The Barbed Coil

by J. V. Jones

  “But the Sire stands by the river, awaiting news of survivors. All those in the valley are . . .” Pax’s voice faltered for an instant, but he worked quickly to control it. “Dead. Izgard’s troops are looting their bodies. We can’t go down there. It’s not safe.”

  Camron was about to object, tell Pax that the darkness would conceal them, but something in the young man’s face stopped him. He wasn’t the only one who had fought today. “Take me only as near as we can safely go.”

  Pax glanced the way of the retreat, thought a moment, then pulled Camron up. He asked no questions, and Camron was grateful of that. Together they hiked down the hillside. Bodies littered the charred grass. Many had fallen to surprisingly light wounds. Slowed by their injuries, they had been caught in the smoke and forced to inhale the hot, reeking air. Some had burned to death, others had bled. Many bore the marks of the harras’ claws and fangs on their necks.

  In the darkness their features were hard to recognize. Camron found himself unable to walk past a body until he had seen each man’s face for himself. Pax helped him turn them. Sometimes skin came away in their hands. Other times the bodies were still warm and blood was still damp upon their clothes. All of them seemed light. It took nothing to lift them. Bows and swords fell from their grips as they were turned. Pax was quiet as he worked. He breathed silently, as if ashamed of the sound of his own body laboring to keep him alive. Camron knew how he felt, but he also knew the dead couldn’t hear, and his own breaths came hard and laden.

  Camron put names to many faces. Those he was unable to identify troubled him. He spent longer with them, looked closer, committed them to memory.

  Each time he and Pax turned a body, a muscle deep in Camron’s chest tightened for the briefest instant. He feared finding Broc among the dead. Of all the people who had fought here today, Broc was the least fit to outrun the smoke and the flames. His old wounds were slow to heal. Camron tried to recall the last time he had seen him, the last word or glance they had shared. When no memory came to mind, he felt the muscle in his chest tighten once more. This time it stayed tight. Only when he and Pax finally made it down into the lip of the valley did he realize that the sensation he was experiencing wasn’t a physical one at all.

  It was anger.

  The harras had robbed him yet again. First they’d taken his father, then they’d stolen his childhood home. Now they had lifted his memories. He could not recall when he had last seen Broc. He had no memory of what he had said to any of his men during the battle. Had he given encouragement along with the orders? Had he warned them to watch their backs? Stay clear of the smoke? Withdraw when wounded? Had he stopped to squeeze the hands of the dying? Or helped carry the injured away?

  Camron pushed his teeth together until his jaw ached. He remembered the battle and the orders, but nothing else.

  “Sir. We should go no farther than this.”

  Camron looked up at the sound of Pax’s voice. The young man’s eyes held no fear, just concern. Handling the dead had changed him. “I need to see the valley for myself,” Camron said. “I have to see the bodies.”

  After a long moment Pax nodded. He made a small gesture with his hand, indicating a line of trees to the east. “If we use them as cover, we should be able to move closer without being spotted.”

  Camron nodded back. He was suddenly very glad he was not alone. “Let’s go.”

  They skirted around the periphery: two figures winding in and out of the trees, the dried blood on their clothes and faces the perfect camouflage for the night. No owls called. No foxes or voles snapped twigs or rustled leaves as they passed. Black ash coated branches and bushes like a layer of negative snow. The moon came and went. Camron’s muscles ached as he walked. A molar rattled loose in his jaw. Long past fatigue now, his body had emerged from the other side of exhaustion to be rewarded with a tooth-and-gristle sort of strength. He felt as if he had been stripped, skinned, and then pared to the bone.

  The tree cover weaved down into the valley. Camron and Pax slowed their pace. Directly ahead lay the battlefield. At first Camron could make nothing out. The moon had disappeared behind a bank of clouds, and the valley seemed little more than a black pit. Slowly details began to emerge from the darkness: the curve of the land, the broken thread of a stream, the charred skeletons of bushes. The cloud cover thinned minutely, and Camron was able to pick out figures bobbing up and down across the entire stretch of the valley. Izgard’s men. They were looting whatever dark forms lay on the valley floor.

  A sharp wind cut across the valley. Camron’s hair was pushed from his face. The last of the clouds blew clear of the moon, and the valley was suddenly filled with silver light.

