Pilgrimage Page 3

  “No, I'm just telling you it's stupid.”

  “Well if you're so worried, why don't you come with me? It wouldn't hurt to have somebody who knew how to handle a bad situation – like last night.”

  Roland chuckled and shook his head. “You don't even know me, kid.”

  “I know you're a good person. You're not afraid to stand up for people you don't even know.”

  “Don't read too much into it, kid. I just wanted a fight.”

  “Still...” The word came out sounding almost like a desperate plea.

  “You really don't know what you're getting into.”

  “I've got a map.”

  “And?” Roland waited for the rest of that sentence. He looked down at his cigarette. It was half burnt already and he'd hardly touched it. He flicked the ash off and took a drag.

  “And what? I've got a map.” Griffith stepped closer and leaned over the railing with Roland.

  “I guess you're set, then. Good luck.”

  “You don't mean that. Come on, Roland, come with me to Salem.”

  “No. I've got stuff to do.” Roland stood up straight and stepped away from Griffith.

  “Like what? You said you don't have a job.”

  “Like none of your business.”

  “I'll pay you.”

  “What?” He looked over at Griffith, expecting another punchline that never came.

  “You can be my escort.”

  “No.” Roland cut him off before he went any further.

  “You could call yourself a body-guard if it would make you feel better.”

  “Do you need a body-guard?” Roland raised an eyebrow at Griffith.

  “No.” Griffith shook his head and quickly added. “Why would I need a body-guard? I just thought that would sound better than escort.”

  “Stop calling it that.”

  “Sorry.” Griffith smiled. “Not an escort.”

  The sly smile didn't strike Roland as honestly sorry. “This whole thing is stupid. I don't see why I should waste my time.”

  “I'm offering you a job. You help me get to Salem safe and unharmed and I'll pay you. Cash just for making sure I don't do anything really stupid.”

  “No.”

  “Why not? What have you got here that's so important?” Griffith asked. “You might never have an opportunity like this again.”

  Roland couldn't think of an answer he wanted to give. He could do with the money but the kid was asking a lot. It meant packing up his life, leaving the bars and hiking cross-country for at least a week, probably more.

  But he'd had worse jobs. At the rate he was going, he'd be on the street in a couple of days, anyway. Maybe a change of scenery would be healthy. There was nothing for him in Armidale but maybe there was something out there on the roads north.

  Then again, probably not. Better to stay put. It's not like he couldn't find a new job in Armidale.

  “Not interested.”

  “Come on, Roland! There's a whole world of magic you've been missing and now you have a chance to see it.”

  Roland looked out across Armidale. From the balcony of the piss-pot hotel he could see over the tops of houses and shopping arcades; past the church bell towers to the university. If he turned his head he'd see all the way to the grassy fields and pockets of forestry on the horizon. Armidale was pretty, he had to give it that. It had grown too big to be called a town but was a poor excuse for a city. It was quiet and nobody bothered him - he liked it like that. But the ghosts of bad memories still haunted Armidale and, as time went on, there would only be more. Perhaps he could leave the pretty little town as it was, before he screwed up too bad and ruined it.

  “Can magic do anything?” Roland asked.

  “Sure. There are sorcerers who can fly, turn lead into gold, control people's minds. I've heard that there are master sorcerers who can even stop time.”

  Roland flicked the rest of his cigarette down into the car park. A woman in a red and yellow dress looked up at him; he could see her disapproving look but he didn't care. Roland ignored her and looked across the street to the pub. No doubt they'd banned him from that pub now, too. Another notch in the belt. A mixture of thirst, regret and pride came over him.

  “How about rewind time?”

  “Maybe.” Griffith offered a non-committal shrug.

  “Well you said control minds? What about completely change them?” Roland began to mindlessly run his fingers over the golden band around his ring finger.

  “Change them?” Griffith asked.

  “Yeah. Rewrite them. Remove memories and that sort of thing.”

  “I don't see why not. Powerful, creative sorcerers can do anything.”

  “Anything...” Roland muttered, his voice trailing off. He realised his hands were moving and promptly stopped, instead fished for his cigarettes again.

  “Is there something-”

  “Okay. Let me go grab my things and check out.” Roland said.

  “What? Really?” Griffith said, his joy and surprise made him stumble over the words. “You mean...?”

  “Yeah, I'll do it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You don't want my help, now?”

  “No. No, that's not it.”

  “Okay then.” Roland turned around and faced Griffith. The younger man stared wide eyed at him as if a giant, hairy spider had just dropped onto his head. It made Roland hesitate a moment before talking. “You can't even order a drink without getting into a fight. What hope do you have on your own in the wild? You'll probably be mugged and murdered before the end of the week. At least this way, I'm the one who gets your money and you'll live to see Salem. Probably. But you have to cover expenses on top of the pay.”

  “Well, all right. I'll start looking at the map and meet you downstairs when you've got your things!” Bursting with enthusiasm, Griffith took off down the heavy, lime-green stairs.

