The Shadowy Path - 20. Chapter 20

Bartos

"Get up!" the lipless monster ordered, but Bartos' jelly-like legs refused to obey. "Get up, Bartos Rigailon," the man demanded more softly, but just as forcefully.

Bartos felt his forehead stung, as if something cold had slapped him hard across the face. He was in pain and his legs could barely support him, but he managed to push himself up off the floor. The scarface had made it clear that he could not disobey him.

"Good," the stranger said after seeing Bartos do his will. His yellowish eyes turned away to where Darren was standing. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice creaking.

Darren made no reply, just stared defiantly back at the ugly man.

The man's eyes flashed menacingly. "What a stubborn boy. I'll ask you again: who are you?"

Bartos saw Darren shudder and said with a strange stiffness: "I am Darren, a friend of Bartos."

"Darren..." the stranger repeated thoughtfully. "I see. It doesn't matter. I'll take you with me as well."

With him? Bartos did not want to go. He had to run, run somewhere. He grabbed Darren's arm and backed away towards the library. It was a mistake.

"You're not going anywhere!" the lipless mouth creaked, and at the same moment a cold pain cut through Bartos' forehead again.

He and Darren stopped dead in their tracks. The man was too strong, impossible to resist. He had to be obeyed.

The events that followed felt like a dream afterwards. The disfigured stranger herded them to the porch door. Bartos lifted his trembling legs and walked out after Darren like some kind of machine without a free will. They stepped onto the garden in their underwear. Yet Bartos could not remember feeling cold or embarrassed. No, he had simply obeyed.

The man had pulled his hood back over his head and was watching his captives from underneath it. "Look," he croaked, pointing his gloved finger at the corner of the house.

Only then did Bartos see a carriage, as black as night, with four horses of the same colour. The stranger motioned for the boys to follow, and so they walked towards the carriage.

Looking back, Bartos could not remember whether the gravel had scraped or the grass had tickled the bare soles of his feet. His memories of the rest of the night were hazy, but there was one thing he had not forgotten.

At the carriage he had watched the horses pulling them. They did not snort or dig their hooves into the ground, but stood silently in place, waiting for the command to move. And when Bartos looked closer, he saw that the horses had no eyes, but empty, gaping holes where the eyes should have been.

The man whispered something from his lipless mouth, opened the left door of the carriage and motioned for the boys to get in. The door clicked shut behind them. After that, everything in Bartos' head was very confusing.

As the carriage started to move, Bartos knew he should have been terrified. But the only sensation he felt was immense fatigue: his eyes closed and his whole body felt heavy and yet so relaxed. Beside him, Darren was hardly awake.

The carriage picked up speed, but Bartos was on the verge of falling asleep. A twinge in the pit of his stomach made him imagine that the carriage was rising. But Bartos did not have the strength to open his eyes and look out of the window. Unable to resist, he descended into the black tunnels of sleep - inexorably and heavily, like a log sinking into the depths of a lake.

* * *

"The carriage!" was the first thought that flashed through Bartos' mind as he began to wake. He remembered dreaming of a journey in a carriage drawn by ghost horses, hurtling through the night sky.

Bartos found himself clutching something soft in both fists, something that unmistakably felt like a sheet. His nose caught the homely scent of wax candles and wood burning in the fireplace. Bartos blinked his eyes open, trying to search for familiar objects. But the room was strange: he was not at home.

He closed his eyes again. A stranger with a mutilated face, dead yet alive horses pulling black carts - it had to be a dream, some sick nightmare. But it was not, for Bartos knew he had been awake. They had both been...Darren, where is Darren?

At the same moment, Bartos heard a loud click, followed by footsteps. Instinctively, he opened his eyes quickly and bounced up in his bed. Ready to scream, ready to run.

The horror melted away in an instant. Darren entered the room, followed by...

"Dad!" Bartos called to a solidly built man with a face very much like his own.

Berron Rigailon strode up to his son and crushed him in a bear-like hug. No more words were needed, just relief upon relief.

Darren peered behind the broad back of Bartos' father. "Hey, I'm here too. Am I invisible, Bars?" he said, waving his hand as if to stop a driver.

