"Roads" by Blair N. Woynarski

We travelled by river. That was how everyone travelled.

The calmly rancorous flow of the water was swift enough and gentle enough to guide us on our daily passage, unlike the roads: rife with disaster. Paths were rutted, upheaved, and otherwise in disrepair, making them unsuited for wagons. They could have been repaired and maintained over the 20 years previous, but that would require workers venturing down them on foot, which they would never do. Children stayed off the roads because they were told to be afraid. When we children grew up, we stayed off the roads simply because we knew we must.

A south wind propelled us downstream, and I ducked my head against the invasive insects, threatening entry into my eyes and mouth. I squinted as I glanced forward. The sun beat down on us; we didn’t have any cover from the trees, which were clear-cut for 30 metres on either side of the river all the way down to Heskam.

The wind – unusually strong for this time of year – was thrusting us toward our destination at nearly record-time. We couldn’t have been happier while we travelled Blind Man’s Pass, the stretch of river that lay completely straight for about two kilometres, but before we reached Heskam, we would have to navigate an unfriendly segment of twists and winding streams.

My father ordered us to drop the sail. We did so. The momentum carried us to the end of the pass, and my father steered us right, into the entry of the crooked path. We held on; our fate was in his hands. Once again, he delivered us from peril with startling adeptness. After a terse reprieve from the sickening turns, we met a fork. My father took the right once again, and plunged us into another writhing waterway. I glanced portways at the left fork, which stretched forward rather straight, meeting a gentle curve right. The shadow of the forest canopy inhibited my view, but the stream was doubtless less rough than the one we were on now. When I was younger, I asked my father why we never took that path. He told me that no one did. It was too close to the roads.

When we were finally beyond the dread leg of the journey, the river widened before us. I sprinted belowdecks and shovelled more coal into the furnace. The paddle at our stern groaned and began rotating in the water. We gradually picked up speed as we entered the lake. Crystalline water blanketed the earth and crept outwards until it was blocked by the shoreline. My father veered towards the dock.

It was located amid several hectares of dead, blackened trees. The dock rested in an area clear-cut of charred wood. Ships did their business here, while the burnt and gnarled trees hung ominously on the coastline, and extended inland until they reached the greater forest, which was still alive and flourishing.

My father docked ordered the crew to extend the ramp. He descended and met with a merchant waiting on the water’s edge. He looked upwards to meet the eyes of the other man, who stood as a gruff and burly figure, yet softened as soon as he shook my father’s hand.

“Aye, Amos,” the merchant greeted.

My father wasn’t a large man. In fact, he was no taller than me and not very broad either. Yet his presence was indomitable. He was stronger than a gale wind, and his eyes pierced any person he spoke to, an act that could be warm or menacing, depending on whom that person was and what their intentions were. He was one of few captains that were called to travel this particular route to Heskam, because of his consummate skill and navigating unfriendly waters. All the merchants and dockworkers here knew him well.

“The shipment’s here, and early.”

“Of course. Just follow me. We can sort through the papers and start loading you up to set sail in the morning.”

Father and the merchant strolled inside, while the rest of us opened the cargo doors and began unloading sacks of sugar. Dockworkers wheeled in carts to help us, and we were soon finished. My father had six of us on crew, a standard number for a ship small enough to fit in the more trying parts of the river. All six of us lumbered off of the docks and onto the road (this road merely being a path from the shore into the village of Heskam. It was not akin to the long routes through the forests between communities, which were avoided at all costs.). We would stay in Harper’s Reach, the same inn we stayed at every time we delivered a shipment here. We were such regulars that the barkeeper had nearly named a drink after us.

I approached Arwyn Gamer’s house, a landmark which had announced the village entrance since my father was a boy. I paused in the village’s centre. I could name every business and nearly every resident. Heskam was a compact community, walled in by trees on three sides and a river on the fourth, just like all towns I had seen in my lifetime, but it was more tightly enclosed that most communities, and compounding that with the fact that the river route was troubling at the best of times, this remained a sleepy and private town. And it always felt like home.

I passed the jeweller’s, where my father had bought the necklace he presented to me on my 18^th birthday. I glanced around and noticed a young blonde man ambling down the lane. I had seen his face before, but I hadn’t a clue what his name was. He was handsome, though, with a crisp beard, a toned physique, and green eyes so vibrant they struck me from a distance. I smiled shyly.

“Afternoon, Miss,” he said to me as he continued on his way.

Harper’s Reach was the same as I had left it. Eldric Harper, the innkeeper’s 13-year-old son, led me to my room. He was always eager to guide me to my room, even though the inn’s layout was as familiar to me as my bedroom back home. I uttered my thanks and gave him a peck on the top of the head. He blushed and bounded back down the stairs.

