Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series

by Blake Hausladen

  “She wouldn’t.”

  “Fana,” I said and took her hands. “If I had waited for Barok to ask me to join him here, I would still be in Bessradi. He did not invite me.”

  “What? Truly?”

  “Yes,” I said and handed her one of the bracelets. “Tell him his next thirty days belong to you. It is not for him to decide.”

  She cradled the band of silver and flipped over. It was engraved with the same vines and flowers the girls had painted upon me.

  “Right,” she nodded without looking away from it, gave me half a hug, and started out with a determined pace.

  And with that happy task done, I made my way to Umera’s. Thell had not been joking about the place either. The transformation was astounding. The front halves of their shops had been joined, and the wide, well-organized space was set with elegant tables and chairs at its center and tall wardrobes along each wall. Dress forms wrapped in yellow, red, and white stood beside each. Behind all this, their workspaces were lively, with three apprentices busily at work in each. Gone were the makings of uniforms and the unfriendly smells of an unkempt carpenter’s shop.

  Umera had not been making idle talk when she said she would be ready to make dresses for the wedding. The best seamstresses from our summer circle were there around the large table in the center of it all, and a list of all we had discussed lay on the smooth surface of the table.

  “Has it really been a season since the last time I was here?”

  “We haven’t seen anyone, really,” she smiled, “aside from our apprentices and customers anyway. You know all three of my girls, I believe.”

  I did at that, the set had all worked in the Dame’s kitchen. “Girls, I didn’t know you’d joined Umera. Glad to see you so happy. The Dame must miss you.”

  “She does,” one replied. “Pemini stayed on, though. Things are much easier for them now since they are only cooking for the keep. Haton’s taken over cooking for the meeting hall.”

  “I’m glad to know it will be you who makes my wedding dress.” I turned to Umera. “So what’s next?”

  “Well, with a date and a place decided and all the supplies ordered, next is to decide who to invite and what everyone will wear.”

  I sat across from her, and we lost the rest of the day to talk of it all. But despite the happy work, all I could think about was Barok’s letter. We had asked permission, but until his father said yes, all of our planning was a bit presumptuous. Barok, of course, was endlessly confident in his father’s response and had forgotten the matter entirely. Each day for me was another of dread.

  News of riders on the road some days later drew an enormous crowd, but it turned out to be our new stipend courier and a tax collector; the latter the very same sickly man who had come during the spring to take Vall’s percentage. Leger, Urs, and Selt took such sudden charge of him, I felt immensely sorry for the blemished runt. The job was clearly beyond him this time around, and Leger made him seem smaller still when he exercised his prerogatives as colonel and alsman and assigned him an escort of sixty greencoat cavalry—four times what the stipend courier had come with. Our boys camped upon the practice field around the man for the duration of his work and rode south as escort when he was done. The tale of it and the amount Enhedu owned was sure to be news at Bessradi.

  But the comedy of this poor little man did not distract Urnedi very long. The greencoats herded the tax collector south on the 18th of Autumn, leaving only eight days for Vall to respond before the date set for the wedding. I could hardly eat or sleep.

  When I saw Vall’s messenger and his Hemari escort setting up camp upon the practice field the next afternoon, I all but ran on my way up to yell at Barok for not sending someone immediately to find me.

  I found him alone in our apartment, but when I got a look at him, all the anger went out of me. He sat heavily in his chair, his face wet with tears. He held a slate tablet with golden clasps that opened like a book. Inside was a sketch upon a single sheet of the whitest vellum. It was of a young, painfully beautiful woman. It was a masterpiece. The drawing had obviously been done for a portrait, likely one of the grand paintings Vall commissioned for his most beautiful wives—one of his wives.

  I touched Barok’s shoulder. “Your mother?”

  He looked at himself in the mirror and back at her face. There was enough room between him and the desk, so I sat myself down on his lap.

  “She was very beautiful.”

  “I had forgotten her face. How does a son forget his mother’s face?”

  “My mother died young, too. All I can remember of her is my brother kicking inside her belly. Your father saved the drawing?”

  “I could not be more surprised,” he said and handed me the letter that went with the drawing.

  * * *

  The 7th of Autumn, 1195

  * * *

  Son,

  I approve of your choice and see in it the most potent of Yentif wisdom. Any girl who has been in the employ of the palace is acceptable to me, especially one trained at Dagoda. It is also wise that your first wife be of such low birth. She will always be content no matter how many wives Bayen grants you, and the rest will be easier to please because of the comparison. Guard her well, though, against the sons you will one day have. They might not share your love for her.

  I regret that I will be unable to attend the ceremony, regardless of the date you choose. Please accept this small gift in my stead.

  * * *

  Stay guarded,

  Vall

  * * *

  I knew the letter’s treachery instantly. No truly loving man would want a daughter who had been sent to Dagoda. His dangled prospect of permission to have children was worse.

  “You do know what he is trying to do with this.”

  He sighed but eventually nodded. “He needs me alive and friendly. I would have preferred he try to buy my loyalty with a mountain of gold. It is odd he would make an emotional play. Leger is right. My father has gotten old and weak.”