Bartos pulled away from his father and hurried over to greet his friend. Since Darren seemed his usual chipper self, everything must be all right. But where was the lipless man and his carriage? Surely it had not been a dream.

"Where...?" Bartos began to unravel the tangle of questions that had plagued his mind.

He was told that they were in a guesthouse on the road from Lake Towns to Five Hills. From Lake Towns to Five Hills! That was an impossibly long way from Paidos.

As to how they had got there, his father did not give a precise answer. Not even when Bartos asked again. From the look on his face, Darren was equally ill-informed.

After Bartos' pressed once more - this kind of nagging was very rare for him, as the avoiding answering was for Chancellor Rigailon - his father finally agreed to respond. He stroked his dark, slightly greying hair and looked at his son sitting on the bed, then at Darren.

"This man acted at my request. I asked him to get you out of Paidos before the Shadow Cross catches you. He used whatever means he thought best to bring you here. I'm sorry if he frightened you. He is...a friend," Berron Rigailon finished, somewhat nervously.

A friend? It was hard for Bartos to imagine such a friend for his good-natured father. He opened his mouth, but then fell silent. It was not his place to pry into his father's affairs.

So Berron continued: "The main thing is that you are here. You understand that we won't be able to return to Paidos for a long time."

"So we're going to see Mom?" Bartos guessed, and the image of his grandfather's farmhouse flashed through his mind.

But his father's answer was not what he had expected. "We're not going there. Our journey will take us to Five Hills."

"To Five Hills? Why?" Bartos was taken aback. Why didn't they go to his mother and sisters? Bartos already missed them terribly.

"I have things to do... urgent things in Five Hills. Believe me, this is better, much better," said Berron Rigailon, staring at the wall of the room.

Bartos did not understand, but did not want to bother his father with further questions.

"It's about noon, and we have a few days of riding ahead of us. Let us eat first, as we'll be continuing our journey in the afternoon. Lunch, I believe, is served in the dining hall downstairs," Chancellor Rigailon said, patting his stomach.

Food? After the terrible night, hunger was not on Bartos' mind. How had they got so far from Paidos in one night and morning? It could not have been possible unless the carriage had indeed been flying in the sky.

Bartos did not get any further, because his father had turned to Darren, who was standing next to him. "Darren, thank you for being there for Bartos last night," Berron Rigailon said. "I’m sorry about that...my assistant, sorry he brought you here too. Now we have to figure out how to get you back home to your parents."

The boy being spoken to raised his head. "I'm not going back," Darren announced. His usually cheerful eyes stared at Berron Rigailon, cold and sharp.

"Your parents..." Berron began, but Darren did not give him a chance to speak.

"They don't even notice I'm gone. By now Mom's probably opened another bottle of Paidos Rapture and Dad's snoring his head off on the kitchen floor. I might send them a letter. I'll write that I'm off on an adventure in the west and I'll be back in a year or two, although they'll probably have drunk themselves into the grave by then."

Darren gave Bartos his familiar dimpled grin, although he could not really be amused. Bartos hoped Dad would quickly change the subject, as Darren's friends tended to do when the conversation slipped to his drinking parents.

But that did not happen. Bartos' father looked at the boy standing before him and let his stern expression fade. "They are concerned about your absence. You're a minor, I can't keep you here against your parents' wishes," he said.

Darren missed the soft tone. The smile had disappeared from his face and the usual ease was gone. In its place was sheer tension and defiance. Bartos could not remember the last time he had seen his friend like this.

"They don't care! They don't give a shit!" Darren shouted, then continued in an exasperated tone. "You think I didn't know who was behind those donations of clothes and food? I hated taking your charity, but I didn't want Dad to keep beating me up. I'm not stupid, the beatings stopped when the goods started to come in. I don't know what you threatened him with, just that it stopped. But even so, you have no right to send me back there...no right at all."

Bartos looked away when he saw the tears on Darren's cheeks. Tears that did not belong on this usually smiling face. Darren never cried, he was always happy and carefree. That's how he wanted to be seen by others, and that's why it was so hard for Bartos to look at his friend trembling with tears.

