Walk a Lonesome Road Page 17

  Ren says farewell, and then Dek helps him up into the transport. Harno watches as it begins to move away. Dek hopes he and his people have good fortune against their enemy, because they’ll surely need it.

  Harno’s timed their departure so they won’t have a long wait for the ferry, and has already booked their passage. All Dek and Ren have to do is board—the animals are put below with the rest of the stock, while the human passengers go to their cabin. It’s tiny with only minimal furnishing, but pure luxury compared with what most of the passengers have to endure—Reteri Guei pulled some strings for them, and Dek sends more silent thanks the man’s way for that thoughtfulness.

  Naturally it’s bunk beds and Dek’s bad leg doesn’t appreciate the climb particularly so he says he’ll camp on the floor instead. Ren doesn’t argue, which is a sign of just how uncomfortable sleeping has become for him. He gets onto his bunk immediately, lying back with a soft groan. “My back may never recover.”

  “Do you think you will? If they operate?”

  “Eventually. If I survive. Do you mind if I get some sleep? I’m whacked.”

  Dek leaves him to it, and goes to check on the animals. Then, with nothing more to do, he stands at the rails and watches the flat boring countryside slide slowly by. The wind’s even colder than on land, but it’s clean and doesn’t smell of blood or illness, and after the past few days, Dek needs that. There’s smoke in the distance—cooking fire or military firefight, he can’t tell. It’s a big land but too impoverished for stability. He wonders why such an essentially decent people as the Febkeinze have been cursed to spend their lives in a ruinous war that ultimately will leave all of them poorer than before.

  The ship’s a Pindoni cast off, powered by syngas turbines, and about twenty years past its retirement date, but the placid river presents few challenges even to an elderly boat. It isn’t full by any means, but after an hour, they pass a ferry going the other way and it’s overflowing—people getting away from the war, he guesses. Guei assured him that the port city is safe and stable as it gets in Febkeinzian, which isn’t very, but Dek can handle it.

  Visible on the right side of the vessel is the range which forms the border between Febkeinzian and Pindone, the one they spent weeks crossing at such huge risk. Snow still thickly encrusts the peaks to about half way down the mountains. On the other side—not all that far, in fact—is his home. He hopes it’s all in one piece, and wonders how he’ll feel when he’s back there and Ren’s gone. The prospect had been a pleasure just a few weeks ago, but now he has no idea how he’ll feel. His emotions have swung all over the place and are still changing. He used to have such a peaceful existence, he thinks with a sigh.

  Ren’s still a complete enigma to him. He’s vulnerable, strong. Brave, terrified. Callous, caring. Honest...but still hiding something. Dek needs to get to the bottom of that before they arrive on the coast. He doesn’t like nasty surprises, or surprises of any kind, really.

  He wanders the boat and watches the scenery for a couple of hours, buys a snack from one of the wandering food hawkers that get on and off the ferry from small boats which moor up alongside the bigger one and then detach, a bit like cleaner fish, but then the long hard days they’ve just been through start to hit and he thinks a nap would be good for him too. He wishes he’d brought a book or two, but it was weight he couldn’t justify. Ren’s chatter had been giving him something to do, but he doesn’t do that much any more. Dek’s surprised how much he misses it, for all it drove him nuts sometimes.

  Ren’s just stirring. “Time izzit?” he asks drowsily, propping himself up on an elbow.

  “Two. I got you some food, or I can make you some tea.” The only amenities the cabin offers besides the beds are a tiny washbasin and a tap which produces boiling water on demand—this country runs on its local tea much as Pindone runs on khevai, and a true Febkeinze would rather have that, or buga, than food, given a choice. Dek’s rather glad to be offered hot water and not the noxious hooch instead. He can still taste the stuff he forced down weeks ago.

  Ren sits up and ruffles his coppery hair—still only a quarter of a midec long, but it softens his face and makes him look less starved. “Tea. Food later.”

  Dek breaks out their camping pot and shakes the leaves, adds the water. The herby aroma fills the rather stuffy air in the cabin, giving it a warm, homely smell. Ren sips from his mug with an expression of pleasure. “This stuff’s great,” he says with a sigh.

