The Path of Ashes [Omnibus Edition]

by Parker, Brian

  “Dammit, Cooper. You’ve ruined my unblemished old world armchair. That cost me two slave girls.” Lucas pointed at a cabinet and ordered, “Get him a towel.”

  He watched the jailer with hatred in his eyes. The man retrieved an old hand towel from a side cabinet and wisely tossed it in his lap, keeping his distance. “Clean yourself up; you’re ruining the nice furniture.”

  “I will kill you one day, Cooper. And believe me, you will know that it’s coming and it won’t be quick or painless.”

  “Enough!” Lucas slammed his hand down on the desk. “Vengeance, I know this is difficult for you. Your brother has been with you for your entire life. He’s your blood. And so on. I’ve thought about this and it pains me to order you to do this, but I can’t go against the Guild.”

  “It’s more than that, Lucas,” Varan countered. “You’re asking me to kill the last remnant of my past.”

  “I know what I’m telling you to do, Vengeance. The truth of the matter is that if I hadn’t arranged to have you two together in most of your fights, he would have been dead ten years ago. I saw the potential in you, so for those two years that he fought in the arena before you were old enough to join him I staged all of his fights against men who’d seen the end of their days—and even some of those were close calls.

  “Chaos is not a strong fighter,” Lucas continued. “Yes, he’s a great teammate and you work well together, but one-on-one, most of the gladiators in the arena could beat him.”

  Lucas’ expression softened once again. “Look, you’ve kept him alive this long, but I have no choice except to schedule the fight. Without the support of the Guild, the people of Trinity would starve to death within a year. We have fresh water and timber for trade, but our crops don’t supply enough to sustain everyone in this town. Anarchy would rapidly descend on this these hills.”

  “I would accept that over murdering my brother.”

  “You’d rather have the blood of two thousand people on your hands?” Lucas asked.

  Varan shrugged, “What do I care about them? They are nothing to me. I don’t know them. They’re faces in the crowd at best.”

  “I’ve trained you well… Too well, it would appear.”

  “I won’t fight my brother.”

  “Then he’ll kill you in the arena and die the next fight that he’s in. You know this. If you agree to fight him, you could make it a clean kill. Painless. Let him get into the ring with the likes of one of those monsters from Redding—or worse, from Crescent City. Their current primus takes his time, slowly slicing pieces of his adversary away and he eats it as they watch in horror. Is that what you want for your brother? Hardly an honorable death.”

  Lucas let that sink in for a moment before continuing. “You could honor your brother; give him a proper warrior’s death. Don’t let him die like that, to be eaten alive, toyed with and embarrassed…tortured in front of a crowd. If that happens, they will never remember your brother’s feats in the arena, he would only be remembered as the man who was killed by the demon from the coast.”

  Lucas’ words resonated with him. He didn’t want the memory of himself or his brother to disappear into anonymity, forgotten and lost to the sands of the stadium. Would the gods even allow Caleb into Fólkvangr if he was cut down and murdered, an embarrassment to the men they’d sent to Freyja’s fields together? “I don’t want to kill my brother,” he muttered.

  “I know you don’t want to fight Chaos, Vengeance. I’m feeding you rancid meat and telling you to enjoy your meal. But, you are both warriors and you’ll do as you’re told.”

  Varan knew it was a losing battle to argue with Lucas any further. The man would put them in the ring, regardless of their personal desires and if they refused to fight, he’d just have the guards shoot them from the stands. Yet, he couldn’t live with himself if he murdered his brother. He needed to talk to Caleb and tell him what their owner planned.

  “Yes, sir,” Varan replied to Lucas’ demand. “Do you know when the Contest will be?”

  “No, the Guild hasn’t given me any details yet.”

  “May I go?” he asked.

  Lucas stared at him for a moment and then replied, “Yes. Go pray to your warrior gods and speak with your brother.” He looked over to Cooper, “Allow him to speak with Chaos this morning before they begin their daily drills.”

  “Yes, sir,” the jailer replied.

