What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  He’d never felt so confined in his life. If he’d realized what having Sorrin as a friend would entail, Bowe would never have approached him at the Eye. Sorrin lived in this little cubbyhole of a basement, and he had refused to let Bowe leave. It had to be safe enough to go outside with the hood up, but Sorrin wouldn’t listen to reason.

  The Raine search for Bowe had escalated. Bowe wished he could have heard the news himself instead of receiving it secondhand from Sorrin. Apparently Bowe’s gatecrashing of the ascor ball had been a sensation. He was now the most talked about Green on the Path. The Raines were no longer satisfied with having Alandar searching for Bowe, and a more senior ascor by the name of Jeniano had now been tasked with tracking him down. Jeniano was the Raine specialist in recovering debts. That was the bad news; the good news was that ruby garnets were selling fast. The Lessards were forced to bite back their disgust. Sorrin had even seen a Grenier marshal wearing a ruby garnet on patrol.

  Bowe stopped pacing and leaned against the wall. It was sand colored, dusty, and dry. Flakes came away at the touch of his fingers. He turned with a start toward the stairs, but there was nothing there. When would Sorrin get back with the others? Another piece of news that Bowe had received secondhand was just as dramatic: Jisri had come back from the dead. Bowe could still barely believe it, but after several similar reports from the newsbards via Sorrin, he had to accept it. Jisri now wore a white mask with an eyehole for his right eye. The knife thrust Bowe had seen must have injured Jisri’s left eye and perhaps that whole side of his face. Jisri was now called “the White Spider.” Sorrin hadn’t been able to figure out how that nickname had gotten started.

  Why couldn’t Glil have stayed? Bowe wondered. If someone had kept him company, he wouldn’t be so jumpy. Glil had visited him here a few times in the last few days, but, as Bowe had suspected, he wasn’t too happy about Bowe’s attempt to increase his Defenders. He had decided not to attend this meeting.

  Finally, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Bowe’s relief was short-lived, however. It wasn’t Sorrin’s limping gait. Bowe glanced to the back of the room, where a back entrance led to another street. It was why Sorrin had chosen this place. Bowe waited, expectant, ready to run as the footsteps descended. Then a face appeared that Bowe recognized. He exhaled and held out his arm to the newcomer.

  “I’m Bowe,” he said. “Xarcon, right? I saw you performing in the marketplace once. Quite a show.”

  Xarcon clasped his arm and smiled warmly. “I’m only learning. It’s the others who have the skill and do all the hard parts. I’m just lucky that they let me work with them.”

  “So Sorrin asked you to attend?” Bowe asked.

  “He did. I thought he and others were going to be here, as well.”

  “They’ll be along. I’m not sure what’s keeping Sorrin.”

  There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, then Bowe spoke again. “There’s one thing I don’t understand. Performers and newsbards have no income except for what people freely give them, yet most of the escay seem extremely poor and they surely need all of their money get into the Refuge. How do performers get enough to survive?”

  Xarcon ran his fingertips along the wall. “Those who have extra always give generously to others. It’s the escay way. I don’t fully understand it myself. I’ve been living with them for a while now and it’s still a different world.”

  Bowe smiled. “Yes, the escay I’ve met have been nothing like I expected. One of the biggest surprises for me since the Path began.”

  Xarcon straightened. “Listen, Sorrin told me something about what you’re going to say. Getting us Deadbeats to be your Defenders and all that.”

  “Not exactly like that,” Bowe said. “I want to wait until we are all here to explain—”

  Xarcon raised his hands. “No, that’s fine. We don’t have to go into it now. You seem like a decent guy, and I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be a part of whatever this is. I’ve agreed to hear you out; I thought it was only fair. But words won’t make me change my mind. I remember what it was like in the harem. The schemes, the plans, the lies. The ascorim runs through the ascor’s veins. I’ve seen the most elaborate plans, heard the most barefaced lies. I know the value of words in the ascorim.”

  “This isn’t the ascorim.”

  “I’m sorry. Actions, I can believe, but not words. What you did for your friend, the other Green—”

  “His name was Vitarr.” Bowe didn’t want his friend’s name forgotten.

