The Way - Larkin T. Livesay, Jr. (spicy books to read .TXT) 📗

width of the river. I would have to find another way across.

I couldn’t see any bridges in either direction. But the people had to cross somehow. I walked over to a man selling scarves and various items strewn on a table in front of him. He was painfully thin, with a hooked nose and large hoop rings dangling from each ear. When he spoke, his eyebrows seemed to move on their own, emphasizing each statement or question almost comically, yet there didn’t seem to be much humor about him.

“Excuse me sir,” I started.

“Yes? What can I do for you?” His eyebrows went up. “You need a scarf? How about this nice leather wallet? Come, come, speak up, customers are waiting.”

I glanced around, a little perplexed, since there was no one closer than twenty yards or so. “Uh, no, I’m not looking for a scarf or anything.” I said. “I just need....”

“Oh, you are maybe looking for something not on the table,” He leered. “My, uh, niece is occupied right now, but she will be available shortly. It’s fifty credits up front, unless you want something weird, I take coins or credit chips.”

I was so fascinated with his dancing eyebrows, that it took a second for what he had said to sink in. “No, no! I mean, all I need is some information. Directions.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” He pulled out a credit reader and laid it on the table. “Directions are five credits. Maps are ten credits.”

I sighed, and pulled out my credit chip. At least I hadn’t lost that. He took it in his skinny hand and inserted it into the reader. After keying in the amount, he handed it back, along with the receipt. “Okay, where do you need to go?” He asked.

“I want to get back across the river,” I said.

“But you just came over. You don’t like our side of the river?” His eyebrows disappeared under his hairline. And his hair was cut short. I just looked at him and he said, “Okay, okay. Here’s what you need to do. No boats or ferries are allowed on the river. There is a bridge ten kilometers down river. You can walk, or take a shuttle bus since you have credit. You must have a ticket, which you can purchase in there,” he indicated with his eyebrows a building about fifty yards away, “and you can catch the shuttle at the stop.”

I thanked him and made my way to the shuttle office. I gave the woman there my credit chip, took the ticket and my receipt, and went to the stop. The schedule indicated I had about fifteen minutes to wait. Casually, I looked around me, watching the people move about their business. I noticed two seedy looking characters talking to Eyebrow Man, and he pointed in my direction. They nodded and came towards me. Were they just asking directions? I doubted it. For one thing, they never parted with any money. I tensed, prepared for trouble. They probably thought I had coins on me. Well, let them come, I thought. I’m tired of running.

They saw me watching them, smiled wickedly at each other and spread out, one going left, the other, right. The one on the left was short and stocky, powerful looking. The other was taller and wiry. Tough customers. I could see I could expect no help from the bystanders, as they pulled away and looked in any direction but here. All right. I calmed myself and called up my training. I had been studying martial arts for years, but had never used it in self defense before. I might regret not running.

The best defense is a good offense. Not waiting for them to come to me, and risk both closing on opposite sides, catching me in a trap, I moved toward the shorter guy. Looking surprised, he nevertheless moved fast, pulling out a set of nunchaku and swinging at my head. Had I still been there, the blow could have been fatal, but I was crouched low by the time the short stick reached its farthest point on its swing. As he brought the nunchaku around for another swing, my foot shot up from the ground, striking his chin with a sharp crack. His eyes rolled up in his head and he crashed backwards, falling almost gracefully onto his back.

I rolled forward in a somersault, grabbing the nunchaku and coming to my feet in one motion, swinging the short sticks in a blur, switching from one hand to the other smoothly, creating a shield around me while I looked for the tall guy. He was close, a wicked looking knife in one hand. Desperately, I swung the nunchaku at his knife hand and was rewarded with another satisfying crack. When oak meets bone at over 160 kilos an hour, bone breaks. He screamed as he grabbed his wrist and dropped to his knees.

I dropped the nunchaku and sprinted for the shuttle, which was loaded and pulling out. I pulled into the bus, gave my ticket to the driver and sat gratefully into an empty seat. I had been lucky. I owed thanks to my training, but I knew they were expecting an easy mark. Otherwise it could have turned out vastly different. I ignored the stares of the other passengers, and settled in to watch for the bridge. The bus seemed to be an express, moving along the edge of the river only, making only occasional stops. Suddenly, in the distance I saw the bridge. The bus approached, then passed without stopping. I pulled on the cord. The driver stopped the shuttle and waited as I came to the front.

