Forever the Road (A Rucksack Universe Fantasy Novel) Page 13

“I asked for an egg,” Jigme replied. “I don’t know why. An egg sounded so good. But instead the old man just pointed again to the two pots. I picked the one to my left, and he filled up my bowl.”

  “What was in the one on the right?”

  “I don’t know. Same thing, for all I know. He just seemed to want me to choose for myself.”

  “When I took a bite, it…” Jigme’s voice fell off. The strange sensations rushed back.

  “It’s okay,” Jay said. “It was only food for a hungry boy, right?”

  Jigme shook his head. “No. That’s the thing. When I dipped the spoon in the bowl, it looked like regular dahl. The broth was broth, and it smelled so rich and amazing. There were lentils and vegetables. The scent itself seemed to speak to me, like it was telling my stomach and my heart how much it was going to help me.” Jigme’s mind deferred to his stomach and his soul. “But taking that first mouthful, it was like… It was like biting into a conversation.”

  “What, did the food talk to you?”

  Jigme nodded.

  “You aren’t serious.”

  He doesn’t believe me, Jigme thought. I don’t know why I thought he would. “I am serious, Jay. The food said that when I asked for an egg, the old man had said no because I would have egg enough to come. It said my love was pure but would not be enough. And it…”

  “It what?”

  “Forget it. You don’t believe me.”

  For a moment, Jay said nothing, then, “Look, I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve seen some hard-to-believe things over the years. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Jigme nodded. “The food sang to me.”

  “What did it sing?”

  Jigme closed his eyes for a moment as they walked. The song flooded back:

  “He loves to run, but one day he will stand still.

  “He will know the world in the city.

  “When he burns, he will be the flame in the fire.”

  “Do you know what it means?” Jay asked.

  Jigme shook his head. “That was all the food said to me. After that, it was just soup. I ate it and the man gave me more to take home to Amma. I started to offer him work to repay him, but he just shooed me away.”

  “Have you been back since then?”

  “No.”

  “You have a mystery of your own to work out,” Jay said.

  They walked by the red door. The wall around Jigme’s home was white, but as Jigme stared, a shadow seemed to darken the red on the door. He stopped. “I don’t think we should go any farther, Jay.”

  “How would you know when you never have?”

  Jigme started walking again. They had hardly passed the door when the world seemed darker. When Jigme looked up, the sun was still bright in the sky, yet all around him, the alley’s white walls had become grayer. Shadows seemed to grow with every breath. The air seemed cooler too, as if they were in a part of the city that somehow never knew light and stayed always in the chill of just before dawn.

  “It’s cold,” Jigme said.

  “Think this is cold?” Jay replied. “You ought to go to Mount Everest. It’s so high up, the air is thin and everything is cold. You can be there in the mountains only a couple of days and you start to forget what warm is.”

  They said nothing more. Jigme ached to turn around and run back to his door, throw it open, run inside, and lock the door. Only Amma was not at home anymore, he remembered. Home was no longer home.

  Run back to the hospital, he thought. Go back to Amma’s side, stay there until she wakes up. Maybe she’s awake already, and feeling better, and wondering where I am.

  Jigme stopped again. He turned away from Jay and the whispering raspy noise coming from Jay’s daypack. There seemed to be a glow. It began in Jigme’s mind, but its red warmth soon bled out over the alley.

  “Leave,” a voice inside whispered, “and there is no world. Keep going, and see the world. Keep going and your mother will be healed.”

  Already he could see down toward the brighter end of his alley, where first lay his old home and then the people beyond and the street and the city. Amma was out there, waiting for him.

  But the voice held a promise that sounded as sure as the sun talking about dawn.

  Jay said nothing when Jigme caught up.

  Mists swirled now, as if the river’s morning fog didn’t burn off during the day but instead came here to wait out the sun before returning to the water. Jigme couldn’t see the walls anymore. He could hardly see Jay, could only make out the strident outline of the man and his pack as they moved forward.

  “Scary, isn’t it?” Jay said.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s usually a sign it’s the right thing to do,” Jay replied, but his hard voice sounded brittle and cracked.

  The mists fell away. A dim gloom of light showed them where they were.

  The alley stopped. At its dead end, at the heart of the city, a wall of smooth, glasslike black stone rose to the height of one story. It had no features, except for two statues standing before it with a passage between them. The statues were identical to the statue at the mouth of the alley, and they stood no more than the length of a step in front of the wall.

  “Where do we go now?” Jigme asked.

  Jay shrugged. “Forward is the only direction I know.”

  “But there’s nowhere to go.”

  With a grin, Jay pointed to the statues. “It looks like a wall,” he said. “But how can we really know until we get closer?”

  Fear split through Jigme. “We need to stop,” he said, tugging at Jay’s arm before the tourist could walk between the statues.

  “What’s your deal?” Jay said. “We came all this way already. Why stop now?”

  “Because we have to!” Jigme said. “We shouldn’t go here. It’s wrong!” The words made sense from his mouth but not in his head.

  “She will die,” the voice said again, clear yet harsh in Jigme’s mind—powerful but raspy, as if unused for eons. Its ancient echoes burned away everything else in his mind, including his own thoughts. Jigme’s hand fell away from Jay’s arm.

  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 t
hought 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.

  THE 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.”