Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series

by Blake Hausladen

  He blushed but then frowned. “I do want sons.”

  “Of course you do. Your mother must be beside herself with worry that you don’t have one already.”

  “She is. I can hardly talk to her anymore. I’m only twenty-two. What does she expect? What am I going to do?”

  “What about Pemini? She would make you fine sons. Not the best-looking girl, but she has wonderful breasts.”

  Gern glowed red.

  “What? You wanted my advice, so don’t be surprised when I give it. Pemini has two of the smoothest, best-formed breasts I have ever seen. Two great big handfuls for you every morning, and she is capable of undying devotion. A great cook, too. How is Fana’s cooking?”

  Gern was still scratching nervously at his ear, his flush coloring both as he tried not to grin. The question, though, straightened his face.

  “I do not know,” he finally said.

  “Does she even know how? What will she feed you and your sons? Books?”

  “Dia, that’s not fair.”

  “Fair? Who said anything about fair, Lieutenant?” I replied with a softer tone. “You have an obligation to your family, both present and future. And I worry that you are confusing Fana’s kindness for something more than it is.”

  He looked troubled at that, so I decided to leave it alone. No need to pile too much on him at once. We stayed quiet as the sun climbed up toward its zenith, and when the road turned north, Gern left the road in favor of a trail that continued further west.

  “The cliffs are just on the other side. We’ll need to flatten out this trail.” He pointed his mare onto it, and the poor little girl struggled the whole way. I was annoyed he thought her in shape for it. Clever was still fresh, though, so I encouraged him to plough the trail wider.

  The trees thinned and opened onto a wide clearing and the stark white edge of a cliff.

  Gern dismounted, and I did the same. When I finally took the last few steps and peered over, I could not see where the waves crashed into the rocks.

  “Where is the shore?” I asked with alarm.

  “The cliff juts out a good distance along this whole section. We are standing over the ocean here,” Gern replied.

  I danced back toward Clever. My stomach almost rebelled.

  Gern, meanwhile, knelt next to a large gray stone at the very edge of the cliff and cleared away snow from the deep groove that ran its length. He moved back to his mare and lifted the coils of rope off the back of his saddle.

  “Can you ride up and down the trail a few times?”

  I did as he requested, hating not knowing why, but was not about to ask. The evergreens comforted me, though, and the gnawing of vertigo began to go away. On my third trip back through the powdery snow, the trail was trodden enough for Clever to canter the whole way. He wanted to run, so I let him.

  Back at the clearing, Gern had laid out the long coil of rope and began baiting the hook with a ball of sticky oatmeal. I noticed the opposite end of the rope was doubled over and tied into a large, reinforced loop, and figured out how it was all going to work.

  While he was busy with the hook, I dismounted, took hold of the looped end of the rope, and set it around Clever’s neck. I was concerned at first that the rope was going to choke him, but the coil sat nicely across thick bands of muscle. The lieutenant noticed me finally and looked ready to protest.

  “Your mare is exhausted, Gern. Is there a pad of some kind that goes with this rope?”

  Gern started saying several things but pulled a wide piece of padded leather from a saddlebag instead. He fit it to the front of the loop and wrapped the rope once around the saddle horn.

  “If you cannot ride while standing, you will have to sit on the rope,” he said, blushing fiercely. “Keep Clever pointed away from the cliff at all times. At all times.”

  I mounted and turned Clever as directed. The rope proved very unfriendly. I stood up in the stirrups.

  “Is there anything else I should know?”

  “You’ll know when there is something on the line. Get Clever moving down the path when it happens. Do not turn him for any reason.”

  He tossed the hook over the edge, and the rope pulled madly through the stone groove. I did not hear a splash but the line went tight and tugged on the saddle. Clever stamped a hoof and pressed forward a pace. I patted his neck, and he settled.

  The day’s first icy gust of wind pushed through my leggings and stole my breath. I considered sitting down on the rope. “How long does this take?”

  “Hard to say. We might not catch anything.”

  The rope tugged on the saddle again, and I jerked my eyes back toward the cliff.

  “Just the current. The end of the rope is being pulled away from the shore. Our timing is good. The low tide will carry the bait out to where the fish school. They love oatmeal.”

  Nervousness rumbled in my belly. Gern did not seem concerned, but perhaps his was a brave front, too.

  “Do you really think Pemini is the right girl?” he asked.

  Clever boy—questioning me while I was anxious. I steeled myself for the conversation and stood up straight in the saddle. “I do, but if you think you can wait and can fend off your mother a few more seasons, you’ll have your pick of women.”

  “My pick?”

  “Gern, you are an officer to a son of the Exaltier and stand to make at least captain, perhaps even colonel. A noblewoman from Bessradi can be had by a man who boasts such a rank. Colonels have even been known to marry into royal families.”

  “When will women like those ever come here?”

  “You forget whom you serve. In a few short seasons, there will be women here more beautiful than you have ever dreamt. It would not be an unreasonable plan for you to dedicate yourself to your career and wait for them to come to you.”

  “More beautiful than you?”

  “Bessradi has thousands more beautiful than me,” I lied with a smile, but before I could say more, the saddle suddenly lurched.

