Frodan’s shoulders twitched as we all sprang apart. There was a strange moment where we all looked at one another in shock. Then Frodan gave me a wink.
“Is it done?” Sorani asked.
I couldn’t speak, but managed a nod. The Paradise Giver button had made solid contact with Frodan’s arm. There was no going back. I tore the shawl from my shoulders and threw it in the corner, unmindful of the danger of the protruding needle.
Sorani and Frodan stood watching each other like Eye fighters facing off. Then Frodan swayed. Sorani and I raced in and grabbed him as he fell. We helped him into a sitting position. I was crying now, my vision blurring. I angrily wiped the tears away, but I couldn’t keep my eyes dry. I tried to tell Frodan what I’d done, but my voice kept breaking and he insisted he didn’t want to know the secret to Arion’s Paradise Givers; he just wanted to talk about old times.
And that’s what we did. I cried through the whole conversation, though I laughed, too, at times. We talked about how every day was a new adventure when we were younger. The boyish pranks we had gotten up to—the times we’d been caught, and the times we hadn’t. We remembered how Sorani’s arm had gotten caught in a rodent hole and he’d become terrified his fingers would be eaten off, and how Frodan’s dramatic attempt to swing from one tree to another had ended with him crashing face-first into the trunk. About the day we’d borrowed a fishing boat, spent all day jumping into and playing in the water. We had paid for that with several days of painful, peeling red skin. But we decided it had been worth the cost.
“This has been worth the cost, too,” Frodan said.
We asked him what he meant, but he never replied. His breathing became shallow and his eyes closed. We each took one hand and we watched him take his last breaths.
“What have we done?” I asked Sorani, but he didn’t reply. He stood and turned away from me.
“What have I done?” I asked Frodan’s lifeless corpse. I buried my face in his chest and the tears came anew. “What have I done?”
Chapter 10
When the Infernam came, I was selected and I chose Sorani. We were the only two from Lessard Mansion to survive the Green Path.
The Bellanger Elect and the Grenier Wolfling were also selected. The Raine Elects and their Defenders had a battle in which many on both sides were killed. With both groupings severely weakened, neither of those two Elects was selected; instead it was the second Shadow, who came from the Grenier family, who became the Raine Select.
Chapter 11
I put down my quill and shake the stiffness from my hand. I am weary, not from lack of sleep, but weary in a way no seventeen-year-old should be. Around me, torches are lit and people are stretching, readying themselves to leave. I wrote nearly the whole account in total darkness, so writing this last bit under torchlight seemed strange. Around me, there is a wordless anticipation and excitement. The Infernam is ending, and we are about to leave the Refuge.
I think about what I have written. Everything is much clearer in my head now. I leaf through the pages, looking at various details, focusing on key turning points. My hand quivers as I turn to my account of doing what I could never have believed myself capable of—killing my own brother. There is no excuse there, no exoneration of my action. I could pretend that it happened because of Sorani’s nudge and the way Frodan jerked toward me. I could claim it was an accident, that I was off-balance with blood pounding through my veins and my brothers shouting, demanding resolution. But I can’t lie to myself. There was a moment when I could have pulled back. Instead I dipped my shoulder and murdered a brother that I loved dearly. I am an abhorrent monster.
I still don’t know why exactly I did it. There wasn’t a calculation, a deliberate decision. Was it because Sorani had solved Arion’s trick, thus winning the duel between the two brothers? Was it because I wanted it to be over, because I couldn’t take the agony of having to go through another decision-making process? I was weak and took the easy option.
Frodan was the best of us. I think back to Grayer and Arion’s prank when we were younger and how Frodan had volunteered his life for mine. Afterward Sorani had said that the next time he would be the one offering himself to save Frodan, and I had said the same. I glance over to where Sorani is pacing back and forth, anxious to get out. Neither of us had made the offer when the time came.
