Forever the Road (A Rucksack Universe Fantasy Novel) Read online

  The man took another sniff and continued. “Ah, Idaho,” he said. “The ole U-S-o’-A. The only thing you can expect about India is that it will be itself. But who will you be? Are you a Yank… or a wank?”

  The tourist’s breath hitched. At least I’m breathing more easily, Jigme thought, tensing his legs as the tourist’s gaze locked onto him.

  “My name is Jay,” the tourist said, “and that pack is all I have in the whole world.” He sat in one of the chairs. “Why did you take it?”

  Jigme looked at the two men, then at the last empty chair. “Are you going to get the police?” he asked.

  “I’m not happy that you stole from me,” Jay said, shaking his head. “But I won’t get the police. As long as you help me understand.”

  Jigme sat down.

  “Some nourishment will ease this discussion,” the man said.

  A door opened and a woman came out, carrying three brimming curved glasses of dark liquid topped with white foam.

  “Why Jade,” the man said, “impeccable timing as always.”

  Jade set a glass in front of each of them. A flush burned Jigme’s face and he tried to hide behind the black beer. When she looked at him, Jigme couldn’t bear to look back into her blazing eyes. It was like looking at gods and suns. His attempt to thank her spilled out onto the table as a mumbled jumble of syllables.

  The tourist—Jay—stared at her, and she seemed not to be able to look back at him. She started to say something, but instead nearly caught Jay’s eye. Jade nodded sharply, turned, and went back inside.

  “Who?” Jay asked. “Who was that?”

  “That would be Jade, finest bartender in India,” the man in black said.

  “She’s…” Jay trailed off.

  “Beautiful,” Jigme replied.

  “Yes,” Jay said, smiling. “She is beautiful. I’ll drink to that, um…”

  “Aye, we could do with some introductions,” the man said. He joined his palms and held his hands in front of his chest. “Namaste,” he said. “That’s a common greeting and farewell here,” he said to Jay. “It means ‘the god in me salutes the god in you.’ You’ve already said you’re Jay. I’m Faddah Rucksack, but most folks skip the Faddah and just go for the Rucksack.” He looked at Jigme. “And you?” he asked.

  “I’m Jigme.”

  “You’re what, sixteen?”

  Jigme nodded.

  “Old enough to know a taste o’ reality,” Rucksack said, raising his glass. “Strangely met but well met, lads. Now c’mon, raise those pints. There’s no such thing as the sound o’ one glass clinking.”

  They clinked and drank. The thick dark liquid was beer, Jigme realized, and it sparkled in his mouth. It also made him sputter and cough, and he set down the glass.

  A quarter of Rucksack’s beer disappeared, then he said, “No sipping, lad. Sipping is for those damnable sodas you kids drink and that discolored water Americans and Guru Deep piss off as beer. To stout is to quaff. As such.” Rucksack raised his glass and Jigme clinked with him again. They each took a long swallow of the black beer.

  This time, Jigme smiled as he set down his much emptier glass. A loose, free feeling buzzed inside. The world seemed clearer. Shapes, colors, forms, people, objects, and animals all looked both more distinct and defined yet more connected and unified.

  “How do you drink beer this thick in a city this hot?” Jay asked.

  “The heat mucks with how you see the world,” Rucksack said, “but stout’s too real for anything to mess with it. It keeps me seeing what’s what.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I at least had the sense to sit down to a pint in this heat,” Rucksack said with a chuckle. “You’re the one who tried to walk into town in the middle o’ a day like a wet wildfire.”

  “How do you know that?” Jay asked.

  “Let’s just say that even the roaches will avoid your boots, lad,” Rucksack said, tapping his nose. “You could try burning them, but I think the flames would extinguish themselves in protest.”

  Rucksack’s gaze turned to Jay’s backpack. Jigme’s did too. As the talk paused, Jigme heard a soft rustling sound. Rucksack listened intently, but Jay seemed to be trying to ignore it.

  “Now that we’re acquainted, to business,” Rucksack said, looking at Jay again. “So, the backpack. Surely you didn’t have the crown jewels in there.”

