The Barbed Coil

by J. V. Jones

  “But Emith is just an assistant. He doesn’t know how to draw patterns.”

  Air brushed against Tessa’s face as Avaccus shook his head in the darkness. “Emith knows more about scribing than any other man alive. If he’s taught you all the rules of pigments and forms, then you have all the information you need to know. Paint the problem, then solve it. Emith—” Avaccus’ words came to a halt as a blistering sheet of smoke hit them both. Hot flecks of burned matter flew into Tessa’s face.

  Tessa slipped her fingers from Avaccus’ wrist and grasped hold of his hand. She told herself she wasn’t scared, yet when the old monk’s hand closed around hers, she was glad to her very core. Together they moved forward through the smoke.

  With great effort, Avaccus began clearing his throat. It took several minutes of coughing and swallowing before he could speak. Tessa told him to concentrate on moving forward, not speaking, but he was set on saying what he had to.

  “Emith is a modest man; you must not forget that. If it wasn’t for his modesty, he would have become a brilliant scribe. He had the eye and the feel for it. He just never had the confidence.”

  Avaccus succumbed to a terrible bout of coughing. Squeezing his hand as his entire body was racked with convulsions, Tessa willed herself to be strong.

  Orange light now marked the cave entrance. It flickered and hissed and grew brighter by the minute. The air was so hot, Tessa could no longer open her eyes. Beneath her body the wheels of cheese softened into a warm, grainy mush.

  Avaccus forced out words as he coughed. Tessa could only guess what effort it cost him. “You must trust your own abilities, Tessa. Trust yourself and trust Emith. An ephemera did not fall into your hands by chance. It found you because you are capable of doing what is needed.”

  “Ssh, Avaccus. Ssh.” Tessa patted the old monk’s hand. She wanted to hear more of what he had to say but could no longer bear to hear him struggling for breath. “Tell me everything when we are safe.”

  Avaccus fell silent. He didn’t even cough.

  Tessa nodded, pleased. “Right. Let’s get out of here.” Scrambling forward, she released her hold on Avaccus’ hand. A dull slapping sound followed as Avaccus’ hand fell to the cave floor. Something in Tessa’s stomach dropped with it. Spinning around, she grabbed the monk’s hand again. It was limp.

  Tessa drew a short, frightened breath. Scalding soot-filled smoke poured into her lungs; she had taken the breath without dipping her head into the layer of fresher air. She started choking and couldn’t stop. A searing pain ripped through the back of her chest. Her eyes stung, but she couldn’t risk opening them to let out tears.

  “Avaccus!” she screamed, shaking and then pulling on the monk’s hand. “Wake up. Wake up.”

  He wasn’t going to wake. He needed help. He needed fresh air. Tessa defied her good sense and glanced toward the entrance. The smoke was so thick now, it stifled the light from the fire. Heart pumping wildly, mouth so dry it ached, she made a decision. She had to make it to the entrance on her own. Avaccus didn’t have much longer.

  Placing her right cheek against the cave floor, she took the deepest breath her damaged lungs could manage. As she breathed, she ripped the collar from her tunic. Working quickly, she flattened out the fabric and placed it over Avaccus’ face. She didn’t know if it would do any good, but at least it would filter out the worst of the dust and ash. She didn’t waste any of her breath on speaking, but in her mind she told the monk to stay where he was—she’d be right back.

  Tessa scrambled to her feet and ran. Eyes and mouth sealed against the ash, face scrunched up against the heat, she tore at the smoke. Heat rose. Sweat streamed down her back and throat. Scorched air blasted her from all sides. Finally she could go no more. The temperature ahead was too high. Tessa could feel the skin on her face burning. Although she didn’t open her eyes, she guessed she was only a short distance from the cave entrance.

  The spent air in her lungs burned with a hot, searing pain. She had to let it out. Yet when she did, she wouldn’t be able to take another breath. This close to the fire there would be no more fresh air.

  I’m sorry. Tessa formed the words in her head. They were meant for many people scattered over two worlds. Her mother and father. Emith and Mother Emith. Avaccus. All those who would fight and die because of the Barbed Coil.

