To Grow the Road
A Tale of the Last Plateau
By Wm. Michael Mott

Illustration by Wm. Michael Mott

ix-hundred miles north of Tinction-on-the-Sea stood the city of Nosberoigne; like its sister-city further south, it looked out over the sheer drop-off of the continental plate that was known as Ulmerhk, the Last Plateau. Beneath, thousands of feet below, where for untold eons broad oceans had rolled, there now stretched the canyons, chasms, sinking sands and treacherous pits of the old ocean bottoms, where brine-traps still lurked beneath quicksands and fresh water was unknown.

Only rarely did explorers, the Guildmasters of the nations Yiombruth, Chelunge, Jregg, and Dalzimurge, which spread the length of the Eastern side of the continent called Ulmerhk, venture into the dead ocean bottoms, for they were truly dead--more dead than the dying, desertified lands of the Last Plateau, the deadest area of Old Urit, the world. Only those who were mad would venture down into the lands that once were seas, and only then out of desperation--or so it was said. Great ambition or great daring were needed to make such a trek. Only in a few places did the Road, the living organism that tattooed Ulmerhk with its glistening presence, stretch down to touch the deep briny desert, and then only temporarily, for the Road had a tendency to slyly shift its way, alter its course, and move about in search of sustenance--and none was to be readily found in the bottom of the ancient seas.

Above Nosberoigne the land swept up into a northeastern peninsula that jutted out above the silent seabeds for a hundred miles, and rumor was that the Road had shifted again; and the rumor was fact. Now a branch of the living Road swept down into the edges of the sea floor, as the slope was gradual here, rather than sheer. Here the fierce winds, which constantly swept and roared like invisible teeth across the Last Plateau from the west, were lessened in the leeward side of descending slopes, and the strange mists of the ocean bottom rose to meet the Road where it came down in an undulant cascade.

The lowering hills and ridges were in deep shadow, for above the ridge of the continental plate the sun was lowering. And down the road walked a solitary figure, which in and of itself was strange enough--but this figure was particularly incongruous, and would have been so in most of the lands which were still truly lands.

He stood closer to seven feet in height than to six, and his build was lean yet massively muscled, with thews long and rolling. He wore a leather vest-shirt, sewn leather breeks, and knee-high boots of scaly hide; his head, shaved but for a blond top-knot and a long, hanging mustache, was scarred with twirling, savage tattoos and scarifications. His violet eyes smoldered beneath shaggy blond brows, and his hand was on the hilt of his curved shortsword as he walked. At one hip he carried a tubular metal weapon or device, and a great, straight longsword was scabbarded to the baldric at his back. Three bolos and multiple pouches hung about his broad belt.

Tulruhk of the Kiahnnash, self-exiled barbarian wanderer of a savage inland tribe, was late of Yiombruth, the most civilized of lands, and he was on a mission. This had brought him here, over the edge of the depths, to see what he might see.

Late of Nosberoigne and a visit with the arrogant Roadwalkers’ Guild, he had forced them to honor their code and admit him to their order, that he might walk the Road without an excess of fear of the Road itself. In his pouch was an object that would enable that or so he had gathered, though how, he did not know--for the ancient technology of Old Urit was now called sorcery, and the Road itself, sentient and perhaps intelligent, was of the same origin in distant antiquity. The object he had obtained freely from one of their guild, and he had fulfilled a prior quest they had set for him, perhaps in hope that he might fail or be killed in its attempt; but he had returned to hammer upon the Door of the Red Sign in the White Tower, and they had dared not naysay his demands.

To activate that which he carried, he was told, he must find that rarest of locations upon the Road--a place where one of its branchings came to termination. And below him, in the murk, he could see just such a place. The Road swept into the edge of the sea and ended abruptly. There he would find his Test and his Way. And for every man and woman of the Guild, the Test and the Way were different, or so tradition held.

The terminus eased out of view around a swelling rise; to either side of the Road, the ground looked squamous and unsteady, as if to step on it would suck one down to a suffocated death in poisoned sands. But the Road itself was perilous, for to linger overlong in one place was to be lulled into lethargy and then sleep, and then to be slowly devoured by the highway itself. Neither treacherous end appealed to the tall barbarian.

