The Collapsing Path (The Narrowing Path Series Book 3)

by David J Normoyle

  “Good.” Meelyn gave Bowe a tight smile. “Everyone knows what happened when you last met him. Though you might like them to forget.”

  “Don’t worry, Hess is under control.”

  Bowe had been watching Tealman get closer, and now he left Meelyn to go down to the crippled escay. One of the wheels of his chair was stuck in a rut, and Tealman’s forehead bowed low. He looked terrible. The top of his head was red with sunburn. His face was all wrinkled up, desiccated by the heat and lack of water. His hands were raw, a mess of broken blisters.

  Seeing Bowe, his mouth cracked open. His lips moved but no words came out.

  Bowe leaned closer. “I didn’t get that.”

  “Waaa”—Tealman sucked in a breath—“eer.”

  Bowe shook his head. “Still didn’t get it.”

  “Waat...ter”

  “Oh, water. We have some of that here. But I’m not sure you deserve it. Won’t you be a burden on all of us?”

  Tealman’s chin sank to his chest.

  Iyra glared at Bowe and moved to intervene, but Bowe shook his head at her and mouthed, Get a healer and a skin of water.

  “Your daughter is here,” Bowe told Tealman. “She thinks her father is on his way. But he obviously doesn’t care enough to travel the last twenty paces up the slope.”

  Tealman glared at Bowe, his eyes black diamonds of hate. Then he gripped the wheels of his chair and pulled. The chair rocked forward, then fell back into the rut again. Tealman shot another glare Bowe’s way, then pulled again. The chair hopped out of the rut. Tealman pulled on the wheels again and the chair jolted forward. He did it again, faster this time, then again. By the time he reached level ground, Tealman chair was racing along.

  Iyra forced him to stop and held a waterskin to his lips. She gently tilted back his head, allowing the water to trickle into his mouth.

  Behind Iyra came the healer who had treated Tealman before. He took ointment from his bag and began to rub it into Tealman’s hands. “Not so quick with the water. Only a drop or two at a time to begin with. Someone bring a damp cloth to put on this man’s head. And for Helion’s sake, let’s get him out of the sun.”

  Bowe moved into Tealman’s vision and the other man’s eyes focused on him. “Not a man in a thousand could have done what you did today. Not a man in ten thousand. The old ways are gone and each day we are forging new paths, not knowing where they lead. We will need people of incredible character to lead by example. People like you.”

  Tealman gave a small nod, and Bowe turned away. Not because he couldn’t hold the man’s gaze, but because he didn’t want Tealman to see his tears.

  Chapter 18

  2 Days Left

  Night was half gone before Bowe found time to take a break. He stumbled to the corner of Left Post that he and Iyra had made their own. Despite his tiredness, he was sustained by a spark of happiness he’d gotten from seeing Fredo and his family arriving earlier. Bowe remembered how worried the sweet-seller had been about not being able to get his family into the Refuge. Giving a fairer chance of survival to good people like him—that was what drove Bowe most of all.

  Iyra was already lying on the ground, her body half twisted over, one arm stretched out before her. She looked like she had collapsed and instantly fallen asleep. Bowe eased in beside her and nudged her into a more comfortable position, trying not to wake her. A smile crept across her lips and she nuzzled herself against his neck. “I know that smell.”

  Bowe leaned his head onto her chest and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “That sweat stink.”

  “You aren’t ascor, now, to be having baths every day and pretending that the body’s natural scent isn’t beautiful.”

  “I won’t argue.” Bowe liked the smell of Iyra.

  It was an impossible dream come true to be able to lie in Iyra’s arms each day. There was no privacy, people were always streaming in and out of Left Post, but that didn’t matter; they were both too tired for any passion or romance. They had something better. The possibility of a real future together.

  Once Bowe had been ascor and Iyra escay, a vast chasm that didn’t always stop them being together, but it prevented any thought of a tomorrow. Now they faced an uncertain future, but one bright with promise and possibilities. And they faced it together.

  Iyra reached up and touched Bowe’s cheek. “I heard about Sorrin and Zofila. I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

  Tears leaked out the corners of Bowe’s eyes. “I’m not strong enough to talk about it yet. Whenever I think about it, I feel like I’m about to fall apart.

