Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series

by Blake Hausladen

  He pointed me at the blackened thing that had been the man’s ear. I set the brush against it and with three quick pulls cleared away the debris. Avin slapped his hand over the savaged flesh, and the bark of the song again healed it all.

  I raced to stay ahead of his reaching hands after that, pulling and brushing away clothes and grit, sullying one bucket of water after another.

  Avin was beginning to tire, but down we moved and then flopped the man over. All but the last of his blackened flesh was made pink once more when with a sudden groan Avin collapsed.

  “More torches,” I yelled in the sudden and lonely darkness and rushed to Avin’s side. I could not get him to wake up. He had sung too much. I lifted him and laid him on the officer’s cot.

  Behind me the noise of more horribly desperate men crashed across the darkness. They were all starved for the blue light they had tasted.

  The naked man upon the table laughed. The tiny sound pushed away the gloom, and I stepped across, alone.

  “Bring the next one,” I said softly and tossed the brush to one of the young soldiers who had watched. The next charred body appeared. The boy looked ready to flee.

  “You saw what I did? And why?”

  “Yes.”

  The officer stood uncertainly and looked helplessly from the screams of the wounded man to the laughter of the healed.

  “Keep the water coming,” I said softly. “And keep the men calm.”

  He withdrew, and I was left to the business of a healer. I felt the tug then, the want to scream the song as Avin had. So delicious the sound.

  But no—the song stole the life of the singer. I let it come, but kept it slow and quiet. The thrashing man calmed. I pointed the brave soldier with the brush to the top of the man’s shoulder and followed his work with the slow turning of the verse. The scoured flesh closed, and I pointed the soldier on to other spots. I did not wait for the flesh to go baby pink, but moved on, instead, when it had taken the right shape and cooled. It was hard to go slow, like reading out loud word-by-word when you could not wait. I wanted to tear the song from my chest and fling it at the moon.

  My song rose briefly in my throat, and the blue light flared. No. Be calm. Too many need the touch of Bayen’s grace. In slow stages I evened out the verse.

  “Next,” I said in the renewed snap of darkness.

  “But you did not finish,” the officer protested.

  “He will live. Bring the next.”

  They did as I ordered, and one burned man after another was placed before me. It was three and then four before I began to wonder when I would feel the weariness. It did not come.

  The fifth man they brought me was stiff, his stomach torn and ridged.

  “He fell from the roof,” the officer said. “Caught one of the gate spikes in the stomach on the way down.”

  I put my hand into the wound. The man shrieked while I searched. But I did not find all that was needed.

  “I cannot heal this man. Bring another.”

  “But he is no worse than the rest,” the officer began to say.

  “No,” I told him. “I can only bring back the flesh. The blue cannot remake what he is missing. He is dead.”

  “Dead?” the man gasped up at me though his pain.

  “Yes. You are dying. I cannot heal you. All I can offer is a quicker road to Bayen’s gate.”

  The lieutenant gasped, and the man wept. But his pain was too great, and weakly he choked, “Yes, please. I beg you, send me to Bayen.”

  I took up the knife, shared a long look with the officer that ended in a solemn nod. I took hold of the man’s chin, and with a quick slash severed his neck to his spine. Life left him quickly.

  I had learned very few prayers as a Hemari. The one for such an occasion was the best I knew. “Hear us, our lord,” I prayed, and the soldiers prayed with me. “Dearly departed, we stand with you here in the all-knowing glow of our Lord’s unerring grace, wishing your soul swiftly to His judgment. May Bayen grant you mercy and His peace be upon you.”

  “His peace be upon us,” the soldiers said in unison.

  “Bring the next man,” I said and washed my arms and face in a bucket.

  On it went past the dawn, until a stagger and then slurred speech upset my song.

  “What did you say?” I asked the officer dimly.

  “Easy now,” he said, and I vaguely remember him waving men over to hold me up and guide me to a cot.

  I half-woke during the darkness, rose, and started walking. When I stumbled into the prison wall, I came awake enough to get my bearing. The senior jailor was there, moving slowly toward me. He took me by the arm and firmly led me back.

  “But I must go,” I said to him. “She says I must.”

  “For the last time, there is no woman here, churl. And I am tired of coming to catch you. You live to make the blue.”

  “My name is Geart,” I said to him. “Geart Goib.”

  He did not reply. Back in the torchlight of the tent, I saw he had a terrible burn on the back of his neck and head. Most of his hair was missing.

  I put my hand on the wound and began to sing. He flinched but went limp as a doll, and two verses later his wounds had closed.

  He swore and then cried a bit before slumping into a chair next to Avin’s cot.

  “Has he moved?” I asked.

  “No.”

  I worried for Avin, but a sudden hunger distracted me. It was not food I wanted. The sharp thirst was for the song.

  I stepped outside and said to the men there, “Bring the next.”

  The weary soldiers jumped up from where they had laid down upon the rocky ground. I took another step out and looked around at their tents. Each was tied closed to keep the swirls of dust and ash away for the stricken. An unconscious man was carried from the first.

