Forever the Road (A Rucksack Universe Fantasy Novel) Page 25

  After drinking the rest of his pint—and paying close attention to what his stomach was going to do with all that heavy reality—Jay finally felt it was safe enough to approach the bar.

  Jade finished serving some drinks. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Been better,” Jay said with a shrug. “Been worse.”

  “I’ve checked on you.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  “Jay—”

  “Jade—”

  They looked away from each other. A customer came up to the bar. “I have to, you know,” Jade said with an indifferent shrug.

  “I know,” Jay replied. “Always dutiful. Look, I’m starting to feel better. A good night’s sleep, I’ll be good as new. See you tomorrow, okay?”

  Jade nodded and walked away.

  Back in his room, Jay was too tired to undress. As he dozed off in bed, he could’ve sworn the backpack was smiling.

  Deep in sleep and long after midnight, Jay dreamed the door of his room opened. A lone woman entered, carrying a tray with a small glass on it. She set the glass by his bed and left. The door clicked softly as it closed.

  Jay woke.

  It was only a dream. It had to be.

  Still, he looked down. A glass of scotch, the best single-malt in the world, sat on the floor by his bed.

  That was nice of her.

  On the third day, Jay drank.

  JADE SHUT THE DOOR that separated the pub from the hostel. Her hands trembled so hard she had trouble turning the lock.

  Finally setting the bolt, she turned and pressed her back against the door, eyes closed. Her heart beat so hard and so fast it sounded like an urgent knock. But there was no knock in the empty pub.

  Jade clasped her hands together in front of her. For a moment she wished that she didn’t know so much about the world. Then that she had some god to pray to.

  Don’t cry, she thought. Don’t you dare cry.

  She felt the pub listening to her. Its shock at what she had just done reverberated through her senses. Even though the pub disagreed with her, its presence, its companionship, still comforted her.

  “I had to,” she said, opening her eyes. The bright lights above the bar reflected off the bottles and the shiny black plastic of the phone that never rang, leaving her and the rest of pub in darkness.

  It had all made sense then. But now, having set the drink by his bed, knowing he would drink it…

  She felt Jay’s mind as he stirred from sleep. Down every drop went, into his body and soul.

  His future.

  None of it makes sense anymore, she thought, but it was too late for sense or nonsense. All that remained was choice. And consequences.

  She saw it all in her mind again. Jay’s eyes burned at her while she made herself not look at him, staring instead at The Management’s instructions on the sheet of paper. How to make Jay a travel god, she thought. How to set him on the path that takes him away from me.

  Once the pub closed for the night, she stood alone behind the bar. The three bottles of ingredients surrounded the double Scotch in a triangle. The sheet of paper lay beside them.

  Jade unstoppered Green #2 and Black #11. Holding them over the glass, a thick drop bulged from the end of each bottle. Simultaneously, each drop fell into the drink below.

  Her sob surprised her so much she nearly dropped the bottles.

  “This is his destiny,” she said. “It’s not about what I feel or what I want. It’s about what must be.”

  Picking up the third bottle, the thick drop of Gold #1 shone like a miniature sun. The drop glistened as it started to slide from the top of the bottle.

  Once this is in the drink, she thought, it’s ready.

  Am I?

  There would be a glow like a flash of golden daylight. Then it would fade and there would be only the drink. And all that came after.

  Once he drinks it, destiny will be as The Management said it must be.

  Like the sun coming down from the sky, the drop began to fall. Like a gold thread, a thin tendril connected the drop to the bottle.

  The thread broke.

  The drop fell.

  Inside her mind and heart, duty and love fought each other. Jay’s face flared. His green-and-gold eyes shone as he looked at her. And the future burned black and red. Then nothing. Only ash and a fiery smile.

  It must be, she thought.

  What must be? she answered.

  Jade’s right hand swept over the glass. Thick yet light as air, the drop splattered on her palm.

  What am I doing? she thought.

