by J. V. Jones
One night’s sleep hadn’t been nearly enough. Tessa found her body ached more than ever now, and in new, alarming places: the base of her spine, her inner thighs, and the column of muscles to either side of her neck. The gash on her left shoulder was beginning to heal. Once all the dried blood had been cleaned away, she was surprised to see how small and shallow it was. Clean, too, which was good considering it had been caused by a rusty nail jutting from the inn door.
Tessa pulled sharply on her reins, guiding her horse around a ditch in the road. She didn’t want to think about that night. She didn’t want to think about Ravis or his relationship with Violante of Arazzo. Reaching the Anointed Isle was what counted, and anything that took her mind away from that had to be pushed aside. She had to carry on. There was no choice here, only the thought of the harras and what an army of them could do, and a series of patterns, twenty-one years in the making.
“What do you know about the Anointed Isle, Missis Wicks?” Tessa asked, keeping an eye on the way ahead. Rain was causing the road to deteriorate rapidly. The land they were traveling through was flat and unremarkable: low bushes, scrubby trees, the occasional plowed field, and whole banks of reeds growing in circular clumps or winding lines, marking deep-set ponds and hidden streams. If it wasn’t for the fact that the road was built a few feet higher than the surrounding land, the whole thing would have been waterlogged by now. Tessa wondered why anyone had bothered building it in the first place.
“The Anointed Isle is no place for a woman,” Missis Wicks said, shaking her head with venom. “No place at all. My daughter’s a match for you in age, young lady, and I can tell you now all the land between Kilgrim and Hayle would have to sink clean to the bottom of the sea before I’d even allow her to set foot there.”
Tessa let out a small sigh. This wasn’t going to be easy.
Glancing around to check that none of the men were in earshot, she asked, “Why is that?”
Missis Wicks shook her head some more for good measure. “Because it’s a bad place, simple as that. The monks don’t like women, for one thing. Say they distract the monks from their work. My brother-in-law Moldercay would still be there today if it wasn’t for some young baggage catching his eye.” All the while she was speaking and shaking her head, Missis Wicks’ hair never moved. Despite being rained on for over an hour, its height and style remained unchanged. “Not that it was a bad thing in the long term, you understand. Wicks were made for trade.”
“Your brother-in-law used to live on the Anointed Isle?”
“Aye. Record keeper, he was. He had a good hand, but an eye prone to wander. And not just over women, I’ll have you know. That man couldn’t look at anything without wanting to unravel, unfold, or undress it!” Missis Wicks executed a forceful, pouting tut. “Of course, he didn’t get that from the Wicks side. No, my good shoes, he didn’t! That came from his mother’s side: the Polliers. There’s not a Pollier living who isn’t famous for putting his or her nose into other people’s business. Disgraceful, it is. Though it can make for good business from time to time.”
“What does Moldercay do now?”
“Bone keeper.” Missis Wicks spoke the words with grudging pride. “He runs his own charnel house in Bellhaven—keeps all the decent people’s bones there. No trollops, beggars, or tinkers ever find their way into Moldercay’s pot.”
Moldercay’s pot? Tessa shivered; she didn’t like the sound of that one bit. “And he was cast out of the monastery for falling in love with someone?”
“No, girl. You’re just like my daughter, Nelly—too busy thinking to listen. You should pay more heed to what I say. Moldercay wasn’t cast out—no one is cast out of the Anointed Isle. It would take an act of God himself for those hardhearted stone-faced holy men to give up one of their own. Heaven forbid, no. Moldercay chose to leave so he could marry the girl.”
Missis Wicks settled herself more comfortably on her saddle while managing to keep her back ramrod straight. “The holy fathers put up quite a fight, I’ll have you know. They had Moldercay fast for thirteen days before they finally agreed to let him go. Poor Moldercay was so delirious that he walked right across the causeway as the tide was rolling in. Had to swim the last ruvit to shore. Never been in the water since, and I can’t say I blame him. Salt water might be good for the eyes and inducing the vomits, but it’s murder on a person’s skin and teeth. Wouldn’t catch me dead in it. I’d rather soak in lye for a week.”