  I dried his face with my sleeve and hopped off his lap. I took hold of the letter and the slate drawing board and moved toward the fireplace. I set the opened tablet upon the mantel and was about to toss Vall’s letter onto the fire.

  “Wait,” Barok said almost too late. “We need it as proof.”

  I flinched and snatched the letter back away from the flames. “Right. Rot. Sorry.”

  Barok crossed the room quietly. I leaned into his embrace, and we looked across at Alisa for a time.

  “I had a guard named Geart,” he told me. “He was assigned to me the day I was taken from her. He was the closest thing to a friend I ever had in Bessradi.”

  “What happened to him?” I asked but suspected the answer immediately. “He and my father?”

  He nodded, but was still far away. “I remember Geart’s big hands when they took me from her. I was only five, but I remember him pointing, trying to convince me to say goodbye to her. I couldn’t understand why he was crying. I didn’t want to see her at all.”

  “We will avenge her,” I said. A last quiet tear rolled down his face, but he looked very calm, very strong. I did not see the conflict that came when Kyoden climbed into his head—Barok was by himself and resolved. I kissed his eyes.

  “You should write back to your father.”

  “A thank you?”

  “Something nice and Yentif. His birthday is coming soon. Send him a copy of your manual—the one the Bessradi swordmasters all wanted.”

  “Clever girl. He would rather like it, wouldn’t he? Pity it is so flawed.”

  I left my man to his fun and made my way back to Umera’s.

  76

  Healer Geart Goib

  A jailor interrupted Avin’s testing of my reading to collect him for the warden. I was relieved. I did not much like the anatomy of the head and had so far failed to learn all its many pieces. I had barely managed to keep hold of all that was in the viscera. We had been at it since Harod’s soldiers
departed, but after so many days of it the names were beginning to jumble together.

  But I barely got a peek at the first chart when Avin stepped back through the door. He crossed to the window without a look at me, and I set the book back on his side of the table.

  “That was fast,” I said. “Who has come? Men from Bessradi?”

  “From Bessradi, but not men anymore,” he replied. He only ever spoke to me in riddles those days. This was not a very difficult one.

  “Hessier? Why would they come here?” I asked before remembering with alarm a reason why they would. “Did you see them? How do you know it’s Hessier?”

  “Close your eyes,” he said. “Put your mind in the place where it goes when you say the healing words.”

  I tried, but it was difficult.

  “Do you feel that Geart?”

  I pushed but couldn’t get the song to sound right in my head. It was like putting on a suit of mail with broken links. My thoughts got caught and snagged on something. I searched for the damage. It felt close. I pushed and slid my mind along the metal sleeve. I found them, kind of in the elbow of the steel shirt, three busted links that snagged my song.

  “Three of them? They are moving.”

  Avin gawked. “You shouldn’t be able to tell that. How did you know?”

  “Why ask me that? You just taught me now to see them.” I felt them move again and focused on the feeling. The mass of unhealth was across the courtyard, heading toward us.

  “They approach.”

  The sudden bark of voices down the hall added panic to Avin’s sudden look of worry. He jumped in front of me as the pound of boots reached us and the door burst open.

  “Everyone outside, now,” the jailor growled and moved on.

  We took a nervous step toward the door, but Avin rushed back and grabbed up his satchel and jammed all his books inside as if we were never to return.

  We hurried into the stone hallway to the sound of cell doors creaking open in every direction. Jailors were everywhere with swords drawn and spears in hand. Prisoners filled the spaces, and we were herded along, around, and down. The shabby mob was unruly, but the jailors pushed and kicked until we were all out into the courtyard. All of Apped’s thousands were there. We were more than I had thought.

  On the other side of the courtyard were two groups of riders. The larger was a column of Harod’s officers, mostly sergeants by the looks of them. The other was what we all stared at—a trio of tall Hessier in flawless armor upon spectacular Akal-Taks.

  “I think Harod has decided to conscript us,” I told Avin. “But what are they doing here?”

  He glared at the Hessier. His shoulders sagged. “How truly fitting. Not only are we conscripted, but the Hessier are now openly prostituting themselves.”

  I did not understand.

  Avin tried to explain. “The Hessier are like other men, Geart, despite what has been done to them. They will make a way for themselves if not kept on a tight leash, and the Ministry’s control has always been suspect. When last I walked the halls of the Tanayon, it was rumored that Sikhek wanted to allow a portion of the Hessier to offer their services more broadly, but Vall had threatened to withdraw his patronage. This trio looks like they are on their own. This is terrible. Between this and the Exaltier’s lack of response to what is going on in Aderan, I worry for his health.”

  “So Harod hired the Hessier? How much did that cost?”

  “Quite a lot by the looks of them.”

  Voices in the crowd began to change. The men were beginning to figure out what Avin and I had—that their days of farming were over and they would soon be thrown into battle. They got louder and began to protest. I worried how they could control us all until one of the Hessier rode forward and used his magic. The dark blanket of it was terrible and sticky. I pushed at it, but Avin bumped me.

  “No,” he whispered.

