seemed to know his intentions. It moved out of his grasp, floating over the bed like the ghost of a softball. He lunged forward; his hand closed on nothing.

“Mr. Jay?” said the voice. “Thank goodness we have arrived not an hour too late.”

A key turned in the lock.

Quickly looking up, Jay cracked his head on the bed and toppled backward onto the floor.

Dazed, he looked up to see the floating t-shirt waft back down into his daypack. The zipper closed behind it, and the little padlock on the zipper undid itself and then locked the pack shut.

Jay had just gotten to his feet and moved between the bed and the door when the catch clicked and the door opened.

In the doorway, two men in drab olive uniforms smiled empty courtesy. Something about them seemed nearly familiar, but not quite. They could have been anyone, could have come from anywhere: India, Nepal, China. Something twitched and jangled in a forgotten, blanked-out part of Jay’s brain, but he couldn’t place them.

The first one said, “Mr.—”

“Jay will do just fine.”

The men looked at each other. A shrug. A head bob.

“Mr. Jay,” the first one continued, “we are Mim and Pim, no misters required, from the Office of World Light and Foreign Visitors. We hope you have been enjoying your stay in our India, as your pleasure is paramount to us.”

“It’s... a complex country,” Jay said. “But I’m about to head out. Realized I took a wrong turn at Tibet. I should be in Thailand right now.”

“India it is, sir, most marvelous,” Mim said, “and that you found pleasure and safety here we are so glad.”

“You haven’t had the last couple of days I’ve had—”

“Chai we have brought you, sir,” the second man said, bobbing his head. Jay guessed he was Pim. Before Jay could reply or continue, a hot cup was in his hand. He hadn’t noticed either man move. The scent of cardamom and clove widened Jay’s eyes, and the heat in his palm brought comfort. The first sip unlocked the daylight in his soul. He drained the cup. Suddenly, India indeed seemed a country of pleasure and comfort. “I gotta say, this is the best tea I’ve ever had.”

Pim’s head bobbed. “We take pride in your pleasure, safety, and comfort, sir.”

The chai was hot and sweet. The bright day was full of India’s life and loveliness.

Why had things felt so urgent?
Jay thought.
All that fear and running?

Jay blinked and glanced at the bed, the ready-to-run packs sitting on the mattress. His passport lay next to them. The warmth of the chai faded as he shook his head. So much had happened today already. No wonder the room looked blurry, and he felt so groggy. But no matter how good the tea was, he needed to leave.

“None out of three ain’t bad. Look, fellas, I appreciate the chai and chat, but I’ve got a busy day of getting out of here. To what do I owe the honor of the visit of the Office of Luminous Travelers or whatever?”

“Only a small matter it is, Mr. Jay,” Mim said, bobbing his head. Jay wondered if he could feel seasick while inland. “For your pleasure, safety, comfort, and enlightenment, The Office of World Light and Foreign Visitors cares very much. That is why this bright and wonderful day we have come to you.”

“My pleasure, safety, comfort, and enlightenment?” Jay said. “So far, you’re none for four.”

“Now please and thank you for we should see your passport Mr. Jay.” No head bob.

Jay glanced at the bed again and saw only the backpacks. Again, he hadn’t seen either man so much as twitch, but Mim was already flipping through the pages of Jay’s passport. Jay thought about grabbing it back, but his hands seemed very heavy. Lifting them seemed not really worth the trouble. A tiny, wary part of the back of his mind seemed to shout that he should be wondering why that was. But all he said was, “I have a visa.”

The men looked at each other. “Of course, sir,” Pim said, his head now still and stiff. “We just must make sure all is correct. Many visas have suffered premature failure due to faulty glue, sir.”

“Faulty glue? How hard can it be to make glue stick?”

“We do not know, Mr. Jay. An exalted import from USA was the glue. Many high hopes but sad to report to exalted World Light and Foreign Visitors such as your good self that the glue has trouble doing its job in the heat of India.”

“You need to check the glue on my visa?”

“Very good sir,” Pim confirmed, bobbing his head in approval. “As bright as your good name you are, Mr. Jay.”

Mim stopped at the blue-and-lavender sticker adhering to a page near the end of the passport. Next to the Hindi script, Jay saw the words “Republic of India.” Mim held the passport up to the light then low to the floor. He held it as far to the left and the right as his arm would allow. Each time, his gaze seemed to peer between the visa and the page. He lowered the passport with a sigh and did not hand it back.

“Ah, Mr. Jay,” Mim said with a deep sadness on the verge of tears. “It is as we feared.”

“What are you talking about?” Jay said, pointing to his India visa, stuck securely to the page. “It’s not even got a loose corner.”

“Sudden glue failure has been a horrible sad problem, sir,” Pim said. “Then like a lost, lost soul visa flutters, and many World Light and Foreign Travelers have problems leaving India.”

Jay nodded, figuring out the game, despite the woolly fuzz all around his mind and vision. His eyelids drooped as he wondered how much “new glue” it would take to grease his visa back to its page. “A costly problem, I’m sure.”

Pim bobbed his head. “We can easily fix your visa,” he started to say, but he frowned and stopped. “Oh, but Mr. Jay, it is worse than we thought! Wrong your visa is!”

“Wrong? My visa is fine. I got it properly. It didn’t even cost extra.”

Both men stared at him.

“Okay, only a little extra. But the dates are fine!”

“No and no, sir,” Mim said. “We are sorry but for you and it are all wrong.”

“Look, I get it. Find the dopey Yank. Do a little squeeze. Fine. How much for my visa to be”
—Jay winked—“’fixed?’”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jay?”

“How much?” Jay held up his hand and rubbed his thumb over his first and middle fingers. “Come on. I know the game.
Baksheesh
. Money is the grease that makes the wheels of the world turn, and all that dahl. A few rupees and the glue on my visa will be perfect. So, how much will it take?”

The men exchanged horrified looks. “No, no, Mr. Jay!” Pim said. “We have all we need. It shall be fixed. Wrong your visa is. New better glue it needs. Not your fault. We fix. You no pay. Only wait.”