Darkness fell, and he lit one of the bundled brands he’d brought for just such a time. Then, ahead in the gloom, a strange chittering sound began to reverberate up from the dead sea-bottom.

Whatever the sound’s source, there was no going back. From his belt he unclipped the foot-long tube, the deadly telescoping kwaiin-lance of his people, and with the torch held high in his left hand, he rounded the rise.

A last gradual slope, and then the Road leveled off and stretched about two hundred yards into the slightly-misted depths of the sea floor. The insectoid chittering continued, louder now, and Tulruhk recognized it as the stridulation of the back-plates of Joorls, the arachnoid people of the wastelands. He tensed in preparation and was not disappointed.

Dimly they converged, seemingly out of the shadows at the ending of the road. He had heard that few known races and species lived in these ocean wastes, but here they were. Four tall, lanky figures leaned toward him as if drawn to the torch-flame; the noseless faces, set with six eyes in a diamond pattern, glittered coldly like clotted blood. Their forms were humanoid, but unnaturally thin, arms and legs deceptively thin--he knew from experience that they were covered in chitinous, bony plates. He put his kwaiin-lance away and drew the longsword from his back-scabbard, for only Kiahnnashi-forged, unbreakable Garnaskina steel would be able to damage these things.

He readied for the rush.

The four insectoids, scythe-like talons extended, spread out across the Road and came forward. Tulruhk did not wait, but ran to meet them, the bull-roar of his war-cry shattering the stillness of the deep places.

At once he was surrounded by flailing, scimitar-tipped stick-limbs, but he did not seek to escape. He was born of the harsh world of Urit, and he knew that to hesitate was to die. Dropping his torch to the Road, he drew his shortsword with his left hand and began to weave and slay. A chitinous head flew off, an arm, another arm, a leg--yet still they came, seeking to rip out his innards with their deadly claws. He grunted in surprise, for generally the Joorl-folk retreated rapidly once their own were wounded. Almost shrugging, he continued the dance.

Two were down and twitching on the Road. The remaining pair attacked simultaneously, high and low, and he was nearly undone as his leg was gripped and a talon ripped up for his groin. He leaned to one side and dodged the blow as his longsword sheared through the tough chitin of the standing Joorl, splitting it from neck-joint to mid-thorax. Whistling shrilly, it fell to the right just as his shortsword flashed down to the left, splitting the peaked skull of the thing clinging to his boot. With a single twitch, it died.

He stood still, listening for others. He had fought Joorls before, and he knew that an entire swarm could be nearby. Joorls were avid traders, but he had nothing to barter with, should he be vastly outnumbered. And these four had not even tried to barter before attacking--a bit uncharacteristic of their type.

The battle had taken less than a minute. He took two steps back.

The bodies and body-pieces of the slain began to sink rapidly--too rapidly--into the Road. There was no change of color in the stone-like surface as usually occurred when the Road fed; and normally, the digestion of the dead transpired over a few to several hours, depending on the density of the dead. The bodies of Joorls should have taken a day or more to be digested and absorbed, but these creatures were nearly gone already! The hackles of his neck began to rise.

There was a laugh, like silver bells tinkling in a bazaar of Tinction-on-the-Sea. Sheathing his shortsword, Tulruhk stooped quickly and retrieved his brand, holding his longsword in a defensive position. Out of the shadows at the Road’s end came a swaying figure, a curvaceous form of languid yet savage beauty.

She stood tall, nearly as tall as Tulruhk himself. Her hair was scarlet, her skin white as milk, her eyes green and slit-pupiled. Had he been clubbed from behind, he wouldn’t have been more surprised, for she was a high-plains barbarian like himself, of the Garnaskina tribes, and she should not have been here in this place of ultimate and ancient desolation!

The Garnaskina were a group of clans, matriarchal yet war-like, mostly human but strangely different. A few times in his youth, during brief periods of truce, Tulruhk and other young men of the Kiahnnash clans had traded their own genetic bounty with such women, in exchange for a night of tempestuous lust, as much wrestling-match as love-making, and for the ingots of Garnaskina steel that the women warriors mined from secret places in the high deserts. Some said this steel was found in ancient cities under the sand, and others said it was from the shells of metal beasts with lightning in their veins which had once roamed the world; whatever the case, it had no equal, and his own people were the most adept at working such metal into implements of war such as those he carried.

