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

by David J Normoyle

  A deep weariness pinned Bowe to the floor. He focused on Edison and tried to think about the Green Path. The images hit him much harder than Sorrin’s slap on his cheek. Vitarr’s inert body being pummeled by Dulnato, then his serene expression on the funeral barge; Jisri falling into the sea with a knife in his eye socket; Cetu being sliced to pieces by the Eye fighter while his screams cut the air. “The Green Path is a monstrous thing.” He threw the weariness from himself like a cloak and pushed himself up to a sitting position, looking at each of the Deadbeats in turn. “It is an evil beyond describing. To make young men walk is a terrible crime against the natural order. And the ascor who make us do it are perpetuating that evil.” Then Bowe started giggling. “‘Perpetuate’ is a funny word.”

  “See, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Xarcon said. “It is not truth he speaks, but madness.”

  “It is often madness to speak the truth.” Sorrin helped the patient back into a lying position. Bowe’s burst of energy had died as quickly as it had arrived. “Anyone with eyes can see that he speaks what he believes to be the truth.”

  “Do you expect us to believe you when you say you won’t accept selection unless you can bring all your followers into the Refuge?” Edison asked Bowe.

  “I don’t.” Bowe’s eyelids became heavy. He let them fall, and spoke into the darkness. “Anyone who follows the ascorim wouldn’t believe me. All I know is that I cannot—no, will not—walk the Path as it now exists. If there is no other way, death has beckoned me all my life. I don’t want Defenders; I want a brotherhood where we walk forward together—where either all of us survive, or none of us.”

  If anyone replied, Bowe didn’t hear them.

  Chapter 14

  13 Days Left

  Bowe twisted the azure cloak in his hands. He’d put on his tunic and pants, then taken them off after deciding they were too hot, and now had put them back on. He had nothing else to wear to an ascor event, so he would just have to suffer the heat. It was crazy to have an event take place in the afternoon this close to the Infernam, but he had to put up with it. This Harmony match was important—at least, he thought it was. Eolnar had, as promised, arranged a place in a qualifying match—if Bowe won, he’d play against the Guardians on the evening before the Infernam. Glil considered playing too risky, but Bowe tended to ignore Glil’s conservative advice. The Path didn’t leave much room for prudence.

  Bowe walked onto a balcony that looked out over the central courtyard. He hoped that the fresh air would cool him. But the outside was worse—like a furnace expelling hot air. Beneath him, Edison trained alone, hacking and slashing the stuffing out of several dummies. In the center of the courtyard, Thrace was putting a row of escay teenagers through their paces. Bowe didn’t understand how they trained in this heat. Their arrival at Bellanger Mansion had been one of many shocks for Bowe when he had woken up.

  He couldn’t even remember persuading the Deadbeats to join with him, though he’d heard the basics repeated by the newsbards many times since. How Bowe Bellanger had recruited a handful of Defenders while lying in his sickbed was their new favorite story. Only shards of his five fevered days in bed remained in his memory. Much good had come out of that fever, though—he’d achieved more in his short time of sickness than in all the time he was well.

  He’d apparently insisted that they bring him to Bellanger Mansion in a stretcher. He didn’t have to fear the Raine marshals now that his loan was repaid. The whole brotherhood now resided here—plus others. He wasn’t sure why the escay girls had arrived to clean, or why escay boys had arrived to start training as guards—though he knew Iyra had something to do with it.

  The escay boys barely knew which end of the sword to hold when they’d first arrived. Edison had tried to train them, and they’d all left nursing more bruises and cuts than they were willing to bear. After they had been coaxed back, Thrace had started training them. He shouted a lot, but he didn’t hit them as much as Edison. Things were improving. They were now able to pick up the sword by the handle instead of the blade nearly every time.

  Bowe rubbed his fingers along the wooden balcony railing. It felt great to see the mansion coming back to life. In the courtyard, scrub brush had been cleared away to make room for the sparring. There were still many weeds, but it was getting better. The escay girls had started cleaning up years upon years of dust from the interior one room at a time. It had begun to look less like a derelict building and more like the grand mansion it had once been. Bowe hadn’t received any more gold from Iyra since she’d paid off his loan, so he assumed she was using the rest to pay the escay servants and guards.