  Jay smiled. “No.”

  “What are the crown jewels?” Jigme asked.

  “The crown jewels o’ travel,” Rucksack said. “Your passport, your money, and your tickets. Any traveler worth his pack never keeps the crown jewels on his back. He usually keeps them in a money belt, or some sort o’ pouch he can hide under his clothes. He can lose everything else right down to his unwashed skivvies, but as long as he has those three things, he’ll be a’right.”

  Jay shrugged. “That’s all true, but it doesn’t mean I want my pack stolen. There’s still important stuff in there.”

  “I understand,” Rucksack said. The men looked at Jigme. He grabbed his glass and took a long swallow. The more stout he drank, the more the world made sense. And the more he understood what he had to say.

  Jigme sighed. “My mother is sick,” he said. “That’s why I took the pack. We have no money. I gave her medicine but it didn’t work. And we have no food.”

  Jay stared hard at him, saying nothing. Does he think I’m lying? Jigme thought.

  “You thought you could sell what’s inside,” Jay finally said.

  Jigme nodded. “She’s all I have.” His eyes burned and he looked away. “No matter how hard I try, she doesn’t get better.”

  Jay took another swig of stout. “I lost my mother,” he said. “If I could have prevented it, there’s nothing I wouldn’t have done either.” The gentleness in his voice made Jigme look at the two men again. He saw Rucksack look at Jay too, a question poised in the man’s eyes.

  But Rucksack turned to Jigme and asked, “What does she need?”

  “Doctor. Real medicine.”

  “Do you know what’s wrong with her?”

  Jigme shook his head.

  “Drink up, lad,” Rucksack said, swigging the last of his pint. “We’ll come with you and help as we can.”

  “What?” Jay asked. “Look, I don’t even know you, and this kid just tried to steal my bag. Plus, I’m beat. I’ve been bouncing around the back of a truck for days, from Tibet to here. All I want to do is find the Everest Base Camp, get a bed, and sleep.”

  Rucksack stared hard at Jay. “You know as well as I do that the road isn’t what you walk. The road is where it takes you.” Rucksack pointed at the sign hanging from the second story of the three-story building, visible to anyone walking up or down the street. Against a brown-and-black background, a gold outline traced the shape of a silver mountain. Inside the outline, blue as a god’s skin, shone the words, “Everest Base Camp Pub & Hostel” in English, with green Hindi characters beneath.

  Jay looked from Jigme to the door. Weariness poured from him like waves.

  “Don’t you worry about the hostel,” Rucksack said. “It’ll still be there when we get back. Jade’ll have a place for you. I asked earlier if you were a Yank or a wank, and I think you’ve answered that.” A grin widened over his broad face, and his white teeth gleamed against his brown skin. “But tell me this, Jay o’ the road. Are you a traveler… or a tourist?”

  Jay downed the rest of his pint. He turned to Jigme. “Where does your mother live?”

  IN THE QUIET of the empty pub, the soft pthump seemed loud as a drained steel keg falling on the concrete floor. Finally, Jade thought, something to distract me. Whenever Rucksack was gone, the pub seemed so quiet lately. She wondered where he, the boy, and the backpacker had gone, but even that had not kept her mind occupied long enough.

  The last two hours had been broken up by the chai wallah dropping in. He filled the pub’s urn with sugary, milky tea while they talked about how hot it was outside and how thick
the crowds were today. The chai wallah had left with a glazed look. Jade realized he’d hardly spoken but had mostly nodded while she rattled on and on.

  A delivery of various liquors and some new kegs of Deep’s Special Lager made her sweat while she got everything into storage. The exertion made her grateful, but that ended far too soon, and she was back behind the bar, annoyed and distracted with her jangled thoughts.

  Next Jade had cleaned behind the bar, reorganized the bottles, and dusted the shelves. With that done, now she was walking around the pub, making minor tweaks to the spacing of every table and chair, rearranging the furniture completely, moving everything back where it had been before, and then starting all over again. To her eye, she had to confess that the pub looked no different, though she tried to convince herself she’d just found a layout that increased standing room by a good five percent.

