The Collapsing Path (The Narrowing Path Series Book 3)

by David J Normoyle

  “This isn’t just about you and me,” Bowe whispered back. “It is about more than that.”

  “Urdo, no weapons in the Refuge from now on,” Meelyn said loudly. “Make sure it happens.”

  “But Big Boona—”

  “The affection between you and Big Boona will only grow from any enforced absences, I’m sure.”

  She gave Bowe a final glare, then swiveled on her heel and left.

  “New day, new way,” Bowe declared. “The old traditions are no more. We walk a better path from now on.” Then, seeing that everyone waited for more, he said, “Now, back to work. Time isn’t on our side.”

  As people shuffled back into Left Post and Right Post, Bowe returned to where the Mayor of Gyveny waited. “We aren’t going to do things the way your father and grandfather did,” Bowe told him. “It’s a new day.”

  “The kid knows nothing about what we need to make sure that we and all our livestock survive.”

  “But he knows a lot about cramming as many people as possible into the Refuge. We need a committee formed of those who know what needs to be done. You, Oamir, Sindar.” Sindar would hate being on a committee, but he had shown a knack for banging people’s heads together until they did what had to be done. “Plus Meelyn and Leti.” Leti had only arrived that morning, but a strong personality used to organizing dinner and keeping her community in check was exactly what was needed. “One of the priests will have to be involved, too.” Bowe hadn’t seen Florence, but at least one person in a patchwork cloak was around. “This committee will, by necessity, be only five percent discussion and ninety-five percent getting stuff done.” Bowe knew that committees tended to be the opposite.

  The mayor shook his head. “It’s not possible to change everything with only days left.”

  “If you can’t get it done, ask your village to choose a mayor who can.”

  Bowe walked away. He’d need to get all those he’d mentioned working efficiently together. Somehow.

  Chapter 17

  3 Days Left

  Bowe wiped sweat from his brow, directing a group of artisans from the city into Right Post. It was late morning, too late to be still out in the sun, but a long line of people tracked up the slope. Once word of Bowe’s speech in front of the entrance to the Refuge had spread, the trickle coming from the city had turned into a flood. Even with the new committee working relatively well together, they were struggling to cope. And Bowe knew that the last day or two would see enough arrivals to make these seem like a trickle.

  Bowe, hearing a shout, turned to see Oamir running down toward him.

  “What is it, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, it’s just that...I thought you’d want to know.” He skidded to a stop.

  Bowe put his hand on Oamir’s shoulder. “Take a breath. Then out with it.”

  “Remember what you said about people standing on the shoulders of others.”

  “I didn’t mean that literally.”

  “Yes, but it gave an idea to one of the carpenters. He suggested building platforms like giant double beds.”

  “Increasing the capacity substantially?”

  “There won’t be possible in every cave,” Oamir said, “but in the bigger ones, it should work.”

  “It will make a hellish twenty days even more hellish. On both top and bottom. But...Oamir, come here.”

  “What is it?”

  Bowe put his hand around the back of Oamir’s neck, pulled him close and kissed his forehead. “You wonderful person, you.”

  Oamir gave a startled smile. “It wasn’t my idea.”

  “Nevertheless. You are and it’s not said enough. Now, show that carpenter the biggest caves and find a few dozen workers to swing hammers for him.”

  With a big smile on his face, Bowe watched Oamir scamper back into Right Post. The day before, he had told every one that he was confident that his plan wasn’t crazy. Soon he might actually believe it himself.

  “Hey, Guardian!” Bowe was shaken from his reflections by an old man calling him. It took Bowe a moment to recognize him since he was so used to seeing Finshire in darkness. The old man’s skin hated the sunlight as much as its owner did; it was already red from sunburn.

  Bowe clasped arms with the old newswriter. “Good to see you. What news from the city?”

  Sadness flashed across Finshire’s face. “You haven’t heard?”

  “Is it Tealman? Did he take a suicide barge?”

  “No, that man’s crazy, but he hasn’t given up yet. I’ll tell you about him, but first...”

  “Just say it.”

