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 “Incidentally, I’ve withdrawn from the Order.”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.
All of the travelers had stayed there at one time or another. The host of the Crooked Man was a four- hundred-pound giant whose name was Jewel. Jewel’s speech was polished and his manners impeccable. His luxuriant black beard spilled onto a white shirt. His arms were thick as beefhocks. He had great shaggy eyebrows and thick black hair streaked with gray and teeth that looked able to take down a horse. He was capable of ferocious grimaces when dealing with stewards, grooms, and tradesmen. But he was absolutely correct with guests, and called four of the five travelers by name, even though he had not seen some for years. He missed only Avila, apparently thrown into confusion at seeing her in nonclerical dress.
“It’s good to have you back at the Crooked Man,” he said. “I’d heard that a quest was going out, and if we can do anything. please don’t hesitate to ask.” Unfortunately, he explained, the inn was quite busy just now, and they would have to share rooms. He hoped that wouldn’t be a problem. Since they had intended doing that anyhow, it wouldn’t. Nevertheless, Flojian contrived to look inconvenienced.
Jewel directed their bags be taken care of, and personally showed them to their quarters, expressing his desire that they enjoy their stay and come again soon to see him. They thanked him and agreed to meet in the dining room at the seventh hour.
The rooms were single compartments; but they were nevertheless spacious and comfortable, almost as grand as Chaka remembered. The curtains had been opened to admit the last of the sunlight.
A low fire heated a pair of water pots in the chamber she would be sharing with Avila. Oil lanterns burned on either side of an enormous bed with large down pillows and a quilt. A freshly scrubbed wooden tub gleamed invitingly near the fireplace, on a raised wood platform designed to draw off excess water.
Two serving boys arrived with buckets of fresh water. Avila gave them coins. “Thank you, Mistress,” said the taller one. “Just ring the bell when you want more.”
Both women were covered with dust from the road, and a bath would be the first order of business. But Chaka shrank from the task. There were no modesty curtains in the room, and the prospect of removing her clothes in the presence of one who had been ordained to Shanta was daunting. She loosened her neckerchief and hesitated, suddenly aware that Avila was watching her. “If you don’t mind,” said Avila, with a hint of amusement, “I’ll claim the privilege of the older and go first.”
There is nothing quite like nudity to strip away titles, pretenses, and reservation. Before twenty minutes had passed, Chaka found herself admitting to her companion what she had not admitted to herself: She felt rejected by Raney, and she was at that moment recognizing that the future she’d thought they would have together lay in ruins.
“You may be fortunate,” Avila said. “If you truly loved him, I don’t think you’d be here at all. So maybe you’ve learned something about yourself.”
“Maybe,” Chaka said. All the same, it hurt.
“Why are you here?” asked Avila. “The cost seems to be higher for you than for anyone else.”
Chaka explained about her brother and Avila listened without comment.
“How about you?”
“It’s a chance to escape,” Avila said. “And the Roadmakers are interesting. If this Haven really exists, I wouldn’t want to miss my chance to see it.”
Chaka was seated in the window, watching the western sky turn purple. “I expect,” she said, “that if we do find it, it’ll be a ruin. Like everything else.” She described the time travel concept in Connecticut Yankee and said how she wished such a thing were possible. “I would love to have seen their cities when they were whole. And to have traveled on their roads before the forest took them. To have seen how the hojjies actually worked.”
“Wagons that needed no horses,” said Avila. “I’m still not sure I believe it.” She stood with one foot on a low stool, scooping hot water out of the tub and pouring it over shoulders and breasts. Suds ran down into the drains. (Illyrians did not sit in bathwater until they were clean, and would in fact have been horrified at the notion of doing