  “Think on it, Vengeance. You know that I’m right. Either you face him in battle and honor him or the Commerce Guild will remove one of you in the name of progress. Good day, son.”

  Lucas returned to studying the strange marks on the paper, ignoring Varan and Cooper as if they’d already gone.

  *****

  Cooper pushed him roughly into his cell, telling him to wait there while he collected his brother. The woman was still there. She’d put on her clothing since he last saw her. The scent of stale urine in the chamber pot made him wrinkle his nose slightly as he sat down roughly on the concrete bench protruding from the wall.

  How was he supposed to tell his brother what Lucas had planned? He couldn’t simply say to him that they’d had a nice run, see you in the afterlife. Why had this trial come to him? Was Týr punishing him for something? Was his god making him atone for his sins through the sacrifice of his brother? Had he not fought bravely enough or done something against the will of the gods?

  “Is everything alright, Primus?”

  The woman’s voice startled him from his thoughts. “Huh? I’m sorry, I was thinking.”

  “I could see that. You look upset; did your visit to the master not go well?”

  “No, the visit to the master did not go well…” he allowed his voice to trail off as he imagined his sword running through his brother’s heart.

  “I believe there is still an hour until the morning work bells,” she stated. “Do you want to talk about your troubles? I’m a good listener.”

  He smiled and examined her face. She was pretty—easily the prettiest slave in the household. Tight spirals of dark red hair framed her lean, heart-shaped face and bright emerald green eyes stared at him intensely. Varan got the distinct impression that everything about the woman was intense; their lovemaking the night before certainly had been.

  “What is your name?”

  “Freya, Primus.”

  He reeled. Was this a sign from the gods? “Like the goddess Freyja?”

  She cocked her head slightly and answered, “It sounds similar. You said ‘FRY-ya’ but my name is ‘FRAY-ya.’ I can see where it’s confusing, Primus. You may call me whatever you’d like.”

  He resisted the urge to slap her. “Dammit woman, we are equals. Both of us are slaves, regardless of what title they’ve given me. Speak freely.”

  She didn’t flinch at his words. Instead, she glared back at him. “You will not beat me for telling you exactly what I think?” she asked?

  Her words defused the anger inside of him and he sighed, “No, Freya. I will not beat you for speaking to me as you wish.”

  “Every man I’ve ever known has hit me for telling them the truth. Men often say that they would like to know what is on your mind, but when you tell them, they can’t handle it and become angry.”

  Varan held up his hands, still shackled in the restraints. “I swear to the gods that I will not harm you for speaking your mind. Ever. There, does that ease your fears of me? I’m not so insecure in myself that I would need to hurt a woman for disagreeing with me or saying something that I didn’t like.”

  She seemed to consider his words, her lips pursed as she thought about what he’d said. After a moment, she answered, “Okay. I will take your word for it, Primus.”

  “You may call me Vengeance if you like.”

  “I heard the jailer earlier; why don’t you go by your given name?”

  Varan grimaced. Do I really need to explain things to her when my brother has been handed a death sentence? It wasn’t a hard question to answer, but the reason why he avo
ided the use of his name had defined who he was as a warrior.

  “I was abducted from my family compound in Texas along with—”

  “Is Texas a city?” Freya asked.

  He chuckled, “No. Texas is a place far away; over the mountains, across a vast desert of sand and beyond.”

  She stared at his hands as he gestured outside and then slowly looked back into his eyes. “How big is the outside?”

  “Huh?”

  “How big…” she grunted in frustration. “How far away is Texas?”

  Varan shrugged. “I was only ten when I was taken. It’s a long ways away though. Do you often travel with the household when we go to the Contest?”

  “Sometimes. I went to a place called Yuba City one time. It took five days of travel to get there.”

  He shuddered at the memory of Yuba. The town had been close to one of the fires that burned away the old world and created the wastes. The place still bore the scars of the destruction wrought so long ago. The worst part was the strange growths that seemed to protrude from everyone who lived there. He’d been worried about contracting whatever disease they had, but Lucas had ensured they stayed only long enough to participate in the Contest and then left promptly.