After Darren's outburst, Berron Rigailon gave the curly-haired boy a sympathetic look. "Very well. You can come with us for as long as you like," he said.

A teary-eyed Darren stared at Bartos' father in disbelief and mumbled a muffled thanks. No one said anything else. Darren sniffed, blinked his wet eyes and looked very lonely and orphaned as he stood on the floor.

Bartos wanted to do something to comfort his friend, but he did not know how. In his mind, he was saddened by his own clumsiness and incompetence, unable to think of anything to say that would fit the situation.

Then, as Berron Rigailon took a quick step forward and crushed Darren into a comforting embrace against his broad chest, Bartos mentally thanked him for what a good father he had. The kind of father Darren deserved too. Darren, who looked very thin in the big man's embrace. When he pulled away from the hug, Darren also looked confused and even more tearful. Bartos wondered if an adult had held Darren in years.

Berron ruffled Darren's hair and left the room, leaving the boys alone. Bartos felt very uncomfortable. He clenched the sheet in his fist and looked at the rag rug on the floor. Darren walked stiffly to the other bed in the room.

Bartos glanced at his friend from under his brows and met his gaze.

Darren wiped his cheeks with his sleeve and said in a thick but demanding voice: "Not a word about this. Not to anyone, okay?"

"Not a word," Bartos confirmed.

He would never speak of what had happened, not to Josel, not to Franz, not to anyone. There was a need to say something more. It just was not that easy. "Darren, I...I..." he started, but the rest did not come out.

Then Darren looked at his friend and said gently, "Bars, I know." After that, Bartos felt much better.

* * *

The inn was called the Neighing Filly and was one of the many rest stops along the Central Trade Route, where travellers could stay the night or just stop for a bite to eat before continuing on their journey.

Bartos' stomach growled insistently as he descended the stairs leading from the upper floor to the dining room. He was dressed in a similar outfit of long trousers and a long-sleeved shirt to Darren's, only in a larger size. The boots on his feet were uncomfortable, but Bartos figured they would bend to fit better as he walked. The main thing was to stop loitering around in nothing but underwear.

Glancing at his friend, Bartos noticed that Darren was working hard to regain his usual joyful mood. Darren was tapping his knuckles on the banister and humming some tavern jingle. The tear streaks had been wiped from his face, but there was still an uncharacteristic lack of effort in his expression. If it was not always easy being Bartos, there was nothing enviable about Darren's life.

The dining hall was not overcrowded, but it was not empty either. The boys spotted Berron Rigailon's broad back at the table in the middle of the hall and sat down. Only now did Bartos look more closely at his father. The dark shadows under his eyes and the extra wrinkle on his forehead told Bartos more than his father wanted him to know. Fleeing Paidos and worrying about his own family had clearly worn him down.

The discussion around the table was mostly about everyday matters. Berron also said that he had used the courier to send a message to his wife and daughters about the arrival of the boys. Somewhat unusually, Dad also asked about Josel and whether Bartos had heard anything new about the Sandkans' whereabouts. To that he could not answer.

As to why they had travelled to Five Hills, Berron Rigailon said nothing. What could be so important that it was impossible to talk about it? Bartos tried to think of alternatives. The first thing that came to mind was the Shadow Cross. Was his father involved in some grand conspiracy to free Paidos? In any case, he had no intention of confiding in his son.

I guess Dad didn't think I was capable enough, Bartos thought wistfully, concentrating on stuffing his mouth with chicken sauce and potatoes.

With nothing else to do, Bartos began to look at the people sitting in the hall as he ate. He found it amusing to watch people and try to guess the purpose of their journey.

The man in the leather jacket on the left could have been a wealthy cattle farmer on his way to negotiate a deal with a slaughterhouse. At the next table, a pair of men were raising beer mugs. The men seemed so happy to Bartos that they might have hit the jackpot at the Neighing Filly's table the night before. There were as many stories as there were travellers, Bartos knew, and flinched as Darren kicked his leg under the table.

