Forever the Road (A Rucksack Universe Fantasy Novel) (39 page)

With cheeks puffed out, a large sigh whooshed out of him. “Can you explain something to me?”

“Anything,” Jade said. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’ll explain everything I can.”

“I’m hearing that a lot today,” he said. “All this time I’ve been here, drinking all those pints of stout, you’ve been… You’ve been messing with my destiny.”

She shook her head. “It’s not every drink I serve, only particular drinks for a particular person. And we can’t influence stout. It’s somehow immune to us. That’s why it’s all Rucksack drinks.”

Jay’s eyes flashed. He let go of Jade’s hands. “Rucksack knows about you?”

“I don’t know how he learned about us, and it’s not something The Management ever discuss. But far as I can tell Rucksack’s intentions are good. He’s just trying to find his own way back to a destiny he lost long ago.”

“Yeah, so I understand. Lot of destinies around this town.”

“Jay?”

He looked past her then walked to the desk.

Oh crap,
she thought.
The notes.

She turned around, staring at Jay, but he didn’t look at her again until he’d read the three notes.

“What are these?” he said.

Tell him,
she thought,
tell him all.
“The Management’s instructions to me. About you.”

“But you didn’t… influence… me?”

“No. Stout is immune. Like I said, I took the scotch that would have influenced you.”

His eyes widened. “What about the scotch you left by my bed last night? Did that do something to me?”

“That scotch is why they fired me. Instead of doing what they said, I broke their influence. It’s called the All and Nothing. The person who consumes it can no longer be influenced by The Management or by the Jakes and Jades. It’s like a… like a vaccination. You have to understand, Jay, I did this to free you. Make it so you could follow your heart, wherever that leads.”

He held up a sheet of paper. “But this says the heart is not the path.”

Jade shrugged. “I say they’re wrong.”

“Do you think you know my heart?”

“Not as well as I would like.” She tried to smile but found it too difficult. “I’m hopeful though.”

“Hopeful that I’ll choose you.”

“But not over travel. You can have both, Jay. If you want to see the world, I’ll go with you. We know we have something special here, something amazing as the world. We owe it to ourselves to see it through.”

Jay closed his eyes tight. When he opened them again, the fierceness had returned. “How do I know that?” he said. “Everything else has been a lie. Why not this too?”

“A lie? I’ve never lied to you.”

Jay reached into his pocket. Jade gasped when she saw his passport. “Did you know that Rucksack has had my passport this entire time?”

Jade started to speak again. Instead she looked at the floor and nodded.

“And you also knew that there’s all this hubbub about me having some destiny to become a god? All this weirdness with the dia ubh and the smiling bonfire boogeyman thing?”

Again, she could only nod.

“So, for these last few weeks, you’ve known all along that I was on a wild goose chase and that Rucksack wanted me to stay here to be part of this supposed destiny.”

It wasn’t a question, but she nodded in reply. “Jay—”

“How can I be with you when you lied to me? How can I be with you when you buy into the same destiny crap as Rucksack?”

“But I don’t,” Jade replied. “I told you, I freed you from that.”

“You can’t feel a need to free me from something unless you believe it’s real.”

“I did this for you,” Jade said. “For us. I went against everything I’ve known for the last ten years. I gave it all up to be with you.”

“No,” Jay replied. “You gave it up for a roll of the dice.”

“I gave it up for what might someday be love. Do you love me?”

He stepped forward, his eyes locked on hers. “How can I love someone I don’t trust?”

“You can trust me.”

“No, Jade, I can’t.” Jay reached up and tightened the shoulder straps on his pack. “If I’ve learned anything during my time here, it’s that the only thing I can trust is the road. If I stop, trouble catches up to me. I’m going now. I’m leaving all of this, all of you, behind. You’re right. We had a chance. We had something special. But you didn’t just decide against your work when you lied to me. You decided against whatever we might have been. There is no more us.”

Before she could say anything, Jay had unlatched the door and was gone.

She took a deep breath. The notes crumpled as she stuffed them in her pocket. Jade grabbed her pack, swung it onto her back, and ran out the door. It latched behind her with more than just locks. This time when she emerged from the wall, she felt a change in the air, as if behind her the illusion of the wall had stopped being an illusion.

No turning back now.

Jade opened the side door that led out into Agamuskara.
Find him,
she thought.
Follow him.

But Jay had moved quickly, and already she couldn’t see him among the crowds and the many streets. The loud buzz of the outside world pummeled her, and she could no longer isolate the individual voices that had guided her for so long.

He was gone and she had no way to find him.

A soft click made her swing around, the heavy pack swinging her off balance and making her stumble. “No!” she said, grabbing the latch, trying to open the door. But the Everest Base Camp, best pub and hostel in India, refused to open for her.

I don’t know where to go now,
she thought, unhooking her pack and sitting at the outside table.
Who am I now? What do I do?

No matter how much she asked, how deeply she looked or listened, she found no answer, only hot tears that she couldn’t stop from rolling down her face.

T
HE LAST TENDRILS
of orange cloud faded as the sun set, but the looming black wall removed all thoughts of the darkening sky, of sunshine and bright days.

Jigme tried to get his breath back, standing stooped from the exertion of getting here, but even breathing was a hard labor now. He choked back tears, and at last no more came to take their place.

Asha slipped again, barely standing even as she leaned against her son. Jigme tightened his hand around her shoulder, and the pain from his broken fingers made him gasp. Something seemed to grate in his leg as he shifted to take more of her weight. His swollen knee pressed so hard against his pants that he wondered whether the pressure would tear fabric or flesh first.

