Forever the Road (A Rucksack Universe Fantasy Novel) (44 page)

After taking Jade, the Smiling Fire returned to where the temple had stood. The sharp black shards of obsidian glittered all around the rubble. The vast field of smooth bright glass made it seem as if the ground was now the sky. He watched the clouds move over the black glass, over the chunks of charred rock, wood, and bones.

Except for Jade,
he thought.
There’s no sky where she is.

The large block of obsidian was the only thing of the temple prison that the Smiling Fire had not destroyed. With Jade in one arm, the Smiling Fire shoved the block aside with his free arm, revealing the hole that went down deep into the earth, into the chamber under the world, where the Smiling Fire had been forgotten.

He still couldn’t quite understand it. For a place where the Smiling Fire had been imprisoned, had hated for so long, lately he returned here more often and stayed longer. Now it seemed the Smiling Fire cared more about conserving his power than about scouring the city.

And he wouldn’t have to worry about finding Jay. His mind made it clear: once Jay knew that Jade had been captured, he would come to the Smiling Fire.

Usually there was no light here but a red-and-black shadowy flicker, dull as a constant headache and hot as a furnace. Behind him, just out of sight, there now seemed to be a silver-and-gold glow. But that couldn’t be. A noise buzzed, sounding like a particular word. But that word couldn’t be. The noise couldn’t be. He ignored them.

Jade slid like water onto the stone slab in the chamber. Her breathing was deep and slow, her eyes closed. At least she was still alive.

How he wished he could talk to her. Say he was sorry. But he had no mouth here, and no tears that he could shed for all the wrongs he’d done.

The noise came again. So did the word.

“Jigme.”

That could not be.

He fled.

The voice reminded him of a kind old man. But there could be no kind old men here. This was hell and hell did not cater to kind old men. Hell was for people like Jigme. People who believed lies, even when deep down they knew the truth. People who brought children to their death. People who helped free something that only wanted to murder and destroy.

Jigme no longer knew how long he had been awake or how long he had been… away. He only knew that he would make himself watch. Since he had figured out what he was, he had watched the world through the Smiling Fire’s eyes. He would not let himself turn away from the explosions and the fires, the people running and falling.

I did this
. The thought never left him. It was as constant and real as the body that once surrounded his soul.

This is all my fault.

I got what I deserved.

But I won’t turn away,
Jigme thought.
I did this and I will not turn away. That is the least of what I owe.

He remembered the sufferings and hardships he had known in life, but they were nothing compared to what he knew now.
Hell is to be trapped and helpless,
he thought.
Hell is to see the consequences of your actions, regret all you’ve done, and have no way to make things right.

Sometimes he wondered where he was. If the Smiling Fire had a soul, did it now contain Jigme’s? Did Jigme’s soul somehow rattle around in the body, the form that the Smiling Fire maintained, powered by the fires of life he had burned away from the living? Jigme never came upon a wall or a boundary, never found a place where he could not continue. Still, he knew he was trapped. The world was out there. Life was out there. In here was nothing but void and darkness, the heat of flames, a hollow blackness, and the silence that came in the absence of the living.

Except now there was the silver-and-gold glow again, following him.

He moved faster, trying to fly away, trying to hide.

When Jigme had first awakened here, he had recalled only his body’s agony at being burned away, and his soul’s guilt, rage, and sadness at watching his mother die. He had floated, unaware. Only when the sounds of fire and screams came did he realize he could move—or at least direct his thoughts in a way that moved his soul around wherever he was.

But the glow moved faster.

Before Jigme could react, it was in front of him. Now it was no longer just a soft glow; it was big and bright as the sun, and it shone silver-and-gold.

Jigme tried to flee another direction but found he could not. There was suddenly nowhere to go. The glow was in front of him yet all around him.

I’m trapped,
he thought.

“Jigme,” said the glow, with its kindly-old-man voice, “you are not trapped.”

“I’m dead,” Jigme said. “I’m trapped in the hell where I deserve to be. Are you here to finish me?”

“No,” said the voice. No longer did it sound like an old man. The voice was like a woman’s, like…

“Amma?” he said. But that couldn’t be. She had been burned up and was no more.
Just like me,
he thought.
And I’m here.

“That’s right, son,” said the voice. “It’s your amma. I’m here.”

“I killed you,” Jigme replied.

“The Smiling Fire killed me by taking advantage of your hope and despair. My body is no more. But I am here.”

I’ve been tricked before,
Jigme thought.
Look at where that got me.

“Prove it,” he said.

“Ask me something only I could answer,” came the reply.

Jigme thought past all that had happened over the last few weeks, before the temple, before stealing Jay’s backpack, before… He had it.

“What happened that day when the tourist slipped on the banana?”

“The tourist didn’t slip on a banana,” came the reply. It almost seemed like Jigme could hear her smiling. “The monkey stole a camera out of the tourist’s backpack, and the tourist chased the monkey. Then the tourist slipped on tomatoes that had fallen out of a cart, and he landed in a pile of cow dung.”

“And what did you say when I told you this?”

“’I hope the monkey took a picture of such a soft landing!’”

The memory came back to Jigme, as vivid as if it were happening in front of them.

“Amma,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“As am I. This is my fault, son, not yours.”

“I believed the lies. I brought the children.”

“And you did so because it was acting through me. You did so because you thought it was the only way to save me.”

“I have done much wrong.”

For a moment there was silence. Then Asha said, “We both have.”

“Why am I here?” Jigme asked. “There have been no other voices until you. Everyone he took, they are gone.”

