Jack McDevitt - Eternity Road (v1) [rtf]

by Emily

  "And what is the problem of evil, Silas?" asked Flojian.

  They were moving slowly, not off-road, but in the presence of many roads, looking for Shay's telltale marks. "That, in a world governed by a benevolent divine power," Silas said, "the innocent suffer."

  "That children die," said Avila. "That prayer does not work. That, in our most desperate moments, despite the promises of the scriptures, we are quite alone."

  Flojian sighed. He wore a black cape that lent him a moder­ately dashing appearance. Moderately, because he never seemed to enjoy himself. The world was an ill-lit, gloomy place, and one had to struggle along as best one could, obey the rules, and put a good face on everything. He was therefore a believer in those things that did not require effort or sacrifice, and a skeptic where the results showed up on a profit and loss statement. Defying the gods tended to irritate people and was therefore bad for business. Flojian's reflexes kicked in. "You sound bitter," he told Avila.

  "I don't mean to be," she said. "I'm sorry. Let it go."

  Later she confided to Chaka that she'd promised herself to stay out of religious discussions. "They just get people upset," she said, "and they never lead anywhere."

  "You're not doing a very good job of it," said Chaka.

  "I know. It's hard to get away from."

  They made camp in the shelter of a stone wall, surrounded by a jumble of concrete and iron, half buried, broken up and pushed aside by old-growth trees. A nearby glade marked where an ancient courtyard had been. From the glade they could see sheared-off buildings rising above the trees. Where the rubble had fallen, mounds had formed.

  Shannon had been tending the horses. Now he came in behind them. "Got something," he said.

  He took them back through a stand of dogwoods and

  showed them a marker, a gray stone on which someone had carved the name Cris Lukasi, a crude rendering of the Tasselay, and the date March 23, 297. Cris Lukasi had been one of the members of the original expedition.

  "A survival expert," said Shannon. He frowned. "I don't want to offend you," he told Flojian, "but I think it was crimi­nal that somebody didn't keep a record of that journey. Where the bodies were. These people deserved that much, at least."

  "They did keep a record." Flojian's eyes blazed. "And my father spoke to the family members about everybody who was on the expedition. He told them what he could. He did what he could."

  "What happened to the record?" asked Chaka gently.

  "It was part of the anuma. Burned on the day of the crema­tion."

  "Did you know him?" Chaka asked Shannon.

  "Lukasi? No. I never met him. But I know he died far from home. In a place he didn't have to come to. That's enough for me." one might talk to a casual friend. But the comments lacked the warmth that might indicate he was interested in moving to a new level. Nevertheless, his eyes transmitted a different mes­sage.

  She watched him while he worked. His hair kept getting in his eyes, and sweat ran down his jaw and dripped onto his shirt. She was spending too much time thinking about him lately, and that wasn't a good idea. She kept comparing him with Raney. It was an odd thing about Quait: He had not struck her at first as particularly handsome. But he seemed to be get­ting better-looking as time went on. That, she assumed, resulted from his being the only young male within a consider­able distance.

  They cleaned their weapons, did some laundry, and sat late around the campfire.

  Next day, the road angled in an easterly direction, away from the river, and soon they were deep in forest again. The weather turned cold and wet, Chaka developed a fever, Silas's back gave him more trouble, and Quait sprained an ankle trying to calm a horse that had stepped in a hole.

  The horse broke its leg before they got it under control and they had to shoot it. Quait, obviously hurting, suggested maybe they should shoot him as well. Avila patched him up as best she could and they took over an old barn and built a fire. Wet cloths kept Chaka reasonably comfortable. But everyone knew how dangerous a fever on the trail could be. Quait stayed close to her and helped where he could.

  Rain poured through the roof. Avila broke out her pipes, and Quait his Walloon. They played and sang through the early part of the evening, while the weather beat against the ancient barn. Quait wasn't particularly skilled, but he gave it every­thing he had, and when things went wrong, he was the first to laugh. This was the night Chaka would remember later as the moment she admitted to herself that she was in love.

