Forever the Road (A Rucksack Universe Fantasy Novel) Page 36

  Jade nodded.

  They stood where Jade had been transformed, directly under the twin discs of the mirror eclipse. Jigme could feel it throughout the Smiling Fire’s being; they had only a little longer to draw on the power of the eclipse. He stood between Jade and Rucksack, who held hands as they both stared at Jigme.

  It began.

  From within the silver-and-gold glow of his mother and father, Jigme heard the stirring of the souls, their excitement and their hope. He could both hear and feel the song of his mother and father, joining with Jade and Rucksack’s voices, and with his own. They sang to the moon and the sun, to the earth and the sky. They sang to all the gods, to all the living, to all the dead. They sang to themselves and to those they loved.

  When the song faded, so did the silver-and-gold glow. “Son,” said his mother and father, “it is done. We pass from this world, but we leave our love for you and our hope. We take our regrets and failures with us. May your world be happier without them.”

  Their voices faded. Then Jigme’s father spoke one last time. “Oh.” Laughter sparkled in his voice. “So, that’s what it is.”

  Where the glow had been, it was as if all the stars in the sky now surrounded Jigme. The souls whizzed and spun, bright silver and gold.

  Each small dot of light was getting bigger. As they grew, the ruddy red dimness faded to a midnight black.

  “It’s working,” Jigme said. “Soon they’ll be coming back.”

  But no sooner had he said the words when a red light blazed. Larger than the others, it flew like a spark into the midst of the silver-and-gold souls. The red light flickered, as if flames were unfolding from it. The souls around blurred and spun, trying to flee.

  The Smiling Fire screamed. “They are mine!” he said.

  Flames roared.

  A LIGHT GREW in Jigme, and he was not afraid. “And so,” Jigme said, “we at last see the Smiling Fire for what you really are: a little spark that could not live without the fires of others.”

  He blazed forward, meeting the red light. “But you will not have them,” Jigme said. “If this is my end, I gladly die so they can live, so you can hurt the world no more.”

  Jigme came closer and for the first time he saw the strange mark. A silver-and-gold streak like a splinter or a fragment glowed from the surface of the red bloody gleam of the Smiling Fire. But Jigme had no time to consider it. He moved faster, before the Smiling Fire could consume the souls and try to restore his strength.

  They collided.

  They merged.

  The lights faded. Jigme felt the fire, but it did not burn. He felt the ancient hate, but he did not flee.

  He focused only on the strange mark. It still glowed silver-and-gold, so innocent amidst the fire, death, and rage spinning around it.

  Jigme understood.

  Some bit had survived. The first blood that had put Jigme on this path.

  The first child.

  The fire raged but Jigme surrounded it. He could feel himself burning away. Parts of his soul disappeared from all existence. But at least it was only his. Jigme surrounded the Smiling Fire and realized that his flames were fading too.

  “If we end,” Jigme said, “we end together.”

  Beyond them, the other souls kept moving and growing. They began to escape. The power inside the Smiling Fire and the power of the mirror eclipse funneled through Jade and Rucksack, pulling the souls out of the void and back into the world. Jigme could feel every liberation. He could feel each soul grow, change, flex, and become not just soul but mind and body again.

  He himself was almost gone, Jigme realized, but so was the Smiling Fire. The ancient hatred was vanishing, burning up in its own rage and in the smothering strength of Jigme’s fading self.

  The void was empty. Jigme felt the last bit of his own being waver and flicker.

  He curled around the little spark. What would happen to it? “I’m sorry,” he said to the silver and gold fragment. “I’m so sorry I brought this upon you, Ammar.”

  The name of the first boy reverberated around them.

  “Ammar,” Jigme said again. “It means builder. A good name. A good boy. I hope there’s something better for you and better beings than me.”

  Jigme faded.

  The Smiling Fire went out.

  The spark grew.

  Jigme realized he was watching it grow. And that Jade was speaking.

  “The name,” she said. “There is a way, Jigme. Say the name again.”