“The bridge is closed for repair, sonny,” he said, in reply to my query. “The next one is only twenty kilometers down.”

“Maybe they will let me cross,” I said. “I can walk across.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged.

I climbed out, the shuttle raised back off the ground, and moved quietly away. I looked closer at the bridge and my heart sank. There was a fifteen foot gap about halfway across. I stared ruefully at the shuttle as it disappeared in the growing darkness. With a start, I realized the sun was near setting. I shrugged and started down the road by the river.

The sun fell below the horizon, and the air took on a slight chill. A light breeze stirred my shirt tail and a few trees along the bank. Frogs and crickets sang in the night air. I appeared to be moving through an abandoned area, very few lights in the burned out husks of the brick and mortar buildings along the way. The glassless windows gaped like eyeless skulls. My eyes drawn to a flickering light in one of the ruined buildings, I almost missed it. The river narrowed at this point and across it spanned a rope bridge, with planks on the bottom. It looked well maintained, but was still very fragile looking, swaying in the cool breeze.

I took a deep breath and stepped out onto the bridge. It was easy going at first, then as I got further out, the wind picked up and the bridge began to sway even more. My hands were tight on the ropes, as I shakily made my way across. One step at a time, occasionally pausing and holding on as a particularly violent gust rocked the bridge. As I reached the halfway point, the rushing water was only a few feet below, the sound filling my ears, drops of cold water from the spray peppering my face, sometimes painfully in the high wind. Finally I was across, stepping gratefully onto solid ground.

The land on this side was different, heavily wooded and lush, with very few dwellings. A well worn path led off in the direction in which I was headed. It was dark, ferns and tropical plants growing along the edges. There was some kind of wooden sign beside the path, but the letters were long gone, worn away by the elements and time. Not having much of a choice, I started off along the trail.

The hairs on the back of my neck stirred as I traversed the path, the feeling of being watched overwhelming, stronger even than when I was on the lift. The silence was eerie, broken only by the crunching of my footprints, the sound of my own breathing, and the subdued sound of the river on the other side of the dense vegetation. Not an animal stirred or a cricket chirped. I was relieved as the moon rose above the horizon, providing a little light to see by. As I walked along, I reflected on my situation. It seemed forever since I had lost my family. Since then I seemed caught in a rollercoaster, no way to move but forward. I found it easier not to think about it and just move along, reacting as the situation demanded. Hopefully, after this long walk back I would find my family and everything would be okay again. Right.

The trail took a sharp turn to the left, closer to the river, then turned again. I took a sharp breath and crouched low, senses alert. Here the vegetation ended, or at least widened out into a clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a strange house, only one story, but the entire front was glass, and the roof covered with seashells of all sizes and colors. The path at my feet was now covered in seashells also and it led straight through the front yard of the house. The path glistened in the moonlight. As did the roof of the house. It all had a fairy tale look, but there was a sense of something wrong, and the feeling of being watched was palpable.

Without realizing I had started, I was halfway to the house, feet crunching on the seashell lined path. As I got closer, I could see into the dimly lit interior. A very tall and striking lady was pouring tea or something into a small cup from a silver teapot. She was wearing an almost transparent gown, emphasizing the fullness of her figure. Her ebony skin reflected the candle light, her muscles rippling beneath the fabric. My feet carried me passed her and I came upon an obstacle in the path. A large, gnarled tree grew right in the center of the path, briars and heavy undergrowth covering the ground from the tree to the waters edge. Odd...I don’t remember seeing this from the edge of the clearing, I thought. The vegetation went all the way to the edge of the house also, seeming to grow into the glass wall itself.

I searched along this wall of green and brown, but could find no way through. The river was out of the question, so I made my way back to the house. I reached out to the glass and my fingers went through, the glass rippling around them like ripples in water. I jerked my hand back and looked around. I took a deep breath and stepped through the glass, emerging on the other side with a shudder. The glass rippled for a second behind me, then solidified. The room I had entered was dark, but appeared empty. I hurried to a door on my right and walked down a long hallway, trying to walk as quiet as I could. I entered another room, glass on the front as the others, but in this one had an altar of some sort, candles burning all around. The hair began to rise on my neck again as a dark presence began to materialize behind the ornate altar.

“HOW DARE