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!”
He slowed, trying to make out where it had come from.
“Don’t slow, mush-for-brains, they’re just behind you. This way.” A shadow darted down the side of the pier and Bowe followed. He wouldn’t normally trust a random shadow that threw insults his way, but he didn’t have much choice right now. He saw the stairs leading down the side of the pier just in time to descend them on his feet rather than headfirst. The shadow below him seemed to fly down, vaulting from one landing to the next. The stairs chattered under Bowe’s feet as he followed as quickly as he dared. Dulnato’s Defenders started down after him. At the bottom, his potential savior was already in a small boat and rowing away.
“Jump,” the shadow cried.
Bowe hesitated, and the gap between the boat and the platform widened. His doubts disappeared at another curse from Dulnato’s Defenders behind him. He charged forward and leaped, but he’d waited too long. He flopped into the sea.
Water closed around him. He gasped for air, and salty water burned his throat. He threw his arms forward, trying to get purchase on something—anything—but he just kept sinking. Whenever he managed to get his head above water, he’d splutter, get half a breath, and then more water would flood his lungs. He was certain he was about to die, but he kept struggling, thrashing against the sucking pressure that kept dragging him down. He didn’t want to die in the water like an escay. He forced his head about the waves once more, and a sudden slap across the face stunned him.
A fist wrapped around the collar of his tunic and pulled him higher in the water. A girl’s face appeared. “Stop struggling,” she shouted.
He did, more out of shock than with any conscious thought.
“Lie back in the water and take deep breaths. Keep still.” The girl held onto his tunic with one hand and fished a rope from the boat in the other.
Bowe coughed up water and tried to do as she said. She maneuvered the rope under his arms. “Keep leaning back. I’m going to try and row you away from those friends of yours.” Bowe looked back at Dulnato’s two Defenders on the lower platform of the pier. They held swords in their hands, and didn’t look inclined to dive in after Bowe.
The rope tightened and pulled him away from the pier. Bowe tried to relax and this worked better than his earlier floundering. Waves washed over Bowe’s head, but the rope kept him high enough out of the water that he could spit most of it out.
“If you start panicking again, I’m gonna slap you around some more. You hear me, mush-for-brains?” the girl said.
That was when Bowe realized that he had to be dreaming. An escay girl had slapped him and was now threatening to repeat the dose. He allowed his exhausted muscles to relax as he drifted away from the pier, pulled by the rope.
Chapter 5
39 Days Left
Bowe floated in a coffin. Helion was sinking from the iridescent sky into the lavender sea. Just above the horizon, the purple moon looked impossibly big. On the pier, specters fought. Their ghostly outlines danced with one another, swooping and twisting and turning. As Bowe focused, he could make out the figures. Jisri, with a sword in each hand, was holding off Dulnato and one of his Defenders. A body lay off to the side. A gash across Jisri’s forehead dripped blood, and his right arm kept falling against his side; he seemed barely able to hold the sword aloft. A bloody wound marked his shoulder. He dodged back and forth between his opponents to keep them from attacking him together. All the fighters had an otherworldly aspect; they were ghosts, or memories, or dreams, their images flickering in and out of view.
Suddenly, Jisri dived toward the Defender, attacking with both swords at once. The left sword blocked his opponent’s blow, and his right skewered the boy’s torso. The Defender screamed up blood and fell. It was a crazy maneuver, leaving himself wide open, and Dulnato didn’t hesitate, swinging hard at Jisri’s head. Yet the ghost of Jisri turned in time, and, releasing the sword from his right hand, where it remained embedded in the Defender’s body, he raised his left sword to block. The swords clashed high above their heads, sparks flying at the thunderous impact. But the specter of Dulnato was not done with his attack; he stepped forward and struck with his left fist. At that moment, Bowe saw the knife he held. Dulnato stabbed the blade into Jisri’s left eye and Jisri fell from the pier, spinning into the lavender sea.
Bowe gazed at up Helion from the coffin and watched as the moon distorted, morphing into something else. Was that a face? Why did the moon have such a devilish grin? Feeling pressure on his body, Bowe blinked his eyes open. A person was leaning over him, touching him. It was her—the escay girl. He struggled, attempting to get away, but he couldn’t move. A horrible sensation of helplessness flooded through him. He felt defiled by the escay lying across him. The awareness that this was a dream hit him. He wasn’t in a coffin; he was having a nightmare. He focused on waking up,
relieved.
