What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  Bowe took a half step back. “Stop poking me.” He was starting to get angry now.

  “Did you fool Sindar, Edison, Xarcon, and Thrace? I told you that I could read fighters in the Eye. That I knew which ones faked their confidence. Do you think you could fool me so easily?” Sorrin poked Bowe again, but he was ready this time and pushed back, his chest deflecting Sorrin’s finger.

  “Perfect,” Sorrin said. “Now, come and stand here.” Sorrin used a cloth to clean a large section of the mirror. “Look—really look. Now what do you see?”

  Bowe certainly didn’t see the same person as before. In his azure cloak with his chest swelled up, his back straight, and his eyes flashing with anger, Bowe saw a young man of presence. Nothing like the crying creature who’d stood in front of the mirror just minutes earlier.

  “Do you see now?” Sorrin said. “Do you see what others see? Do you see the potential? The charisma? The inner strength? And we know you have the intelligence to back it up—who else could have manipulated that Harmony match the way you did?”

  Sorrin was right. What Bowe could see now was a young ascor. If he were an escay, would not the Guardians have known that in an instant? Of course they would have. Iyra was mad at the rejection, and, in the way of women, wanted to hurt him. The Guild had chosen him at random, or because he was a Bellanger. He should never have let an escay get under his skin so. He was ascor.

  Bowe clapped Sorrin on the back. “Thank you. This won’t happen again.” Molten strength had been poured into Bowe, and it now flowed through his veins. He opened the ballroom door. “Now let’s light that fire.”

  Outside, the other Deadbeats remained in the hall. They were talking in low voices, but the way all their heads turned toward him when he emerged showed that they had just been waiting to see what Bowe would do. They straightened their backs when they saw that the broken, vomiting creature that had been dragged into that room hadn’t returned. Instead, an aspiring young ascor stood before them.

  “Sorry about that,” Bowe said. “I ate some shellfish last night, and the smell of the dead didn’t mix well with it.” He smiled and received some smiles in return, but their gazes remained wary. Bowe could imagine the brotherhood drifting away unless he showed them the leadership they needed. He looked down at Glil’s body. He felt a catch in his throat but didn’t let it show on his face. He could feel them all watching him. It shouldn’t affect me so much, he thought. I’ve recovered from Vitarr and Chalori deaths, and they were closer to me. He remembered the escay funeral barge and how he’d changed during the journey.

  “What happened to Edison’s corpse?” Bowe asked.

  “He was cremated in the Grenier pyre.” Sorrin sounded worried, as if he feared Bowe would descend into tears once more.

  “We know that death is a simple step. Nothing to be feared.” Bowe paused and looked at each of the brotherhood in turn. “It is just a step for the one taking it, but it can be harder to deal with for those left behind. A good man will leave behind those who miss him. Before continuing on the Path, I’d like to have a ceremony of remembrance for those of the brotherhood who have had to take that step.”

  “A what?” Sindar asked.

  “You heard. Can someone get some chairs? We might as well do it here, in the presence of Glil’s body. His corpse can be removed to the Lessard pyre after.”

  The worry lines on Sorrin’s face lengthened, but after a few shouted commands, all of the brotherhood were seated in a circle in the center of the hall. The servants who collected the chairs didn’t return to their duties; instead, they gathered on the upstairs landing and looked down.

  “I’d like for each of us to recall a happy memory about Edison,” Bowe said. The group didn’t need to know he was taking this idea from an escay funeral. “I’ll start. That spot in the courtyard just below my balcony will always remind me of Edison. You all know the one. While Thrace trained with the escay, Edison went under the shade of the south wing balcony and practiced by himself. Hour after hour, he sweated and practiced, practiced and sweated. He didn’t have to fight in the Eye, but he was determined to prove himself. I admire him for that more than I can say.” Bowe bowed his head and waited.

  A long moment passed. Then Sorrin spoke. “Back in the day, when I still had two good legs, we were having a race. A big bunch of us at Grenier Mansion. Edison fell near the end, and we all turned to laugh as he pushed himself out of a big, dirty puddle. Brown water streamed from his hair and clothes, and he looked a fright. He was probably going to get into a world of trouble when he returned to the harem. I would have been fuming. But Edison jumped up with a genuine smile on his face and laughed harder than the rest of us. I’ll never forget it.”

