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

  Drywell Square looked bigger today, cleared out of the escay who were usually there selling their wares. Now it held only the Greens, with marshals guarding the entrances. The Greens were separated into their families. The Bellanger corner held only Bowe. Opposite him were Reyanu, Vitarr, and the rest of the Raines. The Lessard and Grenier Greens stationed themselves in the other two corners. Without its usual marketplace bustle, Drywell Square didn’t seem interesting or impressive. Dust rolled along pockmarked paving stones. In the center of the square, a dry fountain was surrounded by a circular, knee-high wall. Two- and one-story houses, cracks running through their red walls, backed onto the square.

  This was where the Path always began. Every six years, another batch of Greens were filed into this square, divided into their families and left to wait for words of wisdom from the mentors. Though if Bowe thought the marshals would let him leave, he’d forgo the mentor’s advice. He wouldn’t mind missing the famed tradition of the first day of the Path: the killing of one of the Greens.

  Bowe glanced across at the corner occupied by the Greniers—the warrior family. Was it his imagination, or were many of those boys half again the size of everyone else? In the exact corner was the biggest boy of the lot. He had long hair, a flat nose, and prominent arm muscles. His body language, and that of those around him, announced him as a leader among the Greniers, though he had adopted a permanent scowl rather than Reyanu’s easy smile.

  Bowe turned his attention to final corner, only to find one of the Lessard boys walking toward him. The boy whistled tunelessly. A marshal moved as if to stop him, but thought better of it. The whistling Green had spiky brown hair, a high forehead, and small features—and he wasn’t much bigger or older than Bowe. He was the kind of boy Bowe might expect to be mercilessly bullied, not the kind to brush past marshals with careless arrogance. His footsteps echoed hollowly against the paving stones, and the other Greens watched him approach Bowe.

  “My name is Zidel,” he said when he reached Bowe. “And you are Bowe Bellanger, the only one here whose name everyone knows.”

  “What do you want?” Bowe glared. The boy wanted to use him in some way and Bowe wasn’t in the mood. At least they weren’t speaking loudly enough for anyone else to hear.

  Zidel laughed. “Would you believe I’m just bored?”

  “No. You want something from me. I’m not interested in whatever ascorim game you want to play.”

  “I expected more from you.” Zidel shook his head sadly. “If you aim to master the ascorim, you shouldn’t take it lightly. You should play it with every breath, with every gesture, with every word. The ascorim requires an artist’s touch and a dancer’s grace.”

  “I don’t aim to master it. I’m about to die. What does the ascorim matter to me now?”

  “When you’re about to die is when it matters the most.” Zidel bent down and picked up a pinch of dust from the ground. “We are nothing but grains of dirt picked up and let loose.” He released the dust into the wind. “Some particles fall immediately, others fly high then drift to the ground. They all fall eventually—no one cares where. But some, while they are in the air, will dance in the wind and soar higher than all the rest. For me, that is the dance of the ascorim. If I knew that I was to die soon, I would soar for those minutes I had left.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Bowe said. “All my life I wanted to be a speck of dust, but only now do I truly feel like one.” The boy was talking utter nonsense. The ascorim was the scheming for power among the ascor. Important but not mystical like Zidel made it out.

  Zidel smiled. “Feel free to interpret my words as literally as you wish. I am disappointed. I came over here because I heard you might be someone who could play, and perhaps even master, the ascorim. It seems I was misinformed.”

  “Whom did you hear that from?” Bowe’s one attempt at scheming had led to Chalori’s—no, he didn’t want to think about that.

  “Everyone is watched and evaluated before the Path. How do you think the lists are formed? I try to learn as much as I can about my fellow Greens. Let me see, who else is there from Raine mansion? Reyanu, of course, is the most important. Tlirris was a threat, but has plummeted down the lists since...” He trailed off. “You were there.”

  So Zidel already knew about what had happened in Raine Mansion last night. Bowe couldn’t decide whether this guy was a prodigy or insane.

