by J. V. Jones
Tessa looked out to sea. The sky had darkened, and flashes of white foam streaked across the water’s surface as low winds sliced away at the waves. Missis Wicks’ storm was right on cue.
“How long before we get to Bellhaven?” Tessa was surprised to hear a tremor in her voice as she spoke. It’s just the cold, she told herself. That and the damp.
“Roads permitting, four hours. Maybe even a little less if those three”—Missis Wicks projected her voice forward, verbally aiming for the three men who rode ahead of her—“sluggards would kindly pick up their pace.”
Elburt, taking the hint, kicked his horse into action, and soon the small party was trotting at a brisk pace. Fields, marshes, and reed beds fell behind them, giving way to yellow-grassed flatlands and long, sallow beaches. Mud splashed up around Tessa’s cloak and the rain beat against her face. The path was slippery and uneven, and she forced herself to focus on the way ahead. The sea kept catching her eye, though. Its color bothered her: it was a different shade of gray from the sky. The line of the horizon where they met seemed unusually dark and dense. From where Tessa was it looked almost black. Then, far in the distance, she spotted a dim silhouette. A blank speck against the sea, it had shape but no mass, like a shadow or the hollow cavity of an open pit.
Breath froze in Tessa’s throat. When she exhaled the air came out white.
The Anointed Isle.
Shivering, Tessa whipped her head forward, determined not to look out to sea anymore. That was when the wind began to bother her. It whistled past her ears, high and piercing, sounding just like tinnitus.
Ravis walked with Violante down to the dock. The wind was beginning to pick up, and far to the east a dark band of cloud was moving in. The four masts of the Istanian bark Fine Shore creaked and listed, and her furled sails snapped impatiently against their posts. Already lines had been secured, connecting her to the thirty-man tug Bullser. She’d be ready to set sail within the hour.
“A storm’s moving in from the east,” Violante said, her voice carrying well above the wind. “It should give the ship an extra push from the harbor.”
Ravis listened for sounds of hurt or bitterness in her voice but could detect none. He glanced over at her. Any other woman would shy away from the wind, pull up her hood to protect her hair, clasp her cloak seams tight. Not Violante. She stepped into the wind as if it were another layer of clothing to be worn. Cold gusts heightened the color of her lips and cheeks, sharp breezes teased curls free from their bindings, and a steady push of air served to mold her cloak against her body, revealing the form beneath.
Ravis reached out and touched her arm. “You should be safe from Malray in Mizerico. I’ve had a word with the captain. He’ll escort you back to your lodgings.”
Violante smiled slightly as she stepped onto the wharf. “You forget who I am, Ravis of Burano. My father may be Lectur, but my mother’s mother was a bandit who worked the roads and foothills north of Sullin for thirty years before she died. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not afraid of Malray or his men.”
“You’re not going to see him again? Not after what happened at the inn?”
Violante turned to face him. “You lost whatever sway you held over me the day two Istanian scouts delivered your letter. Besides, I have business of my own with Malray.”
Ravis caught at Violante’s wrist. “You’re not—” Abruptly he stopped himself.
“Not what, Ravis?” Violante asked softly. “Not going to harm him? Kill him?” When he didn’t meet her eye, she said, “You still love him, don’t you? After all these years and all he’s done.”
Ravis shook his head.
Violante made a soft clicking sound in her throat and moved on. Neither spoke again until they fell under the shadow of Fine Shore.
“So,” Violante said, elegantly skipping aside as two deckhands toting a pallet loaded with sheepskins attempted to pass. “From here you’ll ride east? Catch up with the girl you brought here? I heard you talking to the red-faced boy from Wicks. You’ll have to hurry. The girl has nearly two days’ start.”
Ravis nodded.
“You didn’t have to stay here with me last night and today. You could have left the other morning. Your wounds weren’t so bad you couldn’t ride.”
“I wanted to see you safely on your ship.”
Violante smiled her full dazzling smile, her eyes suddenly bright. “You think you owe me, don’t you?”
“I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I’m not.” Violante’s smile failed. She looked away. “You can leave my bag here. I’ll have the ship’s boy carry it to my cabin.”
Ravis started to say something, thought again, and then laid Violante’s bag on the striped oakwood boards of the wharf.
