Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series

by Blake Hausladen

  As alsman to a prince barred from the Kaaryon, it would not be long before I would see the capital. I spent the rest of the ride dreaming the words I would say to her.

  We made it back to Urnedi and learned from Urs everything had gone as planned and that Barok was unavailable. I was most happy to hear the wrinkle about the documents Kuren had demanded. Delivering them would be for me to do, and it did not take long to think of a good reason for the trip to be extended to the capital.

  I rewarded myself by turning in early.

  The morning saw the arrival of the seventy families who would tend the orchard and whose sons would be the next batch of oath-takers. The prince was still indisposed, so I went down to the meeting hall with Sahin, Fana, and Thell to welcome them.

  I explained to them the pledge of service Barok offered, and they happily signed the pages Fana had ready for them. All they wanted to see was the land where they would build their homes and the orchard they would own.

  I had not made a trip down the stone road despite all the plans Barok and I had for it, so I asked Thell to lead us out. I was well used to Enhedu’s forests, but when we started along the ancient stones, the wide avenue was its own kind of eerie. It was so flat, straight, and swallowed by green that it seemed I stood upon the blade of a rapier that had been left for a summer upon a lawn.

  Much like the road over the mountain, only the thinnest dark moss grew between the squares, each one exactly the same size as the massive cubes used to build Urnedi.

  Zoviya had ripped up part of the old road to build its watchtower. That was why the road ended so abruptly. I felt a moment of pride for the mystery solved, but a further realization replaced it with rage.

  The Tanayon Cathedral was made of the same stone squares. Bayen’s priests had raped Kyoden’s capital to build their leering monster. Its stones were said to be from some sacred place deep in the Bunda-Hith. Liars.

  I booted a dead branch off the road and did my best to listen to the men talk of the trees.

  At the top of the ridge between the river and the coast, we reached a narrow trail leading north toward the orchard. Sahin had suggested the intersection for the workers’ new village and for good reason: the top of the road was just high enough to see the bridge, both ends of the road, and the hazy shapes of Urnedi’s many buildings.

  The men set right to work clearing space for their homes. Urnedi’s carpenters and timbermen arrived that afternoon. There was not much light left, so after some important introductions, a camp was struck amidst the stumps and a meal was had around a trio of wide fires. The conversations were friendly, and the camp took on the name Ojesti—“a place of apples.” Sahin and I were very encouraged to see the two groups mix so well.

  We also took a moment aside with the Chaukai sergeants to discuss the new camp they would hide within the folds of the ridge south of the village. The place we had used during the spring was too close to the quarry.

  “You were right about the view,” I said to Sahin.

  “You will like the glen even more.”

  “Another Chaukai hiding place?”

  “One of the best. The rocks that surround it are high enough to hide a fire at night, and below it to the west there is a dry wash that was a beaver’s lake a season ago.”

  “Poor beavers, sacrificing their dam for the cause.”

  “Poor beavers nothing. They are vermin. The forest has no love for those big-toothed rats. We all carry a barbed arrow in case we get a shot at one.”

  The sergeants nodded their agreement. I decided to keep my city-born mouth shut. I knew nothing of what beavers did to a forest.

  “How did you pick the spot?” I asked instead.

  “I grew up on this ridge climbing trees and watching the garrison ride by. They never found it.”

  “All those years so close and they never happened upon it?”

  “More stinging nettles on this ridge than the rest of Enhedu.”

  Satisfied with the location, I asked, “Who knows of it?”

  “Everyone who has sworn the oath.”

  “Were you able to come to a conclusion regarding those that work at the keep while I was away? Have they been sworn?”

  “Gern and I objected to one of Thell’s men, so he was dismissed, but yes, Urnedi’s staff has been sworn to Barok and to Edonia.”

  “Except for Dia?”

  “Yes, though I am still surprised you objected to her. I would still like to know why, if you are willing now to tell me. Her efforts for the town have been substantial, and yours was the only dissenting opinion.”