  Jade washed her hands and emptied the glass down the drain, along with a thick stream of water, enough to dilute and neutralize the power of the drink and the elixirs.

  I can’t love him, she thought, but I can’t let him go blindly into some destiny just because someone says he must.

  Jade faced the open cabinet, shining with its unknown light.

  So I’ll set him free instead.

  Jade took out all the bottles and set them on the bar with the others: Gold #1, Green #2, Gray #3, Red #4, Brown #5, Yellow #6, Blue #7, Purple #8, Orange #9, Silver #10, and Black #11. She poured another double dram of the best single-malt scotch in the world.

  Then, one by one, she added a drop from each bottle.

  Like the elixirs from their bottles, tears threatened to drop from her eyes. “I cannot influence him to love me,” she said. “He must love me out of his own self. If I influenced him to love me, I could never forgive myself. And I would never be happy. Everywhere we went, every time I looked into his eyes, I would feel the question burning: does he love me because he loves me or because I influenced him?”

  Drop by drop, she made the drink, and she knew the other choice was just as impossible.

  “I cannot influence him to become the god The Management want him to be,” Jade said. “If they want him to be what they say he must be, if he is our best chance to defeat the Smiling Fire, then he must also decide that destiny. We can’t steer him. We can’t influence him. A god cannot be a puppet. Neither can a person.”

  The final drop came from the bottle of Black #11. Destiny in a bottle, The Management had explained. Dangerous and difficult, Black #11 was the elixir that had caused problems in Hong Kong years ago.

  As she returned the bottles to their cabinet, a sound like whispers bubbled from the drink. A disc of rainbow light grew softly. It surrounded the glass. The colors changed, fading one into the other. The whole shone more brightly with each shift. Blue, green, silver, black, brown, gold. The colors all phased into white, more brilliant than the walls of the city in the full noon sun.

  When the colors faded, the glass seemed like nothing more than an ordinary glass of scotch.

  Does it feel like a rainbow is coursing through the blood in his veins? Jade thought, staring at the empty tray, her mind listening hard to Jay as he drank.

  The phone rang.

  All thoughts of Jay vanished. The phone’s black handle felt oddly cool in Jade’s hand and against her face.

  “Jade Agamuskara Bluegold,” said the voice of The Management, low and hollow in her ear. As usual, they sounded like three beings speaking in unison, yet one voice that was somehow layered. Every layer seemed sad, woven with a disappointment deep as the world was old. “We gave you a choice. Had you but listened, all would be well, and you would be rewarded and exalted above all.”

  Fear welled up and her heart beat faster. She closed her eyes and breathed, then opened them again. A glimpse in the mirror showed the hardness of her face, eyes wide and shining, ferocious and terrified.

  “When given a choice,” Jade replied, speaking as evenly as she could, “sometimes the best thing to do is take both.”

  “You disobeyed. Twice. You have influenced not only yourself, but you influenced the traveler in a way he should not be influenced.”

  “My influence was not out of love,” Jade said. “Nor was it out of concern for his future or well-be
ing.”

  “You lie.”

  “You know I do not.”

  The Management was silent.

  What will they do to me? she thought. Where will I go back to? Who will I become?

  “He will not love me unless he chooses to love me,” Jade said. “He will not take on this destiny unless he chooses it himself. I didn’t just take both choices and give them to him. I gave him a third choice.”

  “The All and Nothing,” The Management said. “That combination is to be used only under direct orders and supervision from us. It has been used only two times in all of history.”

  “Three,” Jade said. “Now it’s three. I guess you can add that to the lessons, along with your description of my fate, the fate of what happens to a Jade who disobeys.”

  “You have altered the future in a way that could mean there is no future.”

  “I gave a person the freedom to decide his own destiny.”

  “You have condemned the world to ash. You have delivered us all to the Smiling Fire.”

  “You don’t know that. The future isn’t written like some book where you can skip to the end. Even I know that and I’m just a Jade.”