  “In the Grenier family, Dulnato casts a large shadow over the rest,” Zidel continued. “He’s the big scowling guy in the corner—you can’t miss him. The other interesting character from that family is Jisri. Tall guy with a thin, narrow face, farthest away from the wall.” Bowe saw whom he meant. “He is a strange person though. You can’t see from here, but behind the marshals, in the crowd, watching him is his twin sister, Jadilla. The two of them have been inseparable since birth. She’s as thin as an escay; she trained in weapons with her brother and asked to be allowed to join the Path. And Jisri seems to support her.” Zidel laughed to himself. “A girl joining the Path. Going out in the world like a man. Maybe it’s just because she’s too thin to get a husband. In any event, Jisri is a fighter and has a good mind. He hasn’t attracted Defenders like Dulnato, but he could be a wildcard. I thought you might be one, too.”

  Where was Zidel getting this stuff from? “Me? A wildcard. I’m the Deadbeat of Deadbeats. Last on the lists. Couldn’t beat a straw mannequin in a fight.”

  “Never been one to do much fighting, myself. Except up here.” Zidel tapped his temple. “Sure, some will survive the Green Path due to their muscles and speed, but what’s behind your eyes is more important. Especially since your family’s collapse.”

  “What does that have to do with surviving the Path?”

  “The Bellangers weren’t able to deal with the crisis they faced. They lost their fortune and had no choice but to commit suicide. That focuses the minds of the remaining families to make sure that they select the smartest and best of the Greens. That’s why the Path is so important. There’s no room for sentiment. I bet most of the Raine children didn’t see their fathers much.”

  Bowe frowned. That was true. The ascor, when visiting their wives in the harem, never showed any interest in the children.

  “It’s the same at Lessard Mansion. The Guardians don’t care who a Green’s father is when they decide on the Selects; the ascor don’t become attached to their sons. The Greniers tend to select warriors, and it hasn’t done the strength of their family any harm. For the Lessards and Raines, though, it’s all about the quality of your brain.”

  “I’m certain my brain will look impressive when it spills out onto the pavement later,” Bowe said.

  Before Zidel could reply, a sudden flurry of movement at one of the entrances drew their attention. Three men walked past the marshals and moved towards the fountain.

  “The mentors are here.” Zidel took a step away, then stopped and turned back to Bowe. “It’s expected that you’ll die today, but I’m not so sure. Kesirran said you’d live until your first day as a Green, but he didn’t specify that you would die then. Who knows?”

  Zidel strolled after the mentors, and the rest of the Lessard Greens left their corner and streamed after him. Reyanu and Dulnato led out Greens from the other corners. Bowe hesitated. Whatever Zidel said, the mentors always killed one Green on the first day, and this year it would be Bowe.

  Bowe had always been angry at the unfairness of it all. He was to die just because of his last name. He could remember, as a kid, pretending to find a magical potion in Chalori’s room that would make the Raines forget how he’d come to live with them, and make them think he was one of them. But look how he’d repaid Chalori for all her kindnesses. She was dead, and it was his fault. Perhaps he deserved to die.

  Bowe took a step, dragging his feet. The three mentors now stood on the wall of the empty fountain with the sun behind them. The Greens gathered before them. Before Bowe had left that morning, he’d attended Chalori’s funeral in the
Raine crematorium. Other than himself and Vitarr, the only mourner was Ariastiana, whose dark glittering eyes peered out from behind her usual mask of makeup. Bowe was sure she was simply there to gloat. He had almost boiled over in rage, but he knew he was angry at himself more than her.

  Remembering back, his throat constricted. He shut his eyes and balled up his fists. He didn’t cry, though. There wasn’t anything he could control today except himself. He may not have done the best with his short years, but now he only had dying left, and by the fires of the Infernam, he was at least going to die well.

  Plus, with sweat pouring from him, he couldn’t afford the extra water loss from tears. The hesitation left him, and he walked confidently the rest of the way to the fountain.

  Bowe recognized the mentor on the left as Alandar Raine. He liked gemstones so much that it was said he ate them at night and collected them from his chamber pot every morning. At the moment, only the sheath of his gem-encrusted dagger showed his jewel fetish. The mentor beside him was obviously a warrior; he had a long scar down one cheek, muscles bulging in all sorts of unlikely places, and a large sword strapped to his back. The Grenier marshal. His hair was tied up into two long braids. The mentor on the right seemed more like two people than one, or perhaps one person who had eaten another. Bowe had never seen a man with that much fat on him, and he sympathized with the fountain wall, wondering if it would collapse. By process of elimination, the fat man had to be from House Lessard.

