Ghost in the Yew
Volume One of the Vesteal Series
Blake Hausladen
Edited by
Deanna Sjolander
Published 2018 by Rook Creek Books, an imprint of Rook Creek LLC
Copyright © 2018 by Blake Hausladen
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All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Edited by Deanna Sjolander
Cartography by Author
Created with Vellum
Contents
Map of Central Zoviya
I. Beyond the Edge
1. Dia Esar
2. Sergeant Leger Mertone
3. Guardsman Geart Goib
4. Sergeant Leger Mertone
5. Prince Barok Yentif
6. Dia Esar
7. Prince Barok Yentif
8. Sergeant Leger Mertone
9. Dia Esar
10. Arilas Barok Yentif
11. Alsman Leger Mertone
12. Arilas Barok Yentif
13. Dia Esar
14. Arilas Barok Yentif
15. Alsman Leger Mertone
16. Arilas Barok Yentif
17. Geart Goib
18. Lady Dia Esar
II. Opposing Oaths
19. Alsman Leger Mertone
20. Lady Dia Esar
21. Arilas Barok Yentif
22. Lady Dia Esar
Map of Enhedu
23. Arilas Barok Yentif
24. Alsman Leger Mertone
Sketch of Urnedi Manor
25. Arilas Barok Yentif
26. Matron Dia Esar
27. Alsman Leger Mertone
28. Matron Dia Esar
29. Alsman Leger Mertone
Map to Zoviya
30. Geart Goib
31. Matron Dia Esar
32. Healer Geart Goib
Drawing of the Town
33. Arilas Barok Yentif
34. Matron Dia Esar
35. Alsman Leger Mertone
36. Matron Dia Esar
37. Healer Geart Goib
38. Captain Leger Mertone
39. Matron Dia Esar
III. Reckless Borders
40. Arilas Barok Yentif
41. Matron Dia Esar
42. Arilas Leger Mertone
43. Healer Geart Goib
44. Matron Dia Esar
Enhedu, Summer 1195
45. Arilas Barok Yentif
46. Captain Leger Mertone
47. Arilas Barok Yentif
48. Matron Dia Esar
49. Captain Leger Mertone
50. Matron Dia Esar
51. Colonel Leger Mertone
Urnedi Surround
52. Arilas Barok Yentif
IV. Bayen’s Women
53. Matron Dia Esar
54. Arilas Barok Yentif
55. Healer Geart Goib
56. Arilas Leger Mertone
57. Arilas Barok Yentif
58. Arilas Leger Mertone
59. Matron Dia Esar
60. Arilas Barok Yentif
61. Colonel Leger Mertone
62. Matron Dia Esar
63. Colonel Leger Mertone
Sounding Map of Urnedi Bay
64. Arilas Barok Yentif
65. Matron Dia Esar
66. Arilas Barok Yentif
67. Matron Dia Esar
68. Colonel Leger Mertone
69. Matron Dia Esar
70. Arilas Barok Yentif
71. Colonel Leger Mertone
72. Arilas Barok Yentif
73. Healer Geart Goib
V. Falling Tides
74. Healer Geart Goib
75. Matron Dia Esar
76. Healer Geart Goib
77. Matron Dia Esar
78. Colonel Leger Mertone
79. Geart Goib
80. Colonel Leger Mertone
81. Geart Goib
82. Arilas Barok Yentif
83. Geart Goib
84. Colonel Leger Mertone
Battlefield Map
85. Arilas Barok Yentif
86. Colonel Leger Mertone
87. Geart Goib
88. Madam Dia Yentif
89. Arilas Barok Yentif
90. Madam Dia Yentif
91. Arilas Barok Yentif
92. Geart Goib
93. Madam Dia Yentif
94. Colonel Leger Mertone
95. Arilas Barok Yentif
96. Druid Geart Goib
97. Madam Dia Yentif
98. Druid Geart Goib
99. Colonel Leger Mertone
100. Druid Geart Goib
In Memoriam
Also by Blake Hausladen
About the Author
Glossary
Part I
Beyond the Edge
1
Dia Esar
Matron Indra
Another group of girls was due to arrive at Dagoda Manor and I had only one place left to hide. Matron Indra had discovered my spots in the library and churchhouse, and locks had been put on all the dormitory doors after the presiding priest was caught trying to run away with one of the girls.