  “Saving him—that was well done. But it’s not enough.”

  Bowe nodded. “Thanks for letting me know. I won’t keep you long.” Bowe heard Sorrin in the stairwell. He and others were descending. Bowe now realized how difficult this was going to be. Persuading Sorrin had been a once off. No one else was going to go along with what he was suggesting.

  Sorrin came down the stairs, followed by two Greens. “No sign of Drenno or Sindar,” he said. “They promised they’d come, but in the meantime: this is Thrace and Edison. Both train at the Eye.”

  “So you want to be Eye fighters?” Bowe asked. “I saw my first fights yesterday and I can’t understand why anyone would want to go in there.”

  “Got no other choice,” said Thrace. He was large enough that even when he bent his head, his hair still brushed the ceiling. He didn’t seem comfortable in the small room.

  “Well, we’re here today to talk about a choice,” Sorrin said.

  “Sorrin, what you said earlier was a load of horseshit.” Edison was a tall boy. He wasn’t that skinny, but looked it beside Thrace. He had thick black hair and bushy black eyebrows that met over his nose. He turned to Bowe. “And if you aren’t going to talk more sense than him, this will be a short meeting. But about the Eye: let me tell you the appeal. Have you trained in fighting? No, of course you haven’t.”

  “I have,” Bowe said.

  “In Raine Mansion?” Edison blew out a mouthful of air and flicked his hand. “They don’t take it seriously. In the Fortress, fighting is an art form that we practice every day. Training for that moment where we dance on a knife-edge, another warrior and I. One will stand and one will fall. One receives the adulation of the crowd, the other their shouts of derision. A culmination of years of practice climaxing in that mome—”

  “Except he’s too scared to go into the Eye and fight,” Sorrin said. “Or else he wouldn’t be here.”

  Edison glared at him. “I just don’t want to face the kind of warrior that Legrand will put me up against. I don’t want to be the next Cetu.” He turned to Bowe. “What are you offering?”

  “I want to form an alliance of equals. A brotherhood in which we all survive the Infernam, or none of us does.”

  “And you would be the Elect of this alliance and we’d trust you not to accept selection,” Edison said. “That’s what Sorrin was trying to explain to us, but it sounded so monkey-ass crazy I thought there had to be more to it.”

  Bowe had prepared what he would say in his head, but it seemed pointless now. It was clear they weren’t going to trust him. He couldn’t blame them; he’d have a hard time trusting himself if he weren’t inside his own head. “Just offering you a chance.”

  “Who ever heard of Deadbeats joining together?” Edison asked.

  “Yeah, because Deadbeats have such a good survival record, it’d be daft to try anything new.” Sorrin slapped his palm against the wall, causing flakes and dust to fall.

  Footsteps clattered down the stairs, and Bowe turned to see another face he recognized entering the room. Drenno, a Raine Green. The addition of the sixth person compressed them closer together in the small room. Meeting here had been a bad idea.

  Drenno pushed his way around Thrace. This was the person that Bowe had least expected to come when Sorrin had told him who he was bringing. Bowe didn’t know him that well, as he was seventeen and hung out with the older boys. Despite that, he’d always been friendly, never one to bully Bowe. Still, he’d been one of Rey
anu’s friends as long as Bowe could remember.

  “I’m surprised you came,” Bowe said to him.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Drenno stood in front of Bowe.

  “I can understand why the Deadbeats would give me a chance. But you’re already one of Reyanu’s Defenders—why would you have the slightest interest in my monkey-ass crazy idea?”

  “If only being one of his Defenders were enough.” Drenno gave a twisted grin. “Reyanu will be selected—that’s clear enough. But Phevan has been his number two ever since that stunt with Tlirris. Before the Path even began. Even without Phevan, others are more likely to be chosen chief Defender than I am. I have little chance of survival as a lowly member of Reyanu’s crew.”

  “I know Drenno as he likes to bet at the Eye,” Sorrin said.

  “Not as successfully.” Drenno grinned. “The bet-takers welcome my bets.”

  “I got sick of hearing him complain about being a Defender in Reyanu’s crew, so I offered him this opportunity,” Sorrin said.