  Taking her ring in her hand, raising her head against the heat, Tessa braced herself for a moment, then let out the air in her lungs.

  “So you have no recollection of a young woman coming here? Two, perhaps three days back?” Ravis thought he heard a faint cry as he spoke, but dismissed it as the wind or a night-flying bird. “Reddish golden hair, slight build? Stubborn?”

  “No, my son. No young women have visited us since spring.” The old monk smiled, showing even, white teeth. “I surely would have remembered if one had.”

  Ravis looked at the old monk. His manner didn’t suit him. His teeth were too well cared for and his eyes far too sharp for the fumbling character he was playing. Five minutes earlier Ravis had presented himself at the abbey gate. The young man who had greeted him was quickly replaced by the one who stood before him now. Ravis’ questions had brought the old monk here with such speed that he wondered if the man hadn’t been listening the whole time in the shadows behind the gate.

  Pulling his cloak close to his chest, Ravis said, “The young lady in question is called Tessa. She came to meet with one of your brothers. Avaccus, I believe his name is.”

  When the old monk met his eyes over the word “Avaccus,” Ravis knew he was dealing with a man accustomed to deceit.

  The old monk traced a prayer with his hand. “Brother Avaccus passed away early this summer.” The words were a reprimand. “Now, if you will excuse me. My brother and I have already broken our vows by speaking with you this late, so I would be grateful if you could turn your horse and leave. The causeway should be safe for another hour at least. God’s blessing on you this night.” The old monk went to close the door.

  “Father,” Ravis said, choosing the word deliberately. He was rewarded by the old monk looking up at the sound of the honorific—he obviously wasn’t the lowly brother he pretended to be. “I have spoken with several people in Bellhaven who claimed they kept watch from the tavern as Tessa rode across the causeway the other night. Are you telling me she never made it here?”

  The monk shook his head and then closed the door. Ravis heard bolts being hastily drawn. A whole fist of them. He chewed on his scar. Behind him, his horse nickered softly, pulling on its reins. The old gelding wanted to be away. Ravis regarded the closed door. He had ridden nonstop for a full day to reach here. He hadn’t paid a visit to Bellhaven, as he had claimed. The line to the monk was just that—a line.

  Reluctantly Ravis turned from the door. Moonlight shone on the surrounding rocks, making salt and other mineral deposits glitter. A few ancient barnacles clustered down near the high-tide mark, clinging to the rock for grim life. As Ravis looked on, a breeze sent a series of shallow tide pools rippling. A second later he smelled smoke. Not woodsmoke, he thought idly. Or at least not wholly wood. Peat, dried seaweed, and pitch. The sort of mix Drokho fishmongers used for smoking fish, as it produced the greatest volume of smoke with the fewest flames.

  Strange. If the monks in the abbey had vows about speaking after dark, then surely those vows would cover any kind of physical labor, too? Like tending fires or curing fish.

  Ravis patted his gelding. Spying a rock with a narrow cap, he looped the reins over it. Once he was sure the gelding had enough slack for comfort, he checked his knife. He was going to take a look around.

  Leathers creaking as he stepped from the path onto the rocks, Ravis made his way into the wind. The smell of burning grew stronger with every step, and patches of blue-gray smoke began to blow along the abbey’s outer wall.

  Rocks formed a jagged jaw around the abbey. Thick tails of seaweed and layers of crusted salt made the going difficult, and when Ravis loo
ked ahead and saw the rock rising to form a cliff against the abbey’s east wing, he was tempted to head back. Still, the worst thing that could happen here was he’d end up with some freshly smoked fish for his trouble. Yet even as the thought occurred to him, he realized something wasn’t right. There was no fish smell accompanying the smoke. No delicate aroma of slowly cooking herring or trout.

  Tessa. Ravis didn’t believe in coincidences: first the monk had lied, now smoke burned at midnight with no purpose. The two things had to be related. Increasing his pace, he jumped from boulder to boulder. The rock face rose sharply, stretching high against the abbey wall. Ravis stopped jumping and began to climb.

