What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  “Come on, I just want to find Vitarr, I don’t have time for this. Can you just skip ahead to the punch line?”

  “It ends with some of the apprentices getting used as food for the rest of the tribe.”

  “I totally get your meaning and I promise to help you in any way I can once I’ve found Vitarr.” Bowe wasn’t even trying to understand, but he could only think about his friend.

  Glil nodded “Very well.” He led Bowe away from the market. When the crowd thinned, Glil turned to Bowe. “You don’t know what I want from you, right?”

  “We can talk about it afterward.”

  “I want to be your Defender.”

  “I don’t have Defenders. That’s for the Elects. Not me. Deadbeats don’t have Defenders.” The air was freshening and becoming saltier as they approached the sea. What would Vitarr be doing down by the docks?

  “You’re more than the average Deadbeat,” Glil said. “You got a large loan from a Raine banker. They don’t hand them out unless they think there’s a good chance of getting paid back. You almost beat Zidel in Harmony. You escaped Dulnato’s trap.”

  “Just dumb luck. I ran straight into Jisri, and Dulnato decided he wanted to kill him more than me.”

  Glil stopped and turned to face Bowe. “It’s not just what has happened since the Path has started. All the children in the mansions are watched. Only a handful show the promise that indicates a chance of selection. Only because it was considered certain that the Guardians wouldn’t chose a Bellanger were you ignored. Everyone thought you’d be killed off on the first day. Then the mentors decided to let you live so now, with the right Defender, I think you can become a strong Elect and challenge the top three.”

  “Come on, let’s keep moving.” Bowe dragged Glil forward until they were walking again. “Promise is one thing, but I haven’t made any progress on the Path. More like the opposite. There’s no way I can pay Alandar back…unless you know how to sell those stolen garnets the newsbard mentioned.” Bowe shook his head. “Forget I said that.” Why had he even mentioned it? He had no intention of helping the Guild.

  “So you do have the beginnings of an enterprise in mind.” Glil smiled. “I might know someone who could help you.”

  “No. I don’t have any garnets or a plan to make money. It was an offhand comment—forget it. Where’s Vitarr?” They were on the docks now. Ships creaked in the wind. Up ahead, the walkways of a large ship with a black hull was guarded by Grenier marshals. This could only be Peace Bringer, the impounded ship from Jarind.

  Glil started running. “It’s is leaving!”

  Bowe sped up to catch him. Glil ran to the edge of the dock and jumped onto a departing barge.

  This time, Bowe didn’t hesitate and end up in the sea. He jumped alongside Glil while the gap between the barge and its platform was less than a pace. His feet landed on the deck and he stumbled to a stop. The air was infested with swarms of flies, and an overripe rotting smell filled the air. “This is an escay funeral barge. Why have you brought me—?”

  A sudden realization hit him. Was Vitarr among the…? No, he couldn’t be. Not Vitarr. Bowe ran to the first corpse and lifted its veil. A middle aged woman stared up at him. She was so thin that her skin seemed painted to her skull.

  Bowe dropped the veil. Of course it wasn’t Vitarr—the body shape was all wrong. He dashed down the line of corpses, checking the bodies. His heart hammered in his chest. He was nearly at the end of the row when he saw one that was the right shape. He knelt down beside it, allowing his breathing to slow while his hand hesitated above the body.

  He snatched the veil off. Vitarr’s dead face filled his vision, then disappeared behind an upwelling of tears. Bowe swiped at his eyes, and Vitarr’s face reappeared. A large bruise ran all the way down one side of his face, and a gash ran across his forehead, another down his nose. Blood congealed in his hair and crusted down one ear. A pressure in Bowe’s stomach made it difficult to breathe.

  He looked up to where Glil watched him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He choked out the words between sobs. “Why didn’t you tell me he was dead?”

  “You knew he was dead.” Glil looked confused. “The newsbard mentioned it while you were listening.”

  Bowe blinked back tears, but more took their place. “I didn’t hear that. I didn’t hear the beginning of what the newsbard said. I thought we were coming to rescue Vitarr.”

