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

by David J Normoyle

  Meelyn was silent for a moment, considering. “You make a reasonable case. I haven’t got all the facts yet, though. Isn’t that right, my virgin lover girl?” She stared at Iyra.

  “What do you mean?” Iyra looked nervous.

  “I see you’ve relaxed into being close to loverboy beside you. Shoulders and hips and thighs touching. All the early tension gone.”

  Bowe and Iyra glanced at each other and flushed again. “We’re not lovers,” Iyra said. “And there’s no room to do anything else.”

  “Virgin lovers, I said. Bedding is much less messy when done in the imagination. Now, tell me what I want to know.”

  Iyra shook her head. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  Bowe realized that Meelyn hadn’t brought Iyra into this small chamber just to distract him; she had intended for both of them to fluster each other. And from the intensity of her gaze, it seemed that what she wanted from Iyra interested her more than deciding what to do with Bowe.

  “Come on, girl, don’t give me that,” Meelyn said. “It’s something important, likely something I need to know. I’m not letting either of you two out of here until you’ve told me.”

  It was obvious from Iyra’s face that she was hiding something. “What if it’s something she can’t reveal?” Bowe asked. “You didn’t want me being too loose with Guild secrets. Not everything is for all ears.”

  Meelyn didn’t take her gaze from Iyra. “I have watched you think about saying something a few times. Each time it’s been in response to something that touched your tender heart. A malnourished child. A quarter-full cook pot for a large family. A sad song. You know that something bad is coming, and it’s coming sooner than three years’ time.”

  Iyra rubbed her knuckles against her knee. “It’s not my secret to tell.”

  Meelyn smiled but her eyes remained hard as black diamond. “You have a tender heart and you might think all women have similar. You would be wrong about that. Urdo knows.” Meelyn leaned across and placed her hand on the blade of Urdo’s axe without taking her gaze from Iyra. “I love this community, and I have a big heart, but I wouldn’t be in charge here unless my heart was as hard as a cliff face. Urdo likes waving Big Boona around. He’ll use it if he needs to, but just because he’s waving it around doesn’t mean he’ll use it. Believe me when I say that I will do whatever needs to be done to protect this community, and when I pick up a weapon, it isn’t to wave it around. I think you know something that puts this community in danger. Don’t make me pick up Big Boona.

  Iyra swallowed hard then glanced across at Bowe. “Maybe I shouldn’t say it in front of him.”

  “You have asked me to trust him, and to take him in even. Are you saying you don’t trust him?”

  Iyra hesitated a moment longer. “There’s an invasion coming,” she blurted out. “There will be war. The ships may have already been launched from Jarind.”

  Bowe stared at Iyra. The spy who Bowe had helped escape before the last Infernam had been from Jarind. Had Iyra made Bowe be a party to betraying his country to outlanders? He wanted to shout at her, but this wasn’t the place.

  “And Coensaw decided not to tell me?” Meelyn’s tone of voice suggested that Coensaw would be on the receiving end of Big Boona if he were here.

  “He doesn’t know.”

  “Yet you do?”

  “She’s going behind the Guild’s back and put her lot in with foreigners.” Urdo wrapped and unwrapped his hand around the axe handle. “Big Boona is excited. She’s never had a double execution before.”

  Meelyn ignored Urdo. “How do you know?”

  “Coensaw didn’t agree with the idea. He thinks that we can overthrow the ascor without help. But other Guild leaders feel different. I feel different. It’s been the same for generations upon generations. The marshals are too strong; we are too weak. We need help from outside if they’ll give it.”

  “And?” Meelyn asked.

  “There was this Jarindor in Arcandis before the last Infernam.”

  “Washima,” Bowe spat out, shooting a glare at Iyra.

  “Yes.” Iyra didn’t react to Bowe’s look. “His countrymen were appalled at the stories of how brutal our society is, and he came over to investigate further. I was one of his guides. He was willing to help, but Coensaw didn’t agree with Jarindor involvement. So he stayed in contact with me and, via me, with other Guild leaders who were in favor of accepting Jarindor help.”