I remember how nine-year-old Frodan had winked at me after his body fought off the poison, letting me know that he was alive and was going to stay that way. And that reminds me of a second wink. I look down at the page and read about the moment I nudged the Paradise Giver against Frodan and how he winked at me immediately after.
I barely registered the wink at the time, but now I consider it more fully. This time, it didn’t announce that he was going to live, but rather the opposite. Though at the time, he didn’t even know he was certain to die. Or did he? A flash of realization hits me so hard that my whole body jerks. It wasn’t just Sorani who had figured out Arion’s trick. Frodan had known. He knew what it meant when Sorani moved me to the other side of them. He knew what it meant when I touched my shoulder against him. He knew and went along with it. Just like when he was younger, he offered up his life in place of his brothers.
Tears splash down onto the pages. Sorani and I didn’t deserve to have a brother like Frodan. I now realize that Frodan’s wink was his final gift to me. He wanted me to know that he knew. He wanted me to know that he offered himself freely. And it does make a difference. I feel a lightening of the load on my heart. If I see Frodan’s death as a gift offered rather than a life stolen, perhaps I can live with myself. I am a monster, but perhaps we are all monsters, those of us who walk the Green Path and arrive at the other end.
I glance at Sorani again. We have dealt with Frodan’s death in opposite ways. He looks forward; I look backward. I remember him talking about one of us becoming Guardian one day, and I gesture for him to sit beside me. He does.
“I don’t want us to ever compete with each other,” I say, “but always work together.”
“Of course.” He nods. “I can imagine it no other way.”
“You can’t now. But years will go by, there’ll be schemes, we’ll start playing the ascorim and maneuvering for position. I don’t want there to ever be serious fighting between us.”
Sorani nods. It doesn’t need to be said that this is a vow to honor Frodan’s memory. He wouldn’t have wanted us to be anything except best friends, and he gave so much for us.
“I won’t seek to become Guardian,” I continue, “and will support you instead if the time comes.”
Sorani hesitates for a moment then nods.
I pick up the pages and bring them to the nearest torch and hold them against the flames. Once they are on fire, I drop them to the ground and watch them blacken, burn, and finally turn into a pile of black ash.
I won’t live my life under a rock of guilt, I decide. I will accept Frodan’s gift and move forward.
THE END
* * *
The Narrowing Path
The Treacherous Path
The Collapsing Path
*
The Complete Trilogy
The Narrowing Path – Prologue
Dread coiled inside my stomach. It wasn’t that I would be seeing so many corpses; as ascor, we accepted death before we ever became Greens. But this was an ending beyond death. I shared a glance with Cenarro and could see that the old man felt the same as I did.
The heat, heavy and wet, pushed down on me. Each time the Infernam came, it seemed as though my spine curved another notch. I could no longer stand as tall as I used to. Today was a day for a bowed head, in any case. A sad day.
“Come on Kesirran, let’s get this over with,” Stenesso said to me. He stood erect and strong as ever. There was an edge of triumph in his voice that disturbed me. This was a night for regret and reflection, not gloating. He didn’t understand like Cenarro and I did. Stenesso was too young to lead, but the Greniers always favo
red raw strength above wisdom.
The three of us approached the mansion. Stenesso nodded to the marshals and they moved aside. He struggled with the door, and only when he put his shoulder to it and shoved hard did it lurch open. He slid inside and the door shut behind him. When I pushed through after him, I was hit with a wave of nausea as the stench of sweat, excrement, and vomit hit me. Children’s bodies lay piled up against the door and on the floor. I tried to avoid looking too closely at the small corpses, but the images burned themselves into my brain. Bile seared my throat. Some of their faces looked serene and peaceful; others’ were frozen into a rictus of horror. A black tongue poked out of one mouth. A red haired boy had scratches across his face. One child’s hands clutched at another boy’s throat.
It was such a waste for all these children to perish like this. The boys should have had a chance to die as Greens. It was our way.