  It was March 21, the equinox, a day sacred to Shanta. The river was back, although Shannon explained that it wasn't the Wabash, but a tributary. "This is about as far north as I've been," he added. It was still cold and rainy, and they were a somber lot, tired, hurting, and beginning to talk about going home.

  The river ran through a gray mist that all but concealed the forest on the other side. Shay's signs pointed to a bridge just ahead. But the bridge was very high, and parts of it were miss­ing.

  "We can't cross that." said Silas.

  All that remained of the middle of the bridge were a few connecting beams and a walkway. The walkway just stuck up there in the sky.

  "We should quit here for the day," said Shannon. "Give the horses a rest. Tomorrow we can figure out the next step."

  Nobody argued. There were no convenient buildings this time so they put up a couple of lean-to's and crawled in. Avila checked her various patients and pronounced them fit, but insisted they take advantage of the early halt to sleep. "You espe­cially," she told Chaka, who had thrown off her fever. "In this weather it wouldn't take much for you to go another round."

  They broke out one of the wineskins, and draped blankets over their shoulders. Shannon brought back some trout, to which they added biscuit, berries, and beans. Afterward Chaka complied with her doctor's orders and closed her eyes. Silas was arguing that gods were necessary to the peace and order of society. "On the whole," he said, "I don't think I'd want them over for dinner. But they're convenient for requiring people to perform their social duties."

  Avila sipped her wine thoughtfully and looked out across the river into the fogbanks. "And you, Quait? In what do you believe?"

  "How do you mean?"

  "I know you do not believe in the Goddess."

  "I never said that."

  "Your tone says it. Your opinions in other matters say it. So what being greater than Quait do you speak with when the lights go out?"

  "I'm not sure," he said. He glanced at Chaka, who must have looked asleep. And he lowered his voice. "I see people like her" he said, "and I think it's unreasonable to demand any­thing more."

  Chaka did not hear Avila's reply.

  She was awakened by a hand on her shoulder and the smell of rabbit stew. "Hungry?" asked Quait.

  The rain had stopped, and it was dark. The fire burned cheerfully several feet outside the lean-to.

  "Yes. Save some for me?"

  Quait passed her a bowl. "Big debate going on."

  Chaka heard animated voices. "Don't tell me. The gods again."

  "Not this time. They're trying to decide whether they want to try crossing the bridge or looking for a ford. Jon doesn't think there is a ford within several days' travel."

  "Why not build a raft and let the horses swim over?"

  "Have you looked at the current?" He pressed a hand to her forehead. The hand was cool. "How do you feel?"

  "Okay."

  He sat down beside her. "They keep changing their minds. But Silas is scared somebody'll fall off the bridge."

  "What do you think we should do?"

  "Karik used the bridge. I guess we can. How about you?"

  "It doesn't look like a problem to me either. Of course, maybe that'll change when we get on top of it."

  He bent toward her and pressed his lips against her cheek. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to you," he said.

  She did not pull away until his lips sought hers. Damn. "You'll get what I have," she said, feeling childish. He smiled and kis
sed her. It was a very gentle kiss, his lips only brushing hers, but it left her tingling.

  "Eat," he said, looking smug.

  The stew was good. It warmed her and she felt her strength returning.

  "I think I'm in love with you, Chaka Milana," Quait whispered.

  There was a sudden flurry of activity around the campfire that Chaka momentarily thought was caused by the declara­tion. But it was something else, because the others were stand­ing up one by one and looking north across the river. They were pointing, and their jaws had gone slack.

  Quail pulled away and looked back over his shoulder.

  "Something's happening," she said.

  It was easy enough to see: A ribbon of white light moved through the night on the far side.

  "Coming this way, I think," said Flojian.