He opened his eyes fully. And there she was again, still leaning across him. He jerked in shock. He managed to push her off enough to roll away and fell off the bed. He scrambled over to the far wall and attempted to push himself up, but his legs felt like jelly, and he let himself fall back into a sitting position.
“Do I give you nightmares?” She had that same mischievous grin that Helion had in Bowe’s dream.
“You…you were lying on top of me.”
“I was just checking to see if you were waking up.”
Bowe shook away the remnants of the dream. He remembered the docks and being dragged through the water away from the Greens, half-floating, half-drowning. Dulnato’s Defenders hadn’t given chase. Jisri had been stabbed and killed, though. That had really happened.
“Why are you bothered by me touching you?” The girl tilted her head, examining him. “What about when I slapped you? Or when we docked at the second pier and I pulled you out of the water? You were in a pretty bad shape by then; you could barely walk. I needed to half-carry your waterlogged ass here. It would have been hard to do all that without touching you, and you didn’t seem to mind then.”
Bowe shivered and looked around. They were in a dark cellar. Two candles burned in alcoves on either side of the room. The flames didn’t waver, burning the still, dead air. There were no windows, and only one door. Stones jutted out from the walls in places. Despite the cloying heat, the wall felt damp against his back. A few nailed-together boards of wood formed a makeshift bed and it held an uncovered straw mattress. A single sheet curled around one of the legs of the bed. There was no other furniture in the room, and in truth, there was barely enough room for the bed.
“What do you think my punishment should be?” the girl asked. “For touching you, I mean? Maybe you would like me sent to the Fortress—not many escay leave there alive once they are arrested.”
“Just forget it,” Bowe said. “What’s your name anyway?”
“The name’s Iyra. Do you want to write it down so you’ll know who to set the marshals on?”
He looked at her thin arms and small frame, wondering where she hid her strength. He only had flashes of memories of the trip from the docks last night. But he remembered the bone weariness, and the way he couldn’t get his legs to work right; somehow, she’d thrown his arm over her shoulder and managed to get him here.
“You saved my life. I’m not going to have you sent to the Fortress.”
“My. How noble of you. You’ll forgive my transgressions on account of my saving your life.” Her smug grin was starting to grate on him. Her hair was short, and a reddish brown color. She looked about fifteen, maybe two years older than him. Her eyes kept changing color in the candlelight, which accentuated her high cheekbones and symmetrical features. She’d be pretty, except that she was as thin as a boy.
“I didn’t mean to insult you. Why are you goading me?”
“Let’s start again. I’m Iyra, and you’re…?” She held out her arm.
Bowe mouth fell open. Did she expect him to clasp arms with an escay? Her grin widened at his expression, and she dropped her arm. Everything seemed a joke to this girl. “I saved your life, but you wouldn’t even consider clasping arms with me. That’s the way it is, is it?”
He’d had enough of this. Bowe stood, wobbling for a brief moment, and then walked to the door. He thought better of thanking her; she already thought too highly of herself. So he gave her a quick nod, and he twisted the doorknob—only to find it locked. “Open it,” he ordered.
“No.”
Bowe turned back to the smirking face, confused. “What do you mean, no?”
“I’m not letting you out just yet.”
“You are keeping me prisoner?” Bowe had thought that things couldn’t get any weirder.
“I thought we could talk a bit. Since you haven’t introduced yourself, I’ll tell you that I know you are Bowe Bellanger.”
He rattled the handle. “Let me out this instant!” The shout didn’t cause her smirk to budge an iota.
“I thought your company was tough when I was lugging your dead weight around. To think I missed out on all this ordering about and shouting.”
“I’ll have you—” Bowe stopped.
“Sent to the Fortress? You said you wouldn’t earlier. But I guess you barely knew me then. Most people think I should be sent there once they get to know me. Do you know how I know your name?”
“Probably from the newsbards.”
“The newsbards don’t mention you much these days. Just an insignificant little Deadbeat who should be dead soon.”
Heat rose in Bowe’s face. “Why are you still prodding at me? I never threatened you or did anything to hurt you.” Though the more she smiled at him, the more he wanted to strangle her. “But if you keep me locked up here, I’ll have to tell the Grenier marshals if I get free. Do you want that?”