  The bet-takers had been impressed with his latest progression along the Path, and Bowe had edged up the lists into the top ten. Heady heights for someone who had been nailed to the bottom for so long. Perhaps Bowe should obtain more of that poison and antidote from Jeniano.

  Jisri had moved up the lists, as well. The White Spider had developed a business that concentrated on selling to the ascora. By all reports, it was wildly successful already. Bowe was indebted to Jisri for saving him from Dulnato, so he was glad to see him doing well, but it meant more competition at the top. The Path was only going to get narrower, and Bowe needed every edge. That was why he needed to compete at this qualifying Harmony match. He had to win in order to be invited to the next ascor event. He couldn’t let the ascor forget him.

  It was time for him to be off. He left the balcony and descended the stairs. In an alcove halfway down, an ornate turquoise vase rested. That was new. Courtesy of Sindar, expensive-looking objects had begun popping up throughout the mansion. In addition, one object that wasn’t from Sindar had appeared in Bowe’s bedroom. It was the lion carving he’d admired on Iyra’s stall. He didn’t understand why she’d left it. Their last parting had been acrimonious, yet she continued to help him.

  Bowe heard the front door opening, and he looked up in time to see Xarcon exiting. “Wait up,” Bowe shouted and ran down the stairs two at a time. Xarcon looked like he wanted to flee, but thought better of it and held the door open for Bowe with a nervous smile.

  “Where are you off to?” Bowe asked. “I’m on my way to that Harmony match I’ve been practicing for.”

  “I’m just going to visit with the street performers.”

  “You should keep training with them. Sindar still gets involved in nocturnal adventures and Edison continues to train for the Eye. We’ve started something great here,” Bowe said, gesturing at the revitalized mansion, “but I’m not sure exactly how to proceed. You may as well do what you enjoy. And the skills you learn could prove useful later on.” Bowe moved into the street. “Come, walk with me. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

  Xarcon walked alongside Bowe. Although he had joined Bowe’s brotherhood along with Sindar, Thrace, and Edison, he seemed more reticent than the others, almost afraid of Bowe. Bowe wondered if he had said something under the influence of the fever that had offended or frightened Xarcon. “I can’t remember much of what I said when I was sick, but Sorrin told me I said I killed my mother. I’m worried that you might have gotten the wrong impression. I didn’t really kill Chalori, my—well, I guess you could call her my foster mother. I blame myself, but I didn’t actually kill her. She committed suicide.”

  Xarcon studied the ground as they walked; he didn’t react to Bowe’s words.

  “Come on,” Bowe insisted. “Every time I look at you, I know there’s something you want to talk to me about. Let it out.”

  “Okay, let’s talk.” Xarcon pulled Bowe down an alleyway, and Bowe was too surprised to resist. “You told me about the escay organization that you are working with.”

  Helion’s blood, mentioning that was stupid. “I see.” Xarcon’s attitude made sense now. “And the others—Sorrin, Edison, Thrace—did they hear the same?”

  “Thankfully not. You mentioned it when we were alone. I was sure you were going to blurt it out again, but it didn’t happen.” Xarcon
didn’t meet Bowe’s gaze, but his expression showed his revulsion at talking about the Guild.

  “I’m surprised you joined our brotherhood after what you learned.”

  “Everyone joined together and I just went along with it. Hoping for some explanation, maybe. I don’t know.” Xarcon swallowed. “You don’t even deny it. I can’t understand how you can just stand there and be so brazen about it. You’re not sick anymore.”

  Bowe paused for a moment before replying. “There’s a picture in a children’s book that I think about a lot.” Bowe let his gaze drift, visualizing it. “It’s a simple black and white photo of a candlestick, but underneath is the caption, ‘Look closer.’ After studying it for a few moments, you can see that it’s actually a picture of two women’s faces studying each other. Once I saw the women’s faces, I could no longer see the candlestick. Do you get my meaning?”

  “That you are still fevered?” Xarcon suggested.

  Bowe laughed. “I was hoping for more of a revelation about perspective. But maybe you are right. Perhaps I am crazy. Though, I bet your feelings toward escay have changed since you started living with them. What if everything you thought you knew when you lived in Lessard Mansion was a lie? What if everything you think you know about the...about that organization is distorted?”