"Look at that," Darren whispered with an enthusiastic grin, pointing at the newly seated duo at the next table. The man was middle-aged and, despite outward signs of wealth, rather unremarkable. Darren had hardly been referring to him, however, but to the man's female companion.

The girl was about their age and very pretty. She was dressed rather boyishly in a tunic and tight trousers, but they accentuated her slender body. Her shoulder-length hair was tied back in a ponytail and was a pale colour, like linen thread. Hair of this colour was rarely seen in Paidos, and Bartos would have thought her beautiful for her fairness alone.

At that moment, the object of their attention noticed the stare and turned her gaze first to Bartos, who was sitting nearest. The girl's eyes were greenish and were making vivid judgements about her surroundings.

Bartos felt a rush of heat spread across his face. He had expected a confused, startled or scornful reaction, but she seemed mostly amused by his stare and the blush that followed.

Meanwhile, Darren had been eyeing the table next to him in the same way as Bartos, but with much more insolence. His deep brown eyes twinkled and he had conjured up his most charming smile.

Bartos had witnessed the same play with Darren many times before, and had always been equally disapproving. This time, however, he was sort of pleased because hitting on the girls was the best way to get Darren's mind off his parents.

Darren was treated by her very differently to Bartos - but not as expected. Seeing his flirtatious expression, she squinted her green eyes slyly, as if to accept the challenge. Darren looked surprised for a moment, then grinned shamelessly at the girl and waited for her reply.

It did not come, as Berron Rigailon coughed significantly. "Concentrate on your food," he snarled.

Bartos was embarrassed and luckily Darren knew how to look at least a little ashamed. The man sitting opposite the girl also seemed to have noticed the ogling with the boys, as he gave his companion a long, reproachful look.

If the man was the young woman's father, his daughter was certainly not bashful in his vicinity. Even his attempt to scold her was met with only a short laugh, and soon she was talking to him about ordering a drink.

Bartos kept one ear open to listen to the conversation at the next table. Although the blonde was not his type - he preferred shyer girls - there was something very fascinating about her. Despite Berron Rigailon's lecture, Darren continued to sneak glances at the neighbouring table.

"We won't order a bottle of wine. I'll have a glass at the most, and you certainly won't have any more. What would your aunt say if she were here?" said the man at the next table. The drawling speech was foreign and hinted in the direction of Malkania.

"Aunt Anibella is hundreds of miles away and you would never tell her. Offus dear, how about two glasses for the two of us? I'll be a good girl for the rest of the journey - especially if I get a bit tipsy," she said, laughing again.

Bartos was becoming increasingly convinced that the man was not the girl's father, but he was still quite unarmed by her charms. Even now he tried in vain to keep a scolding expression on his face.

"All right, two glasses for each of us and not a word to your aunt."

"Thank you, Silly," she said gently, smiling sweetly at him.

"Danae, what did I say about that nickname? It doesn't suit my rank."

"I only use it when it's just the two of us. Would you order the wine now?"

Bartos smiled at the words of the girl called Danae; even Darren would be shaking with a wildcat like that.

Then the man at the next table said: "You need to cut down on your drinking before you get to Paidos. I don't think Berron and Naeda Rigailon would approve of a ward daughter who drinks."

The girl's possible answer no longer reached Bartos' ears. The contents of the spoon, on its way to his mouth, fell into his lap. Dumbfounded, he stared first at the duo at the next table, then at his father and Darren, who, judging by his coughing, seemed to have swallowed water down the wrong way.

If Berron Rigailon had wanted to pretend that he had not heard himself mentioned, that was no longer possible after the reactions of Bartos and Darren. After all, the man and the girl had noticed the stunned expressions on the neighbours' faces. They had stopped talking and the man, with a questioning look in his eyes, was preparing to say something.

Bartos' father was quicker than they were. "I am Berron Rigailon," he introduced himself in the emphatic, deep voice of a senior imperial official.

The girl's eyes opened wide and the man's jaw dropped.

Bartos was left waiting to see what would happen. He knew his father would handle the situation as surely as anything else that came his way. Bartos hoped that one day he could be as charismatic a man, or at least something more than his boring self.

* * *