  “I’m here when you need me.”

  After a while, Iyra’s eyes drifted closed, and Bowe’s soon followed, and he fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  “Bowe, Bowe.” Someone shook him.

  “Yes, what is it?” Bowe eyes stayed shut, still exhausted. He wasn’t ready to wake.

  “There’s an ascor here.”

  Bowe’s eyes popped open. “Where?” In front of him was a Green, one of the three that Coinal had brought. Rodolfo, Bowe thought.

  “He’s still a few hundred paces away. He was afraid to come further, asking for you by name.”

  “Who?”

  “Eolnar. He told me to give you this.” Rodolfo handed over Bowe a flower. In the dim light, Bowe couldn’t see the flower well, but he recognized the smell of a dandelion. Eolnar’s brother, Frodan’s, favorite flower.

  “What does the flower mean?” Iyra had also woken up.

  “It means that Eolnar wants to make amends.”

  “You can’t trust him,” Iyra said. “You told him your secrets and he used them against you.”

  “He got scared and confided in his brother. What happened after had all the hallmarks of Sorani.”

  “You are making excuses for him. He can’t be trusted.”

  “It’s not that simple. In the ascorim, there are always moves and countermoves, little thrusts and parries, betrayals and reversals. Friends one day can be enemies the next. More than that, friends over one matter can be enemies over another.”

  “That just means that all ascor are snakes. What do you think he wants? The ascor lost to Hess and now they want our help, is that it?”

  “Don’t they have the right to enter the Refuge too? We said everybody, and we just let the marshals in.”

  “The marshals are just following orders. The ascor are the architects of evil.”

  “Iyra, I am—or at least I was—an ascor.”

  “You aren’t like the rest of them.”

  “There is good and bad in the ascor, just as there is good and bad in the escay. We can’t blame all escay for what Hess does, and the same principle applies to the ascor.”

  “Hess is just one man. The ascor are all bad.”

  Bowe gave her a look.

  “Nearly all bad,” she clarified.

  “New day, new way.” Bowe stood. “The ascor deserve a chance, too.”

  Iyra started after him, but Bowe stopped her. “Stay. Rest. I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Ask Meelyn to send a few of her men with you.”

  “There’s no need.” Frodan had meant a lot to the Lessard ascor. Eolnar wouldn’t send Bowe the symbol of his beloved brother and then betray him. “Lead the way,” Bowe told Rodolfo.

  Lanterns were lit throughout Left Post, and the activity within hadn’t diminished due to nightfall. If anything, it was greater. Outside, Helion’s purple light outlined the thousands who snaked up toward the Refuge.

  Rodolfo directed Bowe away from the main trail toward a cluster of rocks.

  “Are you sure he’s here?” Bowe asked, turning around and not seeing anyone.

  A shadow melted out of the rocks. “You came alone?” Eolnar asked.

  “I did. What do you want?”

  “You.”

  Several more shadows detached themselves from the rocks, surrounding Bowe.

  “What do you want with me?”


  “For you to pay for your sins.” Stenesso’s voice came from behind.

  Helion, no. Bowe reached for his belt knife, but arms encircled his body, pinning his forearms against his waist.

  “What’s going on?” Rodolfo backed away.

  “Someone grab the kid,” Stenesso said.

  The boy ducked under the hands that tried to grab him, and he scrambled backward. “Help, help!” he shouted, running back up the slope. “We are under attack.”

  Two shadows took off after him, but a moment later Stenesso called them back. “Forget the kid. We have what we came for.”

  Bowe was lifted into the air, struggling, kicking out, but to little effect—the encircling arms held him tight. He was carried around the rocks to where a rickshaw waited and dumped inside it.

  When Bowe hit the cushioned seats, he bounced forward, trying to climb out the other side, but Stenesso was there before him, thumping Bowe in the face and shoving him back into the seat. Once there, the arms grabbed him again.

  “Get us out of here,” Stenesso roared. The rickshaw jerked forward.

  “Boooooowe.” It was Iyra’s voice, but he couldn’t see her.

  “Don’t, Iyra.”

  Bowe threw himself forward, twisting back and forth furiously. Through the window, he saw a shadow charge down the slope at them. Iyra.