Dagoda’s owner buried him facedown out back. Matron Indra had all the girls chanting the prayers of the prophets for three days after the scandal, but it did the priest’s soul little good. Salvation was reserved for those burned above an anointed pyre. The common rumor was that he had brought Indra into the church and had hung the shawl of the sermod upon her shoulders. The better rumor was that they had a son secreted away in Alsonbrey.
I made my way to the kitchens and hid beside a cupboard until one of the cooks took a warm wool cloak from a peg on the wall, unlocked the backdoor, and headed out with a pair of buckets. I grabbed a cloak and bucket of my own and followed her down the path toward the stand of autumn-colored trees that sheltered the well. The graveyard was that way too, but it never frightened me.
It helped that Matron Indra dressed Dagoda’s girls in the same simple clothes as the manor’s servants, but I was sure that I would be spotted by one of the pikemen upon the walls that ringed the grounds. It was worth the risk. I had no desire to see any new faces.
When I made it to the trees, I wanted to dance. The cook reached the well without seeing me, and I hid behind a maple while she worked the rope. It took her forever and the creak of the old pulley dug into my ears.
“My foot,” someone shouted off to our left near the graveyard, and the startled cook lost her grip on the rope. The pulley shrieked, she swore, and the bucket hit the water far below with a slap. My heart was still calming when she finished her crude cursing. I guessed her to be from the east.
While she fumbled about, I eased behind her through the trees and up the slow slope toward the shouting. I found a group of men gathered around a large stone that marked the cemetery entrance. Stacked along the path were all the makings of a new well, including a set of new copper pulleys.
I crept closer and saw the problem. They’d been trying to move the stone with long rods and blocks and one of the men had gotten his foot stuck under one of the rods. The rest were struggling without his help to lever the monstrous boulder free. I recognized them. They were a group of
landowners who paid their church tithe in labor to the manor. They never did a very good job. I would have hired better men and found a better spot for the well, but engineering was never one of the topics I’d read during my studies. Perhaps they knew something I did not.
The trapped man began to strike his fellows when their heaving and grunting failed to free him. One man lost his grip on the rod he worked, and the stone started to move back the other way. Another rod snapped in half and the rest were slammed down as the stone shifted all the way back toward where it had started. The trapped man howled and was still trying to hit someone when he noticed the boulder still moving toward him. He said a quick prayer to Bayen but the boulder did not care for his piety. It rolled right over top of him with a crunch and continued down the hill, straight at me.
I didn’t know which way to go. The egg-shaped boulder rolled a bit to the left and then back to the right as it picked up speed.
I did not waste any time on prayers, spun, and ran as fast as I could toward the biggest maple I could find. Behind me, tree after tree was smashed down, and the top of a small cedar slapped the ground to my right. Brown leaves exploded around me, and I was about to dive to my left when the boulder flashed by within the reach of my arm. I stumbled to a halt as it smashed straight into the giant maple I’d hoped to hide behind. The hollow trunk shattered, the boulder bounced to a halt, and the tree crashed backward.
Leaves drifted down around me while I leaned on my knees. The monster that had almost killed me was old and ugly. Its sides were furrowed and its base layered in a torn tapestry of roots. It had picked up a coat of smashed moss and mud on its way down the hill, and along one side was a man-shaped smear of blood. A wide, flat square in the center of the stone’s base caught my eye and I took a step closer. A short verse had been carved deep into is surface. I tugged the sheet of roots free and managed to read the words.
Wayward spirits,
stay from my path
and be but a wind behind me.
Of you and yours,
I know no ill
and pray that you will walk lightly.
It was not like any prayer I had ever read or heard recited by priest or sermod. This was not one of Bayen’s verses.
A fine steam began to drift up from the warmth of rot around the stone’s base. The curling tendrils thickened inexplicably, and I was washed with heat as though I stood before a fire. The steam became a black smoke, and before I could back away, fiery twists of ash reached out toward me.
“Who is there,” someone called, and I turned to see two of the men coming down the hill.
“Look out,” I shouted to them and pointed at the smoke, but the morning breeze was dashing the last of it away. I blinked at the stone. The heat was fading, too.
“Don’t you worry about us, miss. You’re the one that needs to get clear of that stone. It has already killed one man today.”
The pair got a better look at me, came to a halt, and began talking as though I was not there.
“Have you ever seen such a beauty?”
“She must be the one that belongs to Prince Barok. What is she doing out here? Do you think she is trying to escape?”
“Nah. She’s got a bucket, see it there? Matron Indra probably sent her to fetch some water from the old well. She should be getting back though. No good would come for us being found with her.”
“Don’t run her off.”
