The Narrowing Path: The Complete Trilogy (The Narrowing Path Series Book 4)

by David J Normoyle

  Rubbish, thought Bowe, I played within the rules. A tactic wasn’t ugly just because it was new. “And if I don’t accept selection?” Bowe asked.

  Stenesso laughed. “Why would anyone not accept selection? What would you do instead? Die?”

  “Will you allow me to bring all my followers into the Refuge? I promised I would not enter without all of them.”

  “An interesting tactic,” Stenesso mused. “So there is no infighting among your Defenders? They believed you?”

  “I was serious.”

  Stenesso smiled. “Serious or not, that’s not how the Green Path works. If we let you do that, all the Selects would be demanding extra Defenders, and we’d soon be awash with ascor. There’s not enough room in the Refuge.”

  “There must be some extra room with the demise of the Bellangers only twelve years ago,” Bowe said.

  “That space will be filled in a natural way. Each of the families will expand as their power dictates. You get to choose one Defender, just like Zidel and the White Spider.”

  Bowe had known he’d be refused, but he’d had to ask all the same. He looked down at the board. Everyone had made standard opening moves so far, and he was confident he could play well enough to draw. He could become the Select. He could choose one person to be his chief Defender and move on. There would be no one to hold it against him after the Infernam.

  Or could he give up selection and his guaranteed survival for a chance to save more than just one other person. Bowe scanned the ballroom and noticed Zofila. Beside her, Alandar clutched her arm tightly. Bowe noticed the sadness and resignation in her eyes. No, he couldn’t just accept selection and let everyone else die. He remembered Vitarr on the funeral barge. Edison, Tlirris, Glil, Reyanu—everyone killed by the Path. He wasn’t going to continue walking along it and let the other Deadbeats die. Nor the escay who had risked their lives because of his promise, two of whom had died just hours ago to save him.

  Bringing his attention back to the Harmony board, he chose his strategy. He launched a double-pronged attack against the two players on either side of him, Kesirran and Sorani. An all-out attack. No thought to defense; no thought to survival. He made his first move to that end and watched additional wrinkles form on the brow of each of his opponents as they bent to study the board.

  “Stenesso, you mentioned about the excess room in the Refuge being filled as each family gains power,” Bowe said. “Is that why the Grenier family has promoted so many new ascor recently?”

  Stenesso’s eyes narrowed. “Your selection isn’t confirmed yet. I’d worry more about your position on the Harmony board and less about internal Grenier matters.”

  Bowe could sense the anger under the surface of the Grenier Guardian’s words and smiled to himself. He allowed a few rounds of moves to unfold before speaking again. This time, he addressed Sorani. “The game Harmony—it’s unique to Arcandis, isn’t it?”

  Sorani nodded. “As far as we know. There are some similar games in other countries.”

  “It’s a curious name. Do you know where it comes from?”

  This time, Kesirran replied. “It speaks of the way in which all four sides can maintain equality in a well played game. Each player plays only to advance himself. But once a balance is maintained, all four players can harmoniously prosper.” His mouth twisted into a smile. “From how you play, that seems to be something you don’t understand about the game.”

  “Oh, I understand. I’m just not sure the rest of you do.” There was no harmony on the board today—only chaos. Bowe’s pieces were entangled with Sorani’s and Kesirran’s. Because he was fighting two opponents, he wouldn’t last much longer. Stenesso was untouched, and taking control of large areas of the board.

  “I’ve played a two-person version of this, but never a three-person one. Why didn’t you adapt the game for three people and use that for the sexennial tournament? Beats having to invite a marshal or a Green to take the fourth seat, no?”

  There was no reply. Bowe already knew from talking to Oamir that Kesirran had famously demanded that such a three-person version be developed, but no one had figured out how to create the proper balance to make it workable.

  Another few rounds of moves, and Stenesso captured Bowe’s last piece. Bowe had lost. Both Kesirran and Sorani’s positions were weak, but it was hard to tell if Stenesso would be able to force a solo victory, or whether one—or both—of the others could recover enough to claim a draw.