  Roland's things equated to nothing more than a couple of changes of clothes, a nice pair of black shoes, the hotel toiletries, a bottle of water and a chocolate bar from the room's mini-bar and a bottle of scotch Roland had been saving for a special occasion. All of this he stuffed quickly and carelessly into an old backpack stained by grease and saw dust. With everything he had in the world worth keeping slung over his shoulders, Roland found Griffith by the road outside the hotel, looking at a road map. When he saw Roland he started to say something but Roland kept walking. Griffith shrugged, folded the map and followed after him. The sun was still low in the clear blue sky, peeking over the buildings on the eastern side of town. The sun, though burning bright above them, couldn't warm the cold June air,. Anyone with sense was still in bed, comfortable beneath their blankets. Roland was too hung over to have any sense .

  Chapter 3

  Leaving Armidale was the easy part. Roland had been there long enough to learn his way around. They followed the roads until they hit the New England Highway which ran through the centre of Armidale and then followed it north out of town. By the early afternoon, Roland and Griffith had passed a sign directing them to a flight school, a handful of dirt roads branching off the highway and endless, empty grass fields. It didn't take long for the landscape and the far off houses to form a kind of infinite and indistinguishable mesh of open country. Everything started to look the same, as if the earth had been painted the same uniform green in every direction and the one house had been built and rebuilt at regular intervals along the horizon. All cows became one cow and all sheep became one sheep, cloned and scattered across the fields. The sun crossed the sky above them but time quickly lost meaning in the unbroken monotony. Cars zipped by continuously. Roland suggested hitch hiking once and Griffith explained the need to walk the length of his pilgrimage to prove himself. Roland didn't push the matter, for fear that Griffith would keep talking. For Roland and Griffith, there was only the road, the walk and the never ending country. Pockets of trees along the highway came and went and when the trees were behind them, they could hardl
y remember having seen them. A sign they passed some time after midday directing them to the town of Black Mountain served as the only indication of their progress. Not far from the sign stood a service station and attached fast food restaurant. Roland had already eaten his chocolate by then and he could feel hunger taking a hold of his stomach.

  “Hey kid, we're stopping for some food”

  ”We are?”

  “I'm hungry.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well if we grab some food, we can probably still reach the next town, Guyra, and find a place to stay by the time it gets dark.”

  “Sounds good.” Roland agreed, already turning towards the service station.

  “Let's get a few supplies here as well, then we won't need to stop as often.”

  Roland stopped mid-step. “You mean you don't have any supplies? Did you prepare for this at all?”

  “I have some supplies but I didn't really think I'd have to bring lunches with me.”

  “What the hell did you think would happen? Sandwiches would fall out of the sky?”

  Griffith shrugged. “I just figured it would work itself out.”

  “You're a bigger idiot than I thought.”

  “Well, now that you're here, you can point out all the things that I've overlooked so we don't starve to death on our way to Salem. In a way, you could say it did work itself out.”

  “You want me to point out when you're being an idiot? Great. I'll start right now. When you're going on a week-long hike you should at least remember to bring some food with you!” Roland considered smacking Griffith over the head but if he started doing that every time Griffith did something stupid, he got the feeling he'd end up giving the kid brain damage.

  Roland sent Griffith into the service station with a list of supplies and a request for a takeaway hamburger while he took the chance to enjoy a cigarette. Griffith didn't take long before returning with food and then they were moving on. The road stretched on, and on into the distance.

  When their walk at long last took them to the edges of Guyra the sun had set and they were navigating by star light. Guyra began as a row of small houses on one side of the road and empty, green fields on the other. With each step, they became increasingly doubtful that the mass of buildings and lights in the distance was a town at all. More likely, this vision of civilisation was an illusion conjured by their desperation for something more than cows and empty roads. Then, suddenly, they stood at the centre of a spider-web of roads connecting houses, shop fronts and small local businesses, including a motel along the highway.

  “I was kind of expecting something bigger.” Griffith said.

  Roland shrugged. “In a part of the world where cows outnumber people?”

  Roland and Griffith silently agreed it was time to stop. They checked into the motel and went to their room to rest. The motel sat on the high-way, connected by a driveway but otherwise pleasantly isolated by its walls and a modest, well kept garden. Each had its own car space and a single window with a private view of that car space and not much else. Roland and Griffith were given room eleven and their view included a car space filled with somebody else's car. Griffith opened the door and immediately pulled out his map. Roland followed him and closed the door behind him, watching Griffith unfold his map over one of the beds and begin tracing the many lines with his finger.

  “There's a tiny little town not far north of here called Llangothlin. That can't be more than a couple of hours up the highway. Then there's nothing until we reach Glencoe. That's probably at least full day's walk.”

  “There's nothing between Llangothlin and Glencoe?”

  “Nope!”

  “Can we reach Glencoe before dark tomorrow? Never mind – I don't trust you.” Roland studied the road map, retracing Griffith's planned route.

  “Sure we can. We just have to start early.”

  “How early?”

  “Well, if we begin before the sun comes up we can definitely reach Glencoe before the sun goes down again.”

  “We're going to need a rule about what ideas you keep to yourself.” Griffith opened his mouth to protest but Roland shot him a silencing glance. “Do you have anything sensible to suggest?”

