“I didn’t even know I promised to save them until I was told last night,” Bowe said in a small voice. “How did you know?”
“I can understand not remembering—you were in a bad way for a long time after taking that poison, and I’m still surprised you recovered—but did you not think to talk to the escay after you were better? Ask them why they were working for us?”
“No,” Bowe said in an even smaller voice.
Sorrin snorted. “You’re an ascor in your attitude to escay, at least, if not in your attitude to death. We learn at an early age that death is merely a step from the Path. And here, you fall to pieces over the death of one person. An enemy of yours, no less.”
Bowe started crying again. He couldn’t help himself, even with Sorrin looking at him in disgust. “It’s not just Glil’s death,” he blubbered. Iyra’s accusation vibrated through him. She had said that he wasn’t an ascor. That his whole life had been a lie. More than his life. Sorrin was right: death was nothing. He’d accepted from an early age that he wasn’t to have a long life. But being an ascor—that was everything. He always knew that his short life as an ascor was infinitely preferable to any kind of life as an escay. Ascor could die, but they could never be reduced to being an escay. And now Iyra’s words felt like an implosion within him.
The image of Sorrin’s face, blurred by Bowe’s tears, scowled down at him. “If it’s not Glil’s death, what is it?”
He couldn’t tell Sorrin, of course. Even the suspicion that he wasn’t an ascor would destroy the brotherhood in an instant. His hands shuddered. “Not just Glil’s death. Edison’s death, Vitarr’s death. The Path before us is a black, twisted thing yearning for—grasping for—our blood, and everyone expects me to solve everything. I’m not who you think I am.” It has to be a lie. What Iyra had said—there was no sense in it. But why had the Guild decided to help him when he was last on the lists? Why had they chosen him as their ally?
“The pressure you’re under...” Sorrin knelt at Bowe’s side and held his shoulder in a firm grip. The shuddering in Bowe’s body eased, then stopped. “Don’t think I don’t understand how much has been put on your shoulders.” He wiped at the tears on Bowe’s cheeks. “But this has to be your release. Your one collapse. You must rise stronger, and never again fall. You must and you will.” Sorrin’s firm voice helped Bowe to get his emotions under control. The tears dried up.
Sorrin pulled Bowe to his feet. From somewhere he produced a cloth and gave it to Bowe. “Clean and dry your face.” Bowe did so. “You have set yourself an impossible task, and I don’t really expect you to succeed. But I and others have trusted you, and we expect you to light a fire under the ascor establishment and let them know that there never were, and never will be again, such Greens as Bowe Bellanger and his brotherhood of Deadbeats.”
Goosebumps ran along Bowe’s arms. Sorrin’s words washed the weakness from his muscles and he stood straighter. But it was all a lie. “Sorrin, I’ve been faking all along. Kirande told me to pretend I belonged in the ascor ball, and ever since then I’ve just been continuing to fake it. But I can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry that I deceived you and the others.”
Sorrin threw back his head and roared with laughter. Bowe looked at him, dumbstruck. “I’m not joking.”
Sorrin slapped Bowe on the back. “You still don’t get it, do you? Wait there for a moment.” Bowe watched as Sorrin left the room. There was some shouting, and then he was back, Bowe’s azure cloak in his hands. “Put this on,” he ordered.
Bowe was too surprised to do anything but comply. When the cloak was on, Sorrin stood in front of him and poked him in the chest. Hard. Bowe took a step back, rubbing at his chest. “You think you’re faking this? You have walked with ascor leaders and even Guardians and come away with allies and respect. People who have trained their whole lives in the ascorim and are the best protagonists of the art. You think you can fool them so easily?” He poked Bowe in the chest again.
Bowe took a half step back. “Stop poking me.” He was starting to get angry now.
“Did you fool Sindar, Edison, Xarcon, and Thrace? I told you that I could read fighters in the Eye. That I knew which ones faked their confidence. Do you think you could fool me so easily?” Sorrin poked Bowe again, but he was ready this time and pushed back, his chest deflecting Sorrin’s finger.