  Then came the pthump. Walking back to the bar, Jade wondered what was so important that The Management needed to send a special directive.

  She had just reached toward the cabinet when the pub door opened and the backpacker from before walked in.

  Her heart sped up again as her voice fell into her shoes, but her mind rebelled. There’s nothing special about him, Jade thought. He’s the embodiment of average. Average height. Average build. Okay, maybe a little muscle and slenderness from traveling with that pack on his back. The face isn’t bad. Good chin. I like the brown hair. The road had coated him with enough dust, dirt, and grit that it was nearly impossible to tell what color his skin was, but Jade sensed a creaminess and wondered how it would contrast against the olive of her own.

  What business would his skin have being that close to yours?

  She realized the traveler had said something and was waiting for her to reply. Jade hunted for her voice and avoided his eyes. “Bed?” she finally said, the word falling out of her mouth before she realized she was speaking.

  A red flush burned through the dust on the man’s face. “Um, what?” the traveler said.

  Waves rippled through Jade’s belly. Her jumbled thoughts crashed into each other. Her voice didn’t know how to work anymore, but instinct and years of experience were kicking in. “You need a bed, right?”

  “Oh. Bed. Rooms have beds. Yes, a room. I could do with a room. Yeah.”

  “I’ve only got dorms. Through there.” Jade pointed at a door to the right of the bar.

  “No worries.”

  Reaching under the bar to the board where the keys were kept, Jade took one at random and held it out. His palm brushed her fingertips as he reached for it.

  “I’m Jay,” he said.

  “Jade,” she replied. It’s the damn eyes that do it, she thought, staring at his nose. They’re green as my name, but the gold in there, it’s like the man has sunrise in his eyes.

  For a few moments they said nothing, their outstretched arms not moving, their hands barely touching, the bar between them.

  “Jade?” His voice quavered. Under the hard edges and the grit of years of travel, there was a softness there—maybe a kindness, even. “Yes?”

  “Could you let go?”

  Jade looked down at their touching hands. Her fingers clenched white around the key ring. She let go and Jay stepped back slowly. His face was as red as bad wine.

  “Do I need to pay you now?” he asked.

  “We’ll take care of it later,” she said. “Go ahead and sign in.” She took a large book from under the bar and opened it to a page with only a few signatures. “Name, home country, passport number, signature,” Jade said, watching him fill in the information. He didn’t even need to take out his passport, she thought. He’s got the number memorized. She followed the scrawl and loops of his “Jay” signature.

  They finished discussing the particulars of his stay. Jay looked from her face to the floor. He started to say something but couldn’t find his voice. He gave her a quick wave and started walking to the door that went up the steps to the hostel dorms and their beds.

  But he stopped when she said, “Oh, Jay?”

  “Yes?” he said, lilting with confused hope.

  “Be sure to come down for the music later.”

  The traveler nodded and left. Jade hoped he would take a nap. And a shower. He looked knackered. Jade wondered what he looked like clean.

  She stood still for a few minutes, clenching the bar and trying to breathe deeply and calmly. In her mind she was still looking deep into his eyes.

  What did he see in mine?

  “Stupid, stupid schoolgirl,” she said at last, turning around and looking at herself in the mirror. “You’re a Jade,” she said to her reflection. “Not some witless teenager mooning over a movie star or some eejit who just came out with another record.” Her eyes blazed like a summer storm and a midday sky.

  It wasn’t until she glanced at the special cabinet that she even remembered.

  Jade opened the door and took out the envelope. The special directives never looked special. Back in her old life, she’d gotten letters from far-flung friends and family who came with more ceremony and decoration. The pale brown parchment was made by hand, as were the envelopes. She knew because part of the training was that each new Jake and Jade must make a thousand perfect envelopes and a thousand perfect sheets of paper. Jade had finished hers in record time.