  “This?” Dek peers into his own mug. “It’s all right. Nothing on decent khevai.”

  “Hmm, maybe it’s my tastes changing. Food all tastes different from before.”

  “It is different from before,” Dek points out and Ren pulls a face at him. “I need to ask you something. I need you to tell me the truth.”

  Ren’s expression closes up immediately. “You keep going on about this, but I haven’t lied to you once. Not since that first day, and you know why I did that.”

  “Then why won’t you tell me about the people who got you out of prison?”

  Ren swings his legs out of the bunk, pulls the blankets over his knees. He won’t look at Dek. “I know no more than I’ve told you.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No, I don’t. And I don’t see why it matters. I’m the one taking the risk by going to the Weadenal—your part in this will be over by then.”

  Which is true, but Dek refuses to be deflected. “It matters because I need to know you’re not a spy or a criminal that I’m handing over to a foreign state to my country’s harm.”

  “Fuck you!” Ren’s green eyes blaze with fury as he stares thin-lipped at Dek. “Your country’s harm? Why should I give a shit about that when my country’s done this to me!” He jabs his finger towards his stomach. “Pindone destroyed my life, my family, my sister—why should I care what you think?”

  “Then why should I help you?”

  “Don’t.” He gets slowly to his feet and looks for his boots. “I’ll see if there’s a berth down below. You can do what you like.”

  Dek makes a grab for him, catches his wrist. “You’ve got no money. What about food?”

  “I’ll manage. Get your fucking hand off me, I don’t need to feel your nasty suspicion!”

  Dek won’t let go—he increases his grip on Ren’s wrist to the point of pain and forces him back. Ren could break the hold but he risks hurting himself or the baby. Dek’s counting on him not being that self-destructive yet. “Sit down.”

  “Let me go, you bastard!”

  “Calm down, Ren. I can make you obey, but I’d have to hurt you.”

  Ren bares his gritted teeth. “Thought you were done beating me up.”

  “You only have to sit down.”

  With a gasp, Ren obeys, and as Dek lets his wrist go, he clutches it to his chest. “You shit. That hurt.”

  Dek refuses to be deflected. “Yes, it was meant to. You’re not leaving until you tell me the truth. If I have to, I’ll report your presence as an illegal alien.”

  Ren’s mouth hangs open in shock. “Y-you’d...after all we’ve...no. No, Dek, please...just shoot me. I swear, I’m not a spy...I’ve done nothing wrong...please, don’t send me back....”

  Dek would be moved but there’s that horrible niggling knowledge that Ren’s a very good actor and he knows Dek’s soft spots, so Dek hardens his heart and his expression. “I’ve only ever had your word for it. Now tell me what you know about Wechel hon Gezi and the Weadenisis, or I’ll do what I said. I’ve trusted you to now, but no more if you keep lying.”

  “Why do you assume I’m lying?”

  “This...this drama. Your reaction. You’re overplaying it.”

  “You think...I’m faking? Fuck, Dek, I’d hate to be you,” Ren sneers. “Look at my shitting belly and tell me I’m faking that.”

  “I know you’re not faking that,” Dek says, narrowing his eyes at Ren. “But you know more than you’re telling me, and I need to know why you’re not telling me. I’ve
earned the right to know.”

  Ren’s head jerks up. “This is about accounts now?”

  “No. It’s about honour. And...friendship.”

  Ren holds up his bruised wrist. “Friends don’t do this kind of thing.”

  “Friends don’t lie about the important stuff. Why won’t you trust me?”

  “I do! I just...Dek.” He sighs and looks around as if searching for help. “Will you at least stop looming over me?”

  Dek retreats and sits on the one chair. It’s near the door—Ren will have to go through him to get out. “All right, talk.”

  “And could you please...stop projecting that...hostility? You make me sick to my stomach.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m not real happy with you.”