  “So you and others are helping a foreign invasion,” Meelyn said. “I’m not surprised you were reluctant to tell me.”

  “I don’t think it’ll affect you. They want to help us, not hurt us. They want to overthrow the ascor and Guardians with as little bloodshed as possible.”

  “You know little of war, girl,” Meelyn said. “Not that I know a whole lot more. But there’ll be bloodshed and hardship before it’s over.”

  “What should we do with them?” Urdo asked.

  “It’s too late to stop anything now. If I could prevent the invasion by killing her I would. We just have to accept that it’s going to happen and deal with it the best we can. I don’t care which side wins, I just want it over quickly.”

  “But we have a chance to overthrow the ascor once and for all,” Iyra said.

  “I don’t care which side wins.” She glared at Iyra, daring her to protest again. “Likely, whichever way it goes we’ll end up the worse for it. We just have to do our best to stay out of it and survive the aftermath. You.” She pointed at Iyra. “I’m going to let you go and I won’t tell anyone about your involvement. In return, you’ll tell me everything you know about the invasion. When, where, everything.”

  “I don’t—”

  Iyra tried to speak, but she wasn’t allowed. “Everything you know,” Meelyn continued. “In addition, you’ll owe us one. So if these Jarindors do end up taking control and you have some influence over them, you won’t forget us.”

  “No, of cour—”

  “See that you don’t. And you.” Meelyn pointed at Bowe. “This news from Iyra changes things a bit. I don’t see how you can regain your position, but war turns everything on its head. Perhaps that’ll allow you to right yourself. So we’ll have a ceremony and a celebration tonight.”

  “We don’t have much extra food for a celebration,” Urdo said.

  “I know you’ve a few barrels of liquor hidden somewhere,” Meelyn said. “The folks need a bit of cheering up if there’s a war coming—things may get worse before they get better.”

  “And I presume the ceremony won’t be an execution?” Urdo sent Bowe a look that made Bowe’s blood run cold.

  “He’ll swear a blood oath to be an ally and true friend to our community.”

  “What’s a blood oath?” Bowe asked.

  “When someone joins our community, they cut their palm with a knife, say an oath, and let their blood drip into the fire,” Meelyn said. “We’ll change the oaths slightly for you, as you’ll be the first to swear without joining.

  Urdo coughed and tapped his fingers on the blade of his axe.

  Meelyn smiled. “And in your case, Big Boona will cut your palm rather than the traditional knife. With the way Urdo has been polishing it, I hope you don’t faint at the sight of your own blood. There could be a lot of it.”

  Chapter 7

  Day 12

  It was nearly mid-morning by the time Bowe and Iyra left the bandit’s cave. Bowe’s head pounded because Meelyn had made him drink liquor. It had been wretched-tasting stuff. Bowe had spat out the first mouthful, but Meelyn had insisted, nudging the bottom of the flask upward every time Bowe took a sip. She’d only been satisfied when Bowe drunk half the flask. She’d made Iyra drink too, but not as much. Iyra now marched down the trail with the same determined purpose as always, and Bowe, as usual, struggled to catch up with her.

  The ceremony had been short. Bowe was glad that Meelyn had held Big Boona and not Urdo. The mood of the place had darkened when they found out there
wasn’t to be an execution. Meelyn had said a few words about how having a Guardian helping them would change things for the better and ensure that the Refuge was within much easier reach. Bowe had said his oath. He couldn’t remember the exact words; even then the liquor had begun to take effect, making him unsteady on his feet. Exact words or not, he had sworn to be a friend and ally to the community of forest bandits and to use his power to help them when they needed it. He’d touched his palm to the blade of the axe. There had been no pain; he’d barely touched it and a line of red appeared. He had closed his fingers into a fist and held it up over the fire and watched the blood squirm out from between his fingers and sizzle as it fell on the fire.

  The rest of the community’s craving for blood was not satisfied with the few drops Bowe had given up, for they watched all this in sullen silence. Then Urdo distributed some barrels of liquor among the hearth fires and the mood had begun to improve. Iyra had bandaged up Bowe’s hand while the community had pulled out their guitars and drums and flutes. And they had started on the songs.