  “You have one on the line,” Gern shouted. “Go. Go.”

  I was slow to react, but Clever, his namesake yet again, fought against the sudden pull. I sat and set in my heels. He blasted a tremendous, trumpeting whinny and carved up great snowy furrows as he pulled.

  “Don’t pull too hard. You have a monster on the line.”

  But there was little I could do. Clever loved the fight. The saddle jerked sharply as the fish and horse wrestled. Clever was forced to a stop and set his hooves once and then again. I dared not imagine the beast below.

  The pained rope came free of the stone and snapped left like a bowstring, knocking Gern off his feet. The saddle thrashed, and Clever screamed.

  “Settle,” I barked and snapped the reins right. My stallion gnashed his teeth on the bit but turned, gave up three paces, and fixed his shoes into the frozen earth.

  The rope leapt back right, but with gentle taps and tugs, I kept Clever pointed forward. We stood our ground there until the rope lost its fierce pull.

  “Tyaw,” I screamed, Clever churned new earth, and stomped his way down the trail.

  The rope quit thrashing then, and I feared the fish had broken free.

  “Go, go,” Gern shouted. I glanced back to see him leaning precariously over the edge of the cliff. The fish was out of the water, I concluded, and urged Clever into a gallop. He did so with relish, starved perhaps by his time in the stable for the chance to run.

  “Stop,” Gern yelled over the mad pound of the charger’s hooves. I tried to rein him in, but he was slow to relent. I looked back to see the monstrous fish hurdling through the air high over Gern’s head. The lieutenant charged after it, and as the fish struck the snow, he staked it to the ground with a single thrust of his spear.

  Impressed, I brought Clever around with determined tugs.

  The thing was a monster. Nearly as long as I was tall. It had a yellow tail and stripe that ran halfway up the side of its body—the scales above it blue, and those below as white
as snow.

  I was exhilarated. “Let’s catch another one,” I said.

  Gern was as enthused but turned to look into the wind. His smile disappeared, and I followed his gaze to see a distant mass of gray clouds. Beneath them, the sea was cast in dark shadows.

  “Time to head back.”

  I could not have agreed more. As fun as it had been, I was not fool enough to risk being out in a storm, much less the dark blizzard the wind pushed toward us. Everyone in Bessradi knew someone who had lost a few fingers or toes because they had ignored the weather.

  Gern coiled the rope and hefted it and the fish across the back of Clever’s saddle, with the rope balancing the weight of the fish on the other side. I was glad he’d not though his poor mare capable of the load, though it was going to be a trick to make it back without getting any blood on my coat.

  We got moving and did not talk as we pressed home. We lost the sun to the rushing clouds, and by the time we crossed the bridge, the snow swirled around us. The storm slowly got worse and was so bad by the time we reached the end of the road I feared we would get lost in the blowing snow. When I saw Clever chewing the air, I let his nose lead the way.

  Thell was standing outside the stable when we at last emerged from the trees, and he rushed forward to take the reins. “Milady, are you okay?”

  “Yes, old man,” I shivered. “Just a bit chilled.”

  “Blessed be. I was getting terribly worried. Get inside quick as a rabbit before people figure out you rode off, if they haven’t already.”

  I looked once to Gern, and he smiled, satisfied perhaps with all my advice.

  I shivered, kissed Clever’s nose, and snuck up to my room. The bath I set myself into was so delightful I intended to stay there listening to the storm until it was time for Gern’s surprise feast.

  Fana found me as I was settling in. She had that damned string of hers, and I nearly told her I wasn’t going to take the root anymore.

  Sadly, it was not an option.

  29

  Alsman Leger Mertone

  The 57th of Winter, 1194

  As the winds of a new storm began to blow, a book did something to offend Barok. He tore it in half and flung the pieces across the room. But instead of beginning a tirade, he selected another text and began racing through it.

  I had a similar problem, as I was on the last two pages of my book and could hardly read and watch the prince at the same time. I ignored him as best I could and raced to the end.

  My jailor-turned-fisherman, I happily learned, married a kind woman he had always secretly loved. I turned to the last page and the tale ended with a kiss.

  Oh, if only I were he and Darmia was she.

  I rubbed the cover of the book. Perhaps reading wasn’t so bad after all.

  Barok’s face was even tighter. He turned a page, tearing it in his haste.

  I bit my lip, then asked, “Troubled by something?”

  He snapped his eyes and the book closed and pressed it between his large hands for a long moment. I got ready to defend myself.

  “Edonia,” he stated.

  “Pardon?” I blinked with confusion.

  “I am searching for it but cannot find it.”

  He wasn’t being Yentif at all. I sat back with wonder and tried to catch up with the conversation he had started. “No mention of it?”

  “Not a word. It’s as if it never existed.”

  His frustration confused me. “Is it not better that Edonia is a forgotten place?”

  “Yes, and I would be concerned if I found it in these books. They are not very old. I am at a loss, however, how this peninsula came to be both the political and economic center of Edonia.”

  “What do you know of it from Kyoden?”

  “A thousand glimpses, but none tell me how this place could thrive. It’s a mystery. I am missing something, and it is driving me mad.”