Violante boarded the ship. Ravis stayed on the dock and watched as Fine Shore was pulled from the shallow anchorage of her mooring into the deeper, quicker waters of the harbor. He continued watching as her crew worked to drop her sails, adjusted them to catch the wind, then set her under way. Only when the bark’s red-and-gold pennant finally disappeared into the inky darkness of the open sea did he turn and make his way back to the quay.
T W E N T Y - F O U R
A ye, yer be lucky, lovey. Tide’s just rolled out.” Elburt motioned across the sandbars to the causeway and the mountain of rock beyond.
The Anointed Isle was a black fortress against a nearly black sky. Tiny pinpoints of yellow light flickered within its charcoal form. As Tessa looked on, a series of them snuffed out. It wasn’t late—early evening as far as she could tell—yet it was very dark. The wind screamed past her ears, reminding her of tinnitus, making her temples ache. Thinking straight wasn’t easy. She was so tired, it took all her strength to sit upright in the saddle. All she wanted to do was sleep.
Bellhaven lay just ahead of them. They had approached the town from across a broad beach of wet sand. It was too dark for Tessa to make out any details of Bellhaven itself except for the varying levels of rooftops, the occasional puff of smoke from a chimney, and the bright sheen of water on varnished awnings and doors. Missis Wicks had insisted the party travel past the causeway before entering the town. She wasn’t happy about Tessa riding to the isle alone and in the dark. Tessa guessed Missis Wicks had been hoping the tide would be in.
“Tide’ll be out till just past midnight, lovey,” Elburt said. For some reason that Tessa couldn’t understand, he had taken off his cap as they approached the causeway, and he used it now to indicate the way. “Yer just ride straight for the rock. ’S best to keep t’middle, where sand’s at its driest.”
Tessa nodded. The distance to the isle was difficult to judge. Sand stretched out endlessly before her. High on the horizon, a line of foaming water marked the receding tide.
“It’s madness to cross the causeway after dark. Madness.” Missis Wicks’ whole body quivered as she spoke. “Come into town with us, Tessa. Get a proper night’s rest, a hearty traveler’s breakfast, and give that wet blanket of a cloak chance to dry. Velvet indeed! What sort of material is that to wear in the rain?”
“I can’t stay in town. I’ve got to get to the abbey tonight.” Tessa dug her heel into her horse’s flank, guiding the animal round. She was tempted by Missis Wicks’ offer, but she knew she had to go. This was her duty now. Deveric had chosen her with his patterns, summoned her with his sorcery. People were dead, and more were going to perish, and she didn’t know if she could prevent it from happening, but she knew she had to try.
“I must be on my way.” Tessa’s gaze took in the whole party and then came to rest on Missis Wicks. “Thank you for everything.” She kicked her horse, slackened her hold on the reins, and trotted onto the causeway.
Elburt’s voice called after her: “Y’ill be guaranteed a bed ’n’ meal for the night. T’holy fathers never turn travelers away.”
And then Missis Wicks: “Watch yourself, Tessa. Long robes, bald heads, and prayer books mean nothing if you ask me: men are always men.”
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Tessa’s mare found its way with little prompting. It was a good horse, gentle, affectionate, seemingly impervious to the rain and wind. “You must be tired, too,” Tessa whispered, rubbing its neck. “Tired and hungry and sore.”
Even though the sea was far away, its spray beat against her face. Carried on low, gusting winds, it stung her eyes and the inner lining of her nose and left a sharp, salty taste in her mouth.
Ahead, the lines of the abbey and the isle emerged from the artificial darkness of the storm. Two towers reached up from a skeleton of black rock, piercing the leaden clouds overhead. Structures rose around the towers, protecting, strengthening, then ultimately falling away, leaving the spikes of curving stone alone in an unstable sky. Light shone from slits in the lower walls. Tide pools rippled at the base of the rock and to either side of the causeway.
The wind shifted momentarily and Tessa caught a whiff of the abbey. It smelled of old things dredged up from the sea with the silt. She heard a sound, focused on it, yet the noise trailed away before she could pick out any details. It sounded like voices chanting. Tessa swallowed. Not for the first time that day she found herself wishing she was back in Mother Emith’s kitchen, sitting around the fire, safe and sound.