“Perfect,” Sorrin said. “Now, come and stand here.” Sorrin used a cloth to clean a large section of the mirror. “Look—really look. Now what do you see?”
Bowe certainly didn’t see the same person as before. In his azure cloak with his chest swelled up, his back straight, and his eyes flashing with anger, Bowe saw a young man of presence. Nothing like the crying creature who’d stood in front of the mirror just minutes earlier.
“Do you see now?” Sorrin said. “Do you see what others see? Do you see the potential? The charisma? The inner strength? And we know you have the intelligence to back it up—who else could have manipulated that Harmony match the way you did?”
Sorrin was right. What Bowe could see now was a young ascor. If he were an escay, would not the Guardians have known that in an instant? Of course they would have. Iyra was mad at the rejection, and, in the way of women, wanted to hurt him. The Guild had chosen him at random, or because he was a Bellanger. He should never have let an escay get under his skin so. He was ascor.
Bowe clapped Sorrin on the back. “Thank you. This won’t happen again.” Molten strength had been poured into Bowe, and it now flowed through his veins. He opened the ballroom door. “Now let’s light that fire.”
Outside, the other Deadbeats remained in the hall. They were talking in low voices, but the way all their heads turned toward him when he emerged showed that they had just been waiting to see what Bowe would do. They straightened their backs when they saw that the broken, vomiting creature that had been dragged into that room hadn’t returned. Instead, an aspiring young ascor stood before them.
“Sorry about that,” Bowe said. “I ate some shellfish last night, and the smell of the dead didn’t mix well with it.” He smiled and received some smiles in return, but their gazes remained wary. Bowe could imagine the brotherhood drifting away unless he showed them the leadership they needed. He looked down at Glil’s body. He felt a catch in his throat but didn’t let it show on his face. He could feel them all watching him. It shouldn’t affect me so much, he thought. I’ve recovered from Vitarr and Chalori deaths, and they were closer to me. He remembered the escay funeral barge and how he’d changed during the journey.
“What happened to Edison’s corpse?” Bowe asked.
“He was cremated in the Grenier pyre.” Sorrin sounded worried, as if he feared Bowe would descend into tears once more.
“We know that death is a simple step. Nothing to be feared.” Bowe paused and looked at each of the brotherhood in turn. “It is just a step for the one taking it, but it can be harder to deal with for those left behind. A good man will leave behind those who miss him. Before continuing on the Path, I’d like to have a ceremony of remembrance for those of the brotherhood who have had to take that step.”
“A what?” Sindar asked.
“You heard. Can someone get some chairs? We might as well do it here, in the presence of Glil’s body. His corpse can be removed to the Lessard pyre after.”
The worry lines on Sorrin’s face lengthened, but after a few shouted commands, all of the brotherhood were seated in a circle in the center of the hall. The servants who collected the chairs didn’t return to their duties; instead, they gathered on the upstairs landing and looked down.
“I’d like for each of us to recall a happy memory about Edison,” Bowe said. The group didn’t need to know he was taking this idea from an escay funeral. “I’ll start. That spot in the courtyard just below my balcony will always remind me of Edison. You all know the one. While Thrace trained with the escay, Edison went under the shade of the south wing balcony and practiced by himself. Hour after hour, he sweated an
d practiced, practiced and sweated. He didn’t have to fight in the Eye, but he was determined to prove himself. I admire him for that more than I can say.” Bowe bowed his head and waited.
A long moment passed. Then Sorrin spoke. “Back in the day, when I still had two good legs, we were having a race. A big bunch of us at Grenier Mansion. Edison fell near the end, and we all turned to laugh as he pushed himself out of a big, dirty puddle. Brown water streamed from his hair and clothes, and he looked a fright. He was probably going to get into a world of trouble when he returned to the harem. I would have been fuming. But Edison jumped up with a genuine smile on his face and laughed harder than the rest of us. I’ll never forget it.”
“I didn’t know him that well,” Xarcon said. “But I always knew he was one of the good guys. He had a certain strength about him. I felt better about our chances knowing he was on our side.”
“We’re screwed now that he’s gone,” Sorrin said.
Bowe laughed, and looked up to see everyone else laughing along.
