The Barbed Coil

by J. V. Jones

“No. I sent the harras to do a difficult job, to run into a camp where they were outnumbered ten to one, and drive the Sire’s forces onto the battlefield. They were not sent to die. If it hadn’t been for Camron of Thorn, most of them would have returned home.”

  Ederius made a hard sound in his throat. “Returned home to what? To a slow death, where their bones grow into their organs and the roots of their teeth split their jaws?” The scribe continued shaking his head. “Do not think I haven’t seen the harras’ bodies. Do not think I haven’t seen them carried from the camp late at night. Your men may have been ordered to thrust wads of cloth down their throats, but still I hear their screams.”

  Izgard went to speak, but Ederius wasn’t finished.

  “I create them,” he said. “I paint them and incite them, they are creatures born of my hand. Yet as soon as my purpose is done, I abandon them to their fates. Their bodies fight the sorcery, and the sorcery fights them back. Monsters they may be, but they are my sons in the ink. I am responsible for them. And today I sent them to their deaths.”

  Izgard had a dozen words, ready, upon his tongue—the harras were not Ederius’ men, they were his; Ederius hadn’t sent them into the camp, he had; the Barbed Coil created the harras, Ederius was just a cipher—yet he decided to say none of it. Ederius was very beautiful to him at that moment. There was fire in his old eyes and a damp sheen of sweat on his skin. He was tired, that was all. Overworked to the point of exhaustion. He needed to be tended by a physician, wrapped in warm blankets, and given herbs and ewe’s milk to help him sleep. Izgard nodded softly. He would see to the arrangements himself.

  “Listen, my old friend,” Izgard said gently. “We won today. Garizon won. Harras may have died, but the vast majority of our sons survived. The harras made that possible. They gave to save the whole. Just as you do, just as I do. We must not lose sight of our mission. There are only hard choices in war, and every time I issue an order on the field I make one decision more.” As he was speaking, Izgard felt for Ederius’ hand. The scribe fought the contact only a moment. “We are alike, you and I. Our conscience troubles us over the means, even though we know in our hearts that the end is Garizon’s due. You may have spent two decades on the Anointed Isle, but you were born a Garizon and are still a Garizon and will remain one until you die. Think not of those harras who were killed this day; think of all those you helped save instead.”

  Ederius shook his head some more. “I can’t . . . I don’t . . .”

  “Hush.” Izgard’s voice sharpened. Remembering what had happened the last time his anger had been provoked, he released his hold on the scribe’s hand and moved away. He did not want to risk hurting Ederius in the same way he had hurt Gerta. Abruptly he changed the subject. “Has the girl been seen to?”

  Responding to the sharpness in his master’s voice, Ederius was quick to reply. “Yes, sire. I contacted the holy fathers. They said they would deal with her themselves this time. The incident with the gatheloc troubled them.”

  “You called one forth?”

  Ederius nodded. His voice was grim when he spoke. “I brought it to bear upon one of the holy brothers. It was caught in the rising tide and drowned. Its body washed up on the isle at dawn. Many brothers saw it before the holy fathers had chance to drag it away.”

  “And was it as you thought it would be?”

  “Worse. It was a creature wholly of the dark. There are no words to describe . . .” Ederius shook his head. “It seemed older than the Barbed Coil itself.”

  Izgard glanced at his crown. Resting on a plinth directly in front of Ederius’ desk, the Barbed Coil sparkled like broken glass. A moth darted around it, mistaking it for a light source. When Izgard leaned forward to touch the crown, he didn’t bother to brush the moth away. Neither insects nor dust ever came to rest upon the Coil.

  “There are many patterns for us to discover yet,” Izgard said, his fingers tracing the inner etchings of the crown.

  “Yes, sire. Many.”

  In the old days when they had talked about the Coil, Ederius’ longing had always come through clearly—he had so badly wanted to possess its secrets and draw its patterns. Here and now, though, Izgard heard nothing but exhaustion in the scribe’s voice. It worried him.

  Turning to face Ederius, Izgard said, “Rest now, my friend. I will send the physician to you with herbs to help you sleep. Tomorrow at dawn you must contact the Anointed Isle and confirm the girl is dead. She associates with the wrong people and visits the wrong places. You say she can scribe patterns, and I say she has her eye on what is mine.”

