The Barbed Coil

by J. V. Jones

  “It won’t hurt you now, miss,” he said, his voice soft, almost bemused. “I promise.”

  Tessa dropped her head into her hands. Her shoulders began to shake.

  “Miss, please don’t cry. It will be all right.” Emith rushed across the cavern and knelt by her side. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

  Tessa couldn’t speak. How could she say that of all the things she had gone through, nothing disturbed her more than the sight of Emith holding the bloody knife?

  “Here, miss.” Emith handed Tessa a scrap of cloth. Although he tried to hide it, Tessa felt his hands trembling. “You mustn’t let what happened upset you.”

  Bringing her head up, she said, “I’m sorry, Emith. For everything.”

  Emith smiled weakly and patted her arm. “It’s all right, miss. Really it is.”

  Tessa noticed that the blade of his knife was now free of blood. Somehow, in the seconds she had spent looking down, Emith had found the time to wipe it clean. It was just like him to clear up a mess straight away. This small observation had a calming effect upon her, and after a while she let Emith guide her back to the pattern and the pigments.

  Taking the bent and jagged blade from Emith, she began scoring the vellum. Once again her body built up strength as she worked. When she was ready to use the paintbrush, the ring drew more blood from her finger and she dipped the tip into the fattest red bead and sent it down to the panel, to the center of the knot.

  The moment Tessa’s blood came in contact with the page, a wave of heat blasted her hand. A pair of wolf eyes winked at her through the vellum. Tessa jerked back. Pain ripped along her arm and up toward her face. She smelled burned flesh. Emith screamed at her to put down the brush, but she didn’t want to let go. Someone had to pay for what had happened here tonight. Emith should never have been forced into a situation where he had to stab and kill someone. He wasn’t that sort of man. He was kind and gentle and always thought the best of everyone. Now his mother was gone and his life had changed, and someone lay dead by his hand. None of it should have happened. None of it. This wasn’t Emith’s fight. This was hers. Setting her mouth into a hard line, Tessa went hunting for the wolf in the vellum.

  Ederius screamed. His palm flew open and he lost his grip on his brush. A tremor, less pronounced than the one half an hour earlier, shook the tent and the ground it stood on. Automatically Angeline looked to the Barbed Coil. When the first tremor had occurred, the crown seemed to waver, like something seen through the heat of a fire. This time the gold dimmed. The reflections it gave off darkened, and for a moment Angeline thought she saw something monstrous reflected there. When she focused her gaze it was gone.

  “Here,” Izgard cried, thrusting the paintbrush into Ederius’ hand. “Paint! Stop her!”

  Ederius nursed his palm. Even from where Angeline stood, she could see the burned meat of his flesh. “Sire,” Ederius said, his breath racing, “I cannot—”

  Izgard slammed his fist into the back of the chair. Already split into two pieces, the wood fractured and broke apart. Splinters whistled into Ederius’ flesh. “Stop her! Stop her! STOP HER!”

  Angeline stepped back. Snowy stepped right along with her, cowering in the folds of her skirt.

  Ederius began to cough. His eyes watered and his skin grew waxy, and his entire upper body began to shake. Blood dotted his robe where splinters had pierced his skin. Angeline winced as he closed his burned palm around the paintbrush. Surely he wasn’t going to carry on? But he did. Fighting the spasms gripping his chest, Ederius dipped the brush into the nearest of his pots and drew pigment onto the page.

  Angeline clutched the fabric of her skirt. How could Izgard make him work when he was sick?

  The scribe’s coughing grew worse as he painted, and with his free hand he held a cloth to his mouth to catch spittle. The lines he drew were thick and heavy-handed. When a hail of coughing pumped from his throat, paint pooled on the parchment.

  Izgard punched his finger into the spill, then thrust the paint-wettened tip into Ederius’ face. “What do you call this?” he said, snatching the cloth from Ederius’ mouth. “Take control of yourself. PAINT!”