  “Some futures are clearer and more definite that others. Your betrayal has destroyed us all.” The Management paused, as if to take a breath, though Jade knew they didn’t breathe. “And you are no longer a Jade.”

  A pain stabbed through her and she closed her eyes. I knew it could happen, she thought. But I never thought they’d do this over the phone. They always appear. They are always with the Jake or Jade when it happens.

  I betrayed them so deeply they won’t even sack me in person.

  “Jade Agamuskara Bluegold,” came the voice of The Management, so cold now her skin and muscles hurt where the phone touched her flesh. “You are no longer the Jade of Agamuskara. You are no longer the Bluegold. We strip you of your powers and of your duties. Your benefits are ended. Effective immediately, you are no longer a Jade; you are merely of the name Jade, as you were when you came to us.”

  “What about,” she began, terrified of their reply. “What about my life?”

  Again, a pause.

  “You are as you are. You will be what you will be, in such time as you have left before the Smiling Fire murders Jay, is restored to his full power, and consumes all life. Your life will receive no revision.”

  “I am as I am?” The shock made her voice shake. “No change?”

  “From now on, you will age as a normal human. You may never enter one of our pubs again. You have until tomorrow night to remove your personal effects from the room.” A clacking sound came from the special cabinet. “The power of destiny and decision we strip from you. The cabinet is locked. When this call ends, you will leave the pub and return to your room. You will never enter the pub again.”

  “I live my life… as it is right now?”

  “That is your punishment. As one grace for your time of otherwise exemplary service, we will not age you to the years that have passed. But you will not be able to choose the life you come to next.”

  “But… But even if you sack a Jake or Jade, you’ve said so yourself, they still can choose the life they go to after their service.”

  “We said we have the right to allow you to do so. We never said we had an obligation.”

  The words ripped her breath from her. Images tore through her: the ring in the outstretched hand, the loud house she’d known from birth, full of pain and…

  Where will I go and what would I do anyway? Jade thought. I would never go back to my family. The one I left I can never return to. What else do I have but the life that is right in front of me, here in Agamuskara or wherever else I might go in the world as I am?

  Tears rolled down her face. What the hell do I do now? she thought. Without my duty as a Jade, what am I? Who am I?

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry. Don’t sack me. Please. Punish me. I accept whatever you deem right and necessary. But this is who I am. It’s all I am. Please, let me stay.”

  “Your destiny and your decisions are beyond us now, Jade. Thank you for your service. We are sorry that this is how it was to be.” The regret in the voice stung. “Good-bye.”

  With a click, the line went silent.

  Jade set the phone on the hook. She pulled and pushed at the cabinet, but just as they had said, it was locked.

  As she stepped over the threshold between the pub and the hostel, a hum in the air made her turn.

  She tried to step forward again but could not cross back into the pub. The air itself hardened like a wall. It darkened, blackened, until she could not see into the pub anymore.

  When Jade pulled the pub door shut, it locked with something more than turning bolts.

  Then she noticed the deep silence. It was as if a limb had been cut away. She touched the door to the pub, thinking about the space beyond: the bar and the glasses and bottles, the tables and chairs and walls covered with maps and memories. She knew it was all still there, but she couldn’t hear it anymore.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. Her fingers tightened on the glass of the door. The emptiness around her had weight, hard and sharp and dark. Jade walked down the hallway, past the illusion at the staircase, and into her room.

  For the last time, she thought, closing the door behind her. Wait.

  Jade turned the doorknob but the door didn’t open. Nor would the window. Trapped, she thought. Trapped until I’m packed and ready to leave here forever. I’m alone now.

  She stared at the ceiling toward Jay’s room. I can’t hear him anymore, she thought. Even that’s gone.

  Jade closed her eyes, wishing and hoping and even praying. Choose me, she thought. Please, choose us.