  “How about we walk until it gets dark and let our accommodation work itself out?”

  “What did I just say?” Roland felt his voice get louder and his heart pump faster.

  “It worked for me in Armidale!” Griffith folded his arms across his chest and stood toe to toe with Roland, waiting.

  “I'm going to have a shower.” Roland stared Griffith down for a few seconds and then started for the bathroom. He didn't know whether to knock some sense into the kid or laugh at his tough guy act. He obviously meant well and there was no sense fighting with him. Roland stopped at the bathroom door. “We should go and find some dinner. Then we can talk about tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” Griffith smiled and unfolded his arms. “I'll try to find us a place to eat.”

  Roland took his time in the shower but when he was dry and dressed, the fleeting feeling of cleanliness was already gone. He looked at himself in the mirror for a long time before he left the bathroom. His teeth had a stronger yellowish colour than they normally did and his five o'clock shadow was starting to look more like a ten o'clock shadow. His clothes were damp and stunk of sweat. He thought about the bottle in his pack and tried to count the hours since his last drink. At the rate they were going, he'd have to ration the scotch. But surely a little bit wouldn't hurt. Would it? Of course not. When did scotch ever hurt anyone? Roland closed his eyes and took a moment to organise his thoughts. He told himself to prioritise. First was dinner, then was planning and then was drinking. If he could manage that, he could reward his patience with an extra shot or two. Griffith might want to shower before they went to get dinner and, if he did, then he could even have a quick drink while he waited.

  Roland opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom.

  “Okay, do you—” Empty. He scanned the room, confused, then started towards the door. He found Griffith kneeling on the other side of the room, behind a bed piled with their backpacks and the map, just outside Roland's view. Roland approached the sorcerer with cautious steps. Griffith knelt, back straight and hands resting in his lap, eyes closed and silent. Not just quiet but absolutely, hauntingly silent. Roland could see his chest rising and falling but couldn't hear the deep breaths he seemed to be taking. Roland reached out to tap him on the shoulder. The air around Griffith swirled and pulsated like electricity. Roland recoiled, or maybe the rippling air forced his hand back. He wasn't sure. Roland stood watching Griffith until he opened. He couldn't tell how long he'd been standing there, watching. Griffith turned his head and smiled at Roland.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Ready?” Roland repeated back stupidly.

  “For dinner?”

  “What were you doing?”

  “Meditating.” Griffith answered and shrugged. “So, dinner?”

  “Meditating? But, there was something weird around you.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Well?” Roland's voice was rising with impatience.

  “Magic.” Griffith shrugged again.

  “Of course.” Roland scratched his head and gathered his thoughts back to him. “Okay, let's go get some food.”

  At that moment there came a knock at the door. Roland and Griffith swapped similar looks of confusion. Then, with a shrug, Griffith opened the door.

  “Hello?” Griffith asked, turning the door knob. Just as he started to pull, the door swung out of his hands, throwing him back. In another instant he was thrown off his feet as though he'd been hit by a bus. Griffith landed on the bed, knocking the bags and map onto the floor. The blankets twisted and snaked around his limbs, pulling them close to his body. The bedding wrapped around him like a cocoon and fastened tight, binding him in place.

  A short, stout man, bald and tan, like a brick wearing a beige tweed jacket, stepped through the door. He turned to
Roland. Roland didn't think. He immediately picked up the closest heavy object - A chair - and hurled it at the intruder. The man in the tweed lifted his hands. The wooden chair shattered on some unseen barrier. Roland charged. He took two steps before something hit him, hit him hard. Then he slammed into the wall. Invisible hands threw him to the ground. Roland tried to push himself up. The air above pushed down with all the weight of a Mack Truck, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He turned his head enough to see the man in tweed. The man motioned his hand in a rapid succession of finger gestures. Then bed sheets and blankets leapt from the other bed and wrapped around him, cutting off his vision. Roland felt the weight lift off him and he tried to stand. The blankets tightened, forcing him down again and pressing his arms against his chest.

  From inside his flannel prison Roland heard talking. The voice was barely audible, coming from outside the room. Then something hit the ground with a thud. He heard the sounds of something dragging and then he felt himself being pulled along the ground. The ground was soft at first, then cold and then rough. Something pressed against the blankets and Roland heard an animal sniffing at him. Somebody shouted:

  “Get away from that, mongrel!” The animal fled. Nothing happened for a long time and then he heard a car engine. Something that didn't feel at all like hands lifted him, then dropped him again. The floor was now vibrating and he could hear the humming of an engine close by. That only lasted a few minutes, then the sound of the engine ceased and something started dragging him again. Through the fabric of his bindings, he could see shadows cast against bright lights. Somebody walked in front of him but he couldn't see anybody holding the blankets. Roland counted the self-moving blanket prison one of the least unusual things he'd seen recently but that didn't lessen the building sense of dread. Things were probably going to get a whole lot stranger the moment he was let out.

  When the dragging stopped he heard voices again. One was the same voice he'd heard back at the motel - Undoubtedly the man in in the tweed jacket. He spat every word like talking pissed him off.

  “There were two of them. The big one fought but he wasn't any trouble.”