  “A way for what?” he said, wondering how he could speak. “Ammar,” he said. “Ammar.”

  They all sang the name. As they sang, Jigme saw the red spark flicker again, but not as it had before.

  “Such a shame to waste all that power,” Jade said. “What if it could be so much more?”

  The red spark of the Smiling Fire flared up then scattered into the spark of Ammar. That spark too flared up, growing in size and wrapping around Jigme.

  “You are no longer yourself,” Jade said. “And the boy is no longer dead. The Smiling Fire is no more, but his power remains. I bring together all of you, the best of all of you. The hope of the boy. The power of the fire. And the understanding, Jigme, of you.”

  The world flashed silver and gold. Then it turned a brilliant white and Jigme could see no more.

  WHEN THE LIGHT FADED, Jigme opened his eyes. The world seemed brighter. Above them, the second disc of the mirror eclipse faded. A sliver of sun began to shine again. People stood everywhere, confused but elated, trying to understand where they were, what had happened, and why they were all naked.

  But Jigme had only one thought: How do I have eyes to open?

  He held up his hands. A hot wind rustled across his skin.

  And when did I turn red?

  “Wasn’t anything I could do about the color,” Jade said.

  He heard her voice through ears. Had to be. He touched his head. Definitely a head. And definitely ears.

  “You are now the Smiling Fire,” Rucksack said. “At least the body that the spark o’ his soul occupied is now yours, only revamped and remodeled.”

  Rucksack grinned. “You still look like you, only grown up. And red. But a handsome red, I must say. And the eyes are the same, brown and black, only brighter than noon. You can always tell someone’s true self by their eyes.”

  “How am I here?”

  “You were willing to die and you were as dead,” Jade said. “But when you said the boy’s name, the first boy who had lost all, a new way opened for you. For him too. Even for the Smiling Fire.”

  Jade smiled and the richness of her brown skin gleamed in the growing sun.

  Her eyes had changed, Jigme realized. The gold remained but the blue now seemed mixed with green. A silver ring glowed around the blackness of her pupil, reminding him of how the moon had covered the sun.

  “But Ammar was dead.”

  “A small fragment of his soul survived,” Jade said. “And that was enough. When you said his name, you accepted your actions. By being willing to give all to stop the Smiling Fire and save the others, there came a way to save you as well. What power remained of the Smiling Fire is yours. The hope that lived on in the boy, you are now part of. They all come together in you, Jigme.”

  “Am I a god?” Jigme asked. “Like you?”

  Jade shrugged. “The powers are a different degree. You can do more than mortals, live longer than mortals, and you see further. I don’t know what that makes you. It doesn’t matter, though, if you are god or demi-god or the walking tomato-man or whatever, as long as you are yourself and always true to yourself.”

  She stared at him. “What do you think you’ll do with all that, Jigme?”

  “My parents are gone and the city lies in ruins,” he replied, staring at the survivors. “And these people may have life, but they have no idea what to do with where they are.”

  He looked back at Jade and Rucksack. “I will no longer be Jigme,” he said. “Jigme did much wrong, caus
ed much death, but he died to save these people. Jigme died so that the Smiling Fire would be fully and forever extinguished. They both are gone.”

  “So, who are you?” Rucksack asked.

  He waved his arm. There was so much more light now.

  “See this city? See these people?” he said. “That is who I will be. That is who I am. The Smiling Fire strove to destroy all life. He leveled the city. If I have his power, then as long as I live I will protect life. I will rebuild and preserve Agamuskara.

  “I am no longer Jigme,” he said. “I am the builder.”

  A smile grew on his face.

  “I am Ammar.”

  THE CHILDREN RAN all around what had been the city. Their laughter and whoops seemed to hurry along the fading of the mirror eclipse, and the day grew brighter.

  With Jade’s new eyes, the helixes were part of everything she looked at. The world turned, changed, and stayed the same—whatever all that meant. She gazed at the survivors, reborn, wandering, wondering. Their helixes shone bright and flowed like rivers, each running to its own ways—and none ended in red and black fire. Life lived. Existence continued.