  Ederius’ gaze flicked to the Coil. “She should be dead by now, sire.”

  “Only if your precious holy fathers have devised a way to kill her without wetting their hands with blood.” Seeing Ederius flinch at his words caused Izgard a moment of regret. Taking the few steps needed to cross the tent, he said, “You have done well this day, Ederius. Take comfort in that.”

  Ederius let his head slump forward onto his chest. He did not speak.

  Izgard pulled back the tent flap. The sounds and smells of victory floated in with the breeze: men sang, meat sizzled, ale foamed into the mud. Izgard had promised his men women tomorrow, and he had already picked the town that would provide them. Merin, a market and dairy farmer’s town, was half a day’s hard march at most. Plump, milk-fed maidens could be harvested there, along with meats, grains, and supplies. Izgard had no appetite for meat and was losing his interest in women, yet he would make sure his men got both. It cost him so very little to do so.

  Besides, Merin was en route to Bay’Zell.

  Mistress of three seas, central to more trade routes than any other city in the west: Bay’Zell was the ultimate prize. From its harbors a man could take a continent. Five hundred centuries earlier, that was exactly what Hierac had done. He’d even built himself a fortress as a base. Castle Bess: now in the hands of Camron of Thorn, presently to be reclaimed by the wearer of the Coil.

  As he thought, Izgard’s fingers tightened around the tent canvas, imagining it was skin. Today the first battle had been won. Soon the first city must be taken.

  “Rest, Ederius,” he said, relinquishing his grip on the canvas. “Tomorrow we begin the journey north.”

  T W E N T Y - N I N E

  T essa remembered little about the night Ravis pulled her from the cave. What memories she did have seemed patchy and unrelated. She recalled Ravis’ arms around her as she sat on the cliff top catching her breath, heard him whispering in her ear that everything would be all right. Next she remembered the ride to the mainland. Bound to Ravis’ back so she wouldn’t fall from the horse if she passed out, she and Ravis had ridden across the causeway one step ahead of the tide.

  After that a long period of darkness followed, where Tessa remembered nothing except varying degrees of pain and the creak of old floorboards as she was carried up a flight of stairs. The next thing she was fully aware of was waking up in a warm bed, in an oak-paneled, windowless room, listening to the sounds of drinking, arguing, and eating filtering up from what she guessed was a tavern below.

  Three days later she was still here. Ravis stayed with her most of the time. Drawing up his chair to the bed, he would tend to her wounds, cleaning and binding them every few hours, rubbing ointment or grease into them, depending on what he found. He would feed her, too; blowing on each spoonful of broth until it was cool enough to run down her throat without causing further pain.

  Swallowing hurt a lot. Breathing hurt even more. Her back ached every time she inhaled, and fresh air stung like vinegar in her lungs. Sometimes she had to force herself to breathe. Other times her throat closed off, blocking the path to her lungs. Two times she had woken in the night, unable to take a breath. Ravis would hold her tightly, smothering her panic as he rubbed something oily and sharp smelling under her nose. “Peppermint oil,” he told her as he worked. “To ease the spasms in your throat.”

  Much of the time Tessa kept her eyes closed. It hurt w
hen she opened them, and Ravis told her the longer she kept them protected from light, the quicker they would recover. She felt weak all over and could never get warm, despite the blankets and the fire. Cold chills shook her. Hot flushes heated her skin but left her insides cold.

  She tried not to think about Avaccus. They had left his body on the top of the cliff. Tessa felt it was the right thing to do. Avaccus had spent his entire adult life at the abbey, and even though the holy fathers had exiled him to a cave for twenty-one years, it had been his own decision to stay there. He could have walked across the causeway any time he chose.

  Tessa sighed. In her heart she knew Avaccus’ choices weren’t really as simple as that; he was old and set in his ways, and the severed tendon on his thumb prevented him from pursuing the only trade he knew. Even so, she still believed Avaccus’ body belonged on the isle. It was, and always had been, his home.