  “And I jumped at the chance. Sounds like, at the very least, this could be more fun.” He held out his arm for Bowe to clasp. “I want to try something new.”

  Bowe automatically reached for Drenno’s arm. This could be a breakthrough. Maybe others might change their minds when they saw a Reyanu Defender change Elects. But even as the thought entered his mind, he knew something was wrong. There had to be something more to this.

  He studied Drenno closer—there was tightness at the edges of his warm smile. Even as Bowe’s arm continued to reach for Drenno’s, Bowe felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. His hand closed around nothing, and instead of clasping his arm, Drenno’s hand darted toward his face. Bowe flinched away, but it was too late. He caught a glimpse of a ring as the hand snaked past his face and slapped against the back of his neck. Bowe felt a sharp pain.

  Thrace grabbed the back of Drenno’s tunic and dragged him back. “What’s going on here?”

  “It’s done, it’s done,” Drenno shouted out the doorway.

  Bowe grasped Drenno’s wrist and turned it palm-up. Blood glistened on the end of a spike that emerged from the ring. It was a Paradise Giver, like the one Chalori had used.

  Rat-tat-tat-tat came the sound of marching on the stairs. “You guys had better go,” Bowe told the others. “Quickly—out the back. The marshals aren’t looking for you.”

  Thrace shook Drenno roughly. “What do I do with him?”

  “Let him go.” Bowe sighed. He was surprised at how calm he felt. “What’s done can’t be undone.” Rat-tat-tat. Louder and closer. Like the sound of nails in a coffin, Bowe thought.

  “He betrayed you, it can’t be undone.” Edison touched the sword at his hip. “But it can be avenged.”

  “No,” Bowe said sharply. “You don’t want to give the marshals a reason to chase you. Go quickly.” The worry on Drenno’s face turned into fear, then relief at Bowe’s words. The truth was that Bowe didn’t want to see any more killing on his account.

  Thrace released Drenno, and he and Edison exited out the back. Xarcon followed with a final regretful look. Sorrin moved after them, then stopped and scowled. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “There’s no more you can do for me,” Bowe said. “We all fall from the Path, and now is my time. The only thing that can hurt me now is if my fall knocked you from the Path, too. Please.” At bottom of the stairs, two silver-white marshals came into view. Sorrin balled up his fists and glared at them for a moment before turning and leaving. From the footsteps of his limping gait, Bowe could tell he didn’t make it very far.

  A man who could only be Jeniano appeared behind the marshals. He already had white hair even though he wasn’t much older than forty. His hair was neatly combed back, and he was dressed like he was attending a ball. Tall and thin, he also needed to duck his head in Sorrin’s basement room. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Bowe. “I had hoped catching you would be rather more difficult. I haven’t had much interesting work lately.” He nodded at Drenno. “Good job.”

  As Drenno turned to go, Bowe grabbed his arm. “Why?” he asked. Even as Bowe asked it, he knew it was a stupid question. It was just that—even now—Drenno seemed perfectly nice. There was none of the anger of Dulnato, or the zeal of Zidel, or the cunning of Reyanu.

  Drenno turned back with a puzzled expression. “It’s just the ascorim. This will make Reyanu look at me more favorably when the time comes. Nothing personal. Same as you trying to trick those Deadbeats into helping you.”

  “I’m not…” Bowe sighed. He wasn’t sure he even believed himself anymore. He watched Drenno disappear up the stairs. “So what now?” he asked Jeniano. “Do you just watch me die or help me along?” He leaned back against the wall, feeling woozy. He imagined the poison creeping through his veins like black ooze, spreading throughout his body. This is probably fitting justice for me, he thought, dying as Chalori did.

  “You don’t have to die.”

  It’s what I deserve, he thought, imagining the blackness invading his heart and his lungs. He shook his head, suddenly registering what Jeniano had said. “What did you say? Didn’t you just give me Paradise’s Kiss?”

  “No. It’s a different type of poison called Shade of Helion; it’s slower-acting and has a cure.”

  Bowe didn’t feel so woozy anymore. He straightened. “Why that poison?”

  “This is why I was put on your case. Alandar had an intense hatred for you and didn’t care about recovering the loan. The Raine family didn’t make its fortune that way. Kesirran didn’t want you killed off without a chance to pay.”