  “Hess attacked Lessard Mansion last night. He captured it, and those from the Lessard and Bellanger families who survived retreated to Raine Mansion. Among the dead...” Finshire swallowed. “Among the dead were Sorrin and Zofila. I’m really—”

  The rest of Finshire’s words were lost as the sounds of the world were sucked away. The image of the small room where Sorrin and Zofila had made their home filled Bowe’s mind, only now it contained their broken bodies.

  Bowe stumbled and a hand gripped his arm. Sound returned.

  “Bowe, Bowe, are you all right?” Finshire shook Bowe’s arm.

  “Are you sure?” Bowe asked. Stupid question; Finshire wouldn’t have said it if he wasn’t sure.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What else can you tell me? Is Thrace still alive?” The pain wanted to swallow Bowe whole but he couldn’t let it. Bowe would remember Sorrin and Zofila more later, allow himself to properly mourn. But even then, he wasn’t sure he could allow himself to take on board what had happened. Bowe’s betrayal had cost Toose’s life that same night, and now, delayed, two more had followed. Two of Bowe’s best friends. Each new blow hit Bowe like an axe to the stomach. For the present, he had to fold the skin over the wound, pretend that he was okay, and move forward—for the sake of those still alive.

  “Thrace survived and is in Raine Mansion. Veliro and Pamil also died.”

  “All four families fit in one mansion?”

  “They are a lot less than they were. Not just those killed in the fighting—many marshals have stopped protecting the ascor.”

  “Where have the marshals gone?”

  “No one is sure. Perhaps they’ll come here, perhaps they’ll try to talk to Hess.”

  “I don’t think Hess would welcome them.”

  “If they throw off their cloaks and fight for him, Hess might not inquire into their past,” Finshire suggested.

  “And Tealman? You said he’s still alive?” What was one more death due to Bowe’s betrayal?

  “I managed to persuade a person who owned a wagon to give him a ride to the Refuge. He refused. He insists that he is to come under his own power.”

  “How? Why?”

  “I told you he was crazy. He told me that if he can’t make it to the Refuge by himself he doesn’t deserve to live. He thinks his daughter would be better off on her own than with him as a burden.”

  “But his legs! His arms! Did the healer return with some magic juice and cure him?”

  “No magic. After the fever broke, his hands could barely grip a cup and his arms had no strength in them. But when that wheeled chair arrived, he climbed into it and did laps of his room. The first day, he barely made it a quarter of the way around. The second day, he did two laps. And now...” Finshire nodded down the trail. “It must be over ten hours since he left. See that speck on its own in the middle of the hillside? That’s him.”

  Bowe squinted, the air shimmering as heat rose off the dusty ground in waves, and Bowe could just about make out a person where Finshire indicated. “He’ll have to travel through the heat of the day. If he left ten hours ago, he’s a long stint left. There’s no way he will have the energy.”

  “He refuses help. He’ll get here on his own or not at all.” Finshire studied Left Post and Right Post and all the activity taking place around them. “A smooth operation going on here. How do you get everyone working
so well together?”

  “We set up a committee to decide everything. Anyone who complains gets co-opted into the committee. After that happened once or twice, complaints decreased dramatically.”

  * * *

  Iyra shook Bowe shoulder. “You told me to tell you when Tealman arrived.”

  “He made it?” Bowe swiftly stood. He hadn’t managed to fall asleep and was glad for an excuse to get up. He needed the rest, and during the heat of the day was the best time, but memories of Zofila and Sorrin haunted him. If only he’d shared more with Sorrin, perhaps he could have persuaded his friend to join him. And Zofila would have come at his side.

  “Almost. However, a large group of armed men are also approaching the Refuge.”

  “That doesn’t sound good. Let’s go.”

  However, before he got a chance to leave Left Post, Sindar spotted Bowe and called him over to the large table upon which the committee was making decisions. The Mayor of Gyveny and Leti were in an all-out shouting match, and Sindar clearly considered that help was needed. Bowe preferred for the committee to work things themselves so was usually reluctant to intervene. But this appeared to be an exception.

  “What’s going on?” Bowe asked.