“We’re almost there, Amma,” he said. “Soon you will be truly healed, and everything will be better. I promise.”

She didn’t reply. Her drooping head lolled. Jigme couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or not. She’d been barely conscious ever since he had returned to their room, just before the first glints of dawn brought light back to Agamuskara. There had been no rest when he had returned, only fear of the people of the city learning what he had done, only fear of taking his eyes off Asha as she lay in and out of weak consciousness.

Amma’s dying,
he thought. No tears followed.

I have to get her inside, get her to him,
Jigme thought.
But I have to get my breath back first. I’m barely standing. Just a moment more.

Jigme looked up, past where the black line of the temple gave way to the darkening sky. Only the slightest gleam remained.

Is my father still alive?
Jigme wondered.
Did he die long ago?

Looking down at his mother, Jigme kissed her head. “You’re all I have,” he said. “I can’t lose you too.”

The darkness ate the last gleam of light in the sky.

With a final breath, Jigme forced away all pain and weariness and started walking them forward once more. Asha stumbled when they passed the statues. Jigme didn’t know where he found the strength, but he caught her, lifted her up so her body lay across his outstretched arms, her limbs and head dangling. Her weight had faded with the sunlight. She was so much easier to carry now. Ragged, slow breaths rasped in and out of her as the entrance to the temple appeared before them. Jigme stepped forward, crossing a foot over the threshold.

“Turn around!”

Jigme froze. The cry in his mind echoed then repeated.

“Turn around!”

The voice reminded him of his own. But it was also clearer, bolder, yet old, full of fear and worry.

“You can still leave here, leave him, and never return to this place,” said the voice. “This is your last chance. Leave, Jigme. Let life happen as life will happen. Let him fade. Do not take her to him.”

“Who are you?” he said.

“One who wants to help,” the voice replied.

“You are too late to help,” Jigme said. “She is nearly dead, and this is my only chance to save the one person who cares about me.”

“Do you really believe he’s going to help you? Help her?”

“I don’t even know who you are,” Jigme said. “I have no reason to listen to you.”

The voice said nothing else.

With another step forward, Jigme and Asha were inside the temple. The entrance sealed as it normally did, yet something seemed different.

The air felt hotter than Jigme had ever known it before. Sweat beaded on his face. He carried Asha forward, toward the center of the temple. In the red-and-black glare, a long, low block of black rock rose from the floor. Despite the dimness, the obsidian’s faces and edges gleamed sharp and bright.

“Lay her there.” The Smiling Fire’s red-and-black eyes emerged from the darkness behind the block. More of his shape became visible. Jigme could just make out the shadows that covered much of his face, the ragged thin limbs, the darkness that hung off of the Smiling Fire like robes made of night, smoke, and storm clouds.

In his right hand, the Smiling Fire held a long, thin knife, black and shiny as the obsidian of the temple. Jigme took a step back. “What’s that?”

“Fear not.” The Smiling Fire tucked the knife into his robes. “It is not for you.”

Jigme nodded and realized he’d been holding his breath. He kissed his mother’s forehead then gently set her on the block. “Will it hurt?” he asked.

“Not for long.”

Below the eyes, the scythe-like smile widened. Jigme had never noticed before, but the red-and-black grin looked more like a tunnel than a mouth, deep and endless, covered in sharp points.

“Will we then go where the other children are?”

“Yes.”

The Smiling Fire spread his arms over Asha then leaned down. His grin stretched and yawned wider.

“Why haven’t I gotten any letters?” Jigme asked.

The Smiling Fire stopped. “Letters?”

“From the children I brought to you,” Jigme said. “I thought they would write, but there have never been any letters, and you don’t say anything about how they’re doing.”

“Stupid child,” the Smiling Fire replied. “The children are dead. The fires they stole have returned to me.”

“Dead?”

“I do not understand these schools and letters, these flowers and grasses that give you such hope and happiness in your mind.” The Smiling Fire glared at Jigme. “They helped you bring me what I needed, but they are not useful anymore.”

“You killed them?”

“You know what I did. You have known from the first. You chose to try to believe something else.”

“No,” Jigme said, feeling the truth of the rasping words inside.
I’ve always known,
he thought.
From the first I took here, poor child. He’s dead. Poor… Don’t say the name! Don’t ever say the name!

“It is time for you and your mother to return your stolen fires to me. Once I have your fires, then it is only a matter of time until the fires of all the world come back to their rightful owner. Soon it will all be over.”

“Amma!” Jigme shouted. “No! Mum!”

“Jigme?”

Her soft voice for a moment made the temple brighter, tamed the heat of the air. Asha looked up at the Smiling Fire. At first fear blazed through her face with a grief and sadness that almost made the temple cold. But as she stared into the eyes of the Smiling Fire, she calmed down. The fear faded. Slowly, with a shudder that almost seemed like a laugh, Asha began to smile. She turned to Jigme.

“My son,” she said. “My beautiful son. I should have been there for you better. I’m sorry.”

Behind her, the mouth of the Smiling Fire opened wider. “Return the fire to me,” he said.

She looked at him again. “You’ll have it in a little while,” she replied. Some hope filled her face, her eyes, her voice. “But you can’t keep what isn’t yours.”

“It is all mine. It always has been. As you will now learn.” The Smiling Fire began descending again.

Asha turned back to Jigme. “It’s okay, son,” she said. “Do not be afraid. Run, if you can. Know that I love you. I forgive you. And I will see you again. Your father—”

Her words cut off. The fiery grin covered her, head to toe, voice to soul. Darkness became all Jigme could see.