  The Management had said that this exercise was meant to help them understand the importance of process and repetition, of paying the closest possible attention to detail regardless of the task at hand, regardless of experience, regardless of how many times you’d done the same action before.

  Jade suspected it was really a way to save on the cost of paper.

  Glancing at the pub door and taking a moment to not just hear the sounds but listen to the minds and souls of the people teeming outside, Jade exhaled. The world wasn’t coming in yet, so she had nothing to worry about. Jay was just another traveler and she was just a Jade—and that was all there would be to it. She unfolded the paper and read:

  The new traveler is not just the new traveler. He and the world must remain in Agamuskara until the eclipse, so he can be as a sunrise that never ends. When the time is right, you must make him forget himself and follow what he would never follow.

  Jade read the letter two more times, memorizing the lines and wondering what the hell it all meant. The Management’s missives sometimes held a certain poetic tone. Jade could never decide what was profound and what was just wrapped up in a convoluted mixture of philosophy and high-handedness. Or maybe it was a translation quirk of beings that weren’t human trying to communicate with humans. But she’d never seen anything this inscrutable.

  She made a cup of coffee—roasted, ground, and poured perfectly in every way. Coffee, she had learned in the training, was the drink of ultimate perception. A perfect cup of coffee, The Management had explained, could help you see the world in the way it was meant to be seen. They had also cautioned that coffee—along with stout, absinthe, and water—could not be influenced by Jakes, Jades, or even The Management themselves. Those safe havens had made coffee Jade’s beverage of choice over the years. Every time she needed to ponder, every time a difficult sense of destiny and decision took her longer than usual to determine, she looked through the gently wafting steam of a fresh cup of coffee and found her way.

  Today’s cuppa offered no insights. Reality was as obscure as the black liquid in her cup, nearly as opaque as GPS.

  Jade read the directive again. None of it made any more sense than it had before. What was so special about Jay? Other than the effect he was having on her heart rate, he wasn’t very different from any other traveler who’d sought a bed at the Everest Base Camp. And why “the world must remain in Agamuskara?” Agamuskara was a small place in a big world, not the other way around. Besides, the city was crowded enough already without packing in the rest of the planet. And what would make Jay forget himself and “follow what he would never follow” anyway?

  Jade shook her head. “You�
�ll figure it out in time,” she said to herself. “Do your duty, and duty will show you the way.”

  For a moment, the memory of Jay’s green-and-gold eyes left her mind, and she felt focused on her purpose, on her work, again. A moment’s heated rush. Some sense of attraction. Well, Jade reasoned, I’m still only human. More or less. No one ever said we couldn’t feel a bit of a flush toward someone. Just as long as it doesn’t get in the way of what I have to do.

  She started to let the directive fall from her hand, the way she had hundreds of times before. Once it left her person, the sheet of paper would always disappear. No flames or puffs of smoke; as the paper drifted to the floor, you would start to see the floor through the paper, until the sheet had faded away into nothing. Or not nothing. What happened after the paper disappeared, where it went, she did not know; Jade always figured The Management simply moved the sheets into some sort of filing system. Even when managing existence itself, every management had to have an office, and every office had to have its filing.

  But her heart beat faster again as she thought of his bright eyes, the long years and hard miles behind his gaze. Jade couldn’t let go of the sheet of paper. The directive was seared onto her brain, but the realness of the words on the page pulled at her. For the first time in her career as a Jade, she ignored policy, folded up the directive, put it back in its envelope, and tucked it into her back pocket.

  THE TROUBLE with hostels is the stairs, Jay thought as his legs wobbled him back from Jigme’s place. And hostels always had stairs.

  Well, except that one place in Ireland, but that was an exception in so many ways.

  They could never be grand, sweeping staircases, either—no wide, perfectly spaced, ergonomically correct steps that fit your struggling stride. Hostel stairs were always barely as wide as your pack. With every step, the backpack fabric would rub on the walls, sometimes resulting in a new look for your pack, depending on the quality of the paint. Every time you moved, you barely moved. The friction of wall and pack conspired to hold you still, while you burned energy you didn’t have just to get to your bed and collapse.