I had Ida, the maid, draw me a bath. I disrobed and sank into the water (definitely not the same water that I had spent two days riding). I collapsed into blissful daze. The sun was setting by the time I climbed out. I brushed my hair and redressed. It was evening, and I felt like a walk around town.

I drank in the night air, chilled like expensive champagne. Lamps flickered through front windows. Smoke wafted from chimney tops. I stood there, not thinking, but just gazing at the serene tableau. I didn’t even hear footsteps creep behind me.

I was caught from behind and cast downward, where my head thudded on the dirt road. A bear-grip held my shoulder fast on the ground, while something was wrenched from around my neck. He had taken my necklace.

My assailant took off down the street, but I was on my feet and after him before he had a chance to shoulder-check. I leapt at him, but he half-turned and caught my arm; he had impressive strength. I reacted with the quickest action I could think of at this awkward angle: I hammered his knee with my boot. He grunted and let go, but turned back and kicked my stomach with his uninjured leg. That halted me for a moment, in which the thief started running again, thought slightly favouring his left leg.

I gave chase. It was a small town; he couldn’t hide from me. And it didn’t seem that he was trying to. He just kept running in a straight line, and I followed. Focused on my pursuit, I didn’t notice that the houses and shops had fallen out of my immediate scenery. It wasn’t until I tripped in a rut that I looked down – a ragged, disused path, overgrown with crab-grass and weeds. Again, I leapt up and continued the chase against this man, who was well on his way into the forest at this point. He had the misfortune of stumbling in the pot-holes a few times himself, and I had the fortune of treading carefully after my first fall, and so I was gaining ground.

I nearly halted when he disappeared behind the trees. All roads lead through the forest, and I had no idea what they could be like inside. But it was no time for childish superstitions, so I kept pace. The road within the forest was certainly hazardous, as leaves blanketed the ground, disguising the ruts and potholes. The thief continued ahead, not minding his path. He vaulted forward as he tripped over a fallen branch that formed a tripwire across the road.

I leapt on top of him, backhanding him across the face and wresting the necklace from his grasp. It was then I looked more carefully. He was the same man I had seen this afternoon. Now, he lay on his back, still smiling at me. I kneed him in the solarplexus. Satisfied, I stood and turned. I looked down. The branch that had lain on the road was gone. A moment later, I went tumbling to the ground as I was struck from behind. I whipped my head around, only to find that the thief was only now struggling to pull himself up. Those vibrant eyes were terrified, now. I looked up. There was a ripple flowing through the trees and a whisper rustling amid their leaves. It was a windless night.

My erstwhile assailant and I scrambled to our feet. A branch swung at me and brushed my hair as I ducked. The man was leaping from side to side, trying to evade the writhing oak trees that were slamming down on the path with their entire frames, then straightening again. A thin branch struck him in the chest, but he seized hold of it and snapped it over his shoulder. Another branch hammered him in the back and he was on the ground again. Meanwhile, I had to do a tuck-and-roll to escape the force of a giant oak which tipped itself over and slammed its trunk against the path. Other trees then bowed down, wrapped their branches around it, and returned it to a standing position. Another tree’s root snaked free of the ground, shook itself free of dirt, and whipped into my back. I screamed and dropped to my knees. The thief was being manacled by two branches, screaming while another root whipped at his torso.

I saw the branch lying on the road. I dashed to it, but when I had it in my hand, it became apparent that it was too thin and flimsy to be of any use. While caught in this moment of uncertainty, I was struck again and tumbled to the dirt. The necklace fell from my grip, and I scrambled to grab it again and stuff it in the pocket of my breeches. While doing so, I discovered something else in my pocket. I pulled it out: a lighter. I set aflame the branch I held, and the tree next to me seemed to recoil. I brandished the torch before me, and lit the tree which held the thief. It moaned and let go. I grabbed the man and forced him to his feet, just as I was clobbered in the head by an errant bough.

With my skull throbbing, I looked up to see the thief had taken my torch, and was igniting the dry leaves which blanketed the ground. He, too, was knocked in the skull. I hastened to my feet, grabbed the torch, pulled the man to his feet, and proceeded with my exit. I led us through, holding the torch like a shield, evading the trees which battered the path around us. All roads lead through the forest. At the last 50 metres, I dropped the torch and the two of us sprinted to the exit. Two sentinel trees fell in front of us. We vaulted over them and tumbled into the field.

Coldly, I looked into the beautiful eyes of the man I had just saved.

“I’m sorry,” he said.