The following entry is in a small journal, bound by amateur hands. It is wrapped in layers of treated leather, as protection from vicissitudes of travel and temperature.There is no such thing as a meaningless death, just as there is no such thing as a meaningless birth. These moments, the beginnings and endings of lives, have significance. They are a thread-thin path leading to the great Roads, visible to the right kind of eyes, followable with the right training. A single life changing states is enough, if you are well-practiced; in dire need, you can reach the roads the same way Feldane does, though your journey and your destination are very different. Large numbers of lives are easier to follow. A forest in spring bloom, a farmer's field when the shoots first break through the ground, a battlefield, a plague pit, all provide thickly braided bundles of lives, easy routes to and from the Roads.
Each road has its own character, its own selection of worlds to carry you through. The roads of life, of birth and growth, are usually (but not always) more pleasant, verdant green and populated. The roads of death are darker, and more dangerous to walk - when you cross through war and famine and plague, you must be careful that you do not add your own small thread to the cable.
I know the plague roads too well, two hundred years of boot leather left on them in my past. It would be easy, now, to fall into those habits, to resume the work of my childhood. Plague follows in the footsteps of war, when the bodies bloat and the scavengers prowl. All I would have to do is wait, and a new road would open. But I've given up on the easy way. Come morning, the last of the soldiers who cannot be saved will be dying, and I'll set foot on the road of war again.
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