  “Yuba was a long ways off—the farthest I’ve traveled to fight—but Texas is ten times as far away. And, I’ve heard people say that Texas is only halfway across all the land; that more lay on the far side.”

  “Then why do we stay here?”

  “This is where the House of Miller is located. We’re owned by Lucas, so this is where we stay.” He returned to her earlier question before they’d gotten sidetracked by how big the land was. “I don’t go by my given name because I believed with all of my heart that my family—all of whom are great warriors,” he clarified. “I believed that they’d come and rescue Chaos and me. We waited and waited, the days turned to weeks, months and eventually years. The Traxx never came after us. They abandoned us to our fates.”

  “Maybe they tried to find you, but couldn’t.”

  It was a possibility that he’d fantasized about, but he knew it wasn’t true. The Traxx were renowned for being able to find whoever they were looking for. That fool old man, Aiden, had even told them the story of the first Traxx the night they were abducted. Aeric had traveled for months, all the way from Texas to some other place—he’d long forgotten the name—and found his mother and girlfriend. The ability to seek out lost people was a skill that he’d passed on to all of his family. No, they hadn’t tried to find him or Caleb; they’d simply abandoned them to the slavers.

  “That isn’t what happened. They left us, probably glad to be rid of the mouths to feed.”

  “I heard it, but didn’t understand. What is your given name? May I call you by it?”

  “No!” he replied angrily. “No one calls me by that name except for my brother.”

  Freya stared into her lap. “Forgive me, Primus. I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

  “Oh, now, dammit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get angry. Don’t close up on me, Freya. I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

  She looked from her lap off through the bars where the sounds of feet in the hallway drew her attention. “It sounds like your brother is being brought in. I will go.”

  He nodded and remained in place as the cell door was opened. Cooper shoved his brother, similarly handcuffed, through the door. “Wait!” Varan called. “Freya wishes to return to her cell.”

  “You’ve already had a lover’s spat?” the jailer roared in laughter. “Too bad. Lucas ordered that she’d remain in your cell. You’re stuck with her now, Primus. I’ve sent for her things from the house slave cells. Guess she’s going to learn all of your dirty little secrets now.”

  Cooper continued to laugh as he walked toward the jailer’s office where Varan could smell that his breakfast sat waiting for him. The bastard was following Lucas’ orders exactly, making Freya stay in his cell, regardless of whether he wanted the privacy or not.

  “Brother,” Varan said in a way of greeting as he turned away from the office.

  Caleb inclined his head and motioned toward the girl. The Primus shrugged and muttered, “Looks like you’re stuck in here, Freya. I’m sorry.”

  A look of confusion crossed her face. “Why are you sorry? Cooper’s a broc’s asshole.”

  “It’s kind of my fault. I asked Lucas to allow you to come back to me tonight and he told Cooper that you were to remain with me for as long as I wished.”

  Caleb’s eyebrows shot up. Varan figured that he wanted to say something about him never asking for the same woman two nights in a row, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

  For her part, Freya smiled. He hadn’t noticed how straight and clean her teeth appeared—both a rare occurrence in his experience with women. “Thank you for taking an interest in me, Primus.”

  It’s more intrigue than interest, he thought. There was something in the fire-haired woman, who shared her name with his goddess, that he wanted to know more about.

  “We can continue our talk later. For now, I need to speak with Chaos before Cooper has him returned to his cell.”

  “Of course, I’ll just go… Over here?” she stated, indicating the head of his cushion, which would give the brothers a few feet of privacy.

  Varan and Caleb both laughed at the girl’s obvious awkwardness. Varan had wanted to talk to him alone, but it couldn’t be helped. Freya was here to stay.

  “Sit, Brother. I have news from Lucas.”