“Laughter: that’s how I’ll remember him,” Sindar said. “Making a joke and having fun. He’d like that we were laughing in his honor at this remembrance ceremony.”
There was a pause before Thrace spoke up. “I—” His voice broke. He paused, then continued. “I don’t know why he helped me.” He measured each word before he said it. “I’ve always been slower at understanding things than other people. Everyone knew I wouldn’t survive the Path. That I wasn’t worthy to be an ascor. I wasn’t smart, or one of the best fighters. But the more I was left to myself, the more Edison looked out for me.” Thrace took a long breath; Bowe figured that was the longest speech he’d ever made. “If there was some way I could bring him back and take his place, I’d do it.”
The silence had a weight to it that made it difficult to break. Finally, Bowe said, “We remember Edison.”
It was repeated in a chorus by the rest of the brotherhood. There was an expelling of breath, and bowed heads were raised. “Now for Glil.” Bowe’s words produced a scowl from Xarcon. “Thinking of Glil means thinking of his rock-people stories.” Bowe smiled at the memory of them. “He had a story for each occasion. If he wanted to tell you something, he had to turn it into a story. Some of them had obvious lessons. For others, there was a nugget of wisdom just waiting to be mined from its murky depths, if you’d the wit to find it. Still others were so ridiculous that they surely had no deeper meaning, but who knows? I made fun of his stories, but now that he’s gone, I wish I had written them down so they don’t die with him.”
“I remember how he pretended to be our friend, then betrayed us,” Xarcon said.
Bowe sighed. “Glil may have been corrupted by the Path, but I firmly believe he had a good heart. This isn’t the time for recriminations. If anyone has anything good to say about him, we’ll hear it now.”
“He was always nice to me,” Thrace said.
When no one else was inclined to speak, Bowe decided to end it there. “We remember Glil,” he intoned.
This wasn’t repeated, but Bowe still felt better. He looked down at the body again. Time to move on. “Now,” he continued, “there’s only six days left until the Infernam, so we’ll all be busy. Sorrin, there’s a Deadbeat called Oamir—do you know him?”
“I’ll find him.”
“He lives with a newswriter. See if he’ll join us. We’ll need someone to keep records, and I think he’s the guy for the job.” It was time to implement the plan that had been forming in Bowe’s mind. He hadn’t figured out all the details yet, but there was no more time for thinking.
“Thrace, keep training those escay boys. In fighting, mainly, but make sure they can march in unison, as well. Sorrin—can you get some better weapons for them? I know you’ve got some betting winnings squirreled away somewhere. Oh, and Sorrin?” New ideas were flashing through Bowe’s mind as he spoke. “See if you can get them marshal uniforms, only in the Bellanger colors.”
“Bellanger marshal uniforms?” Sorrin said. “What in Helion’s name are you planning?”
Bowe smiled. “We are going to light a fire on the Path such as has never been done before. Are you with me?”
Sorrin grinned back and clapped his hand onto Bowe’s shoulder. “Now this is what I’m talking about. I never doubted you, boy.”
“I’m a boy no longer.” Bowe winked at Sorrin.
“What do you want me to do?” Xarcon asked.
“Let me see. What else will we need?” Bowe tried to visualize what he hoped would happen. “Rickshaws. Two two-man rickshaws, with Bellanger colors and emblems. And,” Bowe said, turning to Sindar, “most importantly, I’ll need a certain door unlocked.”
“Won’t be a problem,” Sindar said.
“I hope not. But this won’t be as easy as you think. This is a rather unique door. It hasn’t been opened in eighteen years.”
Chapter 19
1 Day Left
Bowe shrugged into his ascor clothing. It was freshly washed and pressed and smelled of lemon; there was plenty to be said for having escay servants around. Likely the ascor were sick of seeing him appear always in the same clothing, but the azure robes had gotten him this far. He would go to the final ascor event in them and take his place as the fourth player in the Grand Sexennial Harmony Match. Bowe shivered despite the heat. The Infernam was upon them. This was it. So many people would die before another day passed—likely including himself and everyone in Bellanger Mansion.
