Read Online The Ninth Talisman by Lawrence Watt-Evans - Free Book Online
Authors: Lawrence Watt-Evans
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unquestionably. Even he could feel it, despite the magic-deadening
ara
feathers in his hat, and he was no priest or sensitive. He swallowed, steadied himself, and began walking.
It was a very odd sensation. He knew that physically, he was simply walking straight ahead along a broad, straight, flat path, a good seven or eight feet wide, but mentally, spiritually, it felt as if he were balancing on a wobbling edge. He remembered what one of the road crew had told him about maintenanceâif the road were not used regularly, it would close up, turn hostile, become perhaps even more dangerous than the wilderness it replaced. Physical maintenance, keeping it clear of obstructions, was relatively simple; spiritual maintenance, keeping it fit for human use, was more difficult. People had to walk it as if they belonged there, and force the roadâs new
ler
to accommodate human needs, rather than allowing the
ler
the upper hand. If the
ler
ever became dominant the road would require its own priesthood, like a village.
He could feel that the
ler
here were still in turmoil, and he tried to think
at
them, to impose upon them the idea that this road was
his
place, not theirs.
It seemed to helpâor perhaps he was adjusting as he moved, or the
ler
were less distraught farther from Mad Oak. The dizzy, unsteady feeling subsided by the time he had gone half a mile, and he was able to concentrate on enjoying the walk and his surroundings.
The morning sun was well above the Eastern Cliffs, slanting brightly through the trees; the leaves above were vivid green, the undergrowth on either side of the road a tangle of green and brown and gray. Birds sang somewhere nearby, though he did not see them.
Willowbank lay perhaps ten or twelve miles south-southeast of Mad Oakâa long walk, but by road it should be easily done in half a day.When the old Willowbank Guide had been leading people between the towns he had taken a safe but more circuitous route, and the journey had required almost a full day, typically starting before the sun had cleared the cliffs and arriving just before sunset.
Sword studied the wilderness on either side of the road, trying to guess what dangers the old guide had found it necessary to avoid, but he could see nothing that looked especially hazardous. There were deadfalls and hanging vines, uneven ground and scurrying squirrels, flickers of light and movement that appeared to have no natural cause, but no obvious threats.
But then, why would they be obvious? That was why people needed guides in the first place, to warn them of
hidden
dangers. He heaved his pack a little higher on his shoulder and marched on.
Perhaps four miles from Mad Oak the road took its first real departure from a direct line between the two towns; up until now it had shifted slightly to one side or the other to avoid the largest trees, but had generally been straight. Now, though, the land ahead grew marshy, and the road veered to the right to stay on solid ground. Sword knew the Longvale River lay beyond that marsh, and he peered off into the wilderness, but was unsure whether he could see it, or whether he was imagining it. He could definitely hear splashing, though, whether it was frogs in the marsh or fish in the river or something else entirely.
He stayed on the road, and resisted any temptation to investigate. That was wilderness out there, and he was on his way to Willowbank and Winterhome, not just out exploring. Not that any sane person would go exploring in the wild merely on a whim in any case, even with
ara
feathers and the protection conferred by his status as one of the Chosen.
He paused at roughly the halfway point to eat the barley bread and drink the beer he had brought with him, then looked thoughtfully at the earthenware bottle he had just emptied. He knew that if he dropped it in the wilderness it would anger the
ler
enough to cause him bad dreams and minor misfortune, but what if he dropped it on the road?
ara
feathers in his hat, and he was no priest or sensitive. He swallowed, steadied himself, and began walking.
It was a very odd sensation. He knew that physically, he was simply walking straight ahead along a broad, straight, flat path, a good seven or eight feet wide, but mentally, spiritually, it felt as if he were balancing on a wobbling edge. He remembered what one of the road crew had told him about maintenanceâif the road were not used regularly, it would close up, turn hostile, become perhaps even more dangerous than the wilderness it replaced. Physical maintenance, keeping it clear of obstructions, was relatively simple; spiritual maintenance, keeping it fit for human use, was more difficult. People had to walk it as if they belonged there, and force the roadâs new
ler
to accommodate human needs, rather than allowing the
ler
the upper hand. If the
ler
ever became dominant the road would require its own priesthood, like a village.
He could feel that the
ler
here were still in turmoil, and he tried to think
at
them, to impose upon them the idea that this road was
his
place, not theirs.
It seemed to helpâor perhaps he was adjusting as he moved, or the
ler
were less distraught farther from Mad Oak. The dizzy, unsteady feeling subsided by the time he had gone half a mile, and he was able to concentrate on enjoying the walk and his surroundings.
The morning sun was well above the Eastern Cliffs, slanting brightly through the trees; the leaves above were vivid green, the undergrowth on either side of the road a tangle of green and brown and gray. Birds sang somewhere nearby, though he did not see them.
Willowbank lay perhaps ten or twelve miles south-southeast of Mad Oakâa long walk, but by road it should be easily done in half a day.When the old Willowbank Guide had been leading people between the towns he had taken a safe but more circuitous route, and the journey had required almost a full day, typically starting before the sun had cleared the cliffs and arriving just before sunset.
Sword studied the wilderness on either side of the road, trying to guess what dangers the old guide had found it necessary to avoid, but he could see nothing that looked especially hazardous. There were deadfalls and hanging vines, uneven ground and scurrying squirrels, flickers of light and movement that appeared to have no natural cause, but no obvious threats.
But then, why would they be obvious? That was why people needed guides in the first place, to warn them of
hidden
dangers. He heaved his pack a little higher on his shoulder and marched on.
Perhaps four miles from Mad Oak the road took its first real departure from a direct line between the two towns; up until now it had shifted slightly to one side or the other to avoid the largest trees, but had generally been straight. Now, though, the land ahead grew marshy, and the road veered to the right to stay on solid ground. Sword knew the Longvale River lay beyond that marsh, and he peered off into the wilderness, but was unsure whether he could see it, or whether he was imagining it. He could definitely hear splashing, though, whether it was frogs in the marsh or fish in the river or something else entirely.
He stayed on the road, and resisted any temptation to investigate. That was wilderness out there, and he was on his way to Willowbank and Winterhome, not just out exploring. Not that any sane person would go exploring in the wild merely on a whim in any case, even with
ara
feathers and the protection conferred by his status as one of the Chosen.
He paused at roughly the halfway point to eat the barley bread and drink the beer he had brought with him, then looked thoughtfully at the earthenware bottle he had just emptied. He knew that if he dropped it in the wilderness it would anger the
ler
enough to cause him bad dreams and minor misfortune, but what if he dropped it on the road?
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