by J. V. Jones
“I think we can call this one dead,” the mercenary said softly, putting his arm around Camron’s shoulder. “That makes two down and only three dozen more to go.”
Camron nodded. There was no breath in his body to speak. Unable to stop himself from shaking, he lifted his sword to his thigh and began to clean off the blood.
“Here,” Ravis said, raising a hand toward Camron’s weapon, “I’ll do that for you.”
Thinking it a strange offer to make, Camron glanced at Ravis. The mercenary was sporting a purple lump above his right eye and claw marks on his neck and cheeks. A mixture of sweat and blood ran from his nose in pink drops.
Ravis looked uncomfortable under the scrutiny. He shrugged. “I used to clean my brother’s sword between battles. He said it brought him luck.”
Seeing something he didn’t understand in Ravis’ eyes, Camron relinquished his grip on the weapon. “I want to thank you—”
Ravis cut him short. “Don’t thank me. We’re fighting for the same thing, you and I.” After holding Camron’s gaze for a moment, he began cleaning the sword.
Camron wanted to ask him what he meant, but before he had chance to frame the words, the entire hallway was rocked by something slamming into the door. Splinters shot from the wooden crossbars, hinges strained, and the creatures outside began braying like a pack of winter-starved wolves.
“Come on,” Ravis said, handing back the spit-and-sweat-cleaned sword. “Let’s get away from here while we can. These things can only be taken out one at a time—I say we go find ourselves another doorway and let a handful of the bastards through.”
Camron smiled, glad in his heart Ravis was with him. The mercenary was a stranger, full of unknown motives and hidden emotions, yet in all his life he had never met anyone better suited to fighting at another’s side.
Tessa painted. Belly down on the floor, vellum on a board before her, eyes squinting, wrist aching, she held her hand as steady as she could and copied a storm of scarlet spirals onto the parchment.
Glancing from her own pattern to Ilfaylen’s, which lay propped against a rock to her left, Tessa worked on the detailed borders that would frame the main design. Instinctively she knew that copying Ilfaylen’s pattern line for line wasn’t right. She needed to do more than Ilfaylen, go further, deeper. Use his designs to gain access to the bindings and then blast them away with patterns of her own. Ilfaylen’s copy was the map that would show her the way.
Aching all over, tired to the roots of her teeth, Tessa focused all her remaining strength into the design. To give less was unthinkable. This was what she had been brought here to do.
She just wished she were better prepared. There was so much she didn’t know, so much she had to simply guess. Ilfaylen’s illumination was subtle, sophisticated—she still hadn’t worked it all out. If it hadn’t been for Emith’s quiet encouragement, she would have lost her way on the very first line.
Emith was everywhere, doing everything at once. If Tessa needed a clean brush, all she had to do was hold out her hand and he would place one into her palm. If a new pigment was called for, not only did Emith anticipate the exact color required down to the opacity and texture, but he also knew how much of the pigment was necessary and what brush size Tessa needed to apply it. If Tessa made a mistake and applied too much pigment to the vellum, Emith was there with his knife, scraping off the excess. If she painted too fast and her lines weren’t as smooth and fluid as they should be, Emith would cough and urge her to rest.
Often, while Tessa painted one corner, Emith would quietly trace the exact same design on the opposite corner in leadpoint. Mirroring the pattern completely, he saved Tessa valuable time by providing a grid for her to paint over later when she was ready to work on that part.
Emith forced her to drink when she was thirsty, stretch her arms and legs before they became cramped, and chew on tiny clippings of rue leaf to head off eyestrain and headaches. There was nothing Tessa needed that Emith didn’t think of first. If a candle grew too smoky, he cut away the offending wax and then relit the wick. When it grew cold, he put a shawl around Tessa’s shoulders, and when a cool draft started blowing from the entrance, he blocked the opening with his pack. He even produced a small vial of almond oil from his tunic, which he rubbed into Tessa’s wrists to soothe her aching joints.