Chunks of rock and stone began to litter the causeway as Tessa drew near the isle. Shells crunched under her horse’s hooves, and tendrils of seaweed wrapped around its forelocks. Dead things decayed in the sand. Jellyfish lay dying; stranded by the tide, they quivered with every turn of the wind. Tessa’s horse needed no prompting to avoid them.
Then, all of a sudden, she was there. The Anointed Isle. One moment it seemed impossibly far away, like a castle in a fairy tale, and the next it formed a barricade between Tessa and the night. Breaking through the rock like the roots of a powerful tree, the abbey walls blocked everything else from sight. Thick and curving, they were laid out in a pattern Tessa couldn’t quite grasp. Spying a path winding between boulders and crumbling wedges of stone, she guided her horse toward it, glad to be on firm ground. Ahead, she caught sight of a gateway sheltered within an alcove in the wall.
The wind seemed louder as she took the path, and it bounced from rock to rock, blowing in all directions. Tessa’s ears ached with the pressure and the noise.
The gate was twice as tall as Tessa. The metal crosspieces that held the door to the hinge were as big as her horse’s head. Any varnish the door boasted had long since been blasted away by the wind. There was nothing to knock with, so Tessa pulled Ravis’ knife from her belt and rapped smartly on the wood with the butt. The sound pleased her. It was loud and carried well, and it made a nice change from the wind. While she waited for a reply, she dismounted from her horse.
As she worked out a cramp in her thigh, the door swung open. Straightening, Tessa took a breath and held it in. A young man stood in the gateway. He was dressed in an unbleached linen robe and held a lit candle in his hand. “Welcome,” he said. “Come inside and take shelter from the storm.”
Tessa let out her breath. For some reason she hadn’t expected to be greeted by a young man. All Missis Wicks’ talk of holy fathers had made her think everyone on the isle was old or aging.
“Allow me to lead your horse.”
Nodding, Tessa held out the reins. She was suddenly aware of how weatherbeaten she must look. Bringing up a hand to push wet hair away from her face, she said, “Does Brother Avaccus still live here?”
The young man led the horse through the gate and into the courtyard beyond. He did not answer Tessa’s question. Thinking he hadn’t heard it, she repeated it again.
“Brother Avaccus is no longer with us, my child.”
Startled, Tessa whipped her head around in time to see a second man emerge from the shadows behind the gate. Clean shaven and white haired, he was old without looking frail.
“I’m sorry I startled you, my child,” he said, coming forward and taking Tessa’s arm. “I am Father Issasis, the abbot here. Come, let me find you something hot to eat.”
Tessa allowed herself to be drawn through the gate. The abbot smelled strange—not unpleasant, just of things she had no name for. His grip on her arm was firm.
“Where is Brother Avaccus now?” Tessa asked.
The abbot took a heavy breath. “Alas, my child, we all must pass on.”
The young man holding the candle snuffed out the flame by hand. Tessa heard his skin sizzle.
“Come, this way.” The abbot guided her away from the young man and the gate.
Tessa pulled back. “What about my horse, my saddlebag?”
“Child, Brother Erilan will see to your horse, and you may bring your bags with you if you choose.”
Feeling foolish, Tessa shook her head. The only thing in her saddlebag was a loaf of bread and some oats for her mare. Her knife hung from the belt around her waist, and her money was tucked away down her bodice.
The abbot led her across the darkened courtyard to a stone arcade far on the other side. The sound of voices chanting accompanied them as they walked.
“Cerallos,” said the abbot. “Our prayers to thank God for the blessings of the day and to beseech his protection for the night.” As he spoke, the abbot pulled on Tessa’s arm, guiding her toward a doorway. “Come, we must hurry if you are to eat and find a cell by Eighth Toll.”
“Eighth Toll?” Tessa suddenly didn’t like the abbot’s hold on her arm, and she pulled away. She thought it strange that such an important man would come to the gate to greet visitors.
The abbot tried to pull Tessa back for an instant, then abruptly let her go. “Eighth Toll is when the last light goes out. No one may eat, raise their voices, or move from their cells once it sounds.”