  “I didn’t know him that well,” Xarcon said. “But I always knew he was one of the good guys. He had a certain strength about him. I felt better about our chances knowing he was on our side.”

  “We’re screwed now that he’s gone,” Sorrin said.

  Bowe laughed, and looked up to see everyone else laughing along.

  “Laughter: that’s how I’ll remember him,” Sindar said. “Making a joke and having fun. He’d like that we were laughing in his honor at this remembrance ceremony.”

  There was a pause before Thrace spoke up. “I—” His voice broke. He paused, then continued. “I don’t know why he helped me.” He measured each word before he said it. “I’ve always been slower at understanding things than other people. Everyone knew I wouldn’t survive the Path. That I wasn’t worthy to be an ascor. I wasn’t smart, or one of the best fighters. But the more I was left to myself, the more Edison looked out for me.” Thrace took a long breath; Bowe figured that was the longest speech he’d ever made. “If there was some way I could bring him back and take his place, I’d do it.”

  The silence had a weight to it that made it difficult to break. Finally, Bowe said, “We remember Edison.”

  It was repeated in a chorus by the rest of the brotherhood. There was an expelling of breath, and bowed heads were raised. “Now for Glil.” Bowe’s words produced a scowl from Xarcon. “Thinking of Glil means thinking of his rock-people stories.” Bowe smiled at the memory of them. “He had a story for each occasion. If he wanted to tell you something, he had to turn it into a story. Some of them had obvious lessons. For others, there was a nugget of wisdom just waiting to be mined from its murky depths, if you’d the wit to find it. Still others were so ridiculous that they surely had no deeper meaning, but who knows? I made fun of his stories, but now that he’s gone, I wish I had written them down so they don’t die with him.”

  “I remember how he pretended to be our friend, then betrayed us,” Xarcon said.

  Bowe sighed. “Glil may have been corrupted by the Path, but I firmly believe he had a good heart. This isn’t the time for recriminations. If anyone has anything good to say about him, we’ll hear it now.”

  “He was always nice to me,” Thrace said.

  When no one else was inclined to speak, Bowe decided to end it there. “We remember Glil,” he intoned.

  This wasn’t repeated, but Bowe still felt better. He looked down at the body again. Time to move on. “Now,” he continued, “there’s only six days left until the Infernam, so we’ll all be busy. Sorrin, there’s a Deadbeat called Oamir—do you know him?”

  “I’ll find him.”

  “He lives with a newswriter. See if he’ll join us. We’ll need someone to keep records, and I think he’s the guy for the job.” It was time to implement the plan that had been forming in Bowe’s mind. He hadn’t figured out all the details yet, but there was no more time for thinking.

  “Thrace, keep training those escay boys. In fighting, mainly, but make sure they can march in unison, as well. Sorrin—can you get some better weapons for them? I know you’ve got some betting winnings squirreled away somewhere. Oh, and Sorrin?” New ideas were flashing through Bowe’s mind as he spoke. “See if you can get them marshal uniforms, only in the Bellanger colors.”


  “Bellanger marshal uniforms?” Sorrin said. “What in Helion’s name are you planning?”

  Bowe smiled. “We are going to light a fire on the Path such as has never been done before. Are you with me?”

  Sorrin grinned back and clapped his hand onto Bowe’s shoulder. “Now this is what I’m talking about. I never doubted you, boy.”

  “I’m a boy no longer.” Bowe winked at Sorrin.

  “What do you want me to do?” Xarcon asked.

  “Let me see. What else will we need?” Bowe tried to visualize what he hoped would happen. “Rickshaws. Two two-man rickshaws, with Bellanger colors and emblems. And,” Bowe said, turning to Sindar, “most importantly, I’ll need a certain door unlocked.”

  “Won’t be a problem,” Sindar said.

  “I hope not. But this won’t be as easy as you think. This is a rather unique door. It hasn’t been opened in eighteen years.”