  I had thought my reason a simple matter of not trusting her until my conversation with Thell. I told Sahin the new reason. “She was given the women’s medicine. If Barok takes her as his only wife, Kyoden’s line will end.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Taking the medicine is a requirement for any woman who works at the palace. Dia will bear no children.”

  “Does Barok know?”

  “He must.”

  “Then what will we do if he decides to marry her? Above all things, the line of the Vesteal must continue. The ghosts would kill her if they knew. Would you have me tell them?”

  I shrugged, hoping perhaps he would tell me why the Vesteal was so important, but he said nothing more. I replied, “We are not to make decisions for kings. Our job is to tell truth to power and to keep power safe.”

  “That is well and true, Captain, but are you sure there isn’t another reason you want Dia excluded?”

  “What do you mean? Do you know about Fana?”

  “Fana? I was the one who put her and Barok in a room together. If he had taken her into his bed that day, I would have forced him to marry her and held him hostage with the prospect of the girl bearing him a child. Yes, I know about Fana.”

  “So you know Dia is grooming her to be the second in his bed?”

  “Fana would make a good queen, and now that I know Dia will not bear children, my opinion of the match is only that much stronger. What I was wondering, is if perhaps you were jealous.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Dia bathed you the day she arrived, and you spent a great deal of time alone with her. It has been wondered between the men if you and she are closer than you lead on.”

  “Not in the least. I love another.”

  “So that day in Barok’s room, she just gave you a bath?”

  “Yes, damn you. She needed me sober, so I could stop you from murdering the prince—as you may remember.”

  Sahin cleared his throat, and I kicked at the ground. The sergeants looked away from me. None of us were proud of how we had handled ourselves that day.

  One of them asked, “Is there no cure for the poison she was given? The priest’s blue light can’t heal it?”

  “No. Like with a missing eye or a broken bone, the magic can’t fix the damage that has been done to her. The Exaltier would not rely upon the medicine if it could.”

  Sahin asked, “I will want to give this more thought before I tell Kyoden.”

  “As you wish, but in the meantime, you might try to find more work for Dia in the town and encourage Fana to work more closely with the prince—perhaps make her his liaison to our efforts.”

  He nodded and decided to change the subject. “Are you satisfied with the new men?”

  “I do not know them well enough yet to consent to their addition. Organize those you would have join us in the morning, and I will work with them clearing the trail out to the orchard. And be sure to send word to Barok that I will be here another day in case he already has it in mind to get me moving to Almidi.”

  “I will have Fana add it to her reporting of the camp.”

  It was agreed—the darker topics tabled.

  The next day saw me with an axe and an energetic son from each of Ojesti’s seventy families, and by the end of it, scores of felled trees lay in our wake upon the trail out to the orchard. None complained or shirked the entire day, and to
a man they were fit and built of the same stuff as Gern. I ate a meal with them that evening and after it gave Sahin my consent that they become Chaukai.

  The owls and crickets were loud that night at the top of the ridge, and I was on my way to being well and truly annoyed when the eastern horizon began to glow with the bright yellow light of a waxing moon. It rose straight up from the road, and the sight was well worth the loss of those precious hours of sleep. Her bright light quieted the forest creatures, and the campfires were dark by the time I said goodnight to the watchman’s friend.

  43

  Healer Geart Goib

  The jailors shouted and ran up and down the corridors all morning. It was hard not to worry about what was happening. The rest of the prison was silent with the same dread. I did not like being a slave. I did not like waiting helplessly to find out if each day was my last. Avin was as quiet.

  The arrival of a column of provincial soldiers and a second of Hemari solved the mystery but did not cure our apprehension. Avin could not stay away from the window, either.

  “Arilas Serm for sure,” he said. “See the blue and yellow banner? Who do you think the Hemari are escorting?”