A door opened before them, pulled back by a shadowy figure who slipped quickly away as they entered. They stepped into a long corridor set with many doors. Finally free of the wind, Tessa let out a sigh of relief. She thought the ghost ringing in her ears would stop. But it didn’t. It kept sounding, like an alarm bell heard over a great distance.
Tessa shivered. The temperature inside the abbey was colder than outside in the courtyard. The floor beneath her feet was formed from an intricate mosaic of thumbnail-size tiles. Worn and faded from centuries’ worth of wear, patterns branched out in all directions, inhabiting every shadow-filled corner, following each curve in the wall. Tessa recognized some of the designs from Deveric’s illuminations.
The chanting was very loud now. Tessa couldn’t make out any words, but listening to the tone of the men’s voices, she found it hard to believe they were giving thanks. Briefly she considered leaving, tracing her steps to the gate, sending for her horse, and riding back over the causeway into the town. After grumbling a bit about the dangers of women riding alone, Missis Wicks would welcome her in. She was so tired, though, and the thought of wind, wet sand, and an extra half hour in the saddle was disheartening. Besides, she wasn’t sure if she believed what the abbot said about Brother Avaccus. Emith had seemed sure he was alive.
“How long ago did Brother Avaccus pass away?” Tessa asked as the abbot led her into a large, high-ceilinged room. The room was split in two by a long refectory table running straight down the center. Two neatly placed rows of chairs ran down either side of the table, and the top was laid with pewter candlesticks and bowls. A few men dressed in the same unbleached linen robes as the abbot were busy cleaning away the remnants of the last meal. Dishes and goblets were piled into wooden tubs, then carried off through a small door in the opposite wall.
Ignoring her question, the abbot crossed to the nearest man, spoke a word in his ear, touched him lightly on the arm, and bade him go. The man slipped away into the darkness beyond the far door.
“I said when did Brother Avaccus pass away?” Tessa was surprised by the strength in her voice.
“Child, you are tired and soaked to the skin. Sit down a moment while Brother Llathro brings you some bread and hot soup from the kitchen.” The abbot pulled the nearest chair from the table. “Sit
.”
The seat looked tempting and her entire body ached, but Tessa made no move toward the chair.
The abbot shrugged. “Very well, child.” He pushed the chair back under the table. “Brother Avaccus died five days ago. He was very dear to us here at the Anointed Isle, and I’d be grateful if you would refrain from any further mention of his name.” The abbot’s voice sharpened. “It grieves me to hear it spoken so harshly.”
Tessa looked down at the floor. She felt her cheeks growing hot. If what the abbot said was true, then that meant Emith had been right in believing Brother Avaccus was alive. The man had died later, while she was at sea with Ravis.
“Brother Llathro, take this child to a cell.”
Glancing up, Tessa saw the man the abbot had given orders to minutes earlier return to the room, carrying a wooden tray laden with a bowl, a jug, a loaf of bread, and a thin wedge of cheese. He crossed to the abbot and spoke so softly, Tessa cold not hear what he said.
“No, Brother Llathro,” replied the abbot. “You will take the food along to the cell with our visitor.” He met Tessa’s eye. “We will leave it to her own conscience to respect the conventions of Eighth Toll.”
Tessa’s cheeks burned. The abbot had a way of making her feel like a disobedient child.
“This way, my sister.” Brother Llathro walked past Tessa to the door. His shadow felt cold as it glided over her face.
“You will be woken at First Toll,” said the abbot as Tessa walked out of the door, “and shown to the gate. Unfortunately we cannot allow visitors to stay more than one night.” The abbot’s smile was brisk. “God’s rest, my child.”
Tessa didn’t reply, simply followed Brother Llathro into the corridor beyond. She felt drained of all strength. Coming here had been a mistake.
Brother Llathro led Tessa down a maze of curving corridors. Stone arches braced the walls and supported the weight of floors above. Patterns were everywhere: in the masonry, in the woodwork, on the rise of every step. Loose tiles rocked beneath Tessa’s boots as she walked. The chanting had stopped, and the only sound as they walked was the patter of footsteps and the faraway thrum of the sea. The ringing in Tessa’s ears receded to a mild buzz.