  The mentors stood on the fountain wall and looked down upon the Greens who had gathered in a loose semi-circle in front of them. “Come closer,” the fat man said. “No need to keep such a distance. We’re all friends here.” The boys reluctantly pushed closer to each other and Bowe was startled to find that the marshals had come up behind them and now surrounded them. “My name is Veliro. This is Drakasi.” He indicated the Grenier ascor beside him. “And Alandar is beside him. We are your mentors on the Path.”

  “This morning, you woke up a member of either House Lessard, the trading kings, or House Grenier, the warrior clan, or House Raine, the money wizards or, in one case,” Alandar said, glancing pointedly at Bowe, “House Bellanger, previously the lords of agriculture. You are no longer a member of that family. You don’t have that house’s protection, love, or support anymore. You are all Greens.”

  “Walk or fall / Live or die / No one cares,” Drakasi recited.

  “I see you are still divided into your families.” Veliro raised his hand and curled his fingers toward him a few times, gesturing for them to approach closer. “There is no need for that anymore. Come closer, mingle.” Squeezed in by the compressing half-circle created by the marshals, the gap between the families shrunk and disappeared.

  “More importantly,” Alandar said, “you don’t have any right to a place in the Refuge when the Infernam comes. You can all see Helion filling the night sky. You can feel the heat increasing day by day.”

  Bowe could barely remember the Refuge from six years ago. It had been a long twenty days. Everyone had been packed into dark caves with never enough torches for light. He recalled sensations and smells more than actual memories: the pull and release of surf overhead; the boredom; the loud sounds of breathing; the cloying heat; the low, whispered conversations.

  “I can see the sweat dripping from your cheeks.” Veliro smiled. “I hope you don’t mind that we kept you outside longer than we should have. Unavoidably delayed. There were these cakes for dessert.” He touched the tips of his fingers to his lips. “Delicious.”

  Suddenly, Drakasi jumped from the fountain wall and strode directly up to Bowe. A corridor seemed to magically open in the tightly compressed crowd. Then steel whispered, Drakasi’s hand clasped Bowe’s shoulder, and cold metal touched Bowe’s neck. Bowe’s breath caught in his chest. It all happened before he could react.

  “Drakasi does like to get down to business quickly.” Veliro shook his head regretfully. “Now, I’m sure you all know that one of the Greens always gets killed by the mentors on the first day.”

  “A ritual execution,” Alandar said, his gaze moving across the crowd. “To remind you how worthless your lives are now that you have become Greens.” The intensity of Alandar’s gaze made Bowe remember another rumor about Alandar: he liked to watch others suffer. The cold touch of Drakasi’s blade slid against Bowe’s throat. Bowe’s mouth was dry, but he didn’t dare swallow for fear of cutting himself with excessive Adam’s apple movement.

  “We three were talking about the execution over dessert. Did I mention about the cakes we had for lunch? Mouth-watering. I may have to go back for more after I’m finished with you,” Veliro said. Bowe closed his eyes and clenched his fists. Just get it over with, he thought. I’m ready—just shut up about your infernal cakes and finish it.

  Then the coldness was gone from his throat. He opened his eyes to find Drakasi in front of him with his arms folded, his sword already sheathed.

  “We decided we didn’t need to kill anyone today. It’s an old custom, but it has outlived its usefulness. You grew up knowing about the Green Path. You all already know that most of you are going to die,” Alandar said. Bowe touched his fingers to his throat to make sure that his head was still attached and that there were no hidden wounds. He could barely believe he’d been spared.

  “Cliffs edge / Buffeting winds / Truly alive,” Drakasi said.

  “In Arcandis, life is only for the worthy, for those who’ve earned it,” Veliro said. “For you lot, that means walking the Green Path. Proving yourselves. Out of all of you here now, only six will be found worthy in fifty days’ time. Three will be selected by the Guardians. Perhaps it will be for their business skills, ascorim skills, or fighting skills. Maybe for ruthlessness, determination, or intelligence shown during the Path.”