No one could venture out under the full heat of the sun anymore. Yesterday at midday, Bowe had seen a sheet of paper left out in the courtyard curl up, blacken, then burst into flame and burn. He shivered to think of skin blistering in the same way. What a horrible way that would be to die. He surely had been right not to stand in the way of the Guild freeing the Jarindors.
Xarcon appeared in the doorway. “There’s someone here to see you. Sorrin took him to the ballroom. Come on.”
“Who is it?” Bowe asked as he followed Xarcon down the stairs.
“Sorrin didn’t tell me.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Bowe moved toward the ballroom door, but Xarcon stopped him. “He asked for you to be brought in the side entrance.”
“Why?” Bowe asked.
Xarcon shrugged and led him down a narrow hallway. Bowe didn’t particularly want to revisit the ballroom. The last time Bowe had seen its dust-covered floors and grimy windows, he’d been crying over Glil’s death. Xarcon opened a door and stepped back to let Bowe enter. Bowe walked in, then stopped in shock.
The room had been cleaned from top to bottom. The windows sparkled and Helion shone through them. Torches blazed along the walls, adding to a yellow light to Helion’s purple glow. Opposite where Bowe had entered through the side door stood an ornate wooden chair flanked by two of the escay marshals. The Bellanger marshals used to wear a uniform that was an extremely light blue called azure mist, and Sorrin had managed to get several escay outfitted in them, including those two.
In front of the throne—for that is what it surely was—Sorrin was arguing with the White Spider, who had one man in attendance. The Shadow, Bowe guessed.
“I don’t ask for a bloody show—are you going to have singers and dancers coming out next?—I just need to see Bowe. And it’s bloody urgent,” the White Spider said.
“You’ll just have to wait. Coming here with a Shadow the night before the Infernam. You’ll be lucky if I let you see him at all.”
“You have guards. Just get him here.” The White Spider’s voice quavered.
“I’m here,” Bowe said. He strode across the room, hesitated, then sat down in the chair. Xarcon followed Bowe and stood to the side, scowling at the White Spider.
Bowe was about to ask Sorrin what had possessed him to transform the ballroom like this, then decided against it. Questioning it would only ruin the effect. What Sorrin had done was perfect—Bowe only wished he’d thought of it himself. He had to look like he truly was the Bellanger Guardian
if he wanted others to believe it.
“Look what has become of the frightened boy who ran down the pier.” The White Spider did a full circle, taking in the whole room. As he did so, Bowe noticed a large flag on one wall. Gold cloth with an azure sun: the Bellanger emblem.
“What do you want?” Bowe asked.
“I want to save you from Dulnato once more.” The White Spider leaned back on his heels. “I ask for only one thing in return.”
“And what is that?” Bowe asked.
“Shouldn’t you first ask why you need saving from Dulnato? Only the small-minded fear the price rather than valuing the prize. In any case, there is nothing to fear right now. Just as well, since your man was intent on delaying my warning. But Dulnato and his Defenders are on their way here. There is a strong rumor that you will be offered the third Select position along with Zidel and myself at the Harmony match tonight. Dulnato has declared that whichever of his men kills you will become his chief Defender. In return for the warning, I only ask that Nechil and I be allowed to remain here and aid in your defense.”
At that, Nechil gripped the White Spider’s arm. The White Spider turned, and Nechil stared into the mask. It was strange to see a staring contest between a mask and a person, and surprisingly, the mask lost. The White Spider turned away from Nechil’s gaze. “Nechil thinks that, if I stayed, I would be in as much danger as you, Bowe, but without the protection. I will therefore leave. Nechil will remain, with your permission.”
Nechil was short and handsome, so it was easy to see how he could pass for a woman with the right makeup and clothing. It was he, without doubt, who had killed Reyanu.
“You want us to allow your Shadow to stay here?” Sorrin asked. “This sounds like a trap, if I ever heard one.”
“What if Nechil is just here to get close to Bowe?” Xarcon’s face remained in a scowl. “Perhaps the White Spider won’t get selected unless Bowe dies.”
The Narrowing Path: The Complete Trilogy (The Narrowing Path Series Book 4) Page 21