  “Dulnato found him and killed him. We’re here to save him from escay burial.” Glil leaned against the railing at the edge of the barge. “I’m sorry you thought he was alive.” He didn’t look sorry. “Dulnato declared that Vitarr fought no better than an escay, and threw him in with their bodies. I thought that’s why you rushed us here, Bowe. To take him back to Raine Mansion to be cremated.”

  The flies and smell disappeared as the barge sailed farther out to sea. The deck swayed beneath them. Bowe looked back down at Vitarr’s lifeless body. He couldn’t see the death wound and didn’t want to look too hard for it. He should never have let Vitarr come with him to see Zidel.

  Bowe leaned forward and tenderly touched his friend’s cool, pale cheek. He filtered out the wounds as he scanned the face again. Death had molded him into a noble marble statue with a serene expression. Perhaps he was finally at peace now, free from the worries of the Path. Bowe forced back his tears. It was too late to rescue him, but at least he could get him off this barge. Save him from Dulnato’s final insult. He was strong enough for that, at least. Bowe stood and noticed for the first time that many escay watched him.

  “Send the barge back,” Bowe demanded. “This is a Green, and he shouldn’t be here.”

  A hooded man approached, wearing a patchwork cloak of grays and browns. “I’m sorry for your loss.” A hood covered his face. “But we must bury everyone else before we return with your friend.”

  Rage seethed through Bowe. Were all the escay he met going to defy him? “Just do what I said.” He shoved the man, trying to push him against the railing, trying to make him see sense. But the man didn’t budge; it was like shoving a wall. The man removed his hood to reveal a shaven head and a face of hard planes. Several long scars cut through his skin.

  His smile showed more gaps than teeth. “No.” He didn’t shout; with a face like that, he didn’t need to.

  Bowe now noticed how the cloth of his cloak was stretched over his shoulders, arms, and chest.

  “I am a priest, and it’s my duty to see to the funeral arrangements. Threaten me as you wish, I have nothing to lose. When I became a priest, I gave up hope of a place in the Refuge. I live only to provide comfort to those around me. Death will be upon me soon, and I do not fear it.”

  Plus, you could probably crush me with your little finger, Bowe thought. He’d always considered it a distinctly ascor trait to accept death, but both Iyra and the priest claimed to be ready to embrace it, as well. Bowe took a long breath. He no longer felt the urgency to get Vitarr off the barge.

  “Very well,” Bowe said to the priest. “You’ll help take my friend to Raine Mansion when we return.”

  The priest nodded. Bowe felt the weight of escay gazes on him. What must they think of him? The ascor knew that death was but a falling from the Path, and here he was, crying like a baby while they stood stoically over their own loved ones. Bowe concentrated on all those soft parts inside him that hurt so much, and tried to imagine them hardening. It didn’t seem to work, but at least he wasn’t crying anymore, and perhaps the effort had made him seem more ascor-like. “We’ll wait in the front cabin,” Bowe said.

  The priest led Glil and Bowe to the front of the barge where a roof gave them protection from the sun. The man holding the wheel didn’t look up as the priest sat on a bench and gestured for Glil and Bowe to join him. They sat in silence, listening to the splash of oars in the water and the shouts of the captain to his first mate. The barge pounded through the water while in the distance fishing boats skimmed along, cutting through the waves. Bowe’s thoughts
kept returning to Vitarr, so he turned to the scarred priest to distract himself. Glil seemed lost in his own thoughts. “What’s your name? You don’t look much like a priest,” Bowe told him.

  “I’m Kaitan. And you don’t look much like someone who’ll become an ascor. Too young. Dare I even say, too green.”

  Bowe smiled. “You’re not the first to think that.”

  “I didn’t say you wouldn’t make it. I overheard your name. Bowe Bellanger, right? I’ve been keeping my eye on the lists, and you’re moving up. If I intended to live beyond the Infernam, I might place a bet on you. Good odds and all that.”

  “I bet you say that to all the tear-streaked Greens who try to hijack your funeral barge.”

  Kaitan laughed. It was a full-bodied laugh that came from his stomach. It made his chest look like it wanted to explode out of his clothes, and Bowe made a mental note not to anger him.

  “You must be a warrior of some kind. Why are you pretending to be a priest?”

  “A year ago, I gave up everything and went to the order—I became a priest. They gave me clothing from the dead, which I sewed together to create new clothes. From that moment, that’s all I have ever owned.”

