What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  “No.” Bowe grabbed Vitarr’s arm. “I can’t save every Green that gets into trouble.”

  The Green ran at one of his attackers, and, to Bowe’s amazement, the attacker somersaulted over him. The boy stumbled, then turned and charged at the same escay. The escay somersaulted again. With a confused look on his face, the Green swiveled around. A row of escay lined up before him. He charged, and each of them launched themselves over him before he reached them. Vitarr laughed. The escay began to vault back and forth, always avoiding the Green who staggered from one group to another.

  Vitarr clapped his hands in delight. Bowe was just glad that they hadn’t charged in like fools to interrupt the performance. The acrobats began to jump into one another and combine until they formed a human pyramid three people high. The Green looked around, seemingly perplexed, and then began to climb the pyramid, pulled up by spare hands. He climbed onto the shoulders of the two highest acrobats, completing the pyramid. He wavered back and forth for a moment, and Bowe’s breath caught. Then he straightened, and for the first time, his expression of confusion disappeared. He smiled, took three balls from a pocket, and juggled for a few moments. The watching crowd cheered and clapped. Then he bowed, and the human pyramid collapsed in an orderly way. Once they were all on the ground, the performers bowed. A few of them began to circulate through the crowd, holding out inverted hats.

  Vitarr continued to clap even when most others had stopped. “That was brilliant.” His eyes sparkled. “Can you give them something, Bowe?”

  “I can’t afford it.” Bowe turned back to where Glil was waiting for them.

  Glil was less than impressed. “Can we continue now? Zidel doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “Did you know the Green?” Bowe asked.

  “Yes. He was a Lessard. Xarcon is his name.”

  “He was incredible,” Vitarr said. “How did he learn all that in the few days since the Path started?”

  Glil blew out a breath in a disgusted fashion. “He liked to practice little performance tricks when he lived in Lessard mansion. Always destined to be a Deadbeat.”

  The dismissive way he said “Deadbeat” created a silence; in truth, that was what Vitarr and Bowe were, too—Deadbeats. They weren’t Elects, Defenders, Wolflings, or Shadows. And everyone else on the Path was generally considered a Deadbeat. Perhaps Bowe wouldn’t have been one if he had invested the money he’d borrowed from Alandar rather than using it to rescue Vitarr.

  As they continued, Bowe fell into step with Glil while Vitarr lagged behind. Vitarr kept looking around him as if he’d never seen a market before.

  “I heard you saved him—your Defender there—from Dulnato,” Glil said. “Why?”

  “He’s not my Defender, just my friend. And as for why I saved him, I ask myself that at least once a day, and more often when he does stupid stuff.” Bowe glanced back and shook his head sadly. “Wandering around the streets like a lovesick calf for no good reason, for example.”

  “Still, it’s nice that you treat him so well.” There was a pause, and Glil seemed to be making some decision before he spoke again. “Have you heard of the Thardassians?”

  Bowe shook his head.

  “They are a race that live in the center of the planet. They are made of rock and carry their heads under their arms. Each tribe is made from a different rock type. You’re sure you haven’t heard of them?”

  Bowe raised his eyebrows. “No.”

  “I guess it’s not surprising. Even if you went to the center of the world, you likely wouldn’t recognize them as a life form. They move so slowly that a single eye blink for them would take longer than a lifetime for us. Not that they blink often—they have eyelids, but no eyes behind them.”

  “I see.” Bowe favored Glil with a wide fake smile.

  “Anyway, there was this Thardassian from the yellow sandstone tribe. His name was CrispyButter. That wasn’t his real name, of course; they don’t use words such as we’d recognize, but that’s a rough translation.”

  “Of course.”

  “CrispyButter got into a dispute with other members of his tribe, and he fled and hid in the caves of the red quartz Thardassians. He remained there safely for a while, but he was easy to find for anyone who wanted to, for yellow sandstone is conspicuous in a land of red quartz.”

  The story began to make sense. If Glil wasn’t being crazy, then perhaps he was trying to give Bowe a message. “Am I the yellow Thardassian with the red tribe?”