  Back inside, I moved Avin close so he could feel the blue upon his face as I sang again to wounded flesh.

  Part V

  Falling Tides

  74

  Healer Geart Goib

  I woke to the glow of a single candle in our small room and the sharp aroma of cinnamon. Avin was at the table stirring a bit of it into a wide cup. Steam danced around his hand, and morning birds sang at the gathering dawn.

  He moved a chair close to the cot, sat down, and handed me the cup.

  The delicious smell woke me more than the first hot sip.

  “Geart, you need to listen carefully now to what I tell you.”

  “Yes, Avin.”

  “The men here do not know the difference and neither would you, but the work you did these last days cannot be done by most men. It is a rare gift you have, but you must never again make such magic.”

  “But ...”

  “Quiet, Geart, listen. People with such gifts are murdered or snatched up by the Hessier. That is the real purpose of the Conservancy Doctrine. They look for those who can compete with their magic—make magic other than the simple blue light that ties the people to Bayen.”

  “The ones they snatch—where are they taken?”

  “They are taken beneath the Tanayon and are never seen again.”

  “I would never want to go where Hessier take people.”

  “Just so. Your magic can compete with theirs, and if the Hessier ever learns of you, that is where you will go.”

  “So I should make my magic the way you do?”

  Avin laughed. “I am a very poor healer, Geart, as you have seen. You can do it as you have, but never again do so much so quickly. The best healers can only see to one or two people every other day.”

  I sipped and then gulped down the wonderful brew. I looked back across at Avin. “You were never the kind of man who would give someone over to the Hessier, were you? Even before being sent to Apped.”

  “No, Geart. Not even then. Will you promise?”

  “I promise,” I said certainly. Avin was glad for it, and I, encouraged by the warmth of the mate, got up from the bed to get a look at the day.


  The camp in the courtyard was gone. No more soldiers walked on the walls, and the fields beyond were bare and black.

  “They rode south?” I asked.

  “No. Harod led them north. Heneur is being blamed for the fire.”

  “So it is war.”

  “Yes. Where one fool leads, the rest will follow. I also heard some news from the capital before they departed.” He then told me a long and dark tale of the fire that had struck the palace.

  “That explains why Vall failed to get between Heneur and Aderan,” I said, and was glad for the first time to be at Apped instead of upon the Deyalu. “Any word of Prince Barok?”

  “Yes, actually. He has made as big a stir as Harod. He is the Arilas of Enhedu now and has raised an army of his own. He is the third eldest now behind Evand and Yarik.”

  “Yarik?” I snarled, despite the happy news of my prince’s health and success. “Pray for Evand, friend. I can think of nothing worse than Yarik as Exaltier.”

  “Hush. Vall is in good health.”

  “So were those consumed by so much fire. Bayen can be swift.”

  Avin said nothing. I did not understand it.

  “For a priest you do not seem to care to hear Bayen’s name very much.”

  “I tire of seeing death and blank gray walls.” He wearily opened a book upon the table.

  I sat across from him and opened my book about wounds. But our afternoon ended there with hardly a page read between us. The sky was very blue, and we spent our time staring. But even our simple view of freedom was marred by slow-rising tendrils of smoke that marked the progress of Harod’s army.

  Their daily appearance was all we learned of the outside world for many days.

  75

  Matron Dia Esar

  Alisa Vesteal

  I left Barok to his work and started into the town, worried there wasn’t enough time left for my morning’s tasks before I was due at Umera’s shop. I had a lot to account for, especially since Barok had not spoken to Gern.

  Thell was waiting for me at the stable as promised. The place was deserted, every stall but Clever’s empty.

  “You have everyone moving north after all?” I asked. “I thought the morning’s drama would have delayed you at least a day.”

  “Couldn’t let it,” he replied. “Every working animal is needed if the harvest is going to come off without a hitch.”

  “But what about the bailiffs on the road?”

  “No worries there. Sahin and half of the greencoats will be following them all the way south. Everyone is rather in the mood for them to make a fuss, especially since we have all their weapons in the armory. Would be easy enough to make such men disappear on that road. I am kind of sorry not to be going along. I’d rather enjoy throwing a rock or two at them.”

  I nodded but looked on expectantly. He smiled, pulled a small cloth bundle from his pocket, and handed it to me. I heard the happy clank of silver.

  “He was able to finish all three?” I asked.

  “It was a good trade, milady. You get three silver bracelets, Sevat and his silversmith get the use of a few score of my Fells for the season so they can haul in a good supply of the heavy hardwoods, and I get to borrow Clever for stud. I am curious why you needed three bracelets, though, if you will tell me.”

  “A girl has to have her secrets,” I smiled and asked, “Are you sure you know what you are doing, crossing Akal-Taks with Fells?”

  “Yup, we have a good idea for it, Dia, don’t you worry. Leger has someone in mind for us to hire on once we are a season or two into the enterprise—if we can find the man. It’ll work better, too, now that we have Clever to add to the mix.”