  “No offense, but you are both a better fighter and priest than you are a tailor. Your clothes could do with being a lot looser.”

  Kaitan laughed again. “Took me several attempts, I can tell you that. I never got the shape right, but I learned to make the stitches strong enough to hold it all together.”

  “And before you became a priest?” Bowe asked. “You don’t survive that many scars without many interesting stories.”

  “I was an Eye fighter. One of the best.”

  The Eye was where public fights took place, with a mix of professional fighters and amateurs trying their luck. The fights were usually to the death.“Don’t all Eye fighters die in the arena?”

  Kaitan revealed a gap-toothed smile. “We try.” One of his scars started at the top of his forehead and ran down the side of his face all the way to his chin.

  “And you didn’t want to die like that?”

  “It wasn’t fear of death that made me stop. It was an aversion to killing.” He sounded sad.

  “You couldn’t have been much of an Eye fighter, then.”

  The priest held Bowe’s gaze. “I didn’t mind fighting and killing fellow fighters. Blood coursing through you like fire…” He clenched his fists. “There was glory in that. It was the only life I ever knew.” A quiver ran through his voice, and for an instant his face took on a savage glare, then it was gone. “At this time of year, though, others step into the Eye—mostly untrained escay with no other way to gain money. No other way of getting themselves or their loved ones into the Refuge. Some Greens too—those who choose the path of the Wolfling. Experienced Eye fighters put on a show before slaughtering untrained fighters. When I was younger, I even enjoyed it.” He grimaced. “Now, the thought of it sickens me. I took up the patchwork cloak instead of taking part this year.”

  There was a wistfulness in the way he spoke of giving up fighting. “And you regret it?” Bowe asked.

  “For me, this is a half life. Just waiting for death. But it feels right.” He placed his fist against his chest. “All I’ve known in my life is how to inflict death. To kill and destroy. That was my joy and passion. But I have this chance to do something worthy before leaving this scarred hunk of meat behind. So I regret it and don’t at the same time. Does that make sense?”

  Bowe wondered if that was what he should try to do. Find something worthy before he fell from the Path. He thought about the Deadbeats—they were made fun of for walking the Path in their own way with no hope of survival. Yet, they usually took part in something that gave them joy. Like that Green performer in Drywell Square, Xarcon. What had Bowe done with his time on the Path? He’d been trying to protect Vitarr. Perhaps he was seeking redemption for betraying Chalori. But now that Vitarr was dead, what was he to do? He was still a Deadbeat. Unless… He looked across at Glil who still was lost in his thoughts. Unless he tried to become an Elect. Only he’d need some way to make money. The only way he could come up with right now for that… No. He wasn’t willing to help the Guild, and that was that.

  Bowe cast a sidelong glance at Kaitan. “You think I should become a Wolfling?”

  “It would be quicker and cleaner to throw you overboard today.” He stood up. “I heard the anchor dropping, so the funerals will begin shortly. Come along if you wish.”

  Bowe followed the priest out. It hadn’t been a serious question; he knew he had no chance in the Eye against virtually anyone, so a Wolfling was out. Becoming a Shadow—someone who successfully assassinated important Greens—was just as impossible. His only hope would be that Dulnato would die laughing at the thought of being hunted by a runt like Bowe. To become a Defender, he would have needed to have wormed his way into the trust of someone like Reyanu well before the Path began. Of course here were ways to walk the Path without choosing one of the main routes—that had been what he’d aimed for when he’d first visited the mentors. It hadn’t exactly worked out well for him though. That led him back back to Elect once again. Perhaps he’d be better off as a Deadbeat and not even trying to survive the Path.

  Beyond the shade, the sun attacked with renewed force, and Bowe only now realized how pleasant it had been sitting under the awning with the breeze blowing the heat away. He looked back to see that Glil remained behind. A semicircle of escay gathered around the edge of the barge. Bowe felt out of place—unwelcome, almost—but didn’t want to push through them to go back and join Glil.

  They were outside Arcandis bay now, out on open sea. The air smelled clean and wholesome. The barge bobbed gently in rhythm with the sound of water lapping against its hull. Even at this distance, the outline of the four great mansions within the city was unmistakable.