  I did not need to answer his question. Men in solid black dalmatics came into view—senior men of the Chancellery. “Why would they come here?” I asked.

  “Remember what you learned about Aderan and its prisons?”

  I did but was unhappy for the memory. Arilas Serm earned himself churls by the thousands in exchange for overseeing Zoviya’s prisons. It was a bad business, profiting from the misfortunes of others.

  A sudden stomping of boots in the hallway startled us away from the window. A jailor flung the door open—the senior jailor whose finger Avin had healed.

  “Come with me,” he ordered. “Both of you.”

  We followed his loud boots along the narrow corridor, through several locked gates, and down narrow stairs to a massive door. The jailors there jumped when the senior man barked at them, and we were suddenly out in the sunshine and the open.

  I hesitated. It felt wrong, and I wanted to go back inside. But the jailor did not care how much the black box had changed me.

  “Move it,” he ordered, and I obeyed.

  In the far corner of the courtyard, a large gray pavilion had been erected. Arilas Harod Serm sat at a long, thin table inside, opposite the three Chancellery men. The arilas looked very tired. The chancellor’s men sat straight with their hands in their laps. Around the pavilion were all the tacked horses and soldiers that went with them. None seemed disturbed by our sudden approach. Harod himself must have summoned us. I hoped it wasn’t to thank us. I did not want any kind words from the owner of so much misery.

  The sudden bark of Harod’s voice brought us to a halt.

  “What do you mean I will not get any men this season? Those churls are due me.”

  “Your debts grow too large,” the tallest of the black-robed men replied. “Chancellor Parsatayn has called half your note. Be glad the price for churls is high enough to cover it.”

  The next words the arilas said were low, and I only just caught them. “Parsatayn deals too roughly with me. The sabotage of Heneur’s crops will be carried off as planned. Have no fear of that. Do I have your word the balance of my note will be forgiven when it’s done?”

  I did not catch their response, but Harod nodded and leaned heavily into the table. The chancellor’s men stood and marched single file to their horses.

  The Hemari lieutenant got the column moving quickly. I half came to attention and almost saluted him as he rode by. I hid my face, instead.

  After they were gone Harod rose slowly and limped his way toward us. He looked almost as bad as he had the day I saved him. He had lost much of his hair, and his eyes were sunken and dull. His missing digits were hard to look at. I wondered where his wife was. He looked like a man who was alone.

  “Pull the condemned out of their holes,” he barked at the jailor, “and get these two busy healing every man.”

  “Lord?”

  The arilas was out of patience but also the energy with which to scream. His hissed response was very hard to hear. “You have until I return in ten days to get every man in Apped ready to harvest the winter wheat. Do I make myself clear?”

  The jailor bowed deeply, choosing wisely not to tell the arilas that everyone at Apped had been healed for some time. Best to save the good news for when he returned. The arilas stalked off and rode south. The senior jailor returned us to our room.

  His boots did not pound the stone, and he did not yell at anyone the whole way. Worry, it seemed, made all men quiet.

  44

  Matron Dia Esar

  Cavim Vesteal

  I woke the morning after Kuren’s visit still wrapped in my prince’s wide arms. We ignored the world beyond our window and Urnedi did not disturb us—content that its lord was safe and happy. We spoke very little during that soft time, either wrapped in each other’s arms with lips busy or in the warm water after a refreshing bath. It wasn’t until we ran the cistern dry of its rainwater that we began to wonder about the world beyond.

  “Look at that,” he pointed. “Everyone is taking their evening meal together in the hall. Was that your idea as well?”

  I hugged his arm and peeked around the shutters. “The Dame does love cooking for a crowd. Smells wonderful, doesn’t it?”

  “We should join them.”

  “Now don’t go spoiling things, darling. Their meals are supposed to be time apart from their work and responsibilities. With you there they wouldn’t get the chance to relax.”

  “They act so differently around me?”

  I tried to think of a way to explain. “How much differently do you act when in the presence of your father?”