Tessa could think of no suitable response to that, so she stayed quiet for a few moments, thinking. The three men in the party were riding a few paces ahead. Tessa hadn’t spoken to any of them apart from the briefest of nods and greetings. Missis Wicks said it wasn’t proper. And she said it in a loud enough voice, with a sweeping enough glance, that all three men had got the message and had duly kept their distance ever since.
“The Old Hoot’s cummin’ up, Missis Wicks,” shouted the oldest man without looking around. “Will yer be wantin’ a stop or press on?”
“We’ll press on, Elburt. Stop now and we may not reach Bellhaven by dark. And I won’t have us riding through unlit streets like mounted trollops or Vennish spies. I just won’t have it.”
Elburt grumbled, but quietly.
Tessa didn’t pay much attention to the exchange; she had quickly grown accustomed to Missis Wicks’ bossy ways. Her mind was still on the Anointed Isle. If she was lucky, she might be there tonight.
Fingers searching out the ring around her throat, Tessa said, “Why are the holy men so reluctant to let any of their own go?”
Missis Wicks sucked in a good amount of air to aid thinking. After a moment her brow lifted and she let the air right out. “Secrets, suspicions, and second nature.”
Tessa didn’t say anything, just waited for Missis Wicks to elaborate. Which she did.
“Those holy men have been keeping secrets for so long that it’s just part of their nature now. They’re a close bunch, I can tell you. Comes from them being isolated out there on that island year after year. At certain times during the winter they can be cut off for weeks on end, and even when the causeway’s clear, visitors have to move across it sharpish, else risk being caught in the tides. Up there, perched high in their spiraling towers, with nothing below them, only sea and rocks, it’s easy for them to forget about the real world. They won’t have any dealings with the mainland Holy League. No, my spring greens, they won’t! Have their own secret little world, they do, with their own hidden purposes and their own furtive alliances.” Missis Wicks shook her entire body along with her head. “If you ask me, Moldercay is better out of it.”
Tessa pulled her cloak close, suddenly acutely aware of the damp and the cold. She was aching all over, and sharp splinters felt as if they were working their way down her spine. Her scalp itched.
The Old Hoot turned out to be a low-walled, flat-roofed inn just to the east of the road. Smoke rose in a broken line from a short chimney, and the sign above the door had faded in patches, leaving only the letter o’s remaining. Looking at the dismal little place, Tessa was glad they weren’t stopping.
“That man is quite mad, if you ask me,” pronounced Missis Wicks as she and Tessa rode past the inn. “Business has been dry here for years, decades even, yet he still insists on keeping up that slop bucket.”
Tessa sat up on her horse and surveyed the surrounding land. A few odd buildings were dotted across the green, reed-striped landscape, but none of them looked to be in use except the inn. No smoke trailed from chimneys, shutters banged loose, and many of the houses were without roofs.
Noticing where Tessa was looking, Missis Wicks said, “The Venns. That’s who did this. Used to be a fair-sized village up until twenty years ago, when the Vennish raiders began besetting the coast. Now there’s no small towns and villages within leagues. Everyone headed to the big towns ten years back, and no one’s returned since.”
“The Venns?”
“Dirty, weaseling dark-eyed raiders from across the nor
thern sea.” Missis Wicks pursed her lips. “Can’t grow crops or rear cattle to save their lives, but they do have a way with salting fish.”
Tessa brushed a lock of wet hair away from her face. She was coming to realize how large this world was. All the time she had stayed with Emith and his mother she had never once heard about the Venns. “And the big towns manage to defend themselves from the Venns?”
“Aye, Kilgrim, Palmsey, and Port Shrift do a fair job. They have to. Trade is their life blood—can’t have the coast unsafe for merchant ships.”
“What about Bellhaven?”
Missis Wicks regarded Tessa with slowly narrowing eyes. “Bellhaven’s not one of the big towns, girl.” She shook her head. “No, my winter coat, it isn’t! Why, it must be less than a third the size of Kilgrim. If that.”