  Bowe had heard some singing on each of his nights in the prison cave, but the music went on much longer that night. Bowe wasn’t sure if it was because of the liquor or because of his ceremony. It was certainly likely that his presence determined the choice of song. Often one of the musicians would stare at Bowe for the whole song, making it clear that they were directed at him. There were songs about starvation and death, and songs about oppression and tyranny. Songs that yearned for freedom, and songs that celebrated rebellion.

  The singers varied as much as the songs. One singer was an old man with a long beard and a voice like gravel. Another was a sweet-looking girl with mud in her hair and skin as translucent as morning dew. Sometimes several singers shared the song, with the entire community belting out the chorus at the top of their voices. One song stayed with Bowe despite the liquor-induced fog in his memory. It was a haunting song of regret about the time when ships left for the last time. Bowe had wondered if it was based on a real-life incident, but near the end the song implied that the ships disappeared up into the sky instead of across the ocean.

  Even though many of the songs were directed at him in anger, Bowe enjoyed the music. Perhaps it was the liquor or perhaps it was that he was free of his prison cave for the first night in several days. Or perhaps it was because it allowed him to sit beside Iyra in companionable silence without the usual bickering between them.

  But “companionable” was not the adjective Bowe would use to describe Iyra today. He kept his distance as she navigated her way around brambles and over dead tree trunks. He hadn’t seen much of her except for her back, and that was erect and unapproachable. Though Bowe didn’t exactly want to talk to her either. Last night, he’d been able to forget about Washima and how Iyra was helping outlanders to invade Arcandis, but right now the thought of it seethed within him. He wanted to shout at her, he wanted to pick her up and shake her, he wanted to... He didn’t want to talk to her.

  Meelyn wouldn’t call them any type of lover, virgin or otherwise, if she could see them now. Or perhaps she would. That had been an awful lot of nonsense she’d spouted in the little cave about them, none of it close to true. So what if Bowe had a few dreams about Iyra that left him blushing when he remembered them? So what if Bowe’s heart beat a bit faster when their gazes locked? So what if Bowe admired her slender thighs and the way her buttocks moved when she walked? Bowe felt himself flushing and made himself look away from her backside.

  He was sure that all young men were the same around pretty girls that they knew. It didn’t mean anything. And Bowe was sure that Iyra didn’t think of him as anything more than an ascor buffoon with mush for brains. She had only been flustered because what young woman wouldn’t be with all the crude things that Meelyn and Urdo were saying? It was clear that Meelyn was just using their youthful inexperience against them; she probably didn’t believe the things she was saying herself.

  Bowe followed Iyra down a narrow trail; they were making fast progress. Bowe had no idea where they were, but he figured they surely couldn’t be too far from Belldeem. Though perhaps Urdo had taken them out of their way when he’d brought them back to Meelyn’s cave. Bowe certainly had no idea which part of the forest they were in or even what direction they were going—he relied on Iyra for that. She knew where she was going, or her determined stride gave a good impression of that, at least.

  As he was watching her, Iyra stopped. She tilted her head, concentrating, and then ran back down the trail to Bowe.

  “Quickly,” she whispered. “Off the trail.”

  She grabbed hold of Bowe’s arm and dragged him after her. He nearly fell, grabbed a branch to regain his balance, then followed her. She led them between two bushes and threw herself to the ground behind the biggest of the bushes. Bowe did the same, flattening his body against the ground beside her and peering back between the strands of vegetation.

  It wasn’t long before they heard the sound of twigs snapping. Bowe took quick, shallow breaths, trying to keep himself calm and not make any noise.

  Two men wearing light-pink uniforms appeared: Grenier marshals. With Bowe’s line of sight blocked by trees and bushes, they flashed in and out of view. When they came to the spot directly in front of Bowe and Iyra’s hiding place, one of them stopped. Bowe’s breath caught in his throat and he wrapped his fingers around Iyra’s hand.

  “Hey, wait,” the one who had stopped called out. “There’s blood on this branch.”

  His companion turned back. “What of it?”