  Stenesso opened the rickshaw door, giving himself room to draw his sword. Then, leaning out, he swung at Iyra’s head.

  “No!” Bowe screamed.

  Iyra ducked and the sword slashed at the darkness above her head. She grabbed Stenesso around the waist, trying to wrench him from the moving rickshaw. Stenesso’s knee slammed upward, catching Iyra in the chin and she spun backward, slumping down to the ground.

  Bowe threw himself forward again, this time slipping partially free of the arms that gripped him so tightly. He got half out of the rickshaw before Stenesso hooked a forearm under Bowe’s chin and wrenched him back.

  Bowe was shoved back into the seat again, and this time his captor used his whole weight, trapping Bowe beneath him.

  “A girl.” Stenesso leaned out of the rickshaw, looking back. “If that’s his escay whore, we should bring her too.”

  There was a jerk and the rickshaw jumped, then slammed back down again. Stenesso upper body swung out of the rickshaw, and he pulled himself back in, closing the door behind him. “The slope is teeming with escay now. Some armed.” He pounded on the ceiling of the rickshaw. “Get us out of here.”

  The pullers were already going as fast as they could. After several more leaps, the wheels of the rickshaw slid onto more stable ground.

  “Out of the way!” one of the pullers shouted, and those coming up the trail dived to the side to avoid the onrushing rickshaw.

  Stenesso grabbed Bowe’s forearms, savagely roped them together. He tied the rope to the ceiling of the rickshaw, forcing Bowe’s arms above his head.

  “That’s a pity, isn’t it? That I didn’t snatch up the whore when I had a chance. I could hurt you more with her here.”

  “You think I care about her?” The ropes bit into Bowe’s arms with every jolt. Bowe fought to keep evidence of the pain from his face. “She was a way to win the escay’s trust. Make them believe I was one of them.”

  “You are one of them.”

  Bowe snorted. “Of course not. I’m Bowe Bellanger’s son. Do you honestly believe that an escay could achieve what I achieved? You and the other Guardians were so weak, always insistent on maintaining the balance. Only I was willing to do what had to be done. Just being one of four impotent Guardians was never enough for me. The escay’s discontent was a useful tool. They would have accepted me as their emperor.”

  Bowe wasn’t sure why he was telling Stenesso this. Perhaps he was simply saying the only thing the Guardian would understand.

  Running footsteps pounded on the trail beside the rickshaw. Bowe’s hope that it meant rescue was crushed when Eolnar swung into the rickshaw and into the seat opposite Bowe.

  “We’re away.” Eolnar panted. “The chase is too far back and we are too close to the city walls.”

  “Good.” The cushioned seatback creaked as Stenesso relaxed. He pointed his thumb at Bowe. “Apparently he was just doing this so he could get rid of the Guardians and rule the escay on his own.”

  Eolnar smiled. “Is that what he told you? No, I’m afraid he is what he has seemed to be. Someone who loved the escay so much he was willing to give up everything for them.”

  “Are you sure?” Stenesso asked. “It’s so ridiculous. Just because he felt sorry for the escay?”

  “Would he have come out to meet me alone and unprotected if this was all a scheme for him to be a king?” Eolnar shook his head. “No, he would have sent men out to have me killed. As I assured you, he is what the escay believe him to be.”

  Bowe stared bitterly at Eolnar. “And you are nothing like you pretended to be. Was it all a lie? Did you even have a brother called Frodan?”

  “No lie,” Eolnar said. “I wanted the Green Path improved in his memory. I didn’t see why our sons have to die in such numbers each Infernam. And I saw you as an ally in that task. Then you revealed yourself as an enemy to our class.”

  It had always been a risk trusting Eolnar. How stupid had it been to meet the Lessard ascor alone? “What happens now? Capturing me, killing me, it won’t change what has happened. The era of the ascor is at an end.”

  “We can purge ourselves of the infestation that has sickened us for a start,” Stenesso said. “The rest can come after. You look in good health. I think the other Guardians would prefer to see that you’ve been suitably chastened.” Stenesso nodded at the marshal to Bowe’s side, his captor.