Always he was there, in the periphery of Tessa’s vision, helping, advising, preparing pigments and glazes, shuffling around the cavern; by turns busy or thoughtful, never stopping to take a rest.
Although he never offered advice directly concerning the pattern, sometimes, when Tessa came to the end of a section and found herself at a loss for what to do next, Emith would hand her a shell filled with pigment and say, “Perhaps you should use this color now, miss. It might work well in that section over there.”
He was always right. As soon as he spoke, Tessa realized immediately what had to be done next and chided herself for not seeing it sooner. Never interested in taking credit, Emith simply carried on with his work, silent until the next time his help was needed.
Part of Tessa was aware of all this, of all Emith was doing for her, of the flickering light in the cavern and the sound of the sea on the far side of the wall; but another, deeper part of her was gradually slipping away.
With the background painted and the borders and corner work fully fleshed, the pattern stopped being a simple sketch and became an illumination instead. The vellum Emith had brought was now soft, smooth, and pale as skin. With neither pores nor hair follicles to mar its surface, pigment glided over it like oil.
As Tessa put the last touches to the border, gaze darting constantly to Ilfaylen’s pattern to check for details, she was aware of a shearing sensation passing along her body. Thinking it was another cool draft of air, she glanced over at Emith. He had his back to her and was busy mixing pigments as if nothing were amiss. Turning back to the pattern, Tessa continued painting. Pinpoints of pain began to pulse in her temples and her vision blurred, only to refocus sharper than before. She could now see depth between the layers of paint and dark flecks of impurities in the pigments as they dried.
Tiny tremors of tinnitus pattered in the bone behind her ears. Tessa felt things switching on her: the cavern appeared to flatten and dim, Emith’s body took on the look of a shadow, light from the candles receded. And while everything else grew smaller and less substantial, the pattern expanded outward, becoming more than it was.
Tessa’s first instinct was to pull back—she had spent her entire life avoiding the first telltale signs of tinnitus, and even now, after months of being in this world, the need to save herself from pain was strong. Yet she knew she had to continue. Upstairs, Ravis and Camron were fighting to give her time. Somewhere out in the night, Izgard and his army were preparing to conquer Bay’Zell, and deep within his camp the Barbed Coil ticked away like a clock. One day from now at midnight it would have been here for five hundred years.
Avaccus’ words echoed in Tessa’s head: There is power in the number five. Ancient power custom shaped to be used by ancient things.
Shivering, Tessa fought to keep her hand steady as she painted. She wished she were stronger, braver, more sure of herself. More like the old Tessa McCamfrey. Tessa’s knuckles tightened around the paintbrush. She hadn’t changed that much, had she?
Unsure of the answer, she clamped her jaws together, gritted her teeth, and drew a thick golden line on the page. Tinnitus thrummed against her temples, and all the aches and pains in her body flared as if they had been rubbed with salt. The gold pigment held the light long after it dried. Tessa caught the faintest whiff of an odor that had no place in the cavern: the rich wet-earth scent of decay.
Tessa was aware of herself splitting. The clearheaded part of her that kept an eye to the pattern, kept the brushstrokes in line, and took things from Emith as needed stayed the same. But another, less detached part ran with the pigments down into the vellum. Colors brightened. The air grew warmer, thicker, wetter. Sound
s, noises, and sensations beckoned from the other side. Tessa thought she heard Ravis shout an order and then Camron hiss a curse. Something warm ran down her cheek, yet when she raised a hand to wipe it away, her skin felt perfectly dry.
Things crowded close: the high-pitched grind of tinnitus; sounds of fighting, animals howling, and footsteps on a wooden stair; smells of blood, sea salt, pigments, and smoke; and pain from every cut and bruise she’d ever had.
Tessa wanted it to stop. She was under attack from all sides; her skin crawled with sensations, her head throbbed with noise. Taking a deep breath as if she were preparing to thrust her head underwater, she braced herself and pushed her way through.
Through the paint, through the vellum, through the clamor of sights, smells, and sounds, through to the other side.
