Walk to the End of the World (25 page)

BOOK: Walk to the End of the World

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She stopped, surprised. It seemed she was one of the Pledged after all now, perhaps the only one – except for Bek, who was pledged in his own way.

On impulse, she added, ‘You asked me once what you said about Kelmz, that night at the Scrappers’. I never told you.’

In his silence, she became aware of the distant concussion of the guns. The sound made her jump with nerves. She hurried on. ‘What you said was that you were sorry; that it was unfair – Kambl was after you, not after Kelmz; that there were things you wanted to talk about, but there was no one to talk with seriously and deeply; that it was your fault. You were ashamed to have left him. You wanted to know him better. Sometimes you blamed him for throwing himself away, but most of the time you blamed yourself for leading him to his death. You said you were sorry.

‘None of it could have been taken for lust except by a jealous or mischievous listener. What you expressed was grief for a lost friend.’

He lifted his head. ‘I’ve tried to keep Kelmz out of my thoughts,’ he said, bitterly, ‘because there seemed to be no way to think of him that didn’t shame both him and me. But it seems the shame is all mine.

‘I must be a mature man now. As a boy, I was reputed to have been a clever student, but I’ve been stupid lately.’ The dark shape of his hand moved over the glowing lines: from Endpath to Lammintown, and on down the coast. ‘Right from that grim ride south with those wretched pilgrims, to the fierce young men on the ferry, and your own people at Bayo - so alarmingly efficient and not nearly alien enough – that tangle of passions in the City, even Bajerman, even Servan, and you yourself. Everything has sharpened my eyes to know Maggomas for a monster when I met him. And I still couldn’t
see something as simple as Kelmz and myself until you showed me just now.’

The light glimmered on the gaunt planes of his face and on the cords of his throat as he turned toward her. ‘Will you come closer? I want to show you something. These marks, see them, among the ones that stand for the mountains?’

‘I don’t know how to read writing,’ she said.

He caught her hand, drawing her to the map. She was startled by the warmth and strength of the contact. He was vibrant with excitement, even laughing as he said, ‘It says
Refuge
! If you can reach it, and if no ’Troimen are stationed there, you might find shelter, tools, even food, who knows? Look closely; could you find the way?’

It seemed to be a matter of following the river for most of the distance. She nodded, feeling suddenly buoyant and powerful.

‘Good.’ He let go of her hand, stepping a firm though crooked pace back from her. ‘And there won’t be any master along to push you around – or to entertain you.’

Angrily, she shrugged. ‘It’s just as well that our ways part here. My hope lies in speed, and you can barely hobble.’

He barked a laugh. ‘Then what are you waiting for? The Second may eventually stumble on the notion of locking up a scarce item like yourself.’

‘I’d swallow my tongue first,’ she muttered, glancing out at the Second. Bek looked, too, and abruptly seized her arm and thrust her two stumbling steps back into shadow. Another ’Troiman had joined the Second at the parapet. They both turned toward Maggomas’ quarters as they talked together.

‘Will you go!’ Bek exclaimed. His fingers tightened on her arm. The old dislike of a man’s touch stiffened her. He drew his hand away at once, and stood panicked and silent, an angular shadow against the glow of the map.

She said, with a kind of angry desperation, ‘Safe journey then!’

She could just make out the glint of his bared teeth, the brightness of his eye.

In the absurdity of this farewell she left him.

She sat on the hillside, not knowing what she could still be waiting for. The sun came out and dried her hair and clothing.
Down below the boats of the City men departed, except for two hulls that had been smashed during the fighting. ’Troi seemed a deserted ruin.

There was no doubt in her mind that its fall was Bek’s doing. After the breaching of the palisade, he must have used his authority to order the demolition of the town before it was actually lost. Endpath to Endpath, his journey was complete. It was not for him that she waited.

Near sundown, she caught the first flickers of movement among the rocks high on the western slopes. ’Troi fugitives were converging on the wreckage, to scavenge what they might and cut the throats of any City men who had been left behind. When the men had all filtered down to the valley floor, her way would be clear.

At last in the deceptive twilight she saw d Layo. He swept by her, far on the right; she heard the hissing of the grass past his striding legs as he ran down the slope, gracefully zig-zagging to control his speed. While she looked, frozen still, he dropped out of sight below the next retaining wall down.

It had been like the passage of some hungry beast, one of those amoral, instinctual creatures that had fascinated Captain Kelmz. So strong was her impression of a hunting predator that she pictured d Layo cutting down some less clever survivor and feeding on the flesh, rank or not; and so he would, if necessary, as innocently ruthless as any beast. The valley into which he had gone seemed very dark now; there was something primeval in the thought of the survivors stalking one another among the ruins – all hunters, all quarry.

To the west, dim with distance but still visible in the rain-cleansed air, the mountains measured the evening sky like waves of the sea. A dusky autumn moon was rising and would soon give enough light to run by, even over unknown terrain. She decided to strike straight up the rise behind her, traveling westward along the spine of the ridge.

The muscles of her legs were stiff from the hours perched here on watch. She rose slowly and stepped from one foot to the other while she adjusted the straps of the pack so that it would ride snugly and not slip or chafe. A tune began in her head, weaving itself into the beginnings of a step-song for the journey: ‘Unmen, the heroes are gone …’

Without another glance back she started uphill with the slow gait of a runner warming up for a long, hard run.