“Helion’s shadow,” Stenesso said. “It’s a good thing we set marshals to guard the house, or we could have dead ascor children littered all around town. The bloody Bellangers couldn’t even do this right.” He kicked a body out of his way and moved down the hallway.
He was right. They should have taken care of the children’s deaths before seeing to their own. Cenarro and I followed Stenesso as he led us to the base of the stairs. Through a far doorway, I could see four men collapsed over a Harmony board. Playing the game until the very end—that, I could understand. It would have been a fine way to go, if they hadn’t left dead children strewn about.
“Why do we have to go through here?” Stenesso asked, looking about. “They’re all dead—the marshals could have told us that.”
“You still haven’t grasped it,” Cenarro said. “One of the four families is no more. One of the cornerstones of our society has toppled, and you seem to think it’s no more than a few escay dying in the fighting Eye.”
“You live in the past,” Stenesso said. “There were four ascor families; now there are three. Death comes to all things.”
I sighed. I couldn’t understand how Stenesso could think like that. We were elected Guardians, with a duty to mind not just our own families, but all the ascor, plus the lower classes—the marshals and the escay. We were responsible for the health of the whole of Arcandis society. Losing the Bellangers—who knew what ramifications that would cause?
Was this a failing of our way of life? I wondered. Each family schemed against the others—that was what the ascorim was all about. But balance was maintained due to each family being equally powerful and equally adept at the ascorim. The Green Path ensured that only the best of our sons survived to become ascor. It shouldn’t have been possible for a whole family to collapse.
We climbed the stairs. The wood creaked at every step. Many of the candles had been knocked down and extinguished. The remaining ones weren’t bright enough to chase away the gloom; they sent shadows fluttering into the corners. Portraits of ancient Bellanger Guardians lined the stairwell. Their previously noble and aloof countenances now seemed filled with scorn. A solitary table held a white vase, patterned with spiraling blue ivy, that had somehow not been knocked over. The flowers it held were withered and blackened.
When we reached the landing, Stenesso pushed open one of the bedroom doors, made a disgusted noise, and shut it again. I got a brief glimpse of intertwined corpses in a four-poster bed draped with white lace. “Bowe Bellanger died as he lived,” he said. “Pursuing his own gratification above all else.”
That wasn’t fair. Bowe Bellanger had been a fine leader until the moment of crisis. But when his family really needed him, he’d proven himself unworthy. What had seemed like a small food shortage had swiftly deteriorated and events had overwhelmed the Bellanger family. And once they became destitute—it had been shockingly sudden at the end—the family had no option except to commit suicide. But for seeing to his own pleasure while poisoned children ran amok—I felt some of Stenesso’s distaste for the Bellanger Guardian.
“Kesirran, you’ve been here more often than me—you know layout. Where else will we find bodies?” Stenesso asked.
I almost smiled. That was what the game—the ascorim—was all about: little barbs associating me with the Bellanger family as they lay dead around us. I found it strangely comforting. The ascorim went on; there was no true end here. Of course, it seemed Stenesso knew where everything was better than me; he’d even known the location of Bowe Bellanger’s bedroom. As I was about to defend myself, I heard something. In a house of the dead, the smallest sound seems magnified.
“What was that?” I asked. We waited a moment in silence until I thought I had imagined it. Then a baby started crying, followed by a loud crash.
We followed the baby’s cries down the hallway to a part of the mansion I had never been in before. Stenesso led the way in long strides. By the time I reached him, Stenesso held the baby aloft, his fist gripping the back of the baby’s white clothes. The baby, facedown, roared, kicking and punching at the air while blood seeped from several wounds. Below him were shards of porcelain from a broken vase. Stenesso shook him. “Look, they’re not all dead. Bellangers are as hard to get rid of as rebellious escay.” He pulled his knife from his belt.
Cenarro sucked in air. “What are you doing? You can’t just kill him.”
I turned sharply toward Cenarro. For once, I was on Stenesso’s side. There was no choice here.