  Smoke choked the surrounding air. Rising in great clouds above the cliff, it was pushed into Ravis’ face by the wind. Soft flecks of burned matter rained down on his hair and shoulders. Many feet above the high-tide mark now, the rock was easier to navigate. It was drier and smoother, free of all the churned-up refuse of the sea. Ravis reached the top with surprising speed.

  As soon as he saw what was there he knew what was happening. The rock face he had just climbed harbored some sort of cave. The entrance to the cave had been blocked with a stack of wood, peat, seaweed, and anything else that could burn or give off smoke, and the whole thing had been set alight.

  Ravis sucked on his scar. Now it could be that the good brothers were trying to rid the cave of bats—after all, it was the season for them. Yet Ravis didn’t believe this for one instant. Scanning the abbey wall, he spied a small door set deep within a hood of cut stone, affording the monks easy access to the cave and its entrance. So if people in the abbey could reach here at any time of day they pleased, why not build the fire in broad daylight instead? Midnight was no time to smoke out bats.

  Ravis pulled off his cloak and threw it onto the fire. The moment it was in place he kicked at the heart of the blaze, scattering the burning embers to the wind. The fire had been built in haste, and with its core disintegrating, it dwindled quickly. Abandoning his cloak to the flames, Ravis began stamping on burning logs and squares of peat. As the fire collapsed downward, a huge column of smoke started pouring out from the cave. Seeing it, Ravis grabbed a smoking log from the fire and started beating away at the flames. If his hands burned, he didn’t feel them.

  Anyone caught in the cave would surely be dead.

  Not waiting for the last of the flames to die down, Ravis stepped inside the cave. Smoke enveloped him. He could no longer see the log he was holding. Every breath he took was loaded with reeking ash. “Tessa,” he called into the darkness. “Tessa!”

  Nothing. He went farther into the cave.

  As he felt his way through the smoke, the toe of his boot hit something soft. Falling to his knees, Ravis sent out a hand to feel for whatever was blocking his way. A body. He risked opening his eyes. It was Tessa. He couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive.

  Ravis’ chest tightened. He let out a single animal cry. He felt anger so intense that if the monk who had lied to him were here now, he would have snapped the man’s neck with his bare hands. Then kicked the body until it was nothing more than splintered bones.

  What had they done to her?

  Gently and with great care, taking time to ensure he put no undue pressure on her wounds and bruises, Ravis scooped Tessa up in his arms and carried her out of the cave. Her cheek fell against his. It was hot and coated in soot. She felt so light, it made his throat ache. Although he tried to halt them, memories of his wife flooded his thoughts. During the last month of her illness, Lara had been so weak she could not raise herself out of bed. He had carried her everywhere. She had been ashamed of her weakness. He’d seen it as a chance to touch her more.

  Ravis bit right through his scar. The brief stab of pain wasn’t nearly enough to kill the memories, but it did force them back to their usual place.

  Clear of the fire now, he searched for somewhere to lay Tessa down. Spying a shallow depression surrounded by chunks of weather-split rocks, he hurried toward it and carefully laid her on the ground. As her body came in contact with the rock, a faint noise, like an inhaled sigh, sounded deep within her throat. Hearing it, Ravis stopped what he was doing, closed his eyes, then tilted his head back as far as it could go. Most of the time he didn’t believe in God. Then there were times like this. . . .

  He opened his eyes. Stars shone down from a black sky. If anyone had asked about them in that moment, he’d have sworn they gave off warmth as well as light.

  Shrugging at himself, the stars, and the night, Ravis turned his attention back to Tessa. He had work to do.

  Smoke injuries were not uncommon in battles and an everyday hazard in sieges, and Ravis was familiar with the problems that came from inhalation. Crouching beside Tessa, he took a deep breath of air, held it in his lungs, then pressed his lips against her mouth. Softer than a kiss, he let it out. Air filled Tessa’s mouth and then her throat, then traveled down to her lungs. Her chest rose and fell. Ravis took another breath and then breathed for her again. Her lips were as hot as her cheeks. They tasted of ash.

