“Despite their power,” she said, “and despite their piety, they were only hostages to fortune. Just like us.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All the striving it must have taken to build their world.” She sat up, drew the blanket around her shoulders. In the trees, something moved. “There’s nothing left except concrete and an assortment of junk that won’t decay.” Her eyes fastened on him.
“You have to believe in something,” said Flojian. “If not the gods, what?”
“Nights like this,” said Avila. “Good food. Good friends. And wine to dull the edge of things.”
Yes, there’s that hill to the cast, and the line of river over there. And here’s where Arin must have stood. Silas made a notation in his journal, and they moved on.
The river was the Ohio, which wandered down from the northeast to join the Mississippi at Argon. It was a majestic, wide stream with forest pushing into the water along both banks. She could see downed bridges in both directions.
Most of the roads in League territories had been generally cleared of hojjies. But now the ancient vehicles began to grow numerous. One hojjy contained a pile of apparently indestructible toys buried under the dust in the back seat. Flojian found another with a case that was made from a leather-like material, but which could not have been leather because it was still pliable and in good condition. When they opened it, they found writing instruments and metallic devices and disks like the ones on display in the museums. They also found a notebook cover with the imprint EXECU-TRAK. But there was only dust inside. “Pity,” said Silas. “They were able to make everything permanent except paper.”
At about midday, another road came out of the woods and looped up to connect with them. Chaka unfolded the map Shannon had drawn for her. “This should be it,” she said. “There’s a marked tree here somewhere.” As they spread out to look, she heard a familiar voice, and saw Jon Shannon sitting on a fallen log. “It’s over here,” he said.
Quait drew his gun.
“Don’t shoot.” Chaka slid out of her saddle and hurried forward. “It’s Jon.” She embraced him. “You’re a long way from home,” she said.
He nodded and she introduced him around. Shannon shook everybody’s hand.
“This is where it starts,” he said. He pointed at a tall cottonwood. Three lines were carved into the trunk at eye level, parallel to Wilderness Road.
“What does it mean?” asked Flojian.
“It means you’re on the right road. Keep straight. Whichever way you’re traveling.” He untied three horses and led them out of the woods. A broadbrimmed hat kept the sun out of his face, which seemed devoid of expression.
“Have you changed your mind?” asked Chaka. “Are you coming with us?”
“Yes,” he said. “I think I’d like to come along, if the offer’s still open.”
“Why?” asked Quait.
He shrugged. “Not sure. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
Silas glanced around at the company. “Anybody object?”
“I’ve known Jon a long time,” said Chaka. “He’s just what we need.”
Quait wondered whether the competition had just arrived. But Shannon looked as if he knew his way around the woods. “Okay by me,” he said.
The Ohio looped away to the north, and after a couple of days they lost sight of it. A giant highway crossed above. It had partially collapsed and blocked Wilderness Road. “Used to be a tunnel through here, I guess,” said Shannon. Cottonwoods on both sides of the rubble were marked with the parallel lines. Stay straight. “We climb over and continue on the other side,” he said.
Within a half-mile, they plunged into heavy forest and Wilderness Road petered out. “Did we go the wrong way?” asked Silas, standing glumly at the head of a half-dozen horses.
“They’re headed for Beekum’s Trail,” said Shannon. “It isn’t far.”
A thick canopy shut off the sunlight. They moved single file through bushes and thickets. The trees, which were mostly elm and black oak, were marked every fifteen or twenty yards, and Chaka began to develop an appreciation for Landon Shay’s foresight.
Ruins appeared. Brick walls, hojjies, an old church, a factory, some shops. Some of the structures were crushed between trees, mute testimony to their age. A metal post had been pushed over, bearing a rectangular sign. Silas wiped it with a cloth.
“It’s a street sign,” Silas explained. “There are quite a few of them on display in the Imperium.” A few minutes later, they found a second sign, bigger, with an arrow under the legend: ALBEN BARKLEY MUSEUM.
The arrow pointed up.
“Strange name,” said Chaka.
They picked up Beekum’s Trail late next morning. It was narrow and heavily overgrown.
“Who was Beekum?” asked Avila.
“A legendary bandit,” Silas explained. “He supposedly collected tolls from anyone who passed here. Tolls or heads.”
“He was killed by Pelio,” said Quait. The equally legendary Argonite hero.
They crossed a tributary of the Ohio on a rickety bridge and stopped to catch some fish for the midday meal.
Beekum’s Trail curved north and the forests began to change. The familiar red cedars and white oak and cottonwoods held their own, but new trees filled the woods now, of types they had never seen before. The Ohio reappeared on their left and they camped several consecutive nights along its banks.
These were pleasant evenings, moonlit and unseasonably warm, filled with easy conviviality. They were now in their third week, and everyone was becoming more or less accustomed to life on the open road. On March 7, they came to the place where the great river threw a branch off to the north. “That’s the Wabash,” said Shannon. “Keep an eye open. There’s a ford just ahead, and that’s probably where they were heading.”
They found two sets of markings, both on cottonwoods, pointing into the river.
“He likes cottonwoods,” said Flojian.
Shannon took off his hat and wiped his brow. “Shay’ll use them wherever he can,” he said. “Makes it easier for us to know what we’re looking for.”
Chaka was studying the river. “That’s a long way across.” Shannon smiled. ‘It’s not as deep as it looks.”
“Not as deep as it looks?” she said. “It looks pretty deep.” It wasn’t the depth so much as the current that gave them trouble. Toward the middle of the river it became quite swift.
Piper stumbled and went down and was almost swept away with her rider, but Quait and Avila came to the rescue.
When they reached shore, they quit for the day, wrung out their clothes, and enjoyed a fish dinner.
The trail now moved north along the Wabash, past a sign on a low brick wall: HOVEY LAKE STATE CAME PRESERVE. The river was narrower than the Ohio, a placid stream covered each day until late morning with mist. There was no road. The weather turned wet and cold, as if crossing the Ohio had put them into a different climate. The first night they found shelter in a barn. Sleet fell in the morning, and miserable conditions persisted for five consecutive days. The good cheer they had felt during their week on the Ohio dissipated.
On the thirteenth, as they crossed another giant roadway, the weather broke. The sun came out, and the day grew warm. To the west, the new road soared high out over the Wabash, and stopped in midair.
Chaka sat on Piper, watching Silas try to sketch the scene into his journal. “Not a bridge to travel at night,” she said.
They rode into a glade bounded on the far side by a low ridge. Shannon brought them to a halt. “This is worth seeing,” he said.
Chaka looked around and saw nothing. The others were equally puzzled.
“The ridge,” said Shannon.
It was long and straight, emerging from the trees to their right, passing across their line of advance, and disappearing back into the forest. It had a rounded crest, covered with grass and dead leaves. Otherwise, it was remarkable for its lack of noteworthiness.
“It’s not really straight,” said Shannon. “It only looks that way because you can’t see much of it. In fact, it