“You are here because we saved you, as I was saved.”

“But I’m not saved. My body was burned. So was yours. Just like everyone he’s killed, everyone I brought. I don’t deserve to be alive, Amma,” Jigme said. “I deserve to be no more.”

Something about her words troubled him.

“Wait,” he said. “Who’s we?”

When the voice came again, it was the sound of the kindly old man. “You never knew me as well as you should have, Jigme,” he said. “And you never heard me speak. I lived so long in silence, I never thought that in death I might be restored to my voice. I suppose it’s fitting that my voice returns from the one who took it from me.”

“Who are you?”

“I ran The Mystery Chickpea, Jigme,” he said, “though even here I do not know my name again. That will only come back to me when I pass on. I should have prevented this.”

“You just served food,” Jigme said. “You were always there.”

“I wasn’t. I never should have left. Something came to my attention that seemed more important than my duty to guard the alley that led to the black temple. But when I arrived where I was directed, I was told it was all a ruse—part of a larger, more crucial destiny. Despite the haste with which I returned, I was too late. But there still was one thing I could do.”

“You died too,” Jigme said. “I killed you.”

“No, Jigme,” the old man said. “You did not kill me. I went willingly. I chose the fire.”

“Why?”

“To save you. To save your mother. To save all I could.”

“Jigme,” Amma said. “They are here. Those the Smiling Fire took as he took us, their souls have been protected. They are guarded now. Their bodies are gone but their selves are here.”

“What will happen to them?”

Silence. “We don’t know,” Asha said. “There is much we don’t know. But while they live, there must be a chance for something better.”

“This is all my fault,” Jigme said. “But I can’t do anything about it.”

“This is our fault,” the old man said. “And above all, mine. None of this would have happened had I acted differently toward you and your mother.” He paused. “I must explain. I lived a long life, longer than mortal men, because I served a sacred duty that came to me when the Smiling Fire was first imprisoned. I was to watch, to guard. But I was to exist alone, apart from those I protected.”

“I remember always seeing him when I first came to Agamuskara,” Asha said. “He was old and silent. There was much I did not know about him. But I knew enough: he was a great man. Anyone would know that just by tasting his food.”

“Your mother never should have believed I didn’t care,” the old man said. “You never should have believed that in this world you had no options or no hope. Perhaps I could have left my duty or passed it on. Instead I have failed you again and again. But I will do all I can now to give you another chance.”

Jigme tried to make sense of what he was hearing. “You can’t be,” he said.

“But of course I am, Jigme,” the old man said. “I am your father.”

T
HE MOON
, the voice, and the mountain faded. At first all was dark again, dark as a moonless night. The words. There had been so many words. They faded too, but he remembered it was time to open his eyes.

So he did. A white blur met him. When that faded, he looked out at the world again.

The first thing he saw was the backpack, sitting there like it had begrudgingly remained by his side.

“Are you still pissed at me?” Jay said.

The backpack didn’t reply, but something in the folds and creases of the nylon made it seem relieved he was alive.

Jay tried to sit up. Pain shot through his torso and legs. His arms buckled when he put weight on them, and he fell back onto the thin pillow at the head of the narrow bed. The bed was pushed against the back corner of the room, whose walls were whiter than those of Agamuskara. On the wall across from him, the eyes of the blue-skinned Hindu god Shiva stared at him from a poster.

Jay chuckled and returned the stare. “Some god, huh?” he said. “Can’t step off a train without falling. Now I can’t even get out of bed.”

He scratched his nose. Then he stared at his hand.

“Exposure,” said a voice, old and crackling yet surprisingly strong. “Plus, there was a while where you were hardly breathing. Combined, it’s given your skin a blue tinge. Temporary, I’m sure.”

Standing in the doorway at the far corner of the room, the woman looked even older than she sounded, yet she was regal in her silver-and-gold sari. Her skin was wrinkled and her back was bent, but strength and authority flowed from her. The way she held her walking stick, Jay had a feeling she could crack skulls if she wanted.

“How long have I been here?” Jay asked.

“Not long enough and too damn long,” she replied. “You’ve been unconscious for over a month. Good thing too. You also have multiple fractures to your ribs, arms and legs, so I’m glad you had the decency to spare me the screaming-in-pain part of all this.”

“I’m sorry to have been such an inconvenience,” Jay replied. “But thank you for taking care of me.”
She may have tended me all this time,
he thought,
but she doesn’t seem happy to have me here.

“You were never convenient,” she said. “But I must admit I had hoped you weren’t going to do anything so stupid.”

“You don’t know who I am.”

“No, you don’t know who you are, but that’s what happens when you keep trying to kid yourself.” She sighed and walked into the room. “Nonetheless, you only just woke up, and your injuries are still extensive. I’ll forgive you for being a bit slow, but I’m afraid there’s no patience to accompany my sympathy. We don’t have time for you to go on sitting around being broken.”

She pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat down. Dull pain rumbled through him when she patted his hand, making it hard for him to keep his head clear. He groped for an answer but nothing made sense. And when nothing made sense, sometimes you just had to grab the first bit of nonsense that came to hand. He looked her in the eye. As wrinkled as her face was, her eyes were bright, clear, and brown-and-black.

“Kailash?” he said.

“Thank goodness,” she replied, smiling. “I feared I was going to have to recount all the dreams you’ve been having, all the conversations we’ve shared in your mind over these last few weeks. Wondered if there’d have to be a code word or an answer to some secret question. ‘What does snow on Everest look like under the full moon?’ or some nonsense like that.”