  Bowe took a step back. “Look at that. The Bellanger pieces destroyed, and the Greniers in the ascendency. I wonder if balance can be reclaimed, or if harmony will come about only through single-family domination. The future will tell.” Bowe nodded his head to each of the Guardians in turn. Stenesso looked furious, but the other two didn’t give their feelings away. “If you’ll excuse me, I have the last day of the Path to prepare for. I assume I’ve lost my chance of selection on the Green Path and will have to attempt a different Path.”

  He walked away, heading back towards the entrance. Several people from the crowd craned their necks forward so they could study the Harmony board. It was considered a good sign for the upcoming six years when the Grand Sexennial Match was well balanced. That certainly hadn’t happened this time. Bowe was about to exit the ballroom when he spotted Zofila out of the corner of his eye.

  He went over to her and nodded to Alandar, who was tightly squeezing her fingers. “Can I borrow Zofila for a moment?”

  The Raine ascor reluctantly released her and Bowe pulled her aside. “Are you married yet?” he asked.

  “No. Last chance tonight.” Zofila grimaced. “I’m in luck, though: Alandar will have me. As his sixth or seventh wife, I’ve lost count.”

  “Why do I get the impression that that’s not a good thing?”

  “He likes them young, so he marries a new batch every six years.” Dark shadows showed under Zofila’s eyes, despite the makeup. “He likes inflicting pain, too, so the additional six years I buy with this marriage could be more bad than good. I have to decide soon.”

  “The offer I made to you before is still open.”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve followed the news. You’re about to be selected.”

  “That’s not happening now. I have a number of followers—both Greens and escay—and a plan to get us all into the Refuge. It might not work; likely we’ll all be killed. But we intend to at least make a bit of noise. And you’re welcome to join us.”

  Zofila hesitated, then smiled. The dark shadows lifted. “My blue knight.” She wrapped her hands around his arm. “That’s my best offer yet. If you’re willing to guide me into certain death, then I’m willing to follow you there. Lead on.”

  Chapter 20

  Infernam

  The coverings on both sides of Bowe’s rickshaw were tied open at his insistence, letting the last rays of the sun stream in. His whole life had been leading up to this day, and he wanted to soak it in. To look at Arcandis, perhaps for the last time. Sorrin sat beside him. Zofila and Xarcon were in the rickshaw behind them, the coverings down, displaying the azure Bellanger sun. The pullers were waiting word to start the journey to the Refuge.

  The brotherhood had done an incredible job of turning the whole group into the Bellanger family—in appearance, at least. Each rickshaw had two pullers. Everyone wore wide-brimmed hats and modified shoes with a finger of wood cobbled to the bottom to protect leather—and skin—from the sunbaked ground. It was necessary, even now with the sun about to set.

  “Please, can we have the coverings down?” Sorrin asked. “I’m being boiled alive.”

  “We’ve been over this. You can last until we reach the Refuge—it’s not far. It’s worse for me than it is for you.” Bowe indicated his azure clothing.

  “No one’s making you wear that. I spent all morning trying to talk you out of it.”

  It seemed right to Bowe that he finish this wearing his azure costume; it had stood by him. Plus, if things went to plan, he’d meet
the Guardians again. He couldn’t show up dressed as an escay. Bowe tapped the shoulder of one of the rickshaw pullers. “Let’s go.”

  They began to pull, leaving Bellanger Mansion behind. The second rickshaw followed, then everyone else on foot—Sindar, Oamir, Thrace, the marshals, the servants, and a number of children belonging to the escay. Children under twelve were always allowed in the Refuge if their parents were. Everyone moved forward at a slow shuffle, sweat dripping from their faces. Behind them came two carts piled high with food, water, and belongings, dragged by two further sets of pullers. The rickshaw pullers were gasping for breath before long, but Bowe didn’t want to stop too soon. Considering the speed at which they were moving, he now realized that they should have left earlier.