  Chapter 19

  1 Day Left

  Bowe shrugged into his ascor clothing. It was freshly washed and pressed and smelled of lemon; there was plenty to be said for having escay servants around. Likely the ascor were sick of seeing him appear always in the same clothing, but the azure robes had gotten him this far. He would go to the final ascor event in them and take his place as the fourth player in the Grand Sexennial Harmony Match. Bowe shivered despite the heat. The Infernam was upon them. This was it. So many people would die before another day passed—likely including himself and everyone in Bellanger Mansion.

  No one could venture out under the full heat of the sun anymore. Yesterday at midday, Bowe had seen a sheet of paper left out in the courtyard curl up, blacken, then burst into flame and burn. He shivered to think of skin blistering in the same way. What a horrible way that would be to die. He surely had been right not to stand in the way of the Guild freeing the Jarindors.

  Xarcon appeared in the doorway. “There’s someone here to see you. Sorrin took him to the ballroom. Come on.”

  “Who is it?” Bowe asked as he followed Xarcon down the stairs.

  “Sorrin didn’t tell me.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, Bowe moved toward the ballroom door, but Xarcon stopped him. “He asked for you to be brought in the side entrance.”

  “Why?” Bowe asked.

  Xarcon shrugged and led him down a narrow hallway. Bowe didn’t particularly want to revisit the ballroom. The last time Bowe had seen its dust-covered floors and grimy windows, he’d been crying over Glil’s death. Xarcon opened a door and stepped back to let Bowe enter. Bowe walked in, then stopped in shock.

  The room had been cleaned from top to bottom. The windows sparkled and Helion shone through them. Torches blazed along the walls, adding to a yellow light to Helion’s purple glow. Opposite where Bowe had entered through the side door stood an ornate wooden chair flanked by two of the escay marshals. The Bellanger marshals used to wear a uniform that was an extremely light blue called azure mist, and Sorrin had managed to get several escay outfitted in them, including those two.

  In front of the throne—for that is what it surely was—Sorrin was arguing with the White Spider, who had one man in attendance. The Shadow, Bowe guessed.

  “I don’t ask for a bloody show—are you going to have singers and dancers coming out next?—I just need to see Bowe. And it’s bloody urgent,” the White Spider said.

  “You’ll just have to wait. Coming here with a Shadow the night before the Infernam. You’ll be lucky if I let you see him at all.”

  “You have guards. Just get him here.” The White Spider’s voice quavered.

  “I’m here,” Bowe said. He strode across the room, hesitated, then sat down in the chair. Xarcon followed Bowe and stood to the side, scowling at the White Spider.

  Bowe was about to ask Sorrin what had possessed him to transform the ballroom like this, then decided against it. Questioning it would only ruin the effect. What Sorrin had done was perfect—Bowe only wished he’d thought of it himself. He had to look like he truly was the Bellanger Guardian if he wanted others to believe it.

  “Look what has become of the frightened boy who ran down the pier.” The White Spider did a full circle, taking in the whole room. As he did so, Bowe noticed a large flag on one wall. Gold cloth with an azure sun: the Bellanger emblem.

  “What do you want?” Bowe asked.

  “I want to save you from Dulnato once more.” The White Spider leaned back on his heels. “I ask for only one thing in return.”

  “And what is that?” Bowe asked.

  “Shouldn’t you first ask why you need saving from Dulnato? Only the small-minded fear the price rather than valuing the prize. In any case, there is nothing to fear right now. Just as well, since your man was intent on delaying my warning. But Dulnato and his Defenders are on their way here. There is a strong rumor that you will be offered the third Select position along with Zidel and myself at the Harmony match tonight. Dulnato has declared that whichever of his men kills you will become his chief Defender. In return for the warning, I only ask that Nechil and I be allowed to remain here and aid in your defense.”

  At that, Nechil gripped the White Spider’s arm. The White Spider turned, and Nechil stared into the mask. It was strange to see a staring contest between a mask and a person, and surprisingly, the mask lost. The White Spider turned away from Nechil’s gaze. “Nechil thinks that, if I stayed, I would be in as much danger as you, Bowe, but without the protection. I will therefore leave. Nechil will remain, with your permission.”