  “Ooom-a-ma. Ooom-a-ma.” The escay began to chant and two patchwork cloaked men walked into the middle of the semi-circle. A corpse swayed in the cloth sling they carried between them. “Ooom-a-ma. Ooom-a-ma.” They lowered it to the deck. A young girl with a rock tied to her feet stared sightlessly. Her face was as pale as Vitarr’s, though her skin had more of a translucent quality.

  A woman sobbed into the shoulder of the man beside her. Kaitan spoke. “Would one of you like to share a story with us?”

  The woman disentangled herself from her partner’s shoulder and stepped into the semi-circle. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she looked down at the child. “One day, a few years back, Ana brought back an injured bird. One wing was broken—it had no chance of survival. It wasn’t even a pretty bird. Ana insisted we help it, and we let her put the bird in straw and feed it. She was inconsolable when the bird died.” The woman sobbed. “She had a kind heart. She was too good for this world.” Tears fell from the woman’s cheeks and landed on the face of the child. Her partner put his arm around her and led her away.

  The priests took the straps and carried the body to the barge’s edge. One held the feet over the water and the other raised the head. “She goes to a better place,” the fighter-priest intoned. A priest pushed the rock overboard and body slid down over the edge. With a splash, it disappeared beneath the waves.

  The two priests went back for another body. “Ooom-a-ma. Ooom-a-ma.” Bowe heard all their stories: the boy with the cheeky grin who shouldn’t have used it so much on the marshals; the grandmother who had decided to forgo her place in the Refuge and just help her family, but hadn’t allowed herself enough food to survive even that long; the child who always had a smile for her mother even when he fell ill; the man who drank too much but always had a joke on his lips and a smile on his face.

  “Ooom-a-ma. Ooom-a-ma.” They were mourned and they were celebrated. They were all sent to a better place by the fighter-priest, and they splashed into the sea one by one.

  Bowe knew they were just escay, so he clenched his eyes shut and concentrated on hardening those squishy parts within him. It was
difficult not to cry, though; he was still raw over the death of Vitarr. The more he hardened himself, the less sad he became, and the more his anger grew. But he wasn’t even sure what he was angry at.

  He thought back to Chalori’s funeral. The heat. The three mourners. The smell of ash and dust. Chalori’s large body had been beautifully dressed and her face had enough makeup that she was barely recognizable. He remembered his anger at Ariastiana, who had come to gloat over another wife she had outlived. There had been no celebration of Chalori’s life.

  As the final escay disappeared, Bowe gripped the fighter-priest’s sleeve. “I’d like my friend—” The words caught in his throat.

  His request was understood. “Are you sure?” Kaitan asked.

  Bowe swallowed and nodded. The fighter-priest gestured to the bearers, and they went back for Vitarr’s body.

  “Ooom-a-ma. Ooom-a-ma,” the mourners chanted.

  Bowe joined in. “Ooom-a-ma. Ooom-a-ma.” He released his pent-up tears.

  “Ooom-a-ma. Ooom-a-ma.” The priests placed Vitarr’s body on the deck.

  “Would one of you like to share a story with us?” Kaitan asked, and Bowe stepped forward. He glanced down at Vitarr’s face, but that was too painful, so he looked out at the horizon as he spoke.

  “I remember finding Vitarr out on a balcony in the middle of a storm,” Bowe said. “The curtains were blowing back, and droplets of rain flew into the room. Vitarr held his arms outstretched embracing the weather. “I love the feel of rain against my skin,” he told me. He could lose himself in a moment, find happiness in the littlest thing. He found joy in life, but knew life would hold no joy for him. He wasn’t made for the ascorim, for the Green Path. He was a better person than that. I think he’d like it here surrounded by water, away from the heat.”

  “He goes to a better place,” Kaitan said. There was a splash, and he was gone.

  The escay dispersed, but Bowe remained there, staring at the horizon. He realized what he was angry at: it was the Path itself. And he understood why he was having trouble accepting it. To be angry at the Path was tantamount to being angry at the core of what it meant to be ascor. Vitarr didn’t deserve to die, but making him walk the Path was a death sentence. Could the Green Path be evil? He shuddered to even think of it.