  Barok had obviously made a number of decisions about the future of Enhedu. I was shocked by how far his thoughts had taken him. “You mean to rebuild it.”

  He squeezed the book and shook it. “Yes, rot all. And if I could see what about this place could make it all possible, I would have some idea how to begin.”

  I scratched at my chin. “I miss your meaning.”

  The prince set the book aside and leaned across the table as if we were plotting a murder. “If the entire continent was empty, where would you build its capital?”

  I gave the matter a long thought and began to see his problem. “Probably in the middle, so all of the provinces were close at hand and easy to trade and communicate with.”

  “Right. Then you would want to find a river so you would have enough water.”

  “Exactly where Bessradi was built,” I concluded. “Surrounded by salt and tin mines and fields of woad and wheat.”

  “Yes. It is the perfect location from which to rule Zoviya. So why did the Vesteal build their capital on the far side of a mountain? Every decision would be delayed, and every trade and craft would have to suffer the long road.”

  I thought back through the titles of the texts I had seen him reading. He had hit a wide range of topics, but the books themselves did not seem that old. “Whose version of history have you been reading?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Which family? The Yentif rule now, the Ataouk before them, before them the Ludoq, and before them the Khrim who led the Zovi over the Bunda-Hith in 742, spreading the truth of Bayen—blah, blah, blah. Whose version of history do these books tell?”

  He thought about that for a moment. “The Ataouk, I think. Aneth and the east coast of Zoviya where they were from get more than their fair share of coverage.”

  “Their rule started when, 1105?”

  “You are horrible at history, Leger. That’s the year the Council of Lords was formed. The Ataouk ruled from 1011 until their eighth Exaltier died without an heir, and the Yentif were elected in 1143.”

  “Forget the dates,” I said a bit defensively. “My point was that these books are not very old and probably retell the history of the Ludoq and Khrim the same way the Khrim rewrote and erased Edonia.”

  “So you are saying that I am wasting my time?”

  “With these books, yes, perhaps. You might catch an occasional reference to something that happened between when the Zovi crossed the Bunda-Hith in 742 and whenever it was that Edonia fell—”

  “881,” he said and leaned his head into his hand dejectedly. He flung the book he was holding toward the fireplace and finished the thought for me, “There is nothing here about Edonia.”

  “Perhaps you can learn more from Kyoden?”

  “There is no narrative between us. All I get is glimpses—emotions.”

  I was at a loss for what else to say. I considered an apology but stared out the window with him at the fresh snow instead.

  The sudden smell of fresh fish filled the room. We had not had fish in many days. Someone had braved a trip out to the river.

  “Let’s set the problem aside for now and eat,” I suggested. He growled as he was wont to, but relented.

  The crowd was unusually large. The men had taken to eating their meals in the barracks, but all of Urnedi was making its way into the great hall, most noticeably Gern who had a wide smile upon his face.

  “Some special occasion?” I asked him after we settled around the table.

  He gestured to a pair of men who carried an enormous metal pan to the table and lifted away the lid. A cloud of steam rose and revealed a single filet of an enormous fish that I could hardly believe was real. It had been laid open upon a bed of vegetables, the fist-thick fillet both longer and wider than my leg. The meat was dark pink, which surprised me far more than its size. The crowd applauded.

  “Amberjack?” Barok asked. “Where did that come from?”

  Gern thumped the middle of his chest. “We call them yellowtails.”

  Barok was speechless. The men who had brought it in began to carve the unexpected fe
ast, and our unlikely fisherman received the first plate.

  River fish was often on the menu back at the capital, but fish from the sea were only available during the summer and were very expensive.

  “You do not have any boats,” Barok stated. “Did you fish the edge of the ice?”

  “No ice on these shores, my lord. Not even this winter. I caught it at the cliffs. This time of year the yellowtails come in close, so all you have to do is throw in a long line, wait, and pull them up with your horse. The hardest part was the journey there and back through the snow.”

  “The ocean doesn’t freeze?”

  Gern looked more confused than the prince. “Never. It does in the south?”

  “The shores of Berm are encased in ice all year-round, and it only breaks away during the summer along the southern coast ...”

  “Is everything okay?” Dia asked.

  Barok did not answer her, and I said, “Yes. Gern might have just solved a riddle for us.”

  We had Fana’s attention then, too. “What riddle?”

  Barok looked down and around at everyone, his mouth still half open as if the thoughts in his head were too numerous and he needed to let them pour out.

  I said to him, “A sea port open year-round.”

  Barok grinned. Dia giggled. “The two of you have been staring out at the snow too long.” Everyone laughed at us except our young scribe.

  “I know something that might help you,” she said and we followed her up to one of the gallery alcoves. She reached behind one of the bookcases and pulled free a large, dusty board with three metal hinges along one edge. It was a giant map case, and I marveled as she opened it. The yellowed sheets inside were well over a century old, and detailed places I had never heard of. The Ataouk Exaltier who commissioned it and his family were things for the history books, but their idea of Zoviya was much broader than that of the Yentif who replaced them. It was hard to understand the land mass as Zoviya. It made me wonder how different Edonian maps must have been.