The woman carried no weapon, but he did not lower his guard. The abnormality of her presence was a threat, and, even in her own environs, she would have been formidable as an opponent. Mighty as he was, Tulruhk knew that her strength was probably nearly as great as his own; and her short shift of brown cloth did little to hide her abundant charms. Such a combination was dangerous indeed! He nodded in greeting and spoke to her in her own dialect.

“Hello Sister. What do you here, in the bare belly of the world?”

She stopped and appraised him, smiling vaguely. Her expression was not hostile, and perhaps a bit whimsically lustful. He knew the look well.

“Man of the Kiahnnash, I might ask you the same.” She glanced at his sword. “You can put that away, as you won’t be needing it with me.”

“Just the same, my solitary trek has turned into a crowded trail. Who are you?”

“I am Lessha.” She took another step forward. “I am your guide.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “You’re a member of the Roadwalkers’ Guild? But I thought I was the first so-called barbarian to ever dare to join--and that only because of a series of accidents.”

“There are no accidents.” She laughed again. “Would you know the secrets of the Road, Tulruhk of the Kiahnnash?”

“How the hell do you know my name?” His voice was an ominous growl. “I’ve bedded your type, but I’ve fought them as well. Answer me, or I’ll have my answer by--"

“To have your answers you must Grow the Road.” She laughed cryptically and gestured behind her. “Only once in a dozen centuries does one such as yourself, a man of true strength, take to the Road, and only then can it grow. Dare you take the steps to unlock its secrets?”

He glanced at the last vestige of the Joorls, the tip of a split skull. “What do you think?”

She smiled. “I give you my pledge to work no treachery. But first, there is a price. You are familiar with the customs of my people?”

“Of course. Kiahnnashi blood probably flows in your veins, and in the veins of all of your sisters.” He still did not trust her. “This is strange beyond reckoning, but you must have a camp and war-party nearby. If I pay your price, then what guarantee have I that your sisters will not fall on me and cut me to pieces at a most--unsatisfied--time?”

“All of your questions will be answered,” she replied. Reaching up, she let her shift fall to the Road. “Come to me, Tulruhk of the Kiahnnash, and fulfill your destiny. It has been longer than you can know, since I’ve been held by a steely-thewed man of the steppes….”

Sheathing his longsword, he stepped forward and took her in his arms, scarcely having to bend his head to crush her lips against his own, and they sank to the Road together, the sounds of their passion the only sounds at all.

Some time later, Tulruhk rose and lit a new torch from the remains of his first brand. As he buckled his harness over his clothing once again, Lessha helped him fasten and tighten all. The smell, the taste of her was still filling his senses, but he pulled away.

Why had he done such a thing? What witchery did she have over him? He had never heard of anything so dangerous, so foolish, as making love to a potential enemy on the sentient, hungry, eerie Road that writhed over the world! With an effort of his own will, he took her by the shoulders and pushed her away.

She took no slight at his action, but indicated the pouch at his belt. “I sense that you have something of the Road itself on you. May I see it?”

Again his suspicions were aroused and he stepped back from her.
She made no hostile move, but seemed amused. Grudgingly he unbuttoned the pouch and took out an ivory-like object of many pieces fitted together, an object with the semblance of a human heart.

“I had this off of a dying man, him being Road-eaten and bequeathing it to me,” he said. “I’ve carried it far and even fought the battles of others in order to unlock its secret. What can you tell me of it? Was it made by the ancient race of men who made the Road?”

“In a sense, it was. And it was not.” She turned and pointed into the deep darkness ahead of him. “Put it away. Grow the Road. Grow the Road, and all will be made clear.”

He put the heart away and drew his longsword. He looked into Lessha’s feline eyes.

“And you?”

“I will wait here for you. Walk the Road, Tulruhk the Slayer. Walk the Road, and let nothing stop you as you go.”

Easing past her, Tulruhk set out, glancing back over his shoulder at the mysterious beauty behind him. Like a dream she dwindled as he went, and the end of the Road neared, and a massive bear-like shrumshrum dog with a head like a toothed barrel rose out of the gloom, and he fought it, and he slew it. Then a pair of Jageen bandits in brass chainmail attacked him from two sides, and he took a shallow swordstroke across the ribs before killing both of them with one spinning slash of his longsword. Next, a crowd of Quaja-folk, scaly and horned, with tridents of bone….and they all died.

