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 big fight 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
This is a prequel set thirty years before events in The Narrowing Path series. In the main series, Bowe, a thirteen-year-old Green and the last of the Bellanger family, isn’t satisfied with just surviving the Green Path, he wants to help his friends too. For that, he can’t just win, he has to change the rules.
Both Eolnar and Sorani, high in the ascor hierarchy, have a part to play in what is to come.
Find out more: www.davidjnormoyle.com/the-narrowing-path
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Consider leaving a review on your favorite book site to spread the word.
Book One of the main series, The Narrowing Path, was published in April 2013. The two sequels, The Treacherous Path and The Collapsing Path, are due out in 2014. The best way to keep up to date on when they are released is to sign up for an email alert. Join up here: www.davidjnormoyle.com/mailinglist
Alternatively, like my facebook page: www.facebook.com/DavidJNormoyle
And check out my website www.davidjnormoyle.com to find out about me and my other books.
Other Books by David J. Normoyle
Myth Weaver An introverted teenager has to keep the Norse and Greek gods from each other’s throats without losing his own grip on reality.
www.davidjnormoyle.com/myth-weaver
Crimson Dream Haunted by a dream of his beloved sister’s death, an asthmatic teenager leads his people against a long forg
otten enemy.
www.davidjnormoyle.com/crimson-dream
COPYRIGHT
THE CRUEL PATH
Copyright © 2013 by David J. Normoyle
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art © 2013 by Paul Davies
Edited by Ashley Davis
Proofed by Sarah J. Duffy
First eBook edition: November 2013
Published by David J. Normoyle
www.davidjnormoyle.com
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
The Cruel Path Page 6