by J. V. Jones
“I’m fine,” Tessa lied, impatient to hear what he had to say.
“Fine, indeed?” The old man raised his eyebrows. After a moment he nodded. “Well, I suppose that is for you to judge.”
Tessa felt a faint blush come to her cheeks.
Picking a path between the wheels of cheese, the old man made his way toward her. He was small, smaller than Tessa herself, but his body had the dense look of something that had been compressed by weights. Briefly she glanced upward. Massive hands of rock dipped from the roof of the cave like stone chandeliers. Tessa imagined she could feel their weight pressing against her ribs. Shaking her head quickly, she drove away the sensation.
“Please, drink this.” The old man stood before her, holding out a cup. “As you say, you are fine, so have no need of my medicine, but I am an old man with a hard head, and once it’s taken me an hour to brew something, I’m loath to see it go to waste.”
Chastened, Tessa took the cup. It was warm and made of bone. As the old man pulled his hand away, Tessa noticed that his right thumb lay tucked away in the palm of his hand. Mother Emith’s voice murmured in her head: “They severed the tendon on his right thumb. Stopped him from ever taking up a pen again.” Tessa looked from the old man’s hand to his face. “Brother Avaccus?” she asked.
“And if I am? What of it?”
Tessa found she couldn’t stop shivering. It wasn’t the air in the cave that was cold. It was something inside of her. She took a sip from her cup and then said, “They told me you were dead.”
“Who did?”
“Father Issasis.”
The old man looked genuinely surprised. “He did?” He shook his head. “That must have cost him dear. To lie like that to a stranger. That’s not the sort of man he is.”
“He seemed to lie smoothly enough to me,” replied Tessa, instantly regretting it. Whatever was in the bone cup had gone straight to her head. She felt it drawing the blood to the surface, pumping away at her thoughts. Putting down the cup, then pushing it out of reach, she said, “Why didn’t Father Issasis want me to see you?”
“Yes. That’s the question.” The old man who Tessa was now almost certain was Brother Avaccus lowered himself to the ground. Arranging himself into a compact form, he folded his hands in front of his chest. “Father Issasis does not like me to see anyone. That is why he has kept me here, in the cheese cave, turning the cheeses from month to month, from season to season, for the past twenty-one years.”
Something clicked by Tessa’s side. Looking down, she saw a crab scrambling over a rock. Its shell was covered in glistening specks of rock dust. Unnerved, she nudged it the way of the cup. Turning back to Avaccus, she said, “You never answered my question.”
Avaccus’ light-colored eyes twinkled for the briefest moment. “Which one? I don’t believe I’ve answered any yet.”
He was right. He hadn’t told her anything so far—just some nonsense about cheese. Tessa wished she could think more clearly. She was so cold, though. As cold as the sea in the dark. Memories of the rising tide and the currents and the darkness pressed against her mind, crowding out the light of the cave. Tessa gasped for air. “What happened to me?” she cried. “Tell me how I got here.”
Avaccus looked at her calmly. “I brought you here. I rowed a boat out across the causeway, found your body floating on the surface, dragged you aboard, and brought you home.” He smiled. “You very nearly made it on your own, you know. Another hundred paces and you would have been back at the abbey. Remarkable. Quite remarkable.”
Tessa didn’t feel remarkable. She felt cold and edgy and out of her depth. Forcing herself to think, she said, “You knew I was out there?”
Brother Avaccus made a small, self-deprecating gesture with his damaged right hand. “I had an inkling.”
“Do you also have an inking as to why I’m here?” Tessa’s voice was sharp. She felt at a disadvantage.
“I could make a guess,” Avaccus said, his tanned and salt-reddened face forming a carefully placid expression. “But it would save us both time if you told me instead.”
Tessa rubbed her eyes. Despite his soft voice and gentle facade, Brother Avaccus was as sharp as a tack. She took a breath. “I came here because a friend of mine, Emith, told me that you know about the old ways of scribing. I have a job to do, and I’m not sure how to do it, and I need some help. I need to know how to stop Izgard from turning his harras into monsters.”