Tessa sat back on her saddle. She was beginning to feel like a fool, and more important, Missis Wicks was becoming suspicious as to why she knew so little. Even though Tessa knew the best thing would be to change the subject—get Missis Wicks’ mind working on one of her pet hates, like doors or candles—she had to ask one more question.
“If Bellhaven is such a small town, how do they manage to defend themselves against the Venns?”
Missis Wicks’ eyes, still narrow from her last pronouncement, narrowed even further. “Because it’s barely a league away from the Anointed Isle. Everyone knows that.”
More puzzled than ever, Tessa tried to come up with a way of discovering what Missis Wicks was talking about while not revealing any more of her ignorance. Rain dripped down her neck, though, and the burn on her hand was aching from being wrapped around the reins for so long, and deep inside her boots ten toes simmered in a steam bath of damp wool. She was in no mood for subtlety, couldn’t think of anything clever to say, she just wanted to know.
“What has being close to the Anointed Isle got to do with anything?”
“Young women these days!” Missis Wicks tutted so hard, tiny flecks of spittle sprayed from her lips. “Really! It’s quite bad enough you journeying alone in the first place, without being entirely ignorant of where you are going and what you are getting yourself into. If you want my opinion—”
“I don’t want your opinion,” interrupted Tessa, wet, sore, and rapidly losing her temper. “Just tell me what keeps Bellhaven safe from the Venns.”
Missis Wicks jerked her head back as if Tessa’s words were something unpleasant thrown her way, like a rotting tomato or a dog-chewed bone. Her lips moved a moment, and Tessa could almost swear she heard the sound of grinding teeth. Finally Missis Wicks nodded once rather solemnly and said, “You could be a Wicks with a temper like that.”
Tessa kept her face stony. She wasn’t sure whether to take it as a compliment or not. “Bellhaven?” she insisted.
“Right, right.” Missis Wicks tugged at her reins, pulling her horse away from an especially eye-catching clump of grass. “Well, it’s nothing to do with the town, that’s for sure. It’s the abbey on the Anointed Isle. Been there for nine centuries, it has, and for the last five hundred of those nine hundred years no invading force has ever set foot on it. In my lifetime alone, we’ve had the Venns, the Balgedins, and the Hoks all seizing parts of the coast, yet not one of them has ever ventured within twenty leagues of the isle.” Missis Wicks nodded as if such a thing were only right and fitting. “It’s tradition. No one takes the isle.”
“Why not?” As she spoke, Tessa caught a glimpse of the sea. It was a white-flecked band of gray to the east. The wind was beginning to pick up, and the rain driving against her face tasted of salt. Shivering, she patted her mare’s neck. It was a gentle old horse, hired from Missis Wicks’ own stables, and Tessa was glad of its warmth.
Missis Wicks was also looking out to the east, but just before she spoke, she made a point of shifting her gaze back to the road ahead as if she didn’t want to risk being distracted by whatever she saw out at sea.
Tugging her reins to the left, she said, “Well, by all accounts, it’s a mixture of history and hearsay. It all started five hundred years ago when Hierac of Garizon conquered Maribane. There was no part of the country he didn’t take, not one stream trickling down a hillside or one pebble lying flat in the sand. The man was a bloodthirsty demon.” Missis Wicks pursed her lips. “To give him his due, though, he did know how to fight. Anyway, being the sort of arrogant brute that Garizons usually are, he went on a tour of the country—making sure everyone knew who he was, executing any pour soul who didn’t cheer at the sight of him, and having every farm, stronghold, and village counted.”
Bouncing her chin against her thumb, as if it were just the sort of thing she would have done in his position, Missis Wicks continued. “Well, eventually Hierac arrives at Bellhaven. Now, by all accounts the tide is in when he gets there, and waiting around for the causeway to clear so he can cross to the isle makes him about as mad as an archer in the rain. He’d heard tales that the holy fathers keep gold and other treasures hidden away in the abbey, and he was quite determined to have them.
“Anyway. Eventually the tide goes out, and he and his forty best men gallop across the wet sand to the island, swords out and ready.