  Bowe focused on him for the first time. Unsurprisingly, the arms that had gripped Bowe in a vise-like grip and flung him into the rickshaw were thick and roped with muscle. The marshal was almost as big as Urdo, but he had a placid face. He curled his fingers into a fist and pounded it straight into Bowe’s mouth.

  Bowe’s head snapped back, a wave of pain crashing through his jaw. Placid didn’t mean non-violent, obviously. Bowe spat out a glob of blood. Is that all you’ve got? The defiance didn’t make it to his lips before a second punch took Bowe in the side of the chin. His vision swam and he decided to save his energy for bearing the pain rather than for spouting empty words.

  “Make sure he’s conscious enough to feel every blow.” Stenesso watched with satisfaction as other punch caught Bowe in the temple. “Don’t leave any part of his body unmarked.”

  The big marshal turned his attention to Bowe’s torso. Blood trickled down Bowe’s arms as the ropes bit into his forearms with a fiery pain. Each punch did double duty, hurting both where it hit and, via the ropes, his forearms. A scream tore through Bowe’s throat as a punch took him in the kidneys.

  Bowe wanted to stop himself from thinking, to force his consciousness deep inside himself, but it was impossible. Each new attack savaged through his mind with a bright pain.

  When the blows stopped, Bowe lifted his head and looked around. His neck was slick with blood that had dripped down from his forearms. The rickshaw had stopped; he had to be at Raine Mansion. The bonds around his wrists were cut and his arms fell to his lap. He toppled to the side through the open door and all the way down to the gravel on the ground. He elbow hit hard and he groaned and rolled.

  Stenesso stood over Bowe, his lips twisting. “Pathetic. I still can’t believe a worm like you managed to hurt us.”

  “I did more than hurt you.” A coughing fit spasmed through Bowe’s body, each cough like a blow from inside his pain ravaged body. “I destroyed you and everyone like you.” So much for saving his energy.

  Stenesso pulled his leg back for a kick. A blackness of pain wrapped itself around Bowe, then just blackness.

  * * *

  Agony lanced through every nerve ending in Bowe’s body. He blinked his eyes open, trying to figure out where he was. Memories returned gradually,
jagged shards that eventually joined together into the picture of the beating he had taken. The session in the rickshaw had only been the start.

  The room was a surprise. Plush drapes framed the windows, and a thick carpet covered the floor. Ornaments glittered on top of a mahogany dresser. Perfume, mingled with the smell of his own blood, lay heavy in the air. An old memory rose up and he realized where he was: in the women’s quarters of Raine Mansion and, more specifically, in Chalori’s room. Effectively where he had grown up. In one corner was a beech bonsai, which had been Chalori’s and must have been adopted by the new owner of the room. Why had they put him here? It couldn’t be a coincidence. Had they thought it would bring back painful reminders? His adopted mother, Chalori, had committed suicide in front of him in this very room, after all. Bowe had enough present pain to deal with that remembering his part in Chalori’s death didn’t bother him.

  It was dark outside. Can it be the same night? No, he remembered light at one stage while he was being tortured. It had to be the following evening. Bowe tried to get up, rolling himself off the bed. His feet hit the carpet, but a lasso of pain grabbed his wrist. He smothered a sob. His left wrist was roped to the bedpost. He sobbed again at the sight of his forearms. Rings of crusted blood were surrounded by torn flesh.

  The rope gripped his left wrist, and his hand was numb. He flexed his fingers, ignoring how much it hurt. He couldn’t lose a second hand. He snorted out a laugh at the thought. Stupid to be worrying about that. It wasn’t his hand he was going to lose; it was his head. A bloodied undershift stuck to Bowe’s skin, and the sheet upon which he lay was also splotched with blood. Bowe sniffed. Was that the smell of smoke? Were they intending to burn him alive—Stenesso wanted Bowe’s death to be painful, and that was one way to ensure it.

  A whisper of footsteps passed by the door, then two voices, one female, one male. What was going on? This was the Raine harem, but none of the ascora would be visiting him. He listened carefully and heard a gasp cut short, then a thump, then a key turning in a lock. The door flew open. Bowe wasn’t sure who he expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t Borba. The last time he’d seen her had been at an ascor ball where she’d been determined to claim him as her husband.