  The Mayor of Gyveny pointed out a short stocky man with leathery skin and a bald crown. “See this man? I’ve been told that he has done no work these last few years. All he has done is steal, drink, and gamble on the Eye fights. And now he thinks he deserves one of the precious places in the Refuge.”

  “I had given up, accepted my fate,” the bald man said, his voice hoarse. “Just wanted to enjoy the last few years life until I took a trip on a suicide barge.”

  “The barges are still in operation,” Florence said. “Though not many are using them.”

  “New day, new way.” The balding man shuffled his feet, his gaze downward.

  “He knows he doesn’t deserve a place,” the mayor said. “He’s just too scared to do what he should do and wants an easy way, taking advantage of our good intentions here.”

  Bowe didn’t love the idea of thieves and layabouts being welcomed into the Refuge. “We said everybody gets a place this time around. Everybody means everybody.”

  “We are not sure there will be enough room,” the mayor said. “Perhaps some who have worked hard these last six years will die in place of this man here.”

  “Who gets to stand in judgment over each person?” Bowe asked. “You?”

  “What happens after?” the mayor asked. “If those who do nothing for six years get in each time, why would anyone work hard?”

  “That’s a problem for the next sexennium,” Bowe said. “For now, there’s plenty of waterskins and other supplies to be carried into the depths of the Refuge. This man likely has plenty of energy to spare for helping out.”

  “A few days work doesn’t make up for years of idleness and debauchery.”

  “It’s a start.” Bowe left them, exiting Left Post with Iyra following him.

  “That was well done,” Iyra said once they were outside.

  “Was it?” Bowe asked. “The Eye is an ugly scene, as are many who hang around there. I guess I’m more enthusiastic about saving those who actually deserve it.”

  Iyra nodded down at the path. “Well, it looks like more people want to enter the Refuge who it might be tough to stomach.”

  Tealman was close enough that Bowe could see the lines of exertion on his face as he strained on the wheels of his chairs. But Iyra was referring to the two-dozen marshals who had already overtaken him. They wore the mint-cream cloaks of Lessard marshals, the silver-white cloaks of Raine marshals, and, most commonly, the light-pink cloaks of Grenier marshals. At first, Bowe thought there were no Bellanger marshals, then he spotted a man he recognized near the back wearing an azure-mist cloak. It was Liaano, who had been insistent on protecting Bowe the night that the mansion burned down. Bowe swallowed, and bile, hot with anger, burned its way down his throat. Liaano hadn’t been so insistent when it came to protecting Sorrin and Zofila.

  Bowe and Iyra weren’t the only ones who had noticed the arrival of the marshals. Meelyn and Urdo, and a large number of their men had gathered near Right Post. Urdo was sharpening Big Boona.

  Iyra grabbed Bowe’s arm. “Perhaps we should hang back. Let Meelyn and Urdo handle this.”

  Bowe shook his head. He couldn’t risk tempers flaring. Fighting had to be avoided at all cost. Just as the ascor had lost once the escay had shed their fear, Bowe would lose once the threat of violence was used to decide matters. It was hard to unring that bell. “There’s nothing to worry about. If they intended an attack, they wouldn’t approach in single file.”

  Even as Bowe said that, though, they began to bunch up, coming to a stop ten paces short of where Bowe waited. Despite being in the majority, it wasn’t the Greniers who supplied a spokesman.

  Tokanu, the Lessard marshal who had allowed Bowe into the Refuge six years ago, came to a stop a pace in front of the others. “We have come to enter the Refuge.”

  “You have abandoned your duty.” Bowe tried to catch the eye of Liaano, who hung near the back.

  “As you did, ex-Guardian,” Tokanu said.

  “Did you flee before or during the battle at Lessard Mansion?” Bowe asked. He craned his neck so he could look straight in the face of the Bellanger marshal. “Where were you, Liaano, when Zofila was killed?”

  Liaano shuffled out of view. Iyra grabbed Bowe’s shoulder and pulled him close. “Don’t lose your temper,” she hissed in his ear.

  “We heard there was room in the Refuge for everybody,” Tokanu said.