  Out of the northwest. It was traveling in a straight line. And coming quickly. Not like something passing through woods. More like a spirit gliding above the trees.

  "The thing's airborne," said Silas.

  The river wouldn't be a barrier. Shannon put out the camp-fire.

  Avila bowed her head and whispered a prayer.

  "Ever see anything like this before?" Quait asked Shannon.

  "No." He collected his rifle and loaded a shell into the breech.

  "It's Arin's dragon," said Chaka. She scrambled to her feet and went after her own weapon, though she did not believe that bullets would have any effect on this thing.

  It broke apart, separated into distinct glowing segments. Four. One behind the other.

  It was curving eastward now, moving as if it were going to pass across their front, parallel to the river. They held their breath.

  It began to slow down.

  She watched it approach, watched its lights move along the surface of the water, watched them disappear behind patches of forest and individual trees, and then re-emerge.

  There was no sound, save the wind on the river, and the insects and the horses.

  "It's stopping," said Silas in a hushed voice.

  Each of the four illuminated segments had now become rows of individual lights. Eyes, thought Chaka. It had a thou­sand eyes.

  The forest tried to swallow it, but they could still see the glow of its passing through the trees. It was almost directly opposite them.

  She heard Quail's voice. "What do you think, Silas?”

  "Voices travel across water," whispered Shannon. "Let's talk about it later."

  It came out of the trees and stopped. Its lights floated on the river.

  "You don't think it knows we're here, do you?" Chaka asked Quait.

  Quait shook his head. "No."

  "Then what's it waiting for?"

  His only answer was to move close to her.

  A cloud drifted across the moon.

  The dragon remained quite still.

  It seemed to Chaka that a substantial piece of an hour passed before the lights across the river blinked, and the thing began to move again. Back in the direction from which it had come.

  They watched it cruise through the forest and curve back out into the night. It picked up speed and rose again above the trees. Its lights flowed together. After a while they began to dim. And within a few minutes, it was gone.

  13

  Jon Shannon had come to recognize a kindred spirit in Avila. The former priest was a solitary creature who enjoyed but never required the company of others. She was the only one of his five charges who did not seem like a transient in the deep for­est. This was not attributable, he decided, to extraordinary wilderness skills. Flojian was better with horses, Chaka was a more skilled hunter, Quait a more accurate marksman. But Avila might almost have been a creature of the forest. She loved the leafy glades and the green silences and she never reminisced about Illyria. Although she was usually the one to point out that a break was prudent to rest the animals or the people, or to restock the larder, she grew impatient with delays. She was always anxious to move on, to see where the road went.

  Jon Shannon, like the majority of Illyrians, had never learned to read, so he did not share the general enthusiasm for the voice of Mark Twain, or for the other treasures to be found at Haven. He was with the company because he knew they needed him.

  He felt a special sense of responsibility to the women. And he was not surprised that it was they, rather than their male counterparts, who argued for crossing the river in the face of what could only be an inkala. a woodland demon.

  Their motives were different. Chaka had no intention of returning home without some answers, nor was she interested in facing Raney, who would point out that he'd told her so. Avila had no home to return to, and when she'd recognized the effect the nocturnal vision was having on the others, she made up her mind to continue alone, if necessary.

  Among the men, even Silas was reluctant to continue in the face of a display that could only be explained by falling back on the supernatural. His old convictions that there were neither gods nor demons in the world sounded hollow away from the comfortable enclosures of the Imperium. Neverthe­less, he would have been ashamed to show less courage than the women. Quait shared a similar view, and so it developed that only Flojian was left arguing, as he put it, for common sense.

  Shannon heard him tossing fitfully during the night and knew he was choosing between crossing the river into haunted country and trying to turn back alone. He also knew what the decision would be.

  They were up and moving at dawn, hoping to get across the river and be well away from the area by sundown. Everyone spent time staring at the opposite bank, where a wooded ridge overlooked the shoreline. A portion of it leveled off into a shelf, an esplanade, roughly midway between the crest and the water. Here, the trees thinned out; and here, everyone agreed, the dragon, the vision, the inkala, had come to rest.