  Except for Jay.

  Their own elation fading, Jade, Rucksack, and Ammar stood silent around the body.

  “I kept thinking he would say something,” Jade said. “Like, ‘This is better. Never did like the idea of thinking I was a hero.’”

  “You can’t be dead,” Rucksack said to Jay’s body. Tears filled his eyes. “I owe you a pint.”

  They waited for a reply.

  Jay lay there unmoving, no rise or fall to his chest, no flutter of his eyelids to suggest that his eyes were about to open.

  He died smiling, though, Jade thought. He knew what he’d done. My backpack boy. He gave himself to save me, gave up his life not only so that I could live, but so I could take on the destiny he had surrendered.

  She pulled the obsidian blade from his heart. The black stone glowed then cracked and turned to powder. Dust ran over Jade’s hand, blowing away to be lost among the ashes and rubble.

  Blood had trickled down the corner of Jay’s mouth. She kneeled beside him and wiped it away. A soft golden light suffused the blood. For a moment, gold flickered in the red then faded and dulled.

  Jade touched her finger to Jay’s lips then leaned in and softly kissed him.

  “All this happened because of Jay,” Ammar said. “He made a choice that defied destiny.”

  “Destiny pulled him along and he didn’t always choose well,” Rucksack said. “All along we thought he was to kill the Smiling Fire. But if he had, none o’ you would have been able to come back. In the end, Jay did better than destiny.”

  “Do you think he knew that?” Ammar asked.

  “We’ll never know how much he knew,” Rucksack replied. “And how much he decided while dealing with what was in front of him. Not in this life anyway. Here we can only be grateful for what he did.”

  “We can do more than that,” Ammar said, looking at Jade. “He died and we lived, but there are ways he can live on.”

  “I know you’re going to rebuild the city,” Jade said. “But he wouldn’t have been a man for statues or monuments.”

  “Those are things for the dead,” Ammar said. “He always seemed a man for the living. How about we start with a new pub and hostel? We’ll call it ‘The Jay.’”

  Jade laughed. “The name may need some work. But yes, that sounds like a good way to remember him.”

  “Will The Management have a problem with that?” Rucksack asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Jade replied. “I’m sure they’ll be in touch, though. Agamuskara is still Agamuskara, and there will always be a Jake or Jade here.”

  “I’d heard it told he was the world’s greatest traveler,” Rucksack said. “But all that matters to me is he was my friend. He screwed up but he made good. He gave all. He’ll still be a traveler, though.” Rucksack grinned. “Someone like Jay, he’d know that death isn’t a destination. He’d remember that there are no destinations. There are only more journeys, and it’s up to you to decide how your experiences make you who you are.”

  “What do we do now?” Ammar asked.

  “I think I can help with that,” Rucksack replied.

  The people, adults and children alike, saw the three of them pick up Jay’s body. The children fell silent, and along with the adults they gathered close. No one gave any instruction or spoke a single word, but all the people formed two lines, stretching out from the obsidian block, in the direction of the Agamuskara River.

  Jade stood in front, her arms stretched high, holding Jay’s shoulders and head. Behind her, Ammar’s red hands supported Jay’s torso. And at the rear, the dust gone from his black clothes, Rucksack held up Jay’s legs.

  “The man who gave all,” Rucksack said.

  “The man who gave all another chance,” Ammar followed.

  “And we will always remember him,” Jade finished. “Jay of the road.”

  They walked between the lines of people. No one spoke. Some bowed their heads. Some raised joined palms to their chests in namaste.

  In their eyes, Jade thought, they all know what happened. They know how Jay died and why. They know what Ammar and I are. What will they do with that knowledge? She sighed. In time, maybe I’ll find out.

  As they passed each person, with every silent glance the goddess of choice and new beginnings shared her hopes for them, her hopes for the city, her hopes for their futures and for their children’s futures.