  “Yes, you can,” Ren says with a sulky twist to his mouth. “Look—I don’t know more than I’ve told you. All I have is guesswork, and the reason I’ve not been sharing that with you is that I’m worried about dragging you even deeper into this mess than I have.” Dek raises an eyebrow at this, and Ren laughs wryly. “Yes, perhaps that’s moot now. But I was also worried about pissing you off since you have this rather strong propensity to think with your fists and I’m sort of totally dependent on you. Do you know what that’s like? To have your life completely at someone else’s mercy? Look at us—even now, you’re threatening to turn me in. How can I trust you at all?”

  Dek hesitates. Perhaps he’d gone too far with that threat. “I won’t do that.”

  “How do I know? How do I know you won’t drag that out again next time I don’t jump when you click your fingers?”

  He has a point. “I guess you don’t.”

  “So we’re at an impasse. If you force me to tell you stuff under threat, how can you trust it any more than what I volunteer? And if I can’t trust you not to break your word, why should I tell you a damn thing?”

  “I don’t know,” Dek says quietly, staring at the floor.

  “You really suck at this, don’t you?” Dek nods, utterly miserable. He’s screwed up the friendship and he still doesn’t know what Ren’s not telling him. He’s failed on every count. “Will you believe me if I try and answer your questions?”

  “I’ll...try to. I want to. Ren...you’re a good actor. You’ve fooled people...I’ve seen you.”

  Ren nods slowly. “So you assume I’ll do that to you. Well, I guess that’s a reasonable assumption. I can’t prove any of my story right here, without access at least to a viewcom and links to the Pindoni systems. If you think I’m a liar, then nothing I say will convince you.”

  “Try?” Dek pleads. “I hate this...I hate not trusting you. I just want to be able to trust you again. And we have to find Wechel hon Gezi, so I need to know how to do that.”

  Ren gives him a wry look. “You can’t. He died a hundred years ago. It’s like the Children of Marra doing things in Marra’s name. He’s a figurehead.”

  “So why the fuck didn’t you tell me that!” Dek yells. “You are jerking me around!”

  “No, I’m fucking not. Will you shut up and let me speak?” Dek nods, his lips pursed angrily. “Man, you’re a hard arse,” Ren says, shaking his head. “I didn’t tell you because no one explicitly told me what I guessed, which is that the people who rescued me are followers of Wechel’s teachings. He was a Spiritist and a telekinetic who became convinced that the only true human beings were paranormals, and developed this elaborate system of beliefs about this conviction. To tell the truth, he’s a bit of a swear word in Spiritist circles, because he caused a schism all those years ago and he’s never been forgiven. I hadn’t heard his name mentioned by anyone in over ten years until the day I was rescued.”

  “So where do the Weadenisis fit into that?”

  “Well, that’s where the guesswork comes in. I really didn’t know a damn thing about what Jinase was up to, but after we were rescued, I found out some of my fellow prisoners were part of the network that she’d been with. They didn’t know anything about the Weadenisis either, but one of them said that he’d heard a rumour that a lot of the paranormals they sent out of the country were ending up in the Weadenal, and that once they were there, they just dropped out of sight completely. I thought the most likely explanation was that since Wechel hon Gezi was known to have spent his last years in the Weadenal, though no one’s sure of his exact fate, then he might have set up his religion down there, and his followers were carrying out some kind of rescue plan for paranormals. I don’t know if rescuing us was their first incursion into Pindone or what—like I said, they weren’t telling us much about anything.”

  Dek shakes his head. “So why not tell me this?”

  “Because it’s all guessing, and if they could lock me up on such a flimsy excuse, they could do the same to you. If you genuinely didn’t know about the Weadenisi connection, we could always claim I forced you to help me. The other thing about Wechel hon Gezi is that he had a pathological hatred of non-paranormals. His followers might be the same. I didn’t want you colliding with them. I still don’t.”

  “And that’s it? The big secret?” Ren nods warily. “You’re an idiot.”

  Ren grins in relief. “Looks like. I didn’t think it was that big a deal, and it doesn’t help much. We’re still going to have to find someone willing to smuggle me into the Weadenal, and I’m only guessing about the nature of the people behind the rescue. I have no idea how to contact them. I was planning to just go to one of the hospitals and throw myself on their mercy—the Weadenal has a completely different attitude to my kind. They don’t tattoo us for a start. At this point, I don’t have a lot of choices.”