  Camron heard Pax draw breath. The young guard was a pace or two ahead of him. The butt of his spear trailed in the dirt at his heels. His knuckles cracked as they tightened around the shaft.

  The valley was crowded with bodies. Heads, limbs, torsos, hands, necks, and shoulders were packed so closely together, they stopped being parts of individual men and became something else instead. Part of the whole. The Rhaize dead formed a single mass. Black with soot and dried blood, their bodies had set in a jagged clot of arms and legs and fingers and feet. Like debris dumped by a hurricane, they covered the valley floor with a cluster of broken parts. One man. One corpse.

  One death.

  Camron dropped his chin to his chest. He had never seen anything like it in his life. He had no words to use or images to compare it with. It was death, that was as much as his mind would allow.

  Directly ahead of him, Pax fell to his knees. Camron himself was frozen. He felt lost. Ever since the night of his father’s death he had been trying to find his way. Seeing the bodies was one more step back.

  They could be anyone, he thought. Rhaize, Garizon. Anyone.

  “Ten thousand,” murmured Pax, breaking a silence so absolute that it seemed like blasphemy to speak into it. “Ten thousand men died here today.”

  Then, hearing Pax’s words, Camron knew why he had come here. He had come to bear witness. Berick of Thorn had seen forty thousand die at Mount Creed, and now his son saw ten thousand dead in a valley north of the river Hook.

  Camron looked hard. His eyes, still raw from smoke burns, stung and watered. But he didn’t blink. He was seeing what his father had seen fifty years before. Bodies covered in ash, not snow; the breeze warm, not mountain cold on his cheek: yet it made no difference. The truth was the same.

  No. Camron didn’t know if he said the word or thought it. He didn’t know if it was a denial or a promise. He only knew he had been wrong. No matter who had won today, he had lost. Just like his father at Mount Creed, he was in the middle. His countrymen died either way. Slowly, his gaze not faltering from the sight before him, Camron began to shake his head. He understood now why his father had fought with him that last day. He had not wanted his son to repeat his own mistakes.

  Taking a step forward, Camron laid a hand on Pax’s shoulder. He intention was to comfort the young guard, but as soon as his fingers closed around Pax’s shoulder blade, he realized he needed support. It was all he could do to keep standing. Strength drained from his body with every breath. All this time he had been running around, looking for a fight, not once stopping to think about the future or the past.

  The Countess Lianne had assumed Berick wanted his son to wage war against Garizon to win back the crown. Yet she was wrong. Berick wanted no wars. “What value is victory when all a nation’s sons are dead?” They were as good as his last words.

  Camron smiled grimly. He had been a fool.

  “Come on, Pax,” he said, his voice more level than he could ever have hoped. “Let’s get away from here. We’ve seen enough.”

  Pax stood. Like Camron, he did not take his eyes from the bodies as he moved. When he spoke, it was in a child’s frightened whisper. “This is just the beginning, isn’t it?”

  “No.” Camron tried to look away from the dead and found he couldn’t. “This is the e
nd.”

  T W E N T Y - E I G H T

  T essa’s breaths grew shallow as she slept. The air passages in her nostrils closed, and her mouth sprang open to take in air. Only the air wasn’t right. It was thick and bitter, hardly air at all. It blocked her throat like a wad of cloth thrust down a pipe. Her lungs did the only thing they could: they contracted violently to expel the unwanted matter.

  The muscles in Tessa’s chest convulsed. Her eyes blinked open. Sheer terror hit her like a smash in the jaw. She couldn’t breathe. Vaulting upward into the darkness, she called Avaccus’ name. Smoke pushed out of her mouth with the cry. Smoke was sucked down into her lungs with her very next breath. The cave was filled with it. What was happening?

  “Avaccus!” Tessa stumbled in the direction she had last seen the monk. Her lungs burned. Her heart pumped strangely, erratically. It kept missing beats. Smoke scoured its way down her throat. “Avaccus!”