  “With my forehead on the floor and silent unless spoken to. Is it really so much the same for them?”

  “The way you ride up on everyone with a sword on your hip? You are still very much Yentif in their eyes. Who but that carriagemaker you met in Almidi has had the courage to speak to you directly?”

  “Urnedi’s staff has warmed to me.”

  “They had a winter to get to know you. And you can stop frowning. It is the price you pay for the privilege you were born to.”

  “Where did you learn such things? Did Dagoda teach it to you?”

  “Two seasons watching and listening to honest people doing honest work. And if you ever mention that vile place again, it will be the last time I speak to you. No. Stop that. Hands off.”

  He took a step back. “I didn’t ... I am sorry, Dia. I promise I will burn it to the ground myself.”

  “See that you do.” I surrendered briefly to his apologetic embrace.

  “Come,” I told him. “Time to get dressed and back to work. My time is as promised as yours.”

  Why did he have to speak of that place? I had almost forgotten it, and the memories struck me like the crunch and taste of a dislodged peppercorn. Lord Vall and the Yentif—they were still out there. I found myself with one and then both hands on my belly. What sharp swords they would thrust at me if they knew an heir to two thrones could be within.

  Was I to be the mother of a king? Me?

  Desire crept along my limbs and through my body. The want penetrated my heart, and its sudden coming was terrible. I wanted a part of the man I loved growing inside me. I wanted a child. Barok’s, many of them, all of them, and yes, yes, his first son. I would bear the king of all men. Zoviya was ignorant of me, and I would bear sons and daughters that would cast it back to the frozen tundra from whence it sprang.

  Our first son, I would name Cavim. Cavim Vesteal—the lightning oak. Yes. It was a fitting name for the bringer of fire and Zoviyan death. He would come. He had to.

  I pulled off Barok’s clothes and threw him back onto the bed.

  45

  Arilas Barok Yentif

  Out of breath, Dia collapsed beside me in the darkness, and I wrapped her up in my arms before she
could decide again that she wasn’t quite finished with me. I laughed and kissed her, more exhausted and sated than ever before.

  She fell asleep instantly, and I lay awake for a long time looking at her. The breeze washed away our heat, and the moon’s light crept slowly across the bed and up onto her naked shoulder. I set my thumb across her skin from the moonlit to the shadowed side.

  “Cream, gray, black, smooth,” I whispered at the artist’s dream of a woman in shadow. She was so beautiful—beautiful and fierce. Sometimes it seemed she was more beast than me. I laughed and gave her a squeeze. We were made for each other, damaged Zoviyan animals that we were.

  “What would the world say if I made you my wife? Who would be angrier, Vall or Kyoden?” I whispered as I closed my eyes.

  I woke confused by dreams of bloody streets and tearful funerals. I held onto Dia as long as I could to fend off the feeling. It did not work, but thankfully when we at last emerged, Urnedi did not leave me waiting for distractions.

  I had not even finished breakfast when Fana handed me a list of all the things that needed my attention. I should not have been surprised to learn the handwriting was hers. With my alsman missing from the keep all spring and Urs gone on a tour of the villages to record all of my new rents, someone else had taken on the job of keeping me organized. I was as happy to learn that it was Fana as I was with Leger’s training of the Chaukai.

  “Your father taught you well,” I told her.

  “Thank you,” she said, blushing. “He still does most of the accounting. I’m not that good at numbers yet.”

  “Keep at it. Your work is good enough to be mistaken for an alsman’s.”

  “Don’t spoil her, Barok,” Dia said. “There is no need for false flatteries.”

  “I was quite serious,” I replied before I saw her jealousy. I turned the topic the moment I did. “Where is Leger?”

  “He is out with the men who signed on to work the orchard,” Fana informed as she handed over the land sale contract they had signed. “He will return tomorrow morning. They decided to name the new village Ojesti. Nice sounding name, don’t you think?”