  Slowly, gradually, breath after breath, Tessa began to respond. Faintly at first, her chest rose and fell on its own, and beneath her eyelids, her eyes began to move. Ravis talked to her, saying gentle, nonsense things he would never have said if she were fully awake. He stroked her hair and brushed the ash from her cheeks, all the time continuing to breathe for her. After a few minutes, Tessa’s chest began to pump rapidly and she started to choke. Her shoulders flew forward and she coughed violently.

  “Don’t open your eyes.” Ravis pressed her shoulders back against the rock. “You’re with me, Ravis. You’re not in the cave anymore, and you’re safe.” He spoke firmly, as he would with a wounded soldier; troops waking after being injured in battle needed to be told they were safe. “I won’t let anyone harm you.”

  Tessa raised her hand. Muscles in her chest, neck, and jaw pumped wildly. She opened her eyes and winced. Quickly she closed them again. “Got to . . . got to . . .” Even though her voice was raw, she seemed intent on saying something.

  “Ssh. It’s all right.” Ravis placed a finger on her lips.

  Tessa jerked away from it. “Got to go back.”

  Ravis leaned forward. “Was there someone else with you in the cave?”

  Tessa nodded. The tendons in her neck were white with strain as she forced herself to speak. “Ava . . . Avaccus is still in there.”

  Standing, Ravis said, “I’ll be right back.”

  A good portion of the smoke had dispersed from the cave, and although the remains of the fire still smoldered, there were no more flames. Ravis found the body quickly. It was lying amid a bed of cheeses in a shallow cavern that appeared to form the center of the cave. A scrap of Tessa’s tunic lay over the man’s nose and mouth, and as Ravis drew closer he watched it for signs of movement. The scrap lay perfectly still.

  Ravis took a hard breath. Judging from all the small footprints stamped in soot around the body, Tessa had tried her best to save him.

  Kneeling, Ravis ran a finger over one of the many imprints of Tessa’s bare feet. She was brave, this woman whom fate had thrust upon him.

  Abruptly he turned his attention back to Avaccus. It was strange to touch a dead man whose body was so warm. When Ravis lifted up the body, its heat wasn’t the only thing that surprised him. Avaccus’ corpse was as dense as stone. Slowly, his thoughts in many places, Ravis carried the old monk’s remains from the cave.

  Tessa sat up as he approached. Despite his earlier warning, her eyes were open. She closed them when she saw the expression on his face. Ravis wanted to say something to her, to tell her he knew what it was to lose someone you had tried very hard to save. Yet after he had laid Avaccus’ body across a crown of rocks, he found his arms painfully empty, and all he could think of doing was crossing to Tessa and holding her as close as he could.

  And that was exactly what he did.

  Izgard forced himself to take another mouthful of food. J
udging from the look and smell of it, the dish was barley and vegetables cooked in a thin beef broth. What little meat there was had been sliced and then shredded into so many tiny filaments that it looked like little more than shaving stubble tapped out into a bowl.

  Izgard didn’t like meat. He didn’t like to think of it trapped between his teeth. He liked to chew on it even less; with its thick, fleshy texture it was like biting into one’s own tongue. Still, he forced himself to eat a little just the same, as he always had, as he always would. Physical strength had to be maintained at all cost.

  Ederius had already finished his food. The same dish as his king, of course, begun some twenty minutes earlier just in case the food tasters had failed to do their job and there was still some small measure of poison gliding, undetected, through the broth. Izgard didn’t believe in taking chances with his own life.

  Not that he wanted Ederius to die. Far from it. Of everyone gathered in the victory camp this night, the scribe was the only one who meant anything to him. Ederius had stood by his side for the past five years. His loyalty was absolute. Izgard loved him, and that was partly why he chose to share his food with him. If, by some sleight of a clever poisoner’s hand, a slow-working poison took Izgard, then it would also take Ederius. Izgard hated the thought of the scribe living on without him.

  Brushing aside the pewter bowl, Izgard said, “So, my old friend, how did it feel to be on the field today? Did running with the harras make a young man of you?”

  Ederius grew paler and more weak looking by the day. The circles under his eyes were the color of bruises. He had spent the past thirty hours at his scribing desk, painting patterns. Since Izgard had entered his tent some half an hour earlier, Ederius had done little but shake his head. He shook it now, no more or less strongly than before. “They are all dead. I sent them to die.”