  Sliding down amid the blankets and pillows in her bed, Tessa tried to rest. She didn’t want to sleep. Sleep brought dreams, and dreams brought all kinds of bad things. The night in the cave played itself over and over again in her dreams. Sometimes she woke sooner, or shook Avaccus harder, or ran to the cave entrance straight away and immediately kicked out the fire. Whatever she did, the outcome was always the same. Avaccus died, and she was left with the feeling that if she had just done something different, she might have saved him instead. When she woke the dreams faded, but the sense of responsibility remained.

  Tessa’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps drumming along the hallway. A key was turned and Ravis entered the room. “How are you this morning?” he asked, placing a tray of food on a small trestle table near the bed. “You look better.”

  It was morning? With no window in the room, times of day were difficult to judge. Tessa could sometimes guess when it was midday or suppertime, as the sound coming from below was punctuated by the clattering of plates and the chiming of cutlery. “I’m fine,” she said, not sure if it was the truth or not.

  Ravis nodded. “Your voice sounds stronger. How is your breathing?”

  “Better, I think.”

  “Good. Then you should be able to eat better, too.” With that, he picked up a bowl from the tray and began stirring it with a spoon.

  Feeling as if she had been tricked, Tessa pulled herself up reluctantly. She didn’t want to eat.

  Ravis blew across the bowl a few times and then handed it to her. “It’s oxtail broth,” he said, eyes twinkling. “A guest downstairs in the tavern was most insistent that you get some. Why, she even went to the kitchens herself to make sure the cook prepared it just right. She managed to upset so many people in the process that it’s just as well she’s leaving Bellhaven today. She actually told the cook her stock wasn’t fit for washing dishes.” Ravis laughed. “And the cook here has arms the size of beer barrels. I’d think twice before insulting her myself.”

  Tessa found herself smiling too. “Does the lady’s name happen to be Missis Wicks?”

  “One and the same. She wanted to come up here to see you, but I wouldn’t let her. She’s been visiting the tavern every day, hoping to find a lady companion to travel with her back to Kilgrim. One of the maids here is leaving with her at noon.” Ravis patted his leather tunic, then pulled out a small handwritten card. “She gave me the name and address of her brother-in-law. Said if you didn’t find what you were looking for on the Anointed Isle, you should pay him a visit.” Ravis read the name on the card. “Moldercay.”

  The bone keeper. Tessa suppressed a shudder. “He used to be a monk. Missis Wicks said he kept records at the abbey for many years. She also said he had eyes prone to wander over anything—not just women.”

  “Sounds much like any other man of God to me.” Ravis chose an apple from the tray and bit on it. “So,” he said, “are you going to tell me what actually happened on the isle? Did Avaccus teach you about the old patterns? Or did you and he find something else to talk about?”

  Tessa spooned her soup to give herself time to think. The man before her had worked for Izgard of Garizon. Could he be trusted? What Avaccus had told her was too important to be passed around lightly. She was the only one he had ever spoken to about ephemeras—she was sure of it. Now he was dead, and the burden of that knowledge fell upon her shoulders. It was yet another responsibility in her growing collection.

  Briefly, Tessa glanced at Ravis. Part of her still couldn’t believe he was here. She had assumed he would return to Mizerico with Violante of Arazzo. Only he hadn’t. He had ridden all this way to be with her, Tessa McCamfrey, leaving Violante to sail home on her own.

  Tessa raised a spoonful of broth to her lips.

  “Be careful,” Ravis said. “Blow on it one last time to be safe.”

  She met his eye. Over the past few days she had seen things in him that she could never have imagined before. He was gentle with her, careful. It was as if she were something precious that he was afraid might break. He was still the same man she had come to know on the ship, yet in between being his normal sardonic self she now caught glimpses of something else.

  Returning the soup to the bowl, Tessa said, “Avaccus told me the real reason why I’m here.”

  Ravis raised an eyebrow. “And what is it?”

  Tessa took a small breath. Ravis was the first person she had made contact with in this world, he had protected and saved her, and for the past three days he had tended her day and night. In all ways that counted she had trusted him right from the start.

  Pulling her ring from its usual place around her neck, she turned it toward the light, waited a moment until there was a lull in the noise rising up from below, and said, “This ring is the key to it all.”