  “Tell me more about this cure.”

  “It’s called Light of Helion, and we have it at Raine Mansion. I doubt you’ll find it anywhere else.”

  Bowe blinked rapidly, thinking. “So I have to repay you to get the cure.” He still didn’t have any money. “How much do I owe?”

  “Eight golds.”

  Bowe staggered. “There’s no way I owe you that much. The entire loan isn’t even due yet.” If the mention of a cure had provided a gleam of hope, that number surely crushed it.

  “You were on a rather high interest rate, and once you avoided our collection attempts, the whole sum became immediately payable. Plus, we’ve added penalties and charges as you’ve continued to avoid us.”

  Bowe knew the system was loaded against him, but this was outrageous. “So all your efforts to track me down—you’ve charged that to my account. I’m basically paying to kill myself.”

  “What a delightful way of looking at it.” Jeniano smiled. “I guess you are.” He turned to the marshals. “Search him, and then search the room. Take anything of value.”

  The marshals roughly searched his pockets, taking the remaining coppers and handing them to the ascor. Jeniano poked Bowe’s coins about in his hand. “Not very much at all. There’s still time before the poison takes effect, though. You have money hidden anywhere? With associates?”

  Bowe shook his head.

  “I guess you’ll die, then. If you think of anything in time, bring eight golds to Raine Mansion and we’ll give you the cure. If you bring less than that, we’ll swirl the disk.”

  Swirling the disk was commonly done with escay who only had partial payment when the Infernam came around. The disk had black sectors on it to represent the proportion of the payment missing. The disk was spun, and only if it came to rest on a white sector did the escay get a place in the Refuge. The payment was kept either way. The few coppers Bowe had given up so far wouldn’t have been enough to get any white sectors on the disk.

  Sorrin limped back into the room. He ignored the marshals and Jeniano and grabbed Bowe by the arm. “Come on, we’ve no time to waste. We have to get the man his money.”

  Bowe allowed himself to be dragged to the stairs.

  “I hope to see you later, young Bellanger,” Jeniano called out.

  “What are you doing? I told you to leave.” Bowe followed Sorrin as he navigated the stairs,
stepping up with his good leg, then swinging his bad leg up after it. “There’s no way I can get that kind of money. Or any kind of money, for that matter.”

  Sorrin didn’t seem to be listening, because when they emerged out on the street, he told Bowe to lead on.

  “Where?”

  “Those ruby garnets. Rumor is that you’re behind their sale. Your partners in that might have the money you need. Where can you find them?”

  “At Drywell Square, possibly,” Bowe said. Iyra could be there. “But there’s no way—”

  “Come on.” Sorrin turned and headed down the street. His half-limping, half-running gait looked ridiculous, but Bowe had to break into a jog to keep up. Bowe pulled his hood over his head and didn’t argue further, as he needed all his breath. He wasn’t sure Iyra would even look at him after their last meeting. Hadn’t he sworn he wouldn’t keep returning to her for rescue? He needed another plan before they reached her. Unfortunately, his mind was blank when it came to drawing eight golds out of thin air. As he ran, sweat dripped from his forehead into his eyes. After a while, his breath came in jagged gasps and his heart felt like it was going to gallop out of his chest. He staggered, his legs almost buckling. After that, Sorrin slowed his pace and kept a worried eye on Bowe.

  By the time they arrived at the square, Sorrin was holding Bowe’s arm and guiding him through the crowd. Bowe’s leg muscles felt like water, and it was all he could do to keep himself upright. He staggered with every step. Around him, the market was louder and more chaotic than he’d ever seen it. A hawker who had been selling his wares from a distance was suddenly screaming in Bowe’s face. Bowe tried to push the hawker away, but his hands went straight through the man’s head.

  “Where’s your contact? Where’s your contact? Come on, Bowe,” someone said from far away. A nearby fruit stall became two, then four. Bowe turned away, but they continued to multiply until he was surrounded by them. The fruit stalls began to spin around him, and apples and bananas and grapes shot through the air at him. He covered his face with his arms trying to avoid them and fell to the ground.