Darkness. Tessa opened her eyes in darkness so complete, it was hard to believe she was alive. Everything was gone.
Dimly she was aware of another part of herself far in the distance, painting furiously away at a pattern. The image faded rapidly, like a dream upon waking, and soon all Tessa could conceive of was the dark.
She was nothing in it. Nothing.
If her body was with her, she could neither see nor feel it. If she took breaths to sustain herself, they came and went with nothing to show.
Isolated, rapidly losing perspective, Tessa tried to make her way through. All the nights she had ever slept through were nothing compared to this. There was no weight, no direction, no right or wrong way; the only marker she had was herself. All she could do was move in the direction she perceived as forward. Only every way was forward, and every turn led her back.
Time passed. Blackness folded around Tessa, leaving nothing for her thoughts to fasten on to. All sense of purpose drained away. Light was a dead memory. Warmth was something beyond hope. Feeling the first flutters of panic, she tried to recall the reason she was here. She had something to do . . . something to work against . . .
Shaking herself, Tessa fumbled in the dark. The only thing she could remember was her name.
Tessa McCamfrey.
And the fact that she possessed a ring.
As soon as the word ring formed in her thoughts, she felt something pull against her neck. Warm, sharp, heavy for its size, the ring slipped into the darkness as discreetly as a letter pushed under a locked door. Aware of her body now, Tessa raised her hand toward it, and for the first time since the day she’d found it, she put on the golden band.
Instantly the darkness changed. It grew edges and depth and began to stretch ahead like a road. The pain of wearing the ring was like a slap in the face. Tessa remembered everything, became aware of what was happening on the other side of the vellum.
She saw herself, nose pressed close to the pattern, about to begin work on the first of four knotwork panels. The corresponding panels on Ilfaylen’s illumination dominated his design. Intricate, thickly twined cords of gold, black, and scarlet wound around each other to form a hard spine of knots. Even after many glances, all four panels appeared the same. Looking at them now, though—seeing them through eyes that were, and at the same time weren’t, her own—Tessa saw that each panel was minutely different. It wasn’t as much that their contents differed, more the tension running through them. All four knots strained in different ways.
Tessa rubbed the barbs on the ring, thinking. What was it Ilfaylen had said about his illumination? Follow it well and it will lead you to the four places you need to be.
Four panels straining as if they held something down between them . . . Tessa dug her thumb into a barb. That was it! Each panel represented one of the Barbed Coil’s bindings. Her job was to re-create the four bindings, then break them one by one. Paint the problem, then solve it, Avaccus had said.
The other, faraway Tessa took up her lead stick and began outlining the first knot. Emith was close by, cleaning gold paint from one of the brushes. He seemed pleased.
Turning away, leaving part of herself to work on the pattern, Tessa took her first step down the darkened road. Now that she knew what she had to do, it was time to search for the strength to do it. Painting was only half of the job.
The ring led the way. Pulling Tessa along by the finger, it guided her through the darkness and into another place. A vacuum rush filled her ears. Something sucked her in. Black tendrils, heavy as lead splinters, brushed along her skin. Black filaments filled her eyes, nose, mouth. Mercury-slow lightning carved her image in the air. Panic seized Tessa for one terrible moment, and then a memory came to her like a gift.
She had been here once before—for the briefest of instances when she’d traveled from her own world to the world of the Barbed Coil. She was in the cracks and folds between time and space. The place ephemeras slipped in and out of, the place where Avaccus said the Shedding began.
Like sand settling in still water, the black filaments cleared from her eyes. Things became known to her. Other worlds, other places, other times, other lives. Other ephemeras, their purposes so subtle that she could never hope to fully understand them, glistened before her like raindrops on glass. Waiting. Tessa recognized one of them from her own world. Yes, she thought as she passed it, that too had slipped away.
Pain, suffering, joy, love, and hate were all there in the refuse of the Shedding. Tessa felt the quiet push of other people’s emotions. There was power to them: the kind of power generated when a river suddenly switches course in midstream. Emotions were all changes of mind and heart.