“To this day no one knows for sure what happened when they got there—some say the holy fathers put a spell on them, others swear they beguiled them with their clever talk and sly ways—but one hour to the minute later, the forty best men ride back. Hierac has ordered them away. He wants no armed men within a shadow’s fall of the island.
“Hierac himself spends the next day and night in conference with the holy fathers on the isle. When he finally emerges the following morning, riding through the rising tide, water up to his horse’s flank, he announces that the Anointed Isle will be free from the rule of Garizon law and all Garizon tariffs. No Garizon officials will set foot on it ever again, and all Garizon soldiers will leave with him, never to return.”
Tessa felt her scalp moving slowly as Missis Wicks spoke. Despite the rain, her throat felt dry. She suddenly wished she were back in Mother Emith’s kitchen. She missed Emith and his mother very much.
“Well, Hierac was as good as his word,” Missis Wicks said, breaking into Tessa’s thoughts, “and he and his men withdrew from Bellhaven that very same day. And throughout his forty-year reign and then the reign of his son—in fact, right up until the Garizon occupation ended some hundred years later, the Anointed Isle remained free of Garizon rule.”
Missis Wicks twisted around in her saddle, rummaged in her saddlebag, pulled out a glazed and stoppered jar, and handed it over to Tessa. “Here, drink this. It will warm you up a portion. It’s no hard alcohol, mind. It’s what I give to my Nelly when she looks like she’s catching a chill. You remind me of her, you know. Both headstrong and uppity, the pair of you.”
Tessa, touched by Missis Wicks’ sudden kindness, thanked her and took the jar.
Missis Wicks waved away the thanks with a broad sweep of her arm. “Wicks can’t notice a need without tending to it.”
Pulling the stopper from the jar, Tessa said, “What happened when the Garizons withdrew from Maribane?”
“Well, after that any force who invaded Maribane made a point of keeping well away from the Anointed Isle. If Hierac of Garizon, the greatest war king ever known, refused to take it, then he must have had a spitting good reason. Tales spread, fears grew: it was considered bad luck even to attempt to take the isle. The fact that no one really knew what happened between Hierac and the holy fathers just added more spice to the pot. Some say that Garizon still protects it to this day.”
Missis Wicks drummed her gloved hands against her horse’s neck. “Anyway, one way or the other, the Anointed Isle became no-man’s-land. Still is. The holy fathers are many things, but they’re definitely not stupid. Officially they say all heathenness and superstition is well behind them, that they are men of God: scholars, clerics, and monks. Yet they still keep those old tales alive. I swear by my summer petticoats they do.”
“It
sounds to me,” Tessa said, wiping a drop of honey beer from her lips, “that Hierac and the holy fathers reached some sort of agreement on the isle during the night and day he stayed there.”
“Exactly!” Missis Wicks pounced forward in her saddle. “That’s what I’ve maintained all along—Wicks can smell out a deal a league away. If you ask me, it was good old give and take, not some superstitious fish-kettle of spells and curses, that transpired that day on the isle.” Missis Wicks’ smile was almost motherly as she turned to look at Tessa. “Have you ever considered going into trade?”
Tessa smiled. Missis Wicks was beginning to grow on her. “So, if it was some sort of deal that was struck, why is the isle still benefiting from it long after Hierac and the Garizons have gone?”
“Those holy fathers are no fools. They know as long as people are scared of them and they remember the old tales, they’ll be left well alone.”
Tessa nodded, even though she thought there must be more. Five hundred years free of invasion due to one visit from a Garizon king? Almost unconsciously, she felt for her ring around her neck. The metal was several degrees warmer than when she’d touched it last. Abruptly she let it go.
“I’m surprised Bellhaven isn’t a lot bigger than Kilgrim, seeing as everyone who lives there is guaranteed protection from invasions.”
Missis Wicks snorted. “You won’t be when we get there. Thoroughly miserable place, it is. No harbor to speak of because of the long beaches, no decent freshwater source, soil that’s fit for turnips, little else. To say nothing about the people themselves!” Motioning to Tessa to hand back the jar of honey beer, she said, “And then there’s the weather. I make this journey once a year to visit Moldercay—God and female traveling companions permitting—and no matter what season I come, I can count on there being a storm.”