  Nechil was short and handsome, so it was easy to see how he could pass for a woman with the right makeup and clothing. It was he, without doubt, who had killed Reyanu.

  “To want us to allow your Shadow to stay here?” Sorrin asked. “This sounds like a trap, if I ever heard one.”

  “What if Nechil is just here to get close to Bowe?” Xarcon’s face remained in a scowl. “Perhaps the White Spider won’t get selected unless Bowe dies.”

  There was a blur of movement. Bowe jerked back and grabbed at the armrests. Nechil had leaped forward. Bowe felt a touch at his neck, and then Nechil scrambled back to his position beside the White Spider. Swords scraped against scabbards as Sorrin and the two marshals drew. But they were too slow—much too slow to have saved Bowe if Nechil had wanted to harm him. They were ready to make sure Nechil couldn’t do it again, though; they pointed their swords at him.

  “Stop.” Bowe touched his neck as he stood. “Sheathe your swords. I am unharmed.” Nechil had simply touched him.

  “If Nechil wished to kill you, he would have done it,” the White Spider said, moving Nechil’s cloak back to reveal a knife in a scabbard.

  The two marshals sheathed their swords, but Sorrin continued to point his at the White Spider. “Don’t ever try a stunt like that again. Now hand over that knife.”

  “It’s a bit late for that now,” the White Spider said calmly. “You should have been more worried about that earlier and less about putting on this…display.” The White Spider twirled his hand over his head to indicate the ballroom’s new decorations.

  Sorrin’s sword shook slightly and he moved it closer to the mask. The White Spider didn’t react, but Nechil’s hand moved to his knife.

  “Sorrin!” Bowe shouted. “Sheathe your weapon. We’re on the same side.”

  “For now.” Sorrin slammed his sword into its scabbard.

  The White Spider nodded his head at Bowe. “I’ll be off, then. Dulnato will be here shortly. Good luck.” He turned and exited. Nechil removed his hand from his knife and watched the White Spider leave with a wistful expression on his face.

  “And I thought this was going to be a peaceful evening,” Bowe said. “Just invade another of the ascor social events, play an epic game of Harmony, and convince them to turn the Path on its head. Looks like it’s not going to be as easy as all that, though. We’d better prepare our defense.” Bowe realized he had no idea how to do that. “Sorrin?”

  “We’ll need to know how they int
end to attack. Xarcon, get Sindar, and the two of you take to the rooftop. One of you can report back while the other keeps watch.”

  “We’ll take two bows, as well, and see if we can do any damage,” Xarcon said as he left.

  “Good idea. Thrace and I will lead our newly promoted marshals. Knowing Dulnato, he’ll just charge straight through the main door. We’ll try to stop them just inside the hall. The most important thing is to keep Bowe safe. Bowe, you’ll have to stay as far away from any entrances as possible, yet within sight of us.” He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, thinking. “Yes, we’ll have Bowe wait on the upstairs landing. If attacked from behind, try to descend the stairs so we can protect you.”

  “No, I’ll fight too.” Bowe didn’t want more people to die without being able to help them. That had happened enough. “Just give me a sword and tell me where to stand.”

  “Give him your sword,” Sorrin said to the escay marshal to Bowe’s left. The marshal did so. Bowe frowned as he took it. Something about Sorrin’s voice made him suspicious. Bowe took the sword and held it up, letting Helion cast purple shimmers up and down its length.

  There was a scrape of metal, and before Bowe could react, Sorrin had unsheathed his sword and struck Bowe’s blade. Bowe’s sword fell from his grasp and clattered across the floor.

  “Do you see why we don’t want you in the middle of the fighting?” Sorrin asked.

  “No fair. I wasn’t ready.”

  “That’s right, you aren’t ready. How much time have you spent out in the courtyard practicing with weapons? How much time did you spend when you were in Raine Mansion?”

  Bowe hadn’t been one of the best with the sword before he’d become a Green; it hadn’t seemed important when he was sure he would die on the first day. “We need everyone who can hold a sword.”