  Caleb sat cross-legged across the bench, leaning his back against the bars. “What has he come up with this time? Are we to recreate the great Ragnarok, fighting against Odin and Thor in their final moments before they perished? Or maybe we are to fight unarmed against rabid mountain lions. Could he want us to battle one another in a duel to the death? What if—”

  “Please, stop,” Varan begged. “This is hard for me. Please don’t make it any harder by making jokes about his intentions.”

  Caleb allowed his smile to fade and he leaned forward. “Well, what is it?”

  He took a breath to steady himself. “The Commerce Guild has decided that there may be only one champion.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Caleb answered dismissively. “In truth, I was wondering what was taking them so long. Dual champions are unprecedented—and inconvenient.”

  “It’s not as simple as making one of us the champion, it’s—”

  “Brother, do you enjoy this life?” Caleb asked, cutting him off.

  “What?” The question confused him.

  “Do you enjoy your life?” Caleb repeated. “Being caged like an animal, brought out to parade before the crowds and then kill other men for their enjoyment. Once the fight is over, getting locked away, back in your cage to fuck whomever has paid to become impregnated by the gladiator—” He leaned out and looked toward Freya. “Sorry, present company excluded. What I mean, Vengeance, is this what you want to do for the rest of your days until you are cut down on the sands of the arena one day?”

  “I haven’t—”

  “It’s not what I want,” Caleb said, cutting him off once again. “I tire of this life, Varan.” He held up his hands. “No, don’t tell me to call you ‘Vengeance’ in the presence of others. I know the game we created to help deal with our family’s betrayal, but I want you to know that I’m done.

  “I’m glad the Guild has decided that there will be only one champion. You deserve it so much more than me. You’ve worked hard, and dragged me along with you, but I’m done. I just want to retire, possibly work in the office until I can buy my freedom. Maybe settle down with—”

  “Dammit, Caleb, that’s not the way it’s to be. The Guild intends that you and I fight to the death. Whoever wins is the champion, the loser becomes nutrients for the soil… There is no buying your freedom.”

  A momentary expression of confusion crossed Caleb’s face before he recovered and hid his feelings. “I will refuse to fight. The Guild wi
ll look like fools for putting a man into the arena who won’t do anything.”

  “They will shoot you—and me,” Varan countered. “They have thought of this. I said the same to Lucas and he threatened a fight with the Primus from Crescent City.”

  “The cannibal?” Caleb asked in alarm.

  “The very same. What are we to do, Brother?”

  Caleb unfolded his legs, then stood and walked over to the cell door. He rested his elbows on the crossbeam and placed his face in his shackled hands. The older of the two men stayed in that position for several minutes. Varan’s eyes inadvertently wandered over to Freya. Her cheeks were glistening.

  Who is this woman who weeps for us, without knowing much about me?

  “Brother, do you truly believe in Fólkvangr?” Caleb asked, his voice a harsh croak as it echoed across the hallway. Several men gasped in alarm at his blasphemy.

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  “No. Do you truly believe that there is an afterlife for us? That if we die a noble death in battle, then we’ll go to Freyja’s fields to live in peace for all eternity?”

  “With all of my heart, Chaos,” he replied.

  “What of the followers of Odin? Did they believe with all of their heart that he’d lead them from Valhalla?” Caleb continued. “Odin was destroyed by the Ragnarok. The mightiest warrior in our history and he couldn’t withstand the forces of this world. How did Freyja survive?”

  “I do not know. But she did and she tends the fields until the warriors come home. Týr has promised the faithful, and the gallant, our place with him in heaven.”

  “How do we know that’s true?” Caleb pressed. “We’ve been fed this information about Fólkvangr from the moment we arrived here, but I never remember the Traxx family talking about it. I was thirteen when the slavers took us, so I would have remembered. They never talked of any deities; they relied on themselves to get things done.”

  Varan frowned at his brother’s outright sacrilege against the teachings of the warrior priests. When he’d gone to sleep last night with Freya in his arms, everything was right with the world. It had all changed the moment Cooper woke him this morning. He’d been asked to kill his brother, burdened with a woman whom he knew nothing about and now, Caleb was questioning their religion, the rock-solid foundation that their lives were built upon.