Avaccus greeted this information with a barely perceptible nod, as if it were something of minor interest, like a comment about the weather or a suggestion for a first course at dinner. Tessa felt disappointed. She was considering restating her purpose in stronger terms when he spoke.
“You do know that ring you have there is an ephemera?”
Tessa was losing patience. She shook her head. “An ephemera? I don’t understand.”
“A relic of an old age, when all the worlds were bound into one, before the Shedding began, before the layers fell away. Before time and space slipped into the breach, creating new worlds from each fragment shed.” Avaccus spoke softly, his gaze focusing on some far distant point before coming to rest on the fist Tessa had formed around the ring. “It’s very old and very precious, and the fact you have it with you tells me all I need to know.”
Tessa felt her head spinning. The rocks in the caves blurred out of focus. They looked like the walls of a deep, red pit. New worlds? Shedding? Uncurling her fist, she held up the ring until it caught the light. She heard herself say, “What did you mean when you said I would surely find it lost in the end?”
“Aah. Lost. That’s the thing.” Avaccus shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable. Again Tessa was struck by how dense his body seemed. Even though the light in the cave was pale and diffused, he cast a shadow that was dark and well defined. “It is the nature of an ephemera to be lost. It is what they are, what they were forged for, what they strive to do. They pass from hand to hand, from time to time, from world to world. Slipping through cracks in ages, through fissures in time and space, they fall into the keeping of countries and men, only to disappear as quickly as they are found. Grasp it as tightly as you can, but you will never manage to hold it. Watch it day and night, and one morning you will wake, blink, and find it gone.”
Tessa’s gaze never left the ring as Avaccus spoke. The sparkling gold seemed to wink at her, as sly as an old married man slipping out to visit his mistress.
Avaccus continued, his voice tripled by soft echoes bounding from the walls around the cave. “Ephemeras never stay long in one place. They are ephemeral, temporary: a shooting star in the night sky, a sudden storm that rages and then is gone. They may lie, undiscovered and unused, for centuries. Tucked in the dark spaces between worlds, in the gaps and clefts of time, they bide their time and await their time, and then appear as they are called or needed. Ephemeras can incite causes, enflame conflicts, inspire transformations, and shape lives. There is power to them. They are where light and dark meet, where worlds converge and time becomes less substantial than the slow tick of a failing clock.
“They pass through all worlds; holy grails, magic rings, stone arcs, and sacred jewels. People believe they find them, but in reality it is they themselves who are found. Ephemeras are not a gift; they are not a bauble to be displayed or a treasure to be hoarded. They are a burden. A taskmaster. A force unto themselves.”
As Avaccus spoke, Tessa felt herself growing warmer. The sea cold lifted from her limbs and chest, leaving her feeling drained yet relieved. She felt as if she had been waiting outside in the cold overnight and was finally being allowed in. Her aches and pains dimmed and her stomach rested flat. She didn’t stop shivering, though. Weighing the ring in her hand, she said, “Are you saying this ring has some purpose?”
Avaccus tilted his head up toward the roof of the cave. He held it there a moment before finally bringing it down in a nod. “Oh, yes. Ephemeras always have a purpose. Some great, some not so great. Some have purposes that cannot
be fathomed in a single lifetime. They cause something seemingly insignificant—the death of an infant, the birth of an idea, the loss of a time-honored custom—and only lifetimes, sometimes even centuries, later can the true importance of those events be judged.
“Ephemeras are catalysts for change. They slip into a world, slip out of a world, never leaving it the same.” Avaccus sighed, his entire body collapsing inward. “And you, my dear girl, are in possession of one of them.”
Tessa met Avaccus’ gaze. The ring was heavy in her hand, and she wished for a moment that she could nudge it away like the crab and the cup. Even as she felt the urge, another part of her dismissed it. The ring was hers. Avaccus watched Tessa, his face devoid of emotion, like a scholar examining text. She didn’t doubt what he said. All along, from the very first day in the forest, she had known the ring was special. “Is there magic in it?” she asked.