  Glil’s lips twitched into a half smile. “Are you crazy? Didn’t I tell you that Thardassians carried their heads under their arms? Yours is—strangely, from a Thardassian point of view—attached to the top of your neck. No resemblance between you and CrispyButter at all. Anyway, after a time, one of CrispyButter’s friends came and found him. I shouldn’t say friend—Thardassians didn’t have friends—but DiamondBar wasn’t one of CrispyButter’s enemies.”

  Glil suddenly stopped at a warehouse doorway. “Well, we’re here. I’ll have to finish another time.” Glil exhaled loudly and pushed open the door. “I probably shouldn’t have even started the story.” He ducked inside. Bowe waited for Vitarr to catch up, then followed.

  Inside was less crowded than out on the streets, but there was the same buzz of activity. The sounds of hammering and sawing rang out as escay boys worked on various half-built wooden contraptions. A few Greens oversaw the work, and they watched Bowe and Vitarr as Glil led them up a small wooden staircase to a room that overlooked the warehouse floor. Zidel sat behind a desk, reading from a sheaf of papers in his hand. In front of him, more sheets of paper had been shoved into an untidy pile to make space for a Harmony board. So we are actually going to play.

  Zidel left them standing there for a few moments before rising and holding out his arm with a wide smile. “Bowe, glad to see that you survived that first day. Very ugly, what Drakasi did to Tlirris.” Bowe and Zidel clasped each other’s arms. “And this is?”

  “Vitarr.” Bowe nodded at him.

  Zidel clasped arms with Vitarr. “I heard about how your friend rescued you from the clutches of Dulnato. You must be very grateful to him.”

  “I’d prefer he just let me die next time. I don’t want him to put himself in danger to save me. I’ve already accepted that I won’t survive the Path.”

  Zidel rubbed his chin with a finger thoughtfully. “If everyone had your attitude, this process would be a lot less painful. It’s hard for most to accept the inevitability of death.” He gestured at the board and the chair in front of it. “I hear you are quite the player, Bowe.”

  Bowe sat. “Not sure where your information came from, but it doesn’t do me full justice. I am a great player.” Bowe decided he’d win no points by being modest. Bowe wasn’t sure how good he was, in truth. He usually played Vitarr, who didn’t grasp the game well. So Bowe experimented with getting into losing positions and winning, and getting into winning positions and losing.

  Bowe sat, and he and Zidel bowed their heads over the board and began to play. There was silence during a brief flurry of initial moves. Patterns swirled in Bowe’s mind as he considered each move and the countering possibilities for his opponent. For each counter, he could see more options for himself, each possibility multiplying as he looked further ahead. The pieces seemed to blur as he considered each one’s present position along with all its possible future positions. Intending to make the game interesting, Bowe allowed a hole in his defenses, inducing Zidel to attack.

  “The two player version is, of course, just a pale shadow of the full game,” Zidel said. “It’s hard to get four high quality players together.” From the condescending way he’d said “high quality players,” Bowe guessed that Zidel didn’t consider Bowe to be such a player. Bowe smiled to himself and retreated one of his pieces. The longer Zidel didn’t see his trap, the better.

  “The Grand Sexennial Harmony Match between the Guardians has suffered now that the Bellangers are gone,” Zidel continued. Traditi
onally, a Harmony match was played between the four Guardians just before the Infernam. Now the Bellanger Guardian was no more. “A marshal takes the fourth seat, but it’s not the same.”

  “The Bellangers aren’t completely gone yet,” Bowe said.

  “Given your position on the lists…” Zidel trailed off and moved a piece forward.

  “Isn’t Harmony limited once a certain level of expertise is reached?” Bowe wanted to change the subject away from the dire chances of Bellanger family’s continued existence. “Too many draws.” Stalemates were common among equally matched opponents at the highest level, and Bowe hated to draw.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s more of an art form than a game. The result doesn’t matter as much as how it’s played.” Zidel now had that same edge of fanaticism in his voice that he’d displayed when talking about the ascorim. “No Guardian has ever been less than a master of the game. The best players of the ascorim and the best players of Harmony are one and the same. Being great at Harmony can increase your chances of selection.” Zidel picked up a piece and placed it in the heart of Bowe’s defenses. “You, however, are far from a great player; far, even, from an adequate player. I find myself disappointed yet again.”