  Slowly, pausing as her breath left her or the pain in her back bit too deeply, taking long blinks from time to time to ease the stinging in her eyes, Tessa told Ravis all she had learned about the Barbed Coil. She told him about ephemeras, what they were, what little she knew of where they came from, how Hierac of Garizon had found one, and what it had caused him to become. She spoke of Hierac’s visit to the Anointed Isle, of the agreement struck between the Garizon king and the holy fathers, and of the binding of the Coil to the earth. She explained why Avaccus thought she had been brought here and what he believed she must do.

  Through it all, Ravis sat and listened. He never interrupted once. Sometimes he nodded or ran a hand through his hair, but mostly he chewed on his scar. If Tessa had been hoping to surprise him, she would have been disappointed, for his expression never changed during the telling. She could tell he was listening intently, but although he was hearing things he could not possibly have heard before, his face gave nothing away. Finally, when she had finished, he reached out to touch the ring.

  “Five hundred years,” he said, his fingers touching Tessa’s over the gold. “And all this time we thought Garizon and its kings were responsible for their wars.”

  “Have you seen the Barbed Coil?” Tessa asked.

  Ravis shrugged. “Once. From a distance. Izgard’s scribe was drawing patterns from its base—I remember his fingers bled as he worked, yet he didn’t seem to notice. Ederius is the only man alive Izgard trusts with his crown.”

  “Do you think Izgard knows about the Coil? What it is, what it does?”

  “I can’t say. Perhaps not all of it. Perhaps Izgard knows only that he cannot afford to lose it. After five hundred years old tales can become distorted and diluted, and the truth of the matter may well be lost. The agreement is still intact, though. Izgard is committed to the safety of the Anointed Isle, and judging by the attempt on your life three nights ago, the holy fathers still feel some sense of obligation in return.”

  Even though Tessa agreed with Ravis, she found herself shaking her head. Avaccus had been wrong about Father Issasis. He’d thought the abbot would take no action to harm her, that even the small lies he’d told her would trouble his conscience. Tessa pushed her lips together as hard as she could. She hoped Father Issasis’ c
onscience troubled him into the grave.

  “This pattern you have to draw,” Ravis said, “how can we find out more about it?”

  Tessa was suddenly very glad she had told Ravis everything. She liked the way he used the word we. “I’m not sure. Avaccus said I had to paint the problem, then solve it. To do that I need to have some idea of what the original looks like. I have to know how Ilfaylen worked.”

  “And there are no known copies of the illumination?”

  “No. Every night after Ilfaylen had finished work on the manuscript, it was taken from him and checked for pinpricks. Whenever he wasn’t working on the pattern, all his brushes and pigments were removed, so he couldn’t even make a rough sketch of it.”

  Ravis nodded. “And the original is in Veizach?”

  “Avaccus said it was sealed in a lead box and buried in a secret location deep beneath the city.”

  “Hmm.” Ravis stood up and walked over to the fire. “As Veizach is one of the five largest cities on the continent, I would say we have quite a problem.”

  “Perhaps Missis Wicks’ brother-in-law knows something that might help us, or even Emith. Avaccus told me Emith could have been a great scribe if he had chosen to be.”

  “Only he had no faith in his own abilities?”

  Tessa found herself surprised at Ravis’ astuteness. “Yes. That’s the same thing Avaccus said.” As she spoke, Tessa was aware of her voice thinning. She took a breath, but it caused a sharp, stabbing pain in her back and didn’t fill her up. As she took a second, deeper breath, she felt her lungs begin to burn.

  “You need to rest.” Ravis was beside her before she knew it, drawing the covers up around her chest, laying a hand on her brow to feel the temperature of her skin. “Close your eyes for a while. Don’t try so hard to breathe.” From his pack he pulled out a small greased-paper pouch and dabbed a little of its contents onto the skin directly above Tessa’s upper lip. Peppermint oil.

  Closing her eyes, Tessa allowed herself to be calmed by Ravis. Air passed easily enough down her throat, but the farther it went the harder its journey became. She felt as if her lungs were closing up.