  Ederius tried, but Izgard’s fury only upset him further and he leaned over the desk, his shoulders shuddering. Angeline twisted the fabric of her skirt. If only Izgard would give him a minute to recover. Seeing Ederius laboring for breath only made Izgard angrier, though, and he pounded the desk with his fist. Spittle flew from Ederius’ mouth onto the parchment. Only it couldn’t be spittle, because it wasn’t clear. It was red . . . with blood.

  Seeing what it was, Izgard screamed at Ederius to stop coughing.

  Angeline let out a tiny cry. She took a step forward.

  Snowy growled: Stay.

  Ederius’ face was turning blue. More blood sprayed from his mouth. He couldn’t stop coughing.

  Unable to bear it any longer, Angeline rushed over to the desk. Her arm came up and her hand bunched to a fist, and before she knew it, she smashed Izgard in the jaw. “Stop it!” she cried. “Leave him alone.”

  Izgard whipped back his head. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it away with his fist. His eyes were etched with gold.

  Seeing them, seeing what was and wasn’t behind them, Angeline stopped breathing. Her stomach collapsed downward into soft folds. Behind her, she was aware of Snowy making anxious, yelping noises from the area close to the slit.

  Let’s go. Let’s go.

  Angeline turned. Even before her skirt started moving to catch up with her body, something exploded against her spine. Joints cracked. The world flashed red and white. Pain streaked across her ribs and back. Stumbling forward, she tried to get away. A shadow fell across her face, a thick breath was sucked in, and then Izgard’s fist found her mouth.

  Angeline’s teeth smashed together. Her bottom lip split, spilling out blood. The room began to spin. Suddenly she didn’t know which way was up or down. Toppling sideways, she brought up her hands to protect her belly as she fell.

  Please, she thought as she landed badly on her shoulder and hip. Please don’t hurt my baby.

  In the background, Ederius’ coughing grew weaker and more wet sounding. As Angeline struggled onto her stomach, she risked glancing over at the desk. Through vision blurred by tears and punches, she saw Ederius’ body sliding to the floor.

  Somewhere in the distance, Snowy howled frantically.

  Let’s go. Let’s go.

  “I’ll teach you to strike me.”

  Angeline barely had time to work out what Izgard said before pain tore through the back of her skull. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Izgard pulling something back: it was one of the cracked boards from the back of the chair. It has blood on it, she thought, preferring to look at the board rather than the dark blankness on Izgard’s face.

  He wasn’t going to stop until she was dead.

  The board came down again and again, on her shoulders and arms and her ribs. Angeline tasted blood. Dots of light shot before her eyes. Warm wetness ran along her shoulder, pooling in the pit of her arm. The world around her began to fade. Then the board came up one more time, at an angle to catch the soft flesh at her side. Seeing it, Angeline froze. She tried to mouth a prayer, but her words wouldn’t come. The board blurred as it came toward her, displaced air that cooled her face.

  Tiny paws raced across the chamber. A low, vicious growl sounded, and then something white streaked through the air, heading straight for Izgard’s arm. Angeline saw teeth and dog fur and raised hackles.

  “Snowy,” she cried, tongue heavy with blood. “Stop!”

  Fur bristling, tail down, eyes bright with purpose, Snowy locked his jaw onto Izgard’s arm. Paws kicking air, the little dog shook his head furiously from side to side, teeth sinking deep into king flesh, blood welling over pink-and-black gums.

  Izgard dropped the board in midswing. Crying out in anger, he whipped his arm back, trying to shake Snowy off. Frothing at the mouth, S
nowy wouldn’t let go.

  Angeline screamed and screamed for Snowy to come away. Pain was everywhere in her body, but it meant nothing. Only Snowy counted.

  Moving back toward the desk, Izgard lashed his arm back and forth, but Snowy’s grip held firm. Jaw fixed in place, teeth grinding bone, Snowy lowered his tail.

  Snowy here. Snowy here.

  Izgard spat out a curse. His face was purple with rage. Blood welled over his forearm as his body thrashed air. Glancing ahead, he drew back his arm and sent it smashing into the side of Ederius’ desk.

  Angeline murmured, “No.”