  “After having Glil bring me all the way down here, I’d hate to be a total disappointment.” Bowe began his counter-attack.

  Zidel’s smile slowly disappeared, and he bent to study the board closer.

  As he did, Bowe glanced back to Glil. “You never told me what happened to that Thardassian.”

  “What Thardassian?” Glil squeaked.

  “You know, the yellow one hiding with the red tribe.” Bowe kept his eyes on Zidel.

  Zidel looked up from the board to study Glil. His lips smiled, but his eyes were cold. “You haven’t been telling our friends here your children’s stories, have you, Glil?”

  Glil said nothing, and, after a moment, Zidel returned to studying the board.

  Bowe hoped he hadn’t gotten Glil into trouble, but at least now he was sure that the warning—if that’s what it had been—hadn’t originated with Zidel.

  Bowe responded to one of Zidel moves and stood to scan the warehouse floor. “Impressive operation—do you mind telling me what’s going on?”

  “We’re making things.” Zidel didn’t look up from the board.

  “What kind of things?”

  “Things that will be needed for the Infernam. Extra carts for shipping supplies to the Refuge—that kind of thing.”

  “And you set all this up in just ten days.” It certainly wasn’t surprising that Zidel sat on top of the lists right now.

  Zidel smiled. “We all knew this was coming. I have prepared for this moment for years. Nothing has been left to chance.” He raised his eyebrows at Bowe. “I presume you have done the same.”

  Bowe returned to studying the Harmony board, determined to find a way to wipe that smarmy look from Zidel’s face. Bowe’s counter-attack was in full force now, and Zidel was struggling to hold. However, Zidel’s next few moves were clever and set up the beginnings of a stalemate line.

  A few further moves, and Zidel looked up with a satisfied smile. “I think I’ve recovered enough to claim the draw.”

  Bowe realized he wouldn’t be able to breach Zidel’s stalemate line. He frowned, then forced a smile. “I hope I gave you a better game than you expected.”

  “You are much better than I originally thought. However, you lack style. Your moves are crude, though effective. You don’t understand that how the game is played is more important than who wins. Thank you for the game. I assume you can find your own way back.”

  Bowe stumbled to his feet. Zidel surely hadn’t brought him here just to play a game of Harmony, had he? Had Bowe failed some kind of test? He looked behind to where Glil and Vitarr leaned against the wall, watching them.

  “I’ll just take Glil to guide me back. I’m not overly familiar with this part of the city.” Bowe grabbed Glil’s arm as he retreated, keeping a fixed smile aimed at the Lessard Elect. Zidel frowned at Bowe commandeering his Defender, but he didn’t object. Bowe turned as he exited Zidel’s office and started down the staircase. Under Bowe’s forced guidance, Glil stumbled at the first step, but recovered his balance and staggered down the stairs alongside Bowe. Vitarr followed.

  “What happened to the Thardassian? The yellow one?” Bowe put his mouth close to Glil’s ear and spoke in a low, hard whisper.

  Glil was hesitant. “It’s a sad tale. I’m not sure you want to hear the rest of it.”

  Bowe practically dragged him from the last step of the stairs and pushed him against a wall by the door. “If it’s a sad tale, I especially want to hear the ending.” Bowe remembered something else Glil had said—that Zidel and Dulnato had an understanding.

  “DiamondBar convinced CrispyButter that it was safe to return to his own tribe. It wasn’t. One of CrispyButter’s enemies caught him, killed him, and ground him into sand.”

  That was enough for Bowe. He’d known that he had to be missing something when Zidel had let him go without any obvious reason for the meeting. Now he knew what it was: he had fallen into a trap. Zidel had to have a good reason for bringing him down here, and if that reason wasn’t in here, then it was waiting for them outside. An ally of Zidel who wanted Bowe dead: Dulnato.