  The sky was an intense blue, even now as the sun set. Bellanger blue, Bowe thought. The fiery-red, almost blood-red sun shimmered as it descended into the sea, meeting and being eaten up by its reflection. The heat was like an open furnace. It should have been unbearable, but each day they’d been getting used to the incremental increase. Still, it was hotter than he could have imagined just ten days ago.

  The streets were mainly deserted. Most of what was left of the evacuation had happened in the early hours of the morning. A few escay shuffled toward the docks, where the funeral barges were still being shuttled out to sea and back, overseen by the priests. For escay at this time of year, walking to his or her funeral was much more common than being carried. He wondered what had happened to Iyra. That was an uncomfortable thought; Bowe had no idea if she had found a place in the Refuge. It would serve her right if she didn’t, said a small voice deep within him as he remembered their last meeting, where she had accused him of being an escay. A larger part of him suffered a painful pang at the thought of her death. She will survive, he told himself. If he lived, he would see her again.

  They passed Raine Mansion. Bowe wondered if those left behind had taken poison already or if they’d wait until the last possible moment. His answer came immediately, for he caught a glimpse of a face in a second floor window with a pair of dark, glittering eyes. Ariastiana. So her schemes to remain the chief wife had failed. Bowe knew it was what she deserved, but on this day, with death like a vulture of fire consuming life after life, it was hard to be glad at any death.

  Drywell Square was empty, and the scene reminded him of the first day, when Drakasi had killed Tlirris, when the four corners had been occupied by each family’s Greens. He looked over at the corner where he’d waited, the Bellanger corner, and wondered if that would be empty for future Paths. A line of escay walked through the square, led by a figure in a patchwork cloak. He had large shoulders and a bald head. “Kaitan!” Bowe called out. The figure turned, and Bowe could see that it wasn’t him. Bowe waved him on and the line of escay resumed winding its way toward the docks and death.

  Helion’s purple light gradually replaced the sun’s yellow one. The procession continued until Bowe noticed the pullers beginning to drag their feet. “We’ll stop here for a few minutes,” he said. “Get some water into you. We’ll be at the Refuge soon.” What awaited them at the Refuge was left unsaid. Death or life?

  Bowe got out of the rickshaw, and Oamir moved to intercept him. He held a ledger in his hand. “I’ve filled this out as you asked; there’s just one problem—her.” He pointed his thumb at Zofila.

  She overheard and walked over to them. “So I’m a problem, am I? I’ve never heard that before. What is it this time?”

  “Everyone has their role in here,” Oamir said, tapping the brown leather cover of the ledger, “except for the Greenette.”

  “I told you: she’s an ascora now.” Bowe was handed a waterskin and took a drink. The water wasn’t exactly refreshing; in fact, it almost scalded his throat, but it was needed. He’d surely sweated out more than a waterskin’s worth since he’d left, even just sitting in the rickshaw.

  “But whose wife is she?” Oamir said. “Someone has to stand for her.”

  Bowe looked hurriedly around and caught Sindar’s gaze. He beckoned. “Sindar, come over here. You like women, right? How about a wife?”

  Sindar smiled at Zofila and touched her arm. “It would be an honor, but I’m afraid I’m spoken for by another.” He turned towards Bowe. “Several others, in fact. I fear it would be dangerous for me to marry right now. If word got out...”

  “It’s the last hours before the Infernam starts, and we’re trying to bluff our way into the Refuge,” Bowe said. “Helion! How much more dangerous can things get?”

  “You know little of women.” Sindar shook his head sadly. “If you’d seen the look they can get in their eyes sometimes, you’d never again think that things couldn’t get more dangerous.” He turned to Zofila. “Back me up here.”

  “It’s true,” she said. “I’ve seen that look.”

  Bowe looked around. “Um, Thrace—?”

  “Am I to be handed around like a sack of vegetables?” Zofila’s eyes narrowed. “A rotten sack of vegetables that no one wants? I’m too late to go back to Alandar, but there’s still time for me to return to Lessard Mansion and take Paradise’s Kiss.”

  Bowe cleared his throat. “Of course not. Listen, Oamir, put Zofila down as my wife.”