  “Let’s continue walking.” Xarcon led them back onto the main street. “You must be burning up in those clothes.”

  “I’ll need a water hose inserted down my throat so I can be re-inflated when I reach Lessard Mansion.”

  “We can’t have that.” Xarcon inserted a finger into each side of his mouth and whistled. A passing rickshaw pulled over. “No one is walking to Lessard Mansion—certainly not one of the competitors. You know that.”

  Bowe had needed a rickshaw to get to the ascor ball, but he’d hoped to get away without one this time, since he was invited. But Xarcon was right—appearances were important. “I don’t have any money.”

  Xarcon reached into his pocket, pulled out a few coppers, and gave them to the rickshaw puller, then turned back to Bowe. “I still make a few coins. If you can’t figure out another way of making money, I might have to get you out in the square with the performers soon. Always room for a good clown.”

  Bowe swung into the rickshaw. “Thanks for the help. Does that mean you understand what I said? About...you know.”

  “It means I’ll think about it.”

  Bowe nodded and leaned back in the rickshaw, letting the drape fall across the window. It was a huge relief to be out of the direct sun, and Bowe tugged rapidly at the front of his tunic, fanning air against the skin of his chest.

  He wiped sweat from his hairline. He now wished that he’d listened to the tailor. At the time, he’d never considered that he might need to wear the clothing more than once, never mind during the daytime this close to the Infernam. The rickshaw jolted back and forth, only slowing when the puller shouted at people to get out of the way. Bowe took deep breaths; he didn’t want to arrive hot and flustered. He wondered about Xarcon. Would he be too frightened of the Guild to keep helping Bowe? Xarcon was one of the few Greens who respected and liked the escay, so if he couldn’t accept the Guild, who else would?

  “Lessard Mansion, sir,” came a shout, and the rickshaw jolted to a halt. Bowe stepped out of the rickshaw and walked inside, nodding to the marshals on guard. Out of the corner of his eye, Bowe spotted a face he thought he recognized, but when he turned, there was no sign of the man. He frowned. Had that been one of Dulnato’s Defenders? He was likely up to no good, but Bowe couldn’t be sure he’d even seen him, so he shook his head and continued into the mansion.

  Bowe was directed into the ballroom. As soon as he walked in the door, Eolnar dragged him aside. “Sorry about this. I’ve done all I could, but the Raines and Greniers have combined to ensure that one of them will win.”

  Bowe’s spirits fell. “You mean I won’t get to compete?” All the time he’d spent practicing the full four-player version of Harmony with Sorrin, Glil, and Edison now seemed a waste. Bowe looked around—ascor and ascora no longer stared at him the way they had at the ball. He was expected this time.

  “No, the players are set. I had no luck in getting the other judges to agree with me. Normally there would be a three-way impasse between the three judges, and I hoped they would choose you as a compromise winner. But there’s a Grenier/Raine pact this year—Legrand will support the Raine candidate.”

  “We haven’t even played yet! How can you judge already?”

  Eolnar tilted his head and looked at Bowe with an amused expression. “We know what the outcome will be, more or less. All four of you are excellent players, so it’ll likely end in a three- or four-way draw.”

  “Then the judges will decide who played the best, and he will be declared the winner,” Bowe said. “But they’ll have made up their mind already.”

  “Exactly. The judges will, of course, decide based on the ascorim, not on how the Harmony game was actually played. That’s just the way the world works.” Eolnar touched Bowe’s arm. “I was looking forward to seeing a Bellanger as the fourth player once more in the Grand Match; it wasn’t the same last time with three Guardians and one marshal.” He shrugged. “But that isn’t to be.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Bowe muttered under his breath as Eolnar moved back into the crowd. There would be no four-way draw, not with the way Bowe intended to play. He might lose horribly, but if he didn’t, the other players would find themselves in a Harmony game such as they’d never played before.

  “Players, take your positions.” Bowe recognized the voice—it was Jeniano’s. Bowe hoped he wasn’t in a poisoning mood.