  No response. Blind panic seized Tessa. There was no air. As she rushed forward, her shin slammed against a rock. Pain exploded in her leg. Tears stung her eyes. Her bladder weakened but didn’t give. Knowing it was foolish to do so, but unable to stop herself, she gasped for another breath. Foul, smoke-laden air choked her lungs. Retching and coughing, she thrust out her hands to feel the way ahead. Darkness had turned the cave into a shark’s open maw. Every rock was a tearing tooth. The blackness closed about her like a swallowing throat.

  “Help!” she screamed. “Help!” That was another foolish thing: screaming. But even as she scolded herself, she screamed again. Hysteria was close to overwhelming her. Someone had set a fire to kill them.

  Dimly Tessa realized she must be taking in some small portion of breathable air with the smoke, or she would already be dead. A bout of coughing racked her body. Seconds passed before she brought the spasms under control. As she spat out a mouthful of thick saliva, a small noise sounded to her right.

  “Avaccus.” Tessa didn’t wait for a reply. She made her way in the direction of the noise. The darkness pushed against her body like black steam. Taking rapid breaths through her nose to filter out what smoke dust she could, Tessa moved across the cave. Pain throbbing in her leg reminded her to step cautiously, but her lungs ached with a raw, near-to-bursting pain, and except for sweeping her arms out before her, she did little to feel the way.

  The sound came again. Softer, shorter: it sounded like a last breath.

  Tessa’s foot stamped into a round of cheese. Rind broken, it released its sour-dairy odor like a flower releasing pollen. Tessa sneezed. Her lungs cleared for an instant and she sucked in more air. As she wiped her face with her wrist, she crushed another round of cheese with her heel. They were everywhere. Frustrated, she rushed forward, sneezing and stamping cheeses with every step. The sneezes helped, clearing smoke debris from her nose and throat in between each breath.

  Just as she approached the area where the noise had come from, she stepped on a wheel of cheese that hadn’t ripened. It collapsed beneath her foot like a soufflé, spilling out fungus-warmed liquid onto the rock. Tessa slid in the wetness, losing her footing and falling forward onto the cave floor. She landed well, cushioned by the cheese rounds. Her nose touched rock. When she took a breath to calm herself, she found the air was clearer. Her lungs didn’t fight it tooth and nail. They drank it up.

  Of course, she thought. Smoke rises. The best place to be was on the ground. Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner?

  Not stopping to consider the answer, Tessa bellied her way through the last of the cheeses, nose pressed firmly against the rock. Her throat still burned, but she could feel muscles deep inside her chest relaxing. Her rib cage released its lock on her lungs.

  “Avaccus,” Tessa cried. “Make a sound so I can find you.”

  Nothing. The silence made the darkness seem even darker. As she waited, she raised her hand to her neck to check for the ring. It was there. Before she had fallen asleep, she had tied it in place. Touching it, she remembered all Avaccus had told her about ephemeras. It hardly seemed possible she was holding one.

  A thin scraping noise sounded directly in front of her. Letting the ring drop back to her chest, Tessa crawled forward. Smoke was moving in to fill the gap at the bottom of the cave. The air was beginning to get hot.

  Shooting a hand forward, she grasped something smooth and heavy. If it hadn’t been for the fact that it was warm, she would have assumed it was a wooden club or a metal bar. It was Avaccus’ leg. Tessa shook it.

  “Avaccus! Wake up! Wake up!” When there was no response, she shook harder. “Please. Wake up.” Still no reply. Tessa lowered her nose to the cave floor and took a breath. Avaccus must have been lying down the whole time, in the center section of the cave. Surely he would have been breathing fresh air? So why wasn’t he responding?

  Cursing the darkness, the smoke, everything, Tessa leaned forward and grabbed Avaccus’ shoulders in her hands. Panic and anger at the unfairness of everything that had happened to her since she’d reached this blasted place made her shake Avaccus’ body with mad fury. He couldn’t die. It would be her fault if he did. The smoke wasn’t meant for him.

  “Wake up!” she screamed at the top of her voice. “Wake up!”

  A muffled choking noise gurgled up from Avaccus’ throat. Tessa bobbed her head down to the floor, took a quick breath of air, and then pumped Avaccus’ chest with her fist. His body felt as heavy and unresponsive as a lead jacket. What had living in this cave for twenty years done to him? “Come on, Avaccus,” she coaxed. “Take a breath.”