He no longer questioned the strangeness, the insanity of it all. He lived, so he fought and slew, and he stayed alive. By force of will as much as by force of arms he advanced, and the Road Grew. The Road whispered, and hummed, and murmured. And as he went he dimly noted how quickly his assailants disappeared, to be absorbed by the road, and to be as quickly replaced by new enemies under the risen moon. Every manner of man, of beast, of non-human folk, all seemed to be represented, and they came endlessly out of the murk at the end of the Road. Blood and sweat half-blinded him, his torch long-since discarded, weapons in either hand, and his body bruised, gashed, scraped, cut and torn. In a nightmare delirium of sheer survival he battled on, and Time ceased to exist--there was only the Now, the Fight, the Battle, the Will to Live--

And the Road Grew.

Dawn, silver and red, lit the sky before him. Stumbling, he dispatched a wailing, tentacled creature, the like of which he had never before seen. And then there were no more enemies to fight.

Leaning on his longsword, gasping for breath through a rasping throat, Tulruhk turned and looked westward, back the way he had come. In the distance loomed the grey wall which was old Ulmerhk, the Last Plateau, the final continent to know the tread of humanity. Wearily, dazed, he shook the blood and grime from his eyes. The Road was clean, smooth, and the bodies of all those he’d vanquished throughout the night were gone.

Again, the silvery laugh. Turning, he found Lessha there, and somehow he was no longer surprised. She pointed to his belt and, fumbling, he took the ivory heart from the pouch….But it was no longer ivory. It glistened first pink, then blue, then gold, and seemed to vibrate in his grasp, humming faintly. It sounded like the Road.

He held it out to her, but she shook her head. “It is yours, Tulruhk of the Kiahnnash, truly yours. Those you fought were put forth to drive you, to test, to kill you if possible, by the Road.” She smiled at his bemused expression.

“The Road has existed for longer than you can guess. The Road has a Mind, and a Will, and it retains the minds and wills and likenesses of all it has ever devoured: the brave, the wounded, the weary, the foolish, the adventurous, the wise.

“As it sent forth the likenesses of those you slew, so, long ago, did it create the Heart. With the Heart, you will be free from Fear of the Road; you can walk it, you can linger on it, you can sleep on it if you wish. The Heart and Road are one. All that remains is for you to understand….”

Tulruhk looked at the object in his hand. It throbbed now, almost electrical in its intensity. It grew transparent, almost misty. He fought an urge to throw it from him, instead drew it close to gaze into its depths, and then, slowly, drew it to his chest.

Like a great drop of dew, it melted into his bare chest. It vanished, and cold agony and ecstasy and pain and anger and then laughter and peace, at last, settled around his heart and in his veins. He and the Heart, an ancient thing of the Road, were one.

New vigor flooded his limbs, and he knew that he drew it from the Road itself. He felt it in his feet, his legs, and upward from there. And he knew that, as long as he lived, he would be able to sustain himself in times of trouble with the life-energy of the Road; and that he would learn its secrets indeed, as he walked it, and that one day the Heart would return to the road, when his race was run, and his span on Old Urit done. Now he knew why the Roadwalkers’ Guild had begrudged him the Heart, an object of immense power that they could never use themselves, yet coveted; only his will, perhaps only a handful of wills throughout the centuries, could have grown the Road and mastered the Heart.

He looked at Lessha. She smiled.

“Where the Road is, I will be, whether you see me or not. And someday you will join me.”

Tulruhk shrugged. “That may be. But I’ve many a long mile to travel, much to see, much to do, before I finally lie down to die.”

Lessha nodded as she sank back into the Road. “Fare long and well, Tulruhk Roadwalker. Your heart and the Road’s heart are one.”

Tulruhk sighed as he turned his back on the spectacle of her vanishing. He knew the sight should have disturbed him, but it did not. For a moment he almost tasted her kisses again, so alive, so intense and violently passionate….

Before him was a long walk of many miles, back to the hills at the land’s edge, back to the place where he’d cached his water and food--for he had Grown the Road, and he had grown it well.

He set out with a strange new strength in his step.

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