  “And then each of the three selected will each chose one more,” Alandar said. “The Path is not about Greens standing alone. Just as the Selects will need to show leadership, those who aid them will need to be dedicated, loyal, and industrious if they want to be chosen. You have been cosseted in the mansions all your lives. Now you are being sent out into the city to flourish and prosper, or...not. That is the Green Path. Not an artificial test, but a chance to prove yourselves in a real environment. There are less than twenty ascor in each family, and we can’t afford any weak links.”

  “There are four common ways of surviving,” Veliro said. “The first is to become an Elect, gather Defenders about you, and build a successful enterprise. The second is to become one of those Defenders, and to make yourself chief among them so that you are chosen when your leader is selected. Most survivors of the Path are Elects or Defenders. The third way is to become a Wolfling by proving your fighting prowess in the Eye. The fourth is to become a Shadow and assassinate Greens high on the lists.”

  Bowe remembered asking Chalori about the Path when he was much younger. “Be good at killing people or making money, or be the best friend of someone who is,” she’d told him. It was still the best description of surviving the Path he’d ever heard.

  “Lick the blade / Savor the sharpness / Taste the blood.” Drakasi unsheathed his sword and, following his own instructions, stuck out his his tongue and licked the edge of his blade. Blood dripped onto his chin.

  “We mentors will be available over the next few days to help you.” Surprisingly, the Lessard mentor moved easily along the top of the narrow fountain wall; with his bulk, Bowe would have thought that Veliro would have had trouble balancing on level ground. “We are here to help you young adventurers take your first tottering steps in this dangerous world. I trade a wide variety of goods, Alandar runs a bank that gives out high-risk loans, and Drakasi trains young Greens as fighters.”

  “And, perhaps, before we go...one quick lesson.” The tone of Alandar’s voice made Bowe’s blood turn cold. Drakasi’s blade rose into the air once more. Bowe tried to back away, but crashed into the Greens behind him; there was no escape. The sword glinted in the sunlight, and then
it descended in a blur. Bowe’s scream caught in his throat. Blood splattered his face and his vision clouded.

  Death wasn’t like he’d expected. Important memories didn’t flash through his mind. His only thoughts as the world faded around him were of the fat man talking about his cakes. Nothing noble. He wondered why he didn’t feel any pain. Then, through the haze, he saw the wide, bulging eyes of another boy. He wiped at his eyes as the boy fell to his knees. Unexpectedly, Bowe’s vision cleared, and he saw blood cascading from Tlirris’s neck. The blood was dark red, almost black, and Bowe couldn’t see how one person could have that much of it. But looking around at the other blood-splattered faces around them, all frozen into masks of horror, he realized that Tlirris was the only one who had been attacked.

  The blood on Bowe was Tlirris’s blood. Bowe was still alive.

  A tittering sound came from the direction of the fountain. “That’s what I call a valuable lesson,” Veliro said. “Now, get out of here before we decide to teach you pathetic worms a few more.” Swords sang as the marshals drew their swords.

  Bowe ran.

  Chapter 3

  49 Days Left

  “You want me to bet on you surviving.” Alandar Raine leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped together in front of his chest. “Now, why would I do that? Smarter men than me have you at the bottom of the lists.” Alandar’s office was surprisingly bare—just a few wooden chairs and desk with some papers on it. No jewels in sight except for his scabbard.

  Bowe was still getting used to the idea that it was day two of the Path and he was still alive. He sat opposite Alandar on a small stool. “I’m just looking for a loan—isn’t that what you do? Give loans to the Greens? That’s what Veliro said yesterday.” Bowe knew he sounded more cranky than diplomatic. But Alandar had kept him waiting long enough, and he wanted to get back to looking for Vitarr. No one apart from Tlirris had been killed yesterday—at least that Bowe knew about. But when the marshals had scared everyone into fleeing, Bowe had lost Vitarr in the chaos. After giving up the search for Vitarr, Bowe had sheltered in a doorway for the night, but hadn’t slept much. Having no plan of how he was going to survive the Path, he’d decided to visit the Raine and Lessard mentors today. He wasn’t any good at fighting, so maybe they could help him make money. But Alandar wasn’t proving particularly friendly.