“You’re a greater fool than the idiot we have to scrape off that stone. Touching this one would earn you a stab in the gut and a shallow grave. Better yet, forget you ever saw her. You can forget you met us, too, yes?”
His last sentence was directed at me. He was saved from hearing my reply when the boulder started moving again. They yelled at me to clear away, but I knew their work better than they did. There was no hill left for the great stone to gather new momentum. It came to rest upon its heavy base and hid the prayer from view. The pair thought better than to escort me out of the trees, and I took my leave of them before their wisdom faded.
Matron Indra and two pikemen found me near the old well. Her hands were clasped beneath the gray wrap of the wool that pillowed across her breasts, and the layers of her long skirt billowed around her legs. The dress and wrap were as much a uniform as the pikemens’ cuffed calf-skin boots and the purple tunicas they wore tucked under their white silk belts. It often looked like they were competing to see who could get the flouncing of their white facings or pantaloons to stick out the most. Today was an exception. They had run down the hill and were in a shamble.
Other pikemen moved across the grounds in every direction. How exciting for them. One of the men called out that they’d found me, and the rest of the searchers started back toward the manor.
“Fine day for a walk,” I said. “Sorry, I forgot about the new arrivals. Perhaps you can find me earlier next time.”
Matron Indra’s old and ugly face betrayed none of her frustration. “Bayen saw to it that the carriage was delayed. Follow me.”
Damn it.
We made our way up and through the manor’s main corridor. The doors to the client’s wing were closed. A group of lesser nobles were visiting this time, judging by the lingering smell of the stale beer they swilled. It was the one place in the manor I’d never been taken.
The entrance and grounds were swept clear of leaves, and the steps were lined with girls and sermod. The carriage was already in sight.
“Good try, Dia,” one of the younger girls whispered. She was still trying to make friends. I ignored her. Acknowledging her would only make it worse for her. She would have no friends in this lifetime.
The driver brought the coach to a halt at the bottom of the stairs with a tug on the long reins. Three beautiful young girls stepped down out of the coach and a group of sermod took firm hold of them. The first two smiled and bowed, despite the reception. The third was sullen and trembled. She had an extraordinary shape, however, and I could tell she belonged to a royal, perhaps even a Yentif prince. I pitied her. Dagoda punished tears.
Matron Indra waved me down.
I didn’t want to do it, but had no good way of resisting. I’d made the mistake of letting her know how much I hated inspecting the new girls. I’d been responsible for doing it ever since.
I put on the emotionless mask that we wore for each other and marched down. One of the smiling girls said a hello, and I took hold of her by the jaw.
“Open,” I said but had to pry her mouth open before she understood me. I wiggled and poked at her teeth and she winced several times.
“She will lose three before the end of winter,” I said, and moved on to her hair and face. I called out every imperfection as I found it, and she was in tears before I reached her waist. The sullen girl fainted, and I said a little prayer that she would not wake before I was done with her. There were few things worse than listening while a group of the most beautiful women in all of Zoviya picked you to pieces.
Matron Indra said to me, “That is enough. Get inside the carriage. Today is your last day at Dagoda.”
One of the sermod took me by the arm. I didn’t understand this, and it was my turn to stumble flatfooted while the thick-armed woman marched me to the coach.
“Where am I going? Did my prince send for me?”
The matron did not respond and the girls that lined the stairs began to grin at me.
“Driver,” I called. “Were you given the correct destination?”
“The Deyalu, ma’am, unless plans have changed?” he answered, before he turned around to see who had asked the questions.
Matron Indra’s frown was priceless.
“My prince has sent for me. How sad you must be to say goodbye.”
“Bayen will see to you.”
“Bayen? He is a stranger to Dagoda and to you. You are nothing but a facade for the clients, but fear not. My prince will contact the family that owns Dagoda and purchase you for me. I trust that you are looking forward to being in my servi
ce.”
I slapped away the hands of the sermod, stepped into the coach, and closed the door on them. Another sermod was already inside. I sat opposite her and we said nothing to one another.
I looked back at the tall gray building as we started away and remembered the day my father and one of my prince’s men had delivered me to the manor. How much smaller it seemed now—little more than a building full of whores. So many inside belonged to simple nobles or even worse, a merchant. For them I felt a terrible pang. They would be shared and sampled like cheap wine. My prince had paid to keep me exclusive and he had no other girls at Dagoda. Not one other girl could brag the same. He and I had never spoken, but this did not matter. He had chosen me to be his first wife, and there was nothing I wanted more.
Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series Page 1