  I relented. If Avin could tell I’d done it, the Hessier could, too. I didn’t want their attention. The black weight pressed steadily upon the crowd. I wanted to throw it off and strike out at them. I bit my lip instead and held my mind down. The dark weight increased until I could hardly think. The protests ceased, and the courtyard became quiet.

  Harod’s senior officers exchanged some words with the Hessier and then turned to the warden. “Harod didn’t exaggerate, I see. This is a healthy bunch. Where are your healers? I want a look at them.”

  The warden pointed at us. The officer motioned us forward. I was too dumb from the weight of the black magic. Avin tugged me forward. We got close enough to get out from under the black blanket. My mind cleared.

  “A convict healer?” a Hessier said. “Rubbish. It takes years of church training to learn how to call the blue. You let this go on, warden?”

  The warden looked ready to flee. He reminded me of Towb the way his hands jerked at his side. He was a miserable coward.

  He replied finally, his voice warbling, “He has healed many men—he saved the arilas. He makes good magic.”

  The Hessier glanced down at me. “He looks like he has held a sword. A Hemari deserter, perhaps? What is his name?”

  The warden twitched, and if he had any spine at all, he would have lied. “Geart Goib,” he said instead, and I wanted to smash the man’s skull in my hands.

  The Hessier’s gray eyes narrowed on the warden. “This man is known to me. He should be dead. Explain.”

  “Ehh,” he choked. “It is ... it is as I said. Arilas Serm was caught out in a snowstorm. This man saved him—the arilas I mean. It seemed only fair. I let him stay with the priest and use his magic to keep us healthy. It is the reason the men are fit enough to be conscripted after so long a winter and so hard a season.”

  The Hessier eyed the mob. “Yes, well, how very interesting all of that is—a convict healer and a warden willing to overrule condemnations passed down by the Sten’s high court.”

  He looked down at me then, bored and dispassionate. “Healed the arilas did you? All right, traitor, I’ll allow you to settle this for me. One of the pack animals is ill. I think it’s colic. Fail to heal it, and you die. Succeed, and the warden will die in your place.”

  The warden gasped, and Avin clutched my arm. I knew my friend’s worry. Healing an animal was different. The song I knew was not for them.

  “Move,” the Hessier ordered softly and drew his sword. I pulled Avin’s hands free and stepped toward the animals before my teacher could condemn himself as well. The Hessier’s challenge wasn’t one I could win. He wanted only to terrify the convicts and the warden. Avin didn’t have to die for it, too. I picked the last words I’d say before the Hessier cut me down. I had to thank my friend in a clever way. I rolled my shoulders. If the Hessier was careless, I might take him with me.

  The distance wasn’t great and each step took me closer to the line of animals. One didn’t have a pack upon its back and its backside was set low like it wanted to lie down. The horse was in pain.

  I stood up straight and set one foot in front of the other.

  I must try. They don’t know me. They don’t know what I’ve become.

  I forced all my other thoughts aside and concentrated like I’d never done before.

  Ten more steps and I’d be next to the animal. I put my mind in the healing place. The broken metal snags of the Hessier held me. He was pushing me down. Could he think it possible? I became very angry. Eight steps. I speared my mind through their grip and made the words of the healing song rip free of them. Six steps. The words of the song were wrong. Like an arrow aimed at the wrong thing. No, a word, one word of it was wrong. Which? Avin had taught me the vocabulary of grammar. I struggled with the jumble of words and fought to call them what they were. Four. I pointed the song at myself. Which word in the song was for me? Which of the words was the subject? Which meant man? I raced it round and round until I felt the one that aimed the song at me.

  You found it. Now what?

  I needed to change the word. Change it to the
word that meant horse. Two steps. The Hessier pressed harder into me. I wanted to grip them and strike them, but I buried my rage and spun my thoughts smaller and tighter through their grip. One step. What word meant horse? I fixed my eyes on the animal and gave it every name I knew. I spun the magic round and round, searching for syllables that fit. The arrow was always broken, pointed away. I didn’t know the word. I couldn’t guess it.

  I touched the animal and knew its name. I didn’t know how I knew. I didn’t have time to wonder. The tall Hessier rode up behind me. I fixed the word in my song and sang the notes clear as the peal of a bell. The blue rose from my hands and moved along the animal’s side. The blue light flared but went wild. It moved uselessly across the horse’s flank. The hurt was deep inside. I could not reach it.

  Wait. If I could change the subject from man to horse, I could change the object from flesh to intestine. What was the word for intestine?

  The word came to me like the name of an old friend, and the verse turned upon this new object.

  heal intestine horse

  A yellow light leapt from my fingers and lanced into the horse and down its spine. The twisted bowel moved. The animal bayed and coughed and kicked but then trotted away.

  The world slowed. I turned and looked up at the Hessier. His eyes were upon the healthy horse. I turned away and stepped back toward the crowd. All were gaping, even Avin.

  The Hessier turned toward the warden. The man’s voice squeaked a protest. He cried out. I heard a meaty whack and his body fall. I kept my back to the sound and rejoined Avin.

  Avin’s eyes darted from Hessier to Hessier. He was terrified.

  I had revealed my magic. I began to tremble. They will take me to the Tanayon.

  We waited for their approach, but they did not come and did not seem to care.