  Avaccus’ chest rose beneath Tessa’s fist. His entire body trembled, and then the muscles in his chest contracted in a rhythmic wave. He took a breath. Immediately he began to cough and splutter, attempting to raise his head from the floor. Tessa pushed him back down. She didn’t want him repeating her mistake. Standing, even sitting up, was certain death.

  Hot clouds of smoke pushed against Tessa’s back. No longer curling idly around the cave, the smoke rippled through it with intent. In the distance she heard a faint crackling sound. Fire.

  “Avaccus,” Tessa said, not sure if the old monk was in any state to hear her words, “we have to get out here. Where is the entrance?”

  More coughing, followed by the terrible thin wheezing sound of an old man struggling for breath. “Ahead, through the bed of cheeses.”

  It took Tessa a moment to realize that Avaccus had spoken. His voice was very weak. Sucking in a mouthful of air from the cave floor, she said, “Come on. Turn on your stomach. You have to keep your face against the rock. It’s the only way to breathe.” Even as she spoke, she was aware of smoke scratching away in her throat. The air at the bottom was no longer fresh.

  “You go.” Avaccus’s voice was raw. He stopped between each word to cough. “I can’t make it to the entrance. I would slow you down.”

  Without even giving it a thought, Tessa shook her head. The idea of leaving someone in this pitch black smoky hell was intolerable to her. She couldn’t just run away. At one time she might have done just that. Running away was her specialty. Her party piece. The one thing she did well. But things were different now. Ederius and his patterns, Avaccus and his ephemeras, Emith and his mother: whatever or whoever had changed her didn’t matter. The fact was she had changed.

  Grabbing hold of Avaccus’ left side, Tessa began rolling the old monk onto his stomach. He protested. She didn’t listen. He slapped her hand away. She slapped it back. Strength came from somewhere—lots of it—and with one mighty heave, she flipped him over. He coughed and groaned, and his bones made terrible dull clicking noises, but Tessa ignored everything. She had to. Smoke was hitting them in hot, thick waves. The crackling sound grew steadily louder, and a warm breeze began to whip around the cave. In a few moments, smoke wouldn’t be their only danger. Fire was somewhere close. Out of sight for the time being, but there.

  Tessa tried to drag Avaccus across the cave floor, but the sheer density of the old monk’s body was a problem. She mi
ght as well have tried to drag solid rock. The rough, uneven texture of the cave floor didn’t help either, as the slightest protuberance could jab against Avaccus’ skin, tearing and bruising his flesh.

  “Breathe the air right off the floor,” she reminded him, hoping the more air he got, the more alert he would become. Avaccus did as he was told. Tessa could hear him taking in air. “Come on,” she said, realizing their only chance of escaping was if Avaccus could be made to move by himself. “We’ve got to start moving. One leg at a time.” Her tone started out gently enough, but the same panic that had overrun her earlier began to reassert itself in her voice. The temperature was rising sharply. “Now! Now!”

  Pulling at Avaccus’ shoulders, his arms, his hands, his robe, Tessa dragged him into motion.

  Fresh air was increasingly harder to come by. Tessa breathed in great wads of smoke with every breath. The urge to cough was overpowering. The stench of smoke drowned out the odor of cheese, and as she crawled through the maze of split wheels, she no longer had the urge to sneeze.

  “Hurry,” she cried, making no attempt to hide the fear in her voice. “Hurry!” Hot air blasted her face. Even though her eyes were closed, the heat penetrated her lids. The inside of her mouth felt as if it had been grated by hot sand.

  Avaccus did his best, easing his body over the cave floor as quickly as he could. It wasn’t enough. At this rate they would both be suffocated by the heat and smoke before they managed to make it to the entrance. Tessa knew she shouldn’t get angry with him, but she couldn’t help herself. He had to move faster. He was going to be saved.

  Sending a hand through the soft, milky soil formed by the squashed cheeses, Tessa searched for Avaccus’ arm. “We have to make it out of here,” she cried, grabbing his wrist not at all gently. “You’ve still got things to tell me. I still don’t know how to scribe properly. You have to show me what to do.”

  Avaccus made an odd sound in his throat. Tessa thought he might be laughing. She couldn’t tell. “You’ve been taught by Emith of Bay’Zell, young lady,” he said. “You should know all you need to know.”