  Snowy’s body shot forward, slamming into the wood, back first. A short cry sounded. Bones cracked—lots of tiny ones—Snowy’s jaw sprang apart, and his body thudded to the floor. A second passed. The no-good dog made no move to get up. The right side of his skull was strangely flat, and fluid began to leak from his ear.

  Close by, Ederius lay motionless.

  “Snowy?” Angeline asked. “Ederius?”

  Neither answered.

  Izgard brought his hand to his chest, rubbing at the tooth-serrated flesh. His eyes were on the Barbed Coil. The crown seemed somehow less than it was. It looked almost weightless. Izgard scooped it up in his arms and, without sparing a glance for Angeline, stormed out of the tent.

  Angeline let her head slump to the floor. She wanted to close her eyes, but wetness kept getting in the way. The tent was quiet. “Snowy?” she called to fill the silence. “Snowy?”

  Knowing no answer would come, yet powerless to stop herself from hoping, Angeline cupped her belly with both hands. And waited . . . and waited . . . and waited. Still Snowy didn’t move. After a long while, she shook her head. Such a silly, disobedient, reckless, fearless, no-good dog. And she loved him so much, it tore at her heart.

  Struggling to her feet, feeling so much pain in so many places that she found herself oddly detached from it all, Angeline made her way toward the desk. Broken bones slowed her down but did not stop her. First she went to Ederius, laying her hand over his mouth to check for air. There was none, so she closed his eyes and folded his hands across his chest and told him she was sorry many times. His face looked very beautiful, and it seemed to Angeline that he looked younger than he ever had before. Worry no longer creased his brow. She would have liked to lay a kiss on his cheek, but her lip was still bleeding and she didn’t think it was right to stain his skin. Ederius had always been so tidy about himself.

  Turning away from the scribe’s body, Angeline took a breath to steady herself, then looked at Snowy.

  The no-good dog looked asleep. Angeline took him in her arms and held him to her chest. He didn’t feel like Snowy anymore, more like a pillow stuffed with bones, but she held him all the same. He was warm and his gums were still wet, and a torn-off bit of grasshopper was lodged between his paws. No, Angeline corrected herself, pulling away the fleck of green stuff. It wasn’t a grasshopper at all. Just a leaf.

  Smiling gently, Angeline put down the little dog. It was hard to pull away. Rising to her feet, she cupped her belly with both hands, trying to fill the emptiness left by Snowy. It didn’t go. It wouldn’t go. It would be with her always.

  Biting down on her broken lip, trying to be as strong as Father had taught her, Angeline made her way to the opposite side of the desk.

  T H I R T Y - S I X

  B lood drying beneath Ravis’ tunic reeked. Something stung his left eye. A blister on his sword hand leaked pus onto the handle of his ax. It made his grip surer. Half a dozen paces ahead of him, Camron traced a line in blood.

  They were on the battlements, at the top of the keep, standing beneath the blue-gray sky of a new dawn. One more of the creatures lay dead—his skull cleaved in two by Camron’s ax. Camron drew its blood across the flags with the toe of his boot. Ravis knew it would have been his blood on the flags if it hadn’t been for the quickness of Camron’s hand. Cornered, unweaponed, out of breath, space, and time, Ravis saw the blade coming that would tear through his side. He saw his own reflection in the metal. Then Camron, whom he had left searching for weapons on the stairs, was there, burying his ax deep into the creature’s skull, stopping the blow in midstrike.

  Ravis glanced at Camron. His face was a patchwork of claw marks, bruises, lumps, and scabs. Half his left eyebrow had been torn away, and the eye beneath was leaking blood. Catching Ravis looking at him, Camron gestured toward the line he was drawing. “Standing around doing nothing again, Burano.”

  Ravis grinned. It hurt quite a bit of his face to do so and reopened at least two scabbed-up wounds, but it was worth it. Camron of Thorn was worth it.

  Beneath the ripping of the wind and the crashing of the sea, a third, more insistent sound could be heard: footsteps rising from below. The last of the creatures were coming.