  And as they passed each person, each one said a name, or sometimes multiple names.

  “Saakaar.”

  “Utsavi. Pranav.”

  “Labuki.”

  “Debjit. Ecchumati. Tista.”

  “Giridhar.”

  “Bavishni.”

  Jade could feel their sadness. The Smiling Fire took someone from everyone here, she thought, but these survivors have no bodies to grieve over. There’s only Jay’s body. Through him, they mourn those they lost.

  Each person chanted a name, then kept repeating it. Some sang low and with a hum, or high and with a remembered serenity, or stuttering and with a voice that was almost a wail. Instead of dissonant, the voices and names wove together in a song. A song of the burned city. A song of the dead. A song of the love that lived on.

  As Jade, Rucksack, and Ammar carried Jay’s body to the end of the lines of people, they came to the river and the song reached a perfect unison. For a moment, the names and notes hung together in the bright air. They grieved, but out of love they would live fully again, rebuilding homes, regaining work and family, singing new songs that could overpower fire.

  Then, name by name, the song faded until all the people were silent and still.

  Everyone looked at the goddess. “Let it all be better than it was,” Jade said. “Let us all be better than we were.”

  Including me.

  The people stood by the shore, amidst the wreckage of boats and a few that, like other random things in the city, had remained untouched by the Smiling Fire.

  “That one there,” Rucksack said, nodding. “Jay and I… The boat knows him well. That’s the only one that’s right.”

  Some people moved the boat down into the water. Jade, Rucksack, and Ammar gently laid Jay’s body in the boat.

  Another person had brought Jay’s backpack and handed it to Jade. She raised Jay’s head and laid it on his daypack like a pillow. Ammar set the large backpack in the end of the boat by Jay’s feet.

  Rucksack laid Jay’s folded hands on his chest. For a moment, he stood with Jade and Ammar between the boat and the shore, their heads bowed and hands joined. Jade and Rucksack looked at each other then stepped forward to push the boat into the current.

  “Wait.”

  They stopped and turned around.

  Mim and Pim walked through the crowd, down to the boat.

  “What are you doing here?” Jade asked.

  “In the end,” Mim said,
“he gave it freely.”

  Rucksack glared at the two men. “Did you know this would happen?”

  Mim and Pim shrugged.

  “What happened, happened,” Pim said. “But if Jay is going on his final journey, it’s only right that he have this.”

  Pim reached into his pocket and took out a soft, blue light. He handed it to Mim, who opened the small booklet of Jay’s passport.

  “We said that we would fix it,” Mim said. “And we did.”

  Mim raised the passport so everyone could see. There was only one visa page, and on it was stamped the world.

  But not just stamped, Jade saw as she looked more closely. It wasn’t a sticker either. There were too many colors and shades. Brown and black, blue and green, gold and silver. The white clouds even seemed like they were moving.

  “What is that?” Rucksack asked.

  “The last visa he will ever need,” Pim said.

  “He can go anywhere and everywhere now,” Mim said, tucking the passport under Jay’s hands.

  “What good will that do him?” Ammar asked.

  Pim pointed north to the horizon. “Enough that she said it must be done.”

  Larger than all the other mountains of the world, the mountain stood so high it touched both heaven and earth.

  “Besides,” Mim said, “all right and good must be done for the dead, if only to remind us of the right and good we should do for the living.”

  Rucksack snorted. “You know much about that, do you?”

  Mim and Pim stared up at a spot above Rucksack’s head. The two men smiled.

  “More than you may think, Faddah Rucksack,” Mim said.

  “In time, you’ll understand,” Pim said. “Maybe even when next we meet.”

  The men raised their hands in the namaste. “Farewell to you all,” Mim and Pim said. “For now.”

  Then Mim and Pim walked back through the crowd and were gone.

  Rucksack stared at the mountain. A small smile came to his face. He nodded to Jade and together they pushed the boat out into the current. As the small boat bobbed on the waves, already it seemed smaller as it went north toward the world mountain in the far distance.