Jack McDevitt - Eternity Road

Chaka was glad to get clear of the well-wishers, to move into the silences of the forest. She had been to Argon several times, although the most recent trip had been almost six years before, a hunting expedition with her family. Those earlier excursions had seemed like journeys to the end of the world. It was hard to realize that this time the outpost city would be little more than a jump-off point.

She was displeased with herself for agreeing to allow Flojian to join the expedition. The little man rode up front with Silas in his finicky, self-important way, and it irritated her that the two seemed to find much to talk about. She predicted to Quait that a few nights on the road would change his mind, and he would return home.

Silas bounced along on a horse that was too big for him. He’d borrowed a new animal from the Imperium for the expedition; his usual mount was, he knew, too old for the kind of effort that would be required. Chaka thought that Silas looked cold and uncomfortable. But he hung on, trying to give the appearance of a man at home in the wilderness, even raising himself in the saddle on occasion to get a better look at the river, or a eucalyptus, or whatever happened to catch his attention.

“He’ll be all right,” said Quait. “He just needs a little time to get used to the road.”

She was grateful to Quait, not only because he’d been instrumental in launching the expedition, but also because he obviously liked her and she needed that right now. Raney’s defection had damaged her more than she was willing to admit, and she traveled throughout that first day expecting to hear him ride up behind them. She played the scene over and over in her mind, Raney apologetic and trying to shrug it all away; she cool and formal, allowing him to sweat. “You’ll have to ask Silas,” she would tell him. “It’s not up to me.”

“This is the high point of Silas’s life,” Quait told her. “It’s what he’s always wanted to do.”

“Hard to believe,” she said. “He doesn’t look as if he’s enjoying himself.”

“He’s not used to riding for long periods.”

“I can see that. What’s he been doing for the last forty years?”

“Trying to understand what fuels the sun. The places he would like to go, people can’t get to.”

Chaka wasn’t sure she understood that, but she let it pass. She was suspicious of Avila. The woman was friendly enough, but it was hard to overlook the fact that she had abandoned her vows. Chaka was a believer to the extent that she didn’t like people to ask hard questions, and tried not to think too deeply about the assorted doctrines she’d accepted. Play it safe, respect the gods, and maybe it would pay off. Who knew? There had been a time, a generation back, when breaking with the Order would have meant keeping out of public sight for the balance of one’s life. But with the advent of the Republic, the ecclesiastical laws had been liberalized. Avila would be free to live as she wished, although most people would feel as Chaka did, that she was somehow remiss and morally suspect.

Avila was, however, the only member of the company who had been north of Argon. “We have a retreat about two days’ ride above the city,” she said. “It’s on a ridge, in deep woods. A good place for prayer and contemplation.”

“Didn’t you worry about the Tuks?” asked Chaka.

“At first. But no one else seemed very concerned. At least no one who’d been around for a while. The Tuks turned out to be friendly enough.”

“What did you contemplate?”

“Beg pardon?”

“You said you went up there to contemplate. What did you think about?”

Avila laughed. It was a pleasant sound, reserved, amiable, honest. “I think mostly I looked around at the wilderness and wondered what I was doing there.”

Silas had ridden in closer to listen. “Will we pass the retreat?”

“No,” she said. “We turn east when we get to Argon.”

“I think,” said Chaka, “you’ll have plenty of time for contemplation on this trip.”

They passed a sign. It was from the Roadmaker period, and gave no indication it would ever rust. (The origin of the more exotic Roadmaker materials, which seemed in some instances almost indestructible, remained just one more major mystery.) The letters were black and crisp in the sunlight:

All five could read enough Roadmaker English to grasp the literal meaning. It was nonetheless baffling.

“What’s it about, Silas?” asked Chaka.

Silas half turned in his saddle. “It means it’s time to get off the horses and walk.”

“No, really,” said Avila.

“I think Silas is right,” said Quait. “We should give the critters a rest.”

It was cold, and Silas adjusted his scarf. “The Roadmakers believed in a god who tortured people after they died. If they’d sinned.”

“Barbaric notion,” said Avila. “I wonder if people create the kind of divinity that reflects their own character?”

Flojian turned to stare at her. “It surprises me to hear a priest talk that way. I was taught that the divine essence cannot be misunderstood, save by willful effort.”

“That is the official position,” said Avila, refusing to take offense. “Incidentally, I’ve withdrawn from the Order.”

Flojian rolled his eyes. “Did Silas know you were an ex-priest when he invited you to come along?”

She nodded. “I haven’t hidden my status from anyone.”

Chaka tended to side with Flojian on that issue. If there was anything to the old traditions, an ex-priest might well bring them bad luck. She had considered voting against allowing Avila to join the company, but cringed at the prospect of explaining her reasoning. Nevertheless, she determined to keep a respectful distance, in case a bolt did fall from the sky.

A few miles north of Illyria, the forest gave way to low, grassy hills, which in turn descended into a swamp. The sky had turned gray, but there was no immediate threat of rain. They stopped by a spring.

The water was clear and cold. Chaka knelt on a rock and scooped it into her hands. It tasted good, and in fact, the day tasted good. She still hoped for Raney’s appearance, but a strange thing was happening: She was anxious to be far enough away from Illyria to be certain that he would not come.

“Not having second thoughts, are you?” Silas had come up behind her. He pushed his hands into his jacket and assumed the mien of confident leader. She wondered how he really felt.

“No, Silas,” she said. “No second thoughts. I’m glad we’re finally on our way.”

“Good.” He produced a cup and dipped it into the stream.

“I’d feel better, though, if we had a map.”

“Me too.” He drank deeply and stared thoughtfully at the horizon. “We’ll find our way. Meantime, I’m going to start a journal. We won’t make the same mistake Karik made.” A smile spread across his features. ‘We’re going to create the travel book of the age. Once we get beyond the frontier, we’ll record everything: foliage, wildlife, weather, topography, ruins, you name it. And charts.” A mile ahead, the road crossed planking and entered the swamp. “If there’s another expedition after this, they won’t have to play guessing games.”

“The Great Geographer,” smiled Chaka.

“Yes.” He laughed. “They’ll put my statue in the Imperium, left hand shielding my eyes, right pointing to the horizon.” He demonstrated the pose.

Chaka gave him a thumbs up, in her own style, both hands.

They arrived at the Crooked Man just before sunset. The main building was three stories tall, a massive, rambling structure with turrets, balconies, bay windows, glass-enclosed porches, sloping dormers, and parapets. A marble sundial that also served as a fountain guarded the approach. Grooms took their horses, and a liveried doorman welcomed them into the opulent interior. Chaka admired the thick carpets and shining hardwood floors. Murals depicting hunting scenes covered the walls. Stylish furniture from an earlier age filled the lobby and hallways, and lush red curtains framed the windows.