“Yes and no.” Avaccus smiled. His teeth were the exact same color as the wheels of cheese he turned. “Ephemeras work through people. Whoever holds one is granted a portion of its power, or allowed a glimpse at its vision, but I do not believe it makes a magician out of anyone.”
Tessa found herself nodding. “This has fallen into my hands because of Izgard’s harras. I think I was brought here to oppose them.”
“You do, eh?” Avaccus rubbed his smoothly shaven chin. His arms were bare, and despite his age, his flesh was solid. Not plump, but weighty with ligaments and bone.
Tessa waited, expecting him to speak and confirm her belief. He remained silent, breathing evenly, his face absent of expression. The light dimmed. Colors in the cave grew deeper, redder. Shadows cast were the color of blood. From somewhere to Tessa’s side, the crab could be heard, clicking its way around the bone cup. The steady drip, drip of water droplets into some unseen pool suddenly stopped. The smell of curing cheeses mixed with the salty, bitter odor of old places once frequented by the sea. Although she was lying against the back wall of the cave, Tessa felt somehow she had been pushed to the center. That the ring she held made any place she chose to walk, crawl, or lie dead center of wherever she was.
The silence continued.
Tessa thought. She considered all she knew about Deveric, the harras, and Izgard of Garizon. She cast her mind back, trying to find any small thing she may have missed. It had felt so right when she’d scribed against the harras. Glancing down at the ring, she followed its golden folds with her eye, tracing the inner weaves as they expanded outward into the light. Perhaps the harras were only one small part of the whole. Perhaps it was Izgard himself she was meant to oppose. Abruptly her thoughts turned to Ravis and Camron. Both of them were committed to bringing about the downfall of the Garizon king. What if she were part of that same commitment? All three of them had been pulled together the day she’d put on the ring.
“Maybe it’s more than just the harras,” she said. “Maybe it’s the man who commands them.”
Avaccus flicked a finger. “Yes. No. Perhaps.”
Again Tessa felt as if she were boring the old man with trivial detail. “If you know the answer, why don’t you tell me?” she demanded. “I came all this way to see you. I’ve been attacked, chased, and nearly drowned. I’ve left people I cared about to be here, and now all you can do is sit there looking smug and keeping secrets. Worlds shedding, hidden causes, ephemeras: if you know so much, tell me.” Somewhere during her outcry, Tessa’s voice lost its sting. She felt more tired than she could ever remember feeling. Against her will, her mind conjured up the last image she had of Ravis, of him racing away from her in the inn. All the cuts and gashes on her body suddenly ached so sharply, they brought tears to her eyes.
When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, normal except for an undertone of rawness as she worked to control her emotions. “Please. I was brought here by this ring. I came from a different place—perhaps one of your worlds that split away during the Shedding. I don’t know. All I do know is I was brought here for something. Deveric called me here. The ring brought me here. I have to find out why. Until today I thought I had to destroy the harras and the scribe who summoned them. Now you look at me and although you don’t say it, I can tell you think I’m wrong. If I’m missing some piece in the pattern, I need to know.”
Avaccus sat very still while she spoke. When the last echo of her voice died away, he blinked slowly, as if his eyelids were a burden to be lifted. He spoke, but not before he had taken a deep breath to fill himself. “I am eighty-two years old, young lady. Eighty-two. And for seventy of those years I have made the Anointed Isle my home. I first came here to learn my letters, as many young boys my age did. The holy fathers have long supplemented abbey stipends by teaching young boys to read and write. It was not my intent to become a scribe, not in those days. No. I do believe I wanted to be an astronomer, mapping the night skies from behind a thick round of glass.”
Avaccus smiled at Tessa with genuine warmth. “It wasn’t to be. Once the holy fathers found I had talent with pen and parchment they were loath to let me go. I could be a great scribe, they said. An illuminator the likes of Fascarius, Mavelloc, and Ilfaylen. I should stay, learn, be initiated into the brotherhood.” The smile on Avaccus’ face faded. “We are a possessive lot here on the island, and when we consider a man our own we like to keep him close.”
Tessa glanced at Avaccus’ thumb, tucked away, useless, against his palm. When she looked up, she saw Avaccus had followed her gaze. He made no effort to conceal his hand.