  They could even see its track: a long, well-defined corridor of sparse growth, almost like a highway, running parallel to the river and then arcing out to the northwest.

  But Chaka wasn't sure. "When it was approaching, it was above the trees. Above the trail."

  "Still," said Shannon, "It's connected. That's the way it came."

  Silas grunted and pushed his hands into his pockets. "I'm more interested in what kind of beast it is."

  Avila shielded her eyes. "We should keep clear of it," she said. "Nothing from this world could move like that—"

  They followed Shay's trail to the bridge.

  It was not an extraordinarily large structure, as these things went. The roadway itself was about a hundred feet wide, bor­dered by thick metal rails which were, curiously, only knee-high. It was supported by two massive concrete towers. But the

  far tower had sunk well into the riverbed, dragging trusses, girders, and roadway with it until the bridge had broken. A substantial piece had dropped out of the center and now lay submerged and visible in the crystal water. So there were now two bridges, one fifty feet higher than the other, connected only by a few pieces of metal, some cables, and a walkway.

  The walkway lifted gradually from either side, supported by a series of struts, rising above and outside the main bridge. It had at one time been enclosed by beams and steel mesh, prob­ably to provide a sense of security, and possibly to deter acci­dents and jumpers. Now it was twisted and broken, and in some places the mesh dangled toward the water and in others it was simply gone.

  The paving was narrow; three people could not have stood comfortably side by side. But the walkway was intact. Even where the main bridge itself no longer existed, it had survived the general collapse, and swayed gently in the wind.

  "I can't say I'm looking forward to it," said Silas.

  Chaka blinked in the sunlight. "It's a long way up."

  Shannon shook his head. The river looked wide and deep as far as they could see in both directions. "I still think we should look for a ford," he said.

  "We made the decision last night," said Quait. "The bridge probably looks worse than it is."

 
"I agree," said Silas. They were standing at the foot of the approach, where the walkway was only a corridor a few inches higher than the main roadbed. "Do we have anybody who's bothered by heights?"

  "Probably everybody," Chaka said.

  "You change your mind?" asked Silas.

  "I don't care how we cross," she said. "Let's just get to it."

  "The horses'll be jittery." Flojian made no effort to hide his conviction that they should turn back. "They aren't going to like all that air."

  "Look," Quait said, "it's four feet wide. It goes up and down a little bit, but nothing we can't handle. If it were on the ground, nobody'd think anything about it."

  They crossed the roadway, mounted a curb on the far side.

  climbed onto the corridor, and arranged themselves singly. Each took a group of three or four horses, using reins of different lengths so that the animals could walk single file. Quait led the way, and Shannon dropped back to bring up the rear.

  As the corridor lifted away from the road, a handrail appeared, and iron mesh rose around them. The floor was con­crete, but it had fallen away in places, revealing a metal crosshatch.

  A wide green strip ran parallel to the walkway, about fif­teen feet below it, also connected to the bridge. It too was intact, save for one or two breaks.

  Below them, forest and rolling hills gave way to clay banks and then to the river. The wind picked up. The sky was streaked with wisps of cloud; the sun was bright. It was cold on the walkway, and Chaka looped the reins of the three animals she had in tow around her wrist and pushed her hands into her pockets.

  She wondered who had traveled the walkway during its glory days From this vantage point, she could make out mas­sive ruins everywhere. Had people lined the bridge, safely shel­tered behind the mesh, to admire the great cities on both shores?

  She concentrated her attention on the esplanade. Silas was going to want to go there when they got down on the other side. And nothing would satisfy him until they'd examined the spot. She would prefer to get across and keep going.

  The area looked harmless enough. It was flat, and a couple of downed posts lay on the ground. There was an opening in the woods on the west side. That was the corridor through which the thing had come.