  Bowe felt like a fool. He should never have come, and he certainly shouldn’t have let Vitarr come. “Vitarr, wait here with Glil for a count of three hundred. Then leave. We’ll meet back at—wait, that place isn’t safe anymore.” He silently cursed himself; he should have organized a backup meeting place earlier. Bowe glanced at Glil, then leaned close to Vitarr’s ear to whisper, “Find somewhere to hide, then, when you get a chance, let the escay who rents that room to us know where I can find you. I’ll do the same.” With that, Bowe pushed the door open and went outside.

  The crowds of the day were gone. The sun had set, and now only Helion provided light. Long, dark shadows dappled the buildings and street, interwoven with traces of purple light. Bowe turned right and burst into a run, hoping to take unawares whoever might be waiting for him. It didn’t work. Shouts and footsteps followed him before he had gone more than a few steps. Twenty paces down the street, two figures detached themselves from the shadows and moved to block his path. There were no side streets to take, so Bowe just ran straight at his would-be captors. They didn’t look particularly fazed by Bowe’s brazen stupidity; they merely spread out their arms and braced themselves.

  They were bigger than Bowe, and a collision would just allow his chasers behind to catch up, so he changed direction at the last moment, swerving away just as the first one reached to grab him. Bowe clipped the other Green’s shoulder, spinning at the impact and stumbling. About to fall, Bowe reached down with one hand and pushed against the ground. He regained his balance and managed to keep running without losing momentum.

  He turned into the first side street he saw, skidded, then sidestepped to avoid a shocked-looking woman, and kept running. He heard a thud. The woman had been carrying a basket of fish on her head, and from the sounds and curses behind him, one or more of his pursuers had gotten a mouthful or two of dead fish when they had run into her. Bowe turned left at the next junction, then right, then left again. He didn’t have a plan—he’d never been the fastest boy at Raine Mansion, so perhaps some part of his mind hoped that all the changes in direction would help him stay ahead. Pounding footsteps followed every turn he made. His ragged breath burned his throat, his lungs begged for more air, and the muscles in his legs quivered. The few people on the street managed to scramble away in time to prevent any more collisions.

  He emerged out of a dark alleyway and ran straight at a forest of masts—the docks. As he bounced along the wooden quay, the sound of his footsteps changed to a hollow thudding. His pursuers’ footsteps changed tone an instant later—they were just behind him. He could hear their panting and sense their hot breath on his neck. A hand grabbed at his arm, and he swerved and
ran up a pier. This was a dead end—he didn’t even know how to swim—but he was desperate now. He could only hope that he had given Vitarr time to escape. The pier vibrated from the impact of the running feet.

  A figure came out of nowhere, and Bowe ran straight into him, and this time he was unable to keep his balance. He crashed against the wooden planks of the pier, rolling, and, with a sickening feeling, he realized that there was nothing under his legs. He started to slide off the pier, but stopped himself with his forearms. He panted heavily and looked up. Dulnato and four other Greens skidded to a stop in front of Bowe and the person he’d run into, who also lay on the pier. Around them, the sea shimmered with a lavender glow, waves lapping against the pier’s pillars.

  “Look at this.” Dulnato said. “We set a trap for a rabbit and caught bigger prey.” Bowe now recognized the one he’d run into as Jisri. Jisri rose to his feet and pulled a sword from the scabbard at his side. Dulnato and his Defenders unsheathed their own swords. Bowe pulled himself back onto the pier, thinking he should have been able to outrun them if they were all wearing swords dangling at their sides.

  “No matter what happens, stay out of sight,” Jisri said to Bowe. “For the love we bear each other. Remember the promise.” Bowe frowned. This one was as crazy as Zidel—Bowe had never met him before, and he certainly hadn’t made any promises to him. Before Bowe had a chance to reply, Jisri turned to Dulnato with a smile. “I suppose single combat is too much to ask. Me against you. You always thought you could take me.”

  “Does this look like the Eye?” Dulnato said. “I’ll tell you what, Jisri. To give you a fighting chance, I’ll send two of the boys after the rabbit.”

  Before Dulnato had finished the sentence, Bowe was up and running again. He heard a curse, then the pounding of pursuers’ footsteps. The collision with Jisri had created a delay, but not an escape route. He was still running farther out toward the dead end of the pier, and two of Dulnato’s Greens would kill him as easily as five.

  Then he heard a shout. “Over here!”