  I didn’t catch his meaning at first, but remembered the pair of Akal stallions Barok had taken from the Hessier. I was rather shocked. “Not the Hessier’s Akal? Truly?”

  “They are the calmest, easiest to handle horses I have ever come across. Not too surprising when you think of the training it must take to make a horse tolerate Hessier. Clever is unquestionably the best of the bunch, though.”

  That, of course, earned him one of my brightest smiles, but his expression stayed flat.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He was hesitant, but managed finally to say, “It’s about Merit.”

  “Yes, I am so sorry I put you into that business.”

  “No, there is no apology I will hear. I was ready to stab Emery in the street the day she made the Dame cry. I murdered her, same as you, and I sleep well. Enhedu needed it done. What I wanted to ask—it’s about those bracelets actually. Can I have one of the three to give to Merit? He deserves happiness, and I think he could have it with Umera.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “You darling old man. What did you think I was going to do with them? Wear them all myself?”

  He shrugged, and I was forced to give away a bit of my plan. I handed him one of the three. “I was going to give it to Umera so she could offer herself to him. But the other way around will do.”

  That put him at ease, and he asked, “Is it true you haven’t been to her shop all season? It’s quite a sight now, I’m telling you.”

  “You know what has kept me busy,” I said before I saw the smirk behind his criticism. I swatted his arm for it.

  He shrugged and chuckled. “Was there something else you needed?”

  “How can you tell?”

  “You always have a look about you when you need to ask a favor. Come, tell me how I can earn another smile from you today.”

  “It’s not for me, it’s for Leger,” I replied and told him the second piece of my plan. He liked it at once and agreed to send one of his men and a pair of Fells across the mountain for me.

  I left him to his day and went to find Fana. Her parents had finally moved into their new house in town, but Madam Sedauer pointed me instead toward the meeting hall. I found Fana there, back at her usual place in the meeting hall—working. I got ready to ask her what she was doing, but the men who gathered around her table were animated and angry.

  I stopped behind her to listen.

  “You cannot resolve this?” she said over them.

  “No. Barok must decide it. I will have satisfaction.”

  “You lout,” the other man shouted. “The matter is plainly in my favor.”

  “Enough,” Fana ordered. “If that is your decision then I guess you best get packing for the road south.”

  “What?”

  “Well, that would be my recommendation to the prince. If you cannot settle something as simple as this, you do not belong here.”

  “Fana, you overreact,” the first man said with a much calmer tone. “Our grievance deserves to be ruled upon.”

  “Were the both of you asleep all morning—the last season, in fact—that you missed what is happening here?” she asked back sternly.

  “No, but—”

  “Then you must know how foolish the pair of you look, demanding an audience with the prince to hear so trivial a dispute. Rather like children fighting over a toy horse.”

  “Trivial? I don’t think that—” the second man began.

  “No. Not another word. I am leaving Urnedi in the morning. Resolve this by then, or I will deliver my recommendation to the prince.”

  “Ahh. Don’t do that,” the first squawked and looked to his counterpart. “We can come up with something, yes?”

  “Uhh, absolutely,” he nodded. “Do not trouble yourself any more about it.”

  “Good day then, sirs.” She bowed and said to the rest gathered behind them, “Anyone else have a problem they cannot solve on their own?”

  The crowd shook their heads no and similarly bid her a farewell. As they hurried away, she noticed me for the first time.

  “Dia, what is it? Something happen with the census?”

  “No. We are clear of that now. I wanted to talk to you before you left—about you and Barok.”

  Her confident expression vanished. “What do you mean? I thought—”r />
  “Stop now. You must have known this was coming. He has not taken you into his bed.”

  “No, not yet, but ...”

  “You must have thought of another,” I smiled. “Are you still fond of Gern?”

  She blushed, and tears began to form. “Yes, but I have been waiting for Barok. I ... what am I supposed to do now? Barok doesn’t want me anymore?”

  I took hold of her hands and whispered softly, “No, Fana. Barok is no longer Yentif. The Vesteal take only one wife.”

  She began to weep.

  I wrapped her in my arms. “Stop that. You are very precious.”

  “Who would have me after this?”

  “I know that Gern loves you very much, and you have done nothing but save yourself for the man who’ll love you.”

  She slapped at the wild run of her tears. “How do you know? He does not show it.”

  “He lost his heart to you long ago. He confessed it to me the day he caught the yellowtail last winter.”

  “So long ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Dear, you know why. Now dry your eyes. Being a washerwoman is a horrible end for a girl who has become scribe and savior to an entire province. Gern loves you dearly. He is rather poor at finding a way to say it. If you feel the same, you are free now to make a life with him or whomever you choose.”

  She sighed, and it reminded me so much of Barok. They were similar in so many ways. I gave her a long hug, happy the desire to kill her was no longer within me, despite her bond with my love.

  She composure herself. “So what do I do now?”

  “Why not suggest to him that you spend your thirty days together?”

  “Do you think he would say yes?”

  “He would, I promise. And you better do it fast before Pemini or one of the other girls gets any ideas.”