“I don’t want it, but I don’t shirk from it. My death will come; whether it is at your hand or that of another ascor’s matters little. I’m dedicated to something more important. Your Green Path likely leads to your death. My Path leads down equally dark routes.” She sat on the bed, dispensed with the smugness, and sighed.
Now she sounded like a philosophizing Elect. Bowe was losing the ability to be surprised by anything she said or did. “You shouldn’t compare the Green Path to whatever you are dealing with.”
“Because the Green Path is so noble, right? It’s not just a glorified game in which boys are encouraged to kill each other.”
“Life is only for the worthy. We have to prove ourselves. It’s more than a game.”
Iyra snorted. “It’s so selfish. Killing and scheming against each other. Walking over the corpses of others so you can live. And so unfair. So many Greens have no hope from the start. The Deadbeats. When you saved that friend of yours from Dulnato, it didn’t increase his chance of surviving the Path much, did it?”
Bowe shifted uncomfortably. How did she know so much about him and the Path? “You don’t know what you are talking about. An escay can’t understand the Green Path.” Bowe grabbed the handle and rattled it again, harder this time. “When are you going to let me out?”
“It wasn’t just chance that I came upon you yesterday,” Iyra said. “I followed when I saw you being chased, and overtook you on the lower platform of that pier. I didn’t just happen by.”
“Why would you follow me?”
“We were told to watch out for you. You see, I’m not just an escay—I’m worse than that. Much worse.” The smirk was back.
“What could be worse?” The image of Drakasi dragging his blade through Tlirris’s neck popped into Bowe’s mind. All Tlirris had done was mention one name. “The G—” He slapped a hand over his mouth and backed away. “You couldn’t be.”
She grinned.
The Guild was made up of monsters, not smirking little girls. He looked back at the locked door. Who waited outside? Was that why she showed no fear? After what she had revealed, could she let him leave here alive?
“What do you want from me?”
“I—we—want to help you.”
“I don’t want any more of your help.” Bowe shuddered. “And I certainly don’t want theirs.”
“You know where you are on the lists. You have no chance of surviving the Path. We have something that could help you. Just hear me out.”
Bowe stared at the door. Should he attack her? Did she have a key? Were more of the Guild waiting outside? A ripple of weakness traveled through his limbs, and he realized in was in no shape to fight anyone.
“We have some garnets that we can’t sell.” Iyra said. “If you can help us, it could be profitable for both of us.”
“Why not just sell them yourselves?” He remembered the newsbard report about the Lessards being robbed of a shipment of garnets.
“It’s not straightforward; we need help. These garnets have a red color that makes them look like rubies, very rare. Because
there were none in Arcandis previously, the Lessards were able to put a total ban on the sale, trade, and distribution of them. They don’t want the thieves who sold them to profit. I know you need money, and fast. If you figure out a way to sell them, we can split the profits and both benefit.”
“I’m not going along with any plan that involves you and your organization. If that means you have to kill me, then get it over with.”
Iyra shrugged. “If you insist. Now, where is my…?” She patted the pockets of her tunic. “Here it is.” She reached inside, and, with a dramatic flourish, produced a large key.
“I never planned on killing you, so I might as well let you go.” Iyra threw him the key. Bowe grabbed for it, and it fell to the floor. It bounced under the bed with a ping. He dived after it and scrabbled around in the dust until he found it. He rushed to the door and stabbed it at the lock, but kept missing.
Iyra placed one hand on his shoulder and the other over his hand. His skin crawled at the touch. She guided his hand so that it smoothly inserted the key. Bowe looked at up at her and his gaze locked with hers, trapped by her piercing eyes. Now that he could see their color, he realized that they were a smoky gray, and mesmerizing. He felt her body heat as she pressed close to him, and a jolt ran through his body.
“I thought you didn’t believe in anything greater than yourself,” she said, “yet you were prepared to die just now to avoid helping the Guild. So you are willing to give of yourself for a higher cause.” She twisted his hand and the key turned in the lock. Bowe broke eye contact and turned the handle. The door opened, and Bowe left at a run. She said something to his departing back but the words didn’t register. He ran down a corridor and up a wooden staircase. At every moment, he expected someone or something to jump out at him. He reached another door, this one open. He staggered through it and emerged, blinking, in the sunlight. He was in the middle of a busy street, and he began to stumble away from the dungeon. He’d escaped the nightmare.
The Narrowing Path (The Narrowing Path Series Book 1) Page 6