  Camron stepped onto Ravis’ side of the line and came to stand beside him. Both men weighed their axes across their chests. Ravis didn’t know how many of Izgard’s creatures were left—after the first dozen slaughtered he stopped keeping count. He didn’t know what weapons they would carry or what state they would be in. He just knew that it felt good to be here, with a woman worth fighting for many floors below him and a man worth fighting with an arm’s length from his side.

  This was all he wanted.

  Chewing on his scar, watching the line Camron had drawn across the battlements dry and turn brown in the warm, salty air, Ravis wondered if Malray had been right all along. Perhaps he could never be more than a fighter.

  Suddenly that didn’t seem like such a bad thing. Maybe, when all this was over, he would send a letter to Malray. Maybe he would ask for a truce.

  At that instant, the battlement gate burst open and Izgard’s creatures charged onto the roof, pushing the last traces of the night before them. Maws bristling with teeth, snouts notched with bone, they siphoned off the fresh air of the sea and replaced it with a stench all their own.

  Ravis and Camron exchanged a glance. They waited until the creatures crossed the line of blood and then came out to meet them.

  Tessa drew the last line of blood on the fourth panel. Closing her eyes, she tensed her muscles and waited to feel the impact of the unloosing.

  Nothing. The overhead rock creaked once and a small amount of dust tumbled to the floor. The ground didn’t shake, the air remained still, there was no sense of anything changing.

  Tessa’s chin fell to her chest. Glancing at Emith, she said, “I don’t understand. All four bindings are broken. Ilfaylen said in his letter that there were four places I needed to be—and I’ve been to them, yet the Barbed Coil is still here. I can feel it.”

  Emith made a thinking noise. “Did you do everything the same, miss? Perhaps you ran out of strength.”

  Tessa shook her head. Power was all around her. It fed the air in the cave. Wherever Camron and Ravis were, whatever they were doing, what emotions they were feeling, were so strong that Tessa could feel them weighing upon her shoulders like a thick winter coat. There was a new source of power, too. Another person—farther away, but still close—changing, fighting, becoming someone else. Tessa’s body gathered strength from all three.

  But for what? The final binding had been broken. Her work should be done.

  Tired, frustrated, the burns on her palm jabbing away at her nerves like hot needles, Tessa went to pull off the ring. She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking, though, and when she tugged at the gold, the barbs dug deeper into her skin. Fresh blood welled around the base of her finger. She beat her hand against the cavern floor. The ring wouldn’t give.

  “Miss, come away. Rest for five minutes.” Emith tugged at her arm. “Let me bandage those burns.”

  Tessa’s scalp itched. She barely heard the last thing Emith said.

  Five minutes.

  Five.

  Avaccus’ words echoed in her ear: There is power in the number five. Ancient power custom shaped to be used by ancient things.

  Tessa felt as if she were hearing th
em for the first time. Her pulse quickened. Leaning forward, she looked over Ilfaylen’s copy. The scribe believed he had bound the Barbed Coil four times. What if the entire pattern itself formed a fifth binding and Ilfaylen hadn’t known it?

  Throwing back her head, Tessa closed her eyes, took a long deep breath, and counted to five. She had no choice but to carry on. “I need some new pigments, Emith, and a clean brush.” As she spoke, she was aware of her voice dragging over the words. She was exhausted. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept. “I’m going to paint another panel. In the center.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe, miss?”

  “Whoever was trying to stop me is gone.” Tessa shuddered. “Dead.”

  Emith bit back a small cry. “I’ll get the pigments ready.”

  Tessa waited. She felt her body growing heavier and slower, filling up with strength. Like a magnet attracting metal filings, the ring pulled it in, fastening the power to Tessa’s bones, preparing her for the work she had to do. Paired ephemeras, Avaccus had said. The ring is a sister piece to the Barbed Coil and is working through you to free it. Feeling the base of her finger pulsing, and the barbs scratching away at her bone, Tessa knew he was right. Izgard’s scribe had seen the truth of it, too. Her own anger had carried her only so far; the ring had done the rest.

  “Here, miss.” Emith held out two shells filled with black and gold pigment. “I’ve made them nice and thin so they’ll be easy to work with.”