And with that thought in her mind, Tessa left the place. The truths it harbored were too vast, the secrets it kept too revealing. It was a place of utterness. A crammed void. Tessa didn’t want to know and understand it. Like an ephemera, she was just passing through.
Turning away from Shedding and all the knowledge and confidences it held, Tessa stepped onto the darkened road and let the ring lead her back.
Moving through degrees of darkness, back toward the cavern and the pattern and the shadow of herself she’d left behind, Tessa became aware of all the noises and troubles around her. Her wrist throbbed, her back ached. Fumes from the pigments stung her eyes. Far above her, separated by layers of black space, Camron and Ravis fought for their lives. Tessa heard their straining breaths, tasted fear on their tongues, felt sweat and blood roll across their faces. She experienced what they did. And surprisingly, among all the panic and fear, there were instances of joy.
Ravis fought with a heart full of memories. Camron fought with a mind gradually clearing of doubt. They protected each other like brothers: battling side by side, watching each other’s backs, sensitive to each other’s injuries and weaknesses. As Tessa looked on, she got a sense of something growing between them, a closeness built on spilled blood, shared danger, and growing trust. Both men were hungry for it.
Tessa’s throat began to ache. Something rolled down her cheek. Thinking it was another ghost sensation, she ignored it.
As she came back to her body and reaffirmed her grip on her brush, Ravis looked at her. His gaze cut through all the layers and space between them. He knew she was with him. For a quarter second, perhaps less, they were together. Nothing was said, no messages were passed, yet when Tessa turned back to the pattern, she found the beginnings of a new kind of strength.
There was power here, among Ravis, Camron, and herself, and as Tessa began applying paint to the first knotwork panel, she drew on it, shared in it, and gave out all of her own.
Ravis felt Tessa leave him. There for less than an instant, she brushed against his mind, then left. Ravis couldn’t decide if she had taken something from him or given something back. He just knew he felt blessed. Tessa was alive and well and had come to no harm.
“Hey! Aren’t you supposed to be helping me with this?” Camron put his foot on the massive granite block he had been struggling to move. “Who’s stopping to watch the show this time?”
Ravis raised his hands in an admission of guilt. Truth was, from the moment he had first become aware of Tessa’s p
resence, he wasn’t sure what he had been doing. Another of the creatures lay dead at his feet, and his sword was wet and dripping blood. Glancing down the steps to the floor below, he saw a dozen more of the things breaking through the barricade of chests, bookcases, stone statues, and doors ripped from their hinges that he and Camron had built minutes earlier. The beasts tore through the barrier as if it were made of tinder-wood.
Ravis and Camron stood on the second floor of the keep, at the top of the stairs, in the great gallery that lay open to the floor below. So far they had barely managed to stay ahead of the creatures and slaughtered less than a handful. Ravis’ entire body was shaking—with exhaustion, fear, excitement, he didn’t know. Probably all three. Camron stood to his right, sweat soaking his undershirt and plastering his hair to his head. Ravis took a quick survey of Camron’s wounds, checking that none of the bloodstains on his undershirt and britches had gotten bigger. Satisfied, he came and stood by Camron’s side. Together they pushed, kicked, and dragged the stone block to the edge of the stairs.
Weighing more than a good-size millstone, it was dislodged from its position at the foot of the gallery’s main window, where it had been placed as a window seat or lookout step. Wet blood helped the block slide along the floor.
Once it was in place, resting on the brink of the top step, they waited for the first of the creatures to break through the barricade and move forward onto the stairs. As they looked on, one creature smashed its shoulder into the last stack of chairs and chests, toppling it over and freeing the way to the staircase. Jaws snapping in triumph, it shot forward. Others came behind it. The air was filled with the sound of their hard, frothing breaths.
Ravis and Camron didn’t move. By unspoken agreement, they waited until the stairway drummed with footsteps and the first creature’s head was level with the top step. Kicking out at the exact same instant, Ravis and Camron sent the granite block toppling down the stairs.