  “So let me come with you.”

  “I can’t. You’re already done so much, and up to now, you can still ease back into Pindone with no one being the wiser. If you turn up in a modern country with modern tracking, with a convicted traitor at your side, someone will notice. Someone will have to notice. I won’t have that on my conscience.”

  “Don’t like it,” Dek says.

  “Me neither. I don’t have many choices. I don’t have any choices but this.”

  “We’ll see,” Dek mutters. They’ve got a few days. Maybe they’ll think of another plan.

  “So do you believe me? No more violence?”

  “It’s too crappy a story not to be true,” Dek says, and Ren laughs. “You better not be lying. I can’t help you if you do.”

  “It’s the truth. I swear.”

  “Fine. Now you eat, drink that tea, get some more rest. I’ll...uh...strap up your wrist. Didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says. A lousy apology, he knows. It was a lousy thing to do.

  “You did, but you had a reason. Don’t ever do that again, Dek,” Ren says, his voice becoming serious. “I’m not as helpless as I look, and I will fight back next time.”

  “Won’t be a need,” Dek vows. Please, never let there be a need again.

  Walk A Lonesome Road: 18

  He takes exquisite care over putting the liniment and support bandages on Ren’s wrist, though Ren tries to claim it’s not actually injured. It might not be, but Dek doesn’t know a better way to show his regret in a way that means anything. He gives the man his food, makes him more tea, then flees the scene of his crime. It’s not anything he’s not done before in an interrogation, but he had no business interrogating Ren and now he looks back on it, he knows he’s been a fool and a thug. Why should Ren not have been wary of him? Hadn’t Dek just proved his point?

  He heads up to the deck again, and leans on the railings, resting his head on his arms, as disconnected and unhappy as he’s been in months. Years. Ren’s going to be out of his life in a few days, and now Dek’s put this between them. This ugly, unforgivable thing. He’s never been good with people, or at making friends—the army was a substitute for having to do that. He could always guarantee someone’s attention, someone’s company. Ironic that after Lomare died, that side of it got a little easier, because he could bond with other widowed, divorced or jilted officer
s over their shared misery. Of course all that stopped after Altiri and he went crazy. He hadn’t missed other people after that. Now he thinks he might, but he’s just proved that he’s still unfit for human company.

  He finds a seat without difficulty. Everyone else with a mikig of sense is inside, sitting around the generous heat providing by the ferry’s gas engines. No one ever accused him of having any sense. Besides, there’s something pure about the desert skies which mesmerises him. Skies this blue are rare in north Pindone—it’s far too wet. His thoughts drift to unhappy places as he stares blindly up into the endless indigo.

  “Nope, can’t see it. What are you looking at?”

  He turns. Ren’s walking carefully—well, waddling’s a more accurate term—towards him. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

  “The passenger had other ideas. Every time I went flat, it started kicking me in the bladder. I pity whoever ends up with the little bastard.” He heaves himself onto the bench seat. “Besides, after the transport and the cabin, I just wanted some fresh air. It’s a bit cramped in there.”

  “It’s too cold for you out here.”

  “I’ve survived this far, a brisk breeze isn’t going to kill me,” Ren says cheerfully. His gloves hide the support bandage but Dek knows it’s there. He turns away and stares out over the landscape. “I should have told you. It was my mistake. I’m not surprised you were suspicious.”

  Dek turns to him. Ren’s expression is serious now. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Stupidity and fear. When I told you about the rescue I was trying very hard to be scrupulously honest, and there was so much to tell you, I forgot I never explained I knew who Wechel hon Gezi was. The next time it came up, I was terrified you weren’t going to help me at all, and I needed directions at least. When you brought it up again a few weeks ago, I started to tell you but you got so hostile, and I wasn’t feeling very strong at that point. I thought about explaining but there never seemed to be a right time. I assumed you’d think I’d been hiding something for a reason, and that my explanation was a lie.”