“That’s a Bellanger child,” Cenarro said. “We don’t have the right to kill him. Give him to me.” Stenesso was too surprised to react as Cenarro took the baby and cradled him. The baby continued to struggle and cry.
“We’ve just waded through scores of the little buggers. Another corpse won’t make a difference,” Stenesso said.
“None of the rest were murdered. As a family, the Bellangers decided on mass suicide.” Cenarro rubbed blood from the baby’s cheeks. As he did so, I noticed that Cenarro wore a ring with a sapphire on it. I must have been terribly distracted to not notice that before. Why would he wear the Bellanger gemstone on this night?
“The Bellangers made a mistake that we have to correct. He was meant to die,” Stenesso said.
“If he was meant to die, he would be dead.”
“Don’t bandy words with me. You know what has to be done.”
“Yes. And I’m doing it.” Cenarro held out the child to me and I took him instinctively.
I should have calculated first. I played the ascorim in my sleep; I never did anything without thinking it through. And yet, there I was, holding the baby. I could still have handed him to Stenesso. But Cenarro knew me well—I preferred to let events follow their course when possible rather than change them. Everyone who played the ascorim had their style, and this was mine. Handing the baby to Stenesso was different from not interfering.
Stenesso’s grin disappeared as he realized Cenarro wasn’t joking, and might even have an ally. “You can’t agree with him,” he said to me.
“No...I don’t know.” Letting him live seemed a needless complication. But I feared the vacuum created by the missing family. I knew one child wouldn’t make any real difference, but maybe it would seem less final: make it feel like the Bellanger family was not gone for good.
“Will you take him in?” Cenarro asked me. “Let him grow up in your family and he can become a Green in his time like the rest? That will decide if he’s meant to live or die.” It was clear now that Cenarro had taken the loss of the fourth ascor family even worse than I did. Wearing the sapphire ring was his way of showing solidarity with them, and now he saw a chance to help them.
“He’ll have no friends, only enemies. He’ll have no hope on the Path.” But even as I said that, letting him live seemed right. It was the ascor way: let the Green Path decide who lived and who died. That would be a much more fitting end to the Bellangers.
Stenesso growled. He could see from my expression that I was coming around to Cenarro’s way of thinking, and that he was outvoted. “We don’t even know the kid’s name. He
could have been spawned by any of them.”
“Does it matter?” Cenarro asked. The baby’s cries had quieted now, as if he understood that the danger was over.
“Let’s call him Bowe, after the last great Bellanger leader,” Stenesso said. “You know, the one presently rotting away in his grave of female flesh.”
“Very well,” I said. “Bowe, the last Bellanger. I’ll rear him at Raine Mansion. He’ll live until his first day as a Green.”
The Narrowing Path – Chapter 1
51 Days Left
Purple light washed across the cityscape. Bowe Bellanger leaned against the railing on the highest balcony of Raine mansion, thinking of what was to come. He knew death to be a small thing, a simple stepping off the Path. And still he couldn’t stop fear from infecting his thoughts and tearing at his gut.
Footsteps sounded from behind and Vitarr joined him on the balcony, leaning down alongside him. “I’ve been searching for you. Dinner is already on the table.” There wasn’t much room on the balcony, and Vitarr was half a head taller than Bowe and much broader. He had a thickness to his body that encompassed his arms, legs and shoulders, but also included his nose, brow, and ears. Bowe tended to shy away from human contact, but Vitarr was an exception. He took comfort in the way their arms touched.
Bowe stared up at Helion, the purple moon that dominated the night sky. It was now over twice the size of the sun. It was to blame for what was to come, but it was pointless to curse at a heavenly body. It came every six years, and they had to deal with the consequences. He wiped sweat from his brow.
“Ever think about what might have been?” Vitarr gestured at the silhouette of the uninhabited Bellanger mansion off in the distance.
[Narrowing Path 00] - The Cruel Path Page 6