  Then she opened the closet and drawers and began to pack. Tears fell on papers and clothes as Jade prepared to leave behind the Jade and live now as only as herself.

  WAS THERE A STREET left in Agamuskara that did not wear his footprints? Dull pains stabbed Jigme’s toes, heels, shins, and knees.

  Jigme limped along the alley. For the last time in three days, the black temple receded behind him. Three days of running, seeking, convincing, returning, and going out again. After bringing the last child to the temple, Jigme’s legs had collapsed and he could hardly stand.

  I can finally go home, he thought. I’ve done enough and he is pleased. I can rest.

  Jigme wondered if Asha would be awake. She needed the rest, but he doubted she would be asleep. Every day she had been more and more anxious, as her early strength waned and she became more tired yet could not sleep.

  Not that I can sleep either, Jigme thought.

  A distant fire always glowed in his mind. Jigme saw it the most when he tried to sleep. Saw that and the children. Their faces showed suspicion and trust. They were always afraid when Jigme left the temple, just as the Smiling Fire came toward them.

  The Smiling Fire’s need had been great, and Jigme had brought him what he needed. To every corner of the city he had run, seeking out children like Noorjehan. Like the first boy, Jigme thought. Never a name, he has no name, if he doesn’t have a name, he doesn’t, he isn’t—

  “He isn’t anything to worry about,” came the rasping yet comforting voice in his mind.

  All of the children were healthy and well. They had been alone, unnoticed and not missed. Now, because of Jigme, they were on their way north to fresh air and freedom, to days of learning and playing, days of full bellies and soft beds.

  “Soon,” said the voice, “you’ll be with them.”

  As Jigme neared the living end of the alley, the absolute quiet in the back streets of Agamuskara told him it was around two or three in the morning. All the city sleeps but me, he thought.

  Before him, deep shadows made the red door seem murky and dirty. Jigme unlocked it and went inside. A lone oil lamp burned with barely enough light for Jigme to see in front of him. Still, he could make out where Amma lay, a lump on the mattress, her breath raspy and une
ven.

  “But you were getting better!” Jigme cried.

  “Jigme,” she said, quiet yet rough. “My son, my son, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not myself.”

  “It’s okay,” he replied. “We got you better once, Amma. We will get you better again.” He kneeled by the bed and held her hand, feverish and fiery yet cold and clammy.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “There’s been no time today.”

  “You look so thin.” She stared at him and touched his face. His cheekbone protruded so sharply that he worried it might cut her hand. “But you ate yesterday.”

  “No,” he replied. “Or the day before. The need was too great, the city so big. So many children to bring him. I have to make you well again. I can only do that if he gets what he needs.” And I haven’t been hungry, Jigme thought. I can’t eat. When I look at food, I see only the children. When will they arrive? When will I get a letter? I haven’t even heard from—don’t say the name!—and surely he’s there by now.

  Asha squeezed his hand. “Such a good son,” she said, but then she coughed and went rigid.

  “No!” Asha shouted. She looked at Jigme again, her eyes wide and fierce, protective and afraid. Without the redness and shadows he had seen in her gaze lately, her eyes were so dark and clear.

  “This is wrong!” she said. “This is all wrong! Get out of me. Get out of my son!” She went silent, as if listening to some distant voice. “No more!” she shouted. “I’d rather die!”

  Again, she seemed to listen to something far away. Then she closed her eyes and went limp. Tears and sobs shook out of her. “But I will not leave him alone.”

  She pulled Jigme toward her, wrapped her arms around him. “I will not leave you alone, my son. Never. You will always have me. You will always have my love.”

  “Mum?” Jigme asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s too late,” she replied. “I was too weak. I could not help, I could not stop it. I’m sorry, son. I’ve done you wrong. He…”

  Her back arched. Asha rose from the bed until only her head and feet touched the thin mattress.

  Jigme fell backward. Asha collapsed onto the bed and was silent, her eyes closed, her chest hardly rising.