  “Aren’t we supposed to be looking for the Bellanger Guardian? What if this is his blood?”

  “Hardly likely to be his, now is it?”

  “Isn’t that why we’re taking this roundabout trail to Belldeem? To look for him?”

  There was a sigh. “He’s probably still back in the city, but Dulnato is going to all sorts of bizarre lengths in an effort to find him. Doesn’t mean we have to investigate every snapped twig and overturned leaf. It’s probably from a wounded deer or something like that.”

  “Shouldn’t we look for tracks or clues just in case?”

  “What am I, a woodsman? Come on, there’s supposed to be a good tavern in Belldeem, and I intend to get there before nightfall.” He continued along the trail.

  The other marshal paused a moment, then broke into a run to catch up with his companion. Bowe and Iyra waited until the sound of their footsteps faded into the distance, then stayed still and quiet long enough to be certain they were out of earshot.

  They both became aware at the same time that they were clutching each other’s hand and jerked their hands apart. Iyra grabbed Bowe’s other wrist—in a much less gentle way than the way she’d held his hand—and turned it over. The bandage was soaked with blood. “Why didn’t you tell me this had started bleeding again?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.

  “I didn’t notice.” There was still no pain; Bowe was surprised to see the blood.

  “Idiots. Using the bloody axe to cut your hand.” Iyra pulled the backpack off and searched inside until she found a cloth she was happy with. “And especially after Urdo had spent so much time sharpening it for intimidation purposes.” She unwrapped the bandage and used the back of it to clean off the remaining blood. “Cut looks clean at least. Just deep.”

  Bowe grunted as she fastened the ends of the fresh cloth tightly around his hand and tied it off.

  This was the first time that they had talked since Bowe had found out about Washima and the Jarindor invasion. He wanted to complain to her for making him a part of it, and he opened his mouth to do that. But what came out instead was “Thanks.”

  Iyra stood up. “I had hoped to use that trail to get to Belldeem tonight. But it’s obviously too risky.”

  “Maybe not. Perhaps we’ve missed the patrol now so it’s safe.”

  “And if they stop for whatever reason? No, we’ll have to stay off all trails from now on.”

  Bowe didn’t
argue, just followed as Iyra led them away from the trail and deeper into the forest.

  * * *

  By the time they decided to stop for the night, Bowe wished that he had argued for risking the trail. At times, the vegetation had been so thick that Iyra had to take out her knife and cut through vines before they could get through. Their progress had gotten progressively slower, and Bowe had many nicks and cuts from the brambles.

  They set up the camp in silence. Bowe had seen it done enough times to be able to make himself mildly useful. When they were done, Iyra took out some strips of meat and began to cook them over the small fire. Bowe sat on a rock opposite her. The clearing they’d found was small and the trees leaned in close over them. The darkness had come quickly, surrounded as they were by thick vegetation, and now the orange glow from the fire was the only light. A light wind whispered through the leaves and crackled through the fire.

  “Can we talk?” Bowe asked.

  “We are talking.”

  “I meant without the nastiness.”

  Iyra looked up. “Oh. Well, in that case, probably not.”

  “Perhaps you’ll at least hear me out. At the start of today, I wanted to have it out with you about Washima and the Jarindors. I felt like I’d been used—”

  “Well, if that’s—”

  Bowe raised his hand. “Hear me out. I’ve changed my mind. I’ve spent plenty of time thinking on the journey here, and I decided that I have no right to criticize your choices. I’ve lived my whole life within the ascor world. Even when that world has been brutal, such as when we walked the Green Path, it was still within the ascor world. I know nothing of the escay world.” Even though I might actually be one, Bowe thought, remembering his conversation with Coensaw. “Three years ago, when you first met me, I was a stone-faced idiot. Can you be extremely smart and incredibly dumb at the same time?”

  Iyra looked from where she was turning the meat over the fire, seemed to be about to say something, then changed her mind. She threw another piece of wood into the fire.

  “I had seen nothing of the world outside the harem and knew less,” Bowe continued. “The only escay I knew were servants who bowed and scraped to me. I don’t think I considered them real people. I know that’s a horrible thing to say.”