Forever the Road (A Rucksack Universe Fantasy Novel) Read Online Free PDF Page A

ghost yet alive. Wandering but without a path.
    His voice stopped her at the door. “Who were you before?”
    Jade looked down at the cracked, somewhat-white pavement. Years and lifetimes coursed through her like blood. She opened the door and said, “Who were you?”
    Neither answered.

    A POTHOLE sent Jay lurching to the right, and he nearly tumbled from the rickshaw. A chunk of asphalt bounced the three-wheeled putt-putting bumblebee into the air and flung Jay back into his seat. Through the open sides of the rickshaw, the blazing blue sky for a moment took on a silvery glow. The world seemed to pause, as if holding its breath, but Jay realized that it was just him not exhaling yet.
    The wheel smacked back down onto the pavement. Like a punch in the stomach, Jay doubled over as the impact knocked the air out of him.
    He gasped and coughed, seeking air amidst bumblebee exhaust and the scent of cow manure. The driver smiled over his shoulder. “Welcome to Agamuskara, my good friend!” he said. “We are now in the city proper!”
    “How can you tell?” Jay asked, coughing again.
    “You are not truly in Agamuskara,” the driver said, “until you see the river.” He pointed west, to their right.
    For a moment Jay thought back to his time traveling through England, the only place in the world where people drove on the left. Madness, he’d figured at the time. It was absurd, but you couldn’t give the Brits too much flack. Given how the entire island was nearly wiped out by The Blast, Jay thought, the Brits can drive on whatever side of the road they want. But here in India, Jay was glad the traffic went on the right. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to see the river.
    After the truck had passed through the Nepal-India border and resumed its bouncing, jostling ride toward Agamuskara, Jay had passed some kilometers looking through his guidebook, Guru Deep’s India Through the Third Eye :
    Agamuskara shares its name with the river that runs through India’s holiest city, which is also its unholiest. While no records survive to tell us when Agamuskara was founded, local lore maintains the area was settled by the first people to come to the Indian subcontinent. History also does not explain why the city and the river should be named what, in the Hindi, translates as “smiling fire.”
    As Jay stared at the wide river, he understood how it could be mistaken for a smiling fire. The ruddy water glowed harsh and golden in the sun, and it burned Jay’s eyes to look at it too long. Even the ancient river flowed sluggishly in the heat, but the driver was right. The Agamuskara’s bends and straightaways, every curve and line, held a majesty that belied the brown water. As they drove, the river coursed along with them.
    The map in the guidebook had shown that the river flowed from the north, out of the Himalayas. At Agamuskara the river’s course turned sharply west, then curved south and east, creating a nestle of land where, it was thought, the original riverside village had been founded. As the city had grown, it had built up on the north side of the river. Then the city crossed south and continued growing. Today, the Agamuskara bisected the city then emptied into the Ganges farther east.
    “It is beautiful,” the driver said, looking more at the river than the road in front of them.
    Jay turned to agree. Then he saw the cow standing still in front of them and instead he screamed.
    The driver hardly turned his head, but he pounded on the horn. The cow blinked but did not move. Not bothering to look, the driver swerved right. Jay looked over. Beside them, chains flapped from the yellow bed of a large truck. Red wheel wells blurred as they turned. Jay grabbed the supports of the rickshaw.
    I’m going to die, he thought. And I only just got here.
    As the horn blared, a hole opened between the truck and another vehicle. The rickshaw swung into place with inches to spare on either end.
    As they passed the cow, Jay