“He shouldn’t have made these roofs in glass,” said the other mule.
“He did the best he could,” said the first mule.
“Why do you touch him? For luck?”
The first mule shook his head. “Because this is as far as we’ve ever gone. We’ve never gone past him.”
“You’re kidding,” said Horkai.
“No,” said the mule. “I am not kidding.”
“We came into being there,” said the other mule, gesturing behind them. “We have stayed there ever since, studying the maps, waiting for this day. We thank you for making this day possible.”
“You’re welcome,” said Horkai, not knowing what else to say, as the two mules regained their footing and set off again.
8
THEY SKIRTED THE RUINED BUILDING, entered a broken expanse of asphalt, the remains of a parking lot dotted with cars, their tires cracked and mostly gone. Some were ruined and at angles, some parked in an orderly fashion, all of them stripped to bare metal by wind and dust, their windshields often blasted opaque. For a moment, a brief flash, he saw the lot as it had been, surrounded by trees, the curving pedestrian bridge leading a few hundred feet or so away to a stadium or coliseum, and then the vision was gone.
The bridge to the stadium was collapsed now, and the stadium, too, must have fallen, was no longer looming visibly over the road. In the lot, most of the cars were empty, though in a few he thought he saw bodies curled on the seats, long dead. Some cars had their doors open and here and there, where the asphalt was most intact, he saw odd dark stains. Distorted shapes, not unlike human bodies.
They approached a corner of the lot, beyond which remains of streets ran to the four points of the compass. At the edge of the lot they paused, and the mule walking beside him turned to him. “Does this look familiar?” the mule asked.
“Some of it,” Horkai admitted.
“Can you help us know where to go next?” the mule asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll try.”
He looked out across the intersection, to where on the far side the hill descended into a field of rubble. He tried to remember what had been there. Dormitories, maybe. To his left side a slope upward, with whatever was behind it hidden. To the right it sloped downward, going first east and then south to reveal the dark scar that the valley below had become, the lake far beyond it, a mottled gray on the horizon.
“Which way?” asked the mule. “We should not waste time.”
Horkai raised his hands somewhat helplessly, let them fall. “Straight ahead,” he finally said.
The two mules exchanged glances, though because of their hoods, Horkai had difficulty seeing the expressions on their faces. “Straight ahead we go,” said the mule beneath him, and they started off.
A SLOW BUT MILD DESCENT, picking their way through the rubble, then, soon after, an open stretch of dirt and dust. The wind picked up and blew dust everywhere. He began to wish he were wearing a suit himself. He squinted, ended up pulling his shirt high to cover his mouth, his nose. They passed an old track-and-field facility, with half-collapsed bleachers, and passed around another stadium just north of it, this one larger and in better condition. The mules gave it a wide berth.
“Why are you avoiding it?” asked Horkai.
“It might be someone’s home,” said the mule he was riding. “It will only slow us down to have to kill them.”
A ruined motel, the remains of an old museum, a replica of a dinosaur skeleton collapsing outside it. They kept up a steady pace, the mules showing no signs of flagging. Another parking lot—this one larger and spattered with large shell craters. They crossed it, came on the other side to the largest street they’d seen so far, perhaps four lanes wide or perhaps six—difficult to tell with the state it was in. In his head he saw it as six, but couldn’t tell if it was his imagination or a memory. The road was buckled and torn, but more intact than the streets they’d seen before. On one corner were the remains of a pole and the metal blade of a street sign, but it had been scoured by sand or dust until it was bare metal.
“It looks promising,” said the mule beside him, his voice just audible through the speaker. Either he wasn’t speaking directly into the microphone or his speaker had become clogged with dust.
“Which one are you?” Horkai asked.
The mule misstepped but caught himself. He drew a little closer, holding on to the other Q’s shoulder, his hand resting softly against Horkai’s side. “I’m the older one,” he said.
“The first one,” said Horkai.
The Q shook his head. “The first of the two of us,” he corrected. “But not the first one.”
“I’m sorry,” said Horkai. “I can’t remember the name of the one who was oldest.”
“I don’t think we told you the name of the one who’s the oldest.”
“No,” said Horkai. “That’s not what I mean. The oldest of the two of you. Your name.”
“Ah,” said the Q. “Why didn’t you say so? I’m Qatik.”
“Qatik,” he said. “Of course you are.”
“Why do you say of course? Is it inevitable?”
Horkai shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just a way of speaking. Why were the two of you chosen for this?”
“It is an honor to be chosen,” said Qatik.
“Yes, but why?” asked Horkai. “Why you?”
“You are our purpose.”
“How did I come to be your purpose?”
“You have always been our purpose,” said Qatik.
They moved forward for a time in silence, Qatik still clinging to his brother. Horkai tried again.
“What do you think of Rasmus?”
For a moment Qatik didn’t speak. “What do you mean?” he finally said. “He is Rasmus.”
“What do you mean by ‘He is Rasmus’?” asked Horkai, confused.
“Exactly that,” said Qatik. “Rasmus is Rasmus and is no other.”
“But that doesn’t explain what you think of him,” said Horkai. “Do you like him?”
“He is Rasmus,” said Qatik. “He has his purpose. How can I judge how well he serves it? His purpose is different from our purpose and I do not understand it nearly as well as I do my own. That is proper. Surely you can see that?”
“Yes, I suppose,” said Horkai. “But what does that have to do with whether you like him or not?”
“Exactly. How can I like or dislike someone whose purpose I imperfectly understand? You, however, I can speak about with more authority. You are the burden. As far as I understand that portion of your purpose, you fulfill it admirably. You are sturdy but not overly heavy. You do not struggle when you are carried, you do not scream except when injured, and you do not fall off if you are not tied on. Burden, I like the way you fulfill your purpose.”
“Call me Horkai,” he said. “And liking the way I fulfill my purpose is not the same as liking me.”
“But what are we if we are not our purpose?” asked Qatik. “Burden Horkai, I like the way you fulfill your purpose.”
“Just Horkai,” said Horkai.
They might have talked more, but Qanik grunted and shrugged Qatik’s arm off his shoulder. Qatik fell silent, gradually drifted away. They walked, faster now, Horkai gently rocking up and down as they went.
THE ROAD TOOK THEM SLOWLY UP, edging closer to the mountains—unless it was the mountains that came closer of their own accord.