  “Is that what you call a proposal?” Zofila’s voice had an edge to it now. “Alandar made a better one. He was offering me six years of Infernam followed by certain death, but at least he asked.”

  Bowe sighed. Didn’t Sorrin and Zofila know they were almost certain to die soon? But Zofila wasn’t laughing.

  Sindar put his arm around Bowe’s shoulders. “Listen, Zofila. You’re fully within your right to slap him in the face and leave us after that. But I know Bowe. Though he’s useless around women, he’s got a good heart. Give him a chance. You’re older than he is, and I think he’s embarrassed and feels he’s too young to be able to satisfy you. His equipment hasn’t fully matured.”

  Bowe blushed. He hadn’t thought it could get any hotter, but now smoke threatened to pour out from under his collar. And now Zofila was smiling, blast her! “Given the circumstances,” she said, “I wouldn’t expect—”

  “Nothing wrong with my equipment,” Bowe squeaked. He couldn’t see any way to get out of this with his dignity intact. He might as well get it over with as quickly as possible. “Zofila, will you marry—will you give me the honor of marrying you?”

  She gave a little squeal, grabbed his hand, and kissed his cheek. “Of course I will, my shining knight.”

  Bowe’s ears burned. Both Zofila and Sindar were grinning from ear to ear, making Bowe almost certain that they had planned this just to torment him. At least Oamir was oblivious to it all. He opened his ledger and began writing in it.

  “Let’s move out,” Bowe shouted. Their impending death couldn’t come fast enough right now, as far as he was concerned.

  The rest of the journey passed without incident. The entrance to the Refuge was just outside the city, and the smell of blood and fear was heavy in the air. Escay waited their turn in three lines. Bowe had been here before, but it looked different now, with both the rocks and the shadows between them darker under Helion’s light. Four large doors had been built into the small cliff face. The cliffs overlooked the sea, but the waves churning against the shore were far below. The ground all about them was rocky, but a well-worn cart path allowed easy travel for the rickshaw pullers.

  The Refuge itself was, of course, below the sea. Cooled by the ocean’s waters, it was the only place in Arcandis where people could survive the Infernam. And this was the only way in. A single entrance with four doors, each ten paces apart. The Bellanger door was first, then the Lessards, then the Raines, with the Grenier door at the end. He hoped the layout would work in his favor.

  Three of the doors were open, with marshals processing the line of escay. To the side of each door, several bodies lay piled up. The blood that pooled on the ground suggested that many more than just those he could see had been killed here today. Either
they had tried to get in without the proper permissions, or the marshals thought they had. On this day above all, the marshals were told to kill first and ask questions later. There were more bodies at the Grenier door than at the others.

  Bowe gagged at the smell. He looked at the ground to avoid seeing the dead bodies, but noticed rivulets of blood running down towards the cliffs. Bowe took a deep breath and forced all thoughts of the dead from his mind. He was here for the living.

  The Lessard line of escay watched as Bowe and his procession neared the Bellanger door. They clutched their belongings and their children nervously as they waited their turn. When the Lessard marshals noticed the Bowe and his caravan, several bows were pointed their way.

  Bowe tapped on the puller’s shoulder to get him to stop. “Set the table up here,” Bowe said to Thrace.

  Thrace took down a small table from one of the carts and placed it beside the door. The Lessard marshals whispered among themselves, and then several broke off and moved towards Bowe. Bowe was glad to see that he recognized the leader. Tokanu had brought two swordsmen and two bowmen with him, and the rest of the marshals watched them warily from the Lessard door. They stopped processing the escay.

  “Oamir,” Bowe said.

  Oamir took a chair from one of the carts, placed it beside the table, sat down, and opened his ledger. Two of Bowe’s marshals moved to flank him.

  Bowe stepped out of the rickshaw to greet Tokanu. “Greetings, and thank you for your offer of help, but we don’t need it right now. We have everything in hand.”

  Tokanu stopped two paces in front of Bowe. “My offer of help? I’ve come over to kill you and your people if you don’t leave right now. I know you have not been offered a place in the Refuge by my family or by any other.”