  The crowd swirled toward the edges of the ballroom, leaving the center vacant except for the large circular table with three marshals sitting at it. A large Harmony set was laid out, and Bowe took the fourth seat. The board was checkered black and gold. In front of Bowe were the azure-colored pieces. Opposite Bowe on the other side of the board were the sea green pieces, and behind them sat a marshal who Bowe recognized. Tokanu gave Bowe a nod. Sitting in front of the silver pieces was the Raine captain of the guards, Myro. Taking control of the scarlet Harmony pieces was a Grenier marshal Bowe didn’t know.

  Behind Tokanu, a high table was set up with three chairs. Jeniano sat on the middle chair. As Bowe watched, Eolnar took his place to the right of Jeniano. Another man took the last seat. Bowe had never seen him before, but knew he must be Legrand, the Eyemaster and third judge. He had dyed his hair scarlet. Bowe had to force himself to stop staring.

  “Welcome, all. Welcome.” Jeniano stood and waited for the room to quiet. “Welcome to the second ever sexennial qualifying match. After the demise of the Bellanger family—current company excluded,” Jeniano said, his eyes flickering to Bowe, “the Guardians needed to decide what to do about the Grand Sexennial Harmony Match. Some argued for the tournament to be canceled, but the Guardians decided to honor the marshals of Arcandis by offering them a chance to play in a qualifying match. Six years ago, the Grenier marshal, Kirande, won the seat. He went on to play in the Grand Sexennial Match against the Guardians and acquitted himself with pride, though he lost. He was later raised to become an ascor by Stenesso.”

  Jeniano paused for a smattering of applause. There was clear division in who clapped. The Raines and Lessards were not happy about the number of marshals raised to ascor by the Greniers. “Today, three marshals have the honor of being selected to play for this great prize. Gentlemen, I’d like you to congratulate Xelu, Tokanu, and Myro.” Each stood for applause and bowed when their name was called. “In addition, we have an unusual fourth player. A baby was saved from Bellanger Mansion twelve years ago on the day the rest of his family died. The Guardians, in their wisdom, decided that the child should be raised in Raine Mansion and be given a chance to walk the Green Path. Having made great strides along that Path, he is here to fight for the Bellanger seat at the Harmony table on the final day before the Inf
ernam.”

  Jeniano gestured to Bowe, who rose to his feet and nodded. No one clapped. Someone coughed; another person cleared his throat. Both sounds were amplified by the silence all around. Bowe quickly sat again.

  “In the event of a draw,” Jeniano continued, “we three judges will decide who played the best and deserves to go forward. We already drew for first move. Scarlet opens. Begin when you are ready.”

  Jeniano sat, and Xelu made his first move, followed by Tokanu, then Myro. Bowe considered. The Grenier made an aggressive move—which was to be expected for the warrior family. Myro’s move, on the other hand, was cautious. This set up the perfect situation for one of the strategic plans Bowe had in mind. An extremely risky plan.

  Bowe’s hand drifted over the board, but he snatched it back again. He could sense everyone watching him, wondering what was taking him so long. A lump congealed at the bottom of his stomach and a tightness squeezed his throat. He had experimented with various unorthodox strategies against the Deadbeats to varying success, but had never tried this exact one. And these marshals were likely superior players. He’d look like a fool if this backfired horribly in front of everyone. Bowe swallowed, reached forward, and quickly moved a piece before he could change his mind.

  A rumble of noise greeted the move. Jeniano leaned forward and studied the board, frowning. Bowe’s move was lateral, almost backwards. Xelu’s lips curved into a smile and he advanced his original piece into Bowe’s territory. The initial stages of Harmony were usually marked by a grab for the center of the board. Xelu saw his opportunity to grab the central areas in front of both his and Bowe’s pieces.

  Bowe found himself with time to glance around the ballroom. He didn’t recognize too many people. The Guardians and higher ranked ascor hadn’t attended. There were very few ascora about, and only a handful of the Greenettes.

  Zofila was here, though. She was laughing in a forced way at a joke from an ascor who sat beside her. Bowe turned back to the table, but kept an eye on her whenever he got the chance. On the Harmony board, the game developed just as Bowe had hoped. Xelu had taken control of most of the central areas, giving the Grenier marshal a good strategic advantage. Bowe began an ineffective attack on Xelu’s flank. Both Tokanu and Myro developed their pieces in a waiting pattern.