  “People, yes. Not necessarily uniforms. You can leave your cloaks on the ground behind you.”

  “Who are you to decide that, ex-Guardian?” Tokanu asked.

  Iyra stepped in front of Bowe. “You realize this is a favor to you,” she said angrily. “You are no longer in charge and we allow you to leave your cloaks behind for your own protection. Many inside the Refuge will have lost loved ones in the Fortress. We should force you all to carry a permanent mark of what you have been, never let you cast off the proof of your sins. Instead we allow you to become one of us. I suggest you take off those cloaks quickly while we are feeling generous.”

  One marshal quickly discarded his cloak, then another. Tokanu, with a glance behind him, followed suit.

  Bowe leaned close to Iyra’s ear. “What was that about not losing your temper?”

  Iyra grinned. “I didn’t say anything about me.”

  Once all the cloaks on the ground, Tokanu and the other marshals started forward again.

  Bowe raised his hand. “Your weapons can also be left behind. They’ll be collected and set aside for you to retrieve after. No weapons in the Refuge.”

  Tokanu nodded toward Meelyn. “I see others armed.”

  “They are never armed inside,” Bowe said. “But for now, a few have been trusted to wear their weapons outside the Refuge. You don’t warrant the same trust.”

  “You already told us that people here will have reason to hate us,” Tokanu objected. “Now you want us helpless.”

  “Just like the escay have always felt helpless under the iron fist of the marshals,” Iyra said. “And we often ended up suffering for our helpless trust.”

  Tokanu checked behind him. There was much less enthusiasm for shedding their swords than there had been for their cloaks. “What if we continue forward without dropping our weapons?”

  “In that case you will have a battle on your hands.” It was the last thing Bowe wanted but he made it sound like he relished it. He curled his fingers around the hilt of his dagger. “Many people, including me, would prefer that option.” Bowe wasn’t even sure that Meelyn would order her men to attack. “And given that many of you have recently fled your posts in the face of attack, I don’t think you have the stomach for that.” The marshals were used to being in charge, and Bowe wanted to make it perfectly clear that those days were over, even at the risk of a
ntagonizing them. Plus, Bowe couldn’t deny that it felt good to face them down. Empowering. “Prove me wrong.”

  Iyra touched the small of Bowe’s back, transmitting her nervousness. If the marshals decided to attack, Bowe and Iyra were isolated. Bowe’s knife wouldn’t hold off one sword for long, never mind two-dozen.

  Tokanu scowled, but he unbuckled his sword-belt and tossed it into the dirt. “Happy?” he asked, then walked past Bowe and up toward the Refuge. The other marshals did the same, walking one by one past Bowe and Iyra. Liaano’s gaze didn’t leave the ground, avoiding Bowe’s glare.

  “Stop at Right Post for processing,” Bowe called up after them. “And follow all instructions.”

  Meelyn came over as her men collected the discarded weapons. “Are you sure you know what you are doing?”

  “I know exactly what I’m doing.” It was best that others didn’t know how much Bowe was making up as he went along. From being a Guardian, Bowe knew that leadership was often about projecting an image. While Bowe appeared confident, others would follow him. What had happened before Hess had hurt Bowe’s authority, even if no one at the Refuge had seen it. But Bowe was beginning to regain what he had lost. “Everything is turning out as I expected.”

  “I don’t like being used,” Meelyn said.

  “Understood.” It was a good thing that Bowe hadn’t needed her men to fight the marshals. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. Without you, none of what we have achieved here would have been possible. Under another leader, things could have fallen apart.” Meelyn hadn’t tried to take control of the Refuge yet, but Bowe knew she still might.

  “A bluff might have stopped a few marshals. Hess won’t be so easy to deal with. And I won’t send my men against him to be slaughtered.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to. I have a different plan for Hess.” Only he hadn’t figured it out. The most likely outcome was that Hess’s men would simply walk into the Refuge unopposed. Hess would ultimately decide who stayed in the Refuge and who didn’t, and be ruler of Arcandis in the new sexennium. Perhaps that would be better than the ascor rule. Perhaps.