“The holy fathers are filled with love and fear,” he said. “We all are, but they most of all. If you were to enter the abbey now, you would likely find Father Issasis lying prostrate on the floor of the great chapel, seeking forgiveness for the lie he spoke to you. In many ways he is a good man. In all matters save this he is an honest one.”
“He came to meet me at the gate,” Tessa murmured. “He showed me to a cell, and after I fell asleep I was attacked.” The memory of the creature in the darkness came so strongly, it made her flinch. The smell, the sound, the sheer mass of the creature. It was like utter darkness condensed.
Avaccus let his damaged hand drop to the ground. “Father Issasis sent no creature to kill you. That is not the holy fathers’ way. The threat came from another place.”
“Yet Father Issasis allowed it to happen?” Tessa was only guessing, yet something in Avaccus’ face told her she might be right. For a moment he looked immeasurably sad.
“I hope not. By all that this isle once stood for, I hope not.”
“Is there a connection between the ring and the isle?” Tessa hadn’t known what she was going to say until she said it. Avaccus’ light brown eyes seemed to pull the words from her mouth.
His nod was slight but unmistakable. “Patterns can be used to draw knowledge. I learned that very early on. All one needs is the right designs painted in the proper sequences and proportions, and one can revisit the past. Not as it was, but what remnants it leaves behind. Everything sheds skin. Things are left for us to find. If we are lucky, we stumble across them: study, classify, come to our own conclusions. That’s what illuminations enabled me to do: journey beyond these walls in search of truth.”
Avaccus’ voice began to falter. Tessa saw something shining behind his eyes. Something bright and sad and still young. “It was my talent and my downfall. Emith’s too. Though he was young and only did my bidding, and knew very little of the nature of what I did, the holy fathers punished him the all same. They separated us, exiling him because he was not truly one of their own, not quite, not yet. Another year and perhaps he may have been. But they thought it best to let him go. And me—” He made a small gesture with his hand.
“They cut your tendon to stop you from scribing.”
“They did. That and more.” Avaccus arched his gaze across the cave. All the rocks were blood red now. “They have old secrets to protect, you see. Secrets five hundred years old.”
Tessa pulled the hem of her dress down over her shins, disturbed b
y the color of her skin in the light. She didn’t speak. In the distance she could hear the sea pushing against the shore. It sounded like someone breathing.
“That ring you have is a replica of the Barbed Coil,” Avaccus said, his voice matching the cadence of the sea. “I believe they are bound together through time and space and forging.”
“The Barbed Coil is an ephemera too?”
Avaccus smiled very softly. “Yes, perhaps the greatest one of all. It slips into a world with only one purpose beating deep within its heart: to win wars.”
Tessa felt something pass along her body. The skin on her scalp puckered, causing her hair to bristle at the roots. She was suddenly aware of her body as an assemblage of parts. Her limbs seemed heavy like clubs, her hands no more than a useless coterie of bones. Her middle was like a soft, malleable waterskin. She was inconsequential, vulnerable. How could she have come so far and fought so hard with her body as her only protection? Surely it was madness.
Eyes painfully dry, Tessa blinked many times in quick succession. She tried to swallow and found she couldn’t. So she spoke instead. “The Barbed Coil has been Garizon’s crown for five hundred years. If it is an ephemera as you say, then surely it shouldn’t be here? It should have disappeared centuries ago.”
“Now that, my dear girl,” Avaccus said, pronouncing every word precisely, “is the problem.”
T W E N T Y - S E V E N
S moke rose from the illumination as acid burned the vellum. Black ink settled against black-washed parchment, gliding through the fibers like a panther hunting in the dark. Hair shed from the paintbrush, a tear of drool gained mass beneath Ederius’ chin. Sunlight streamed through moth holes in the tent canvas, spraying pinpoints of light across the desk.
Ederius was aware of none of this. The only smoke he saw came from the torching of the Rhaize camp, as the harras set light to a hillside Izgard had marked one week ago as dry. “Those grasses will go up in flames the minute a torch is taken to them,” he had said. “Let’s make sure Sandor finds it a tempting place to camp.”