Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series

by Blake Hausladen

  The breakfast in my stomach was instantly turned into a lead ball. We’d bet everything on the thresher being able to process the mountain of wheat—separate the wheat grains from the stalks and husks. Doing it by hand was more labor than could be accomplished in the eight days before the caravan was due to move south—was more labor than all the men and women in Enhedu could accomplish before the snow fell upon the mountain and closed the Enhedu Road.

  “The wind is too strong,” I told Darmia, and her smile also faded. We approached the trio and got a look at the vast drawing in the dirt they were staring at.

  I said a hello which went ignored. The third man was the carriagemaker’s silversmith who doubled as the town’s coppersmith. He and I had never been properly introduced. That moment did not seem the appropriate time for it, either.

  Gloos turned to Merit, saying, “Yes, I think the flax brushings will hold together at that speed. It’s the copper drum I’m worried about. If it warps while in motion, it would be catastrophic.”

  “Could we brace the drum?”

  The coppersmith shook his head and pointed his stick at some portion of the drawing—a topic they had covered, apparently.

  “And the braking mechanism …”

  “On or off, Merit. We’ve discussed the friction involved. The brakes would start on fire. We can’t turn the vanes to reduce the speed, either—not in time, anyway.”

  It’s a matter of balance,” Merit said flatly, and they fell to silent contemplation of their drawing again.

  Erom and Selt stepped out of one of the barns. They, the greencoats, and farmers approached. No one spoke.

  The trio said a few more words to each other before they at last turned to face us. All eyes were on Merit. The stiff easterly breeze made him blink, but he seemed over his fear of crowds. He said to us sternly, “The opinion is that this wind could blow for days. We can’t wait for it to subside, so we are going to try to turn the threshing machine back on. But we must keep it well-loaded. We won’t be able to run each farmer’s grain through separately to get a good measure of its weight. It is my decision that Erom and Selt will be the final and only judges of these weights. If you cannot abide by this, you can thrash your wheat by hand.”

  None dissented, so Merit ordered them to get the wheat moving toward the thresher. A line formed from the wagons to the machine.

  I got a brief look inside the tall, tower-shaped thresher building as we walked around to its north side. The interior space was dominated by a great copper barrel that stood twice my height. It was tipped west—massive, copper-reinforced oak gears and gear posts crisscrossed the rest of the dark interior.

  I followed Gloos and Merit up a wide exterior stairway to a narrow platform on the west side of the tower. It was a hazardous space. The left side of the platform looked down through the open-faced tower into the copper drum. On the right side of the platform, the massive wind-catching vanes were close enough to touch.

  “Best move,” Merit said to me as the line of farmers and greencoats began to pass up armfuls of wheat. A loud wooden thunk sounded from somewhere inside the thresher, and the vanes began slowly to turn.

  “Out of the way, Alsman,” Gloos shouted then, and I hurried to step down. One after another of the great bundles of wheat were passed up the stairs and tossed inside while a metallic rumbling like the hiss of a snake grew loud within the tower.

  On its east side, the wind that pushed through the thresher began to blow a blizzard of wheat shafts and husks out onto the space between the contraption and the road. The one man standing there fled. On the north side of the tower, grains of wheat began to sprinkle and then to pour down a long shoot. A dozen of Gloos’ men were there to catch the gush of grain in empty sacks.

  I’d heard the machine described, but seeing it in motion for myself was astounding. Gloos was a genius. But the moment of triumph was set aside.

  “More,” Gloos screamed as the pin-wheel of sails began to cut through the air and the tower began to shake. The long line of farmers raced to pass up more wheat, and every man like myself who had thought to gawk rushed to join the effort.

  “Leger,” Merit shouted. “Take command of the wagons. Keep the line moving.”

  I saw the problem at once. The second wagon in line was nearly unloaded, while the next and all of those after it were without a driver. I called in by name the men I’d taught how to drive a wagon over Enhedu’s mountain and got them moving to the task. Darmia was at my side when I jumped into the driver’s box of the third wagon in line. The first had already been driven across the road to the mill; the second advanced so it could take the full sacks. I lashed the team of Fells into motion and pulled them to a halt in the vacant space. The farmers mobbed my wagon, and the great mound of wheat stacked in its wide box was fed up the stairs and into the thresher three bundles at a time.

  The sails slowed, and the shake in the tower subsided as the massive machine worked to spin the great weight of wheat. Over the commotion, I heard Merit and Gloos laughing.

  Our emptied wagon was filled with heavy sacks of grain, and we drove it across the road to the mill where most of it would be ground into flour. The portion held back and half of what was ground would go back with the farmer who brought it—seed enough to replant his fields and food for Enhedu. The last third was what would be sold in Alsonvale.

  This portion went into one of the grain barns, and after we helped unload it, we drove the wagon out of the way and rushed to bring up a fresh load.

  I’d not had so much fun in years. Darmia enjoyed it twice as much, if smiling is any measure. Someone started singing at some point, a rousing ballad about a warrior, his spear, his Akal-Tak, and the harvest he defends from invaders. I’d heard it many times, but the singer knew dozens more verses than I did. I learned later that it was Selt, the man driven to song as he counted the sacks of grain—ten sacks per measured stanza, 100 per verse.

  The work continued through the night by the light of the moon while the wind blew and blew. A new shift of men took over sometime after the sun came up, and we were back at it by midday. I only vaguely recall the rest of those six days.

  By the end of it, though, after hearing the song twenty one times, I knew all 100 verses of the Ballad of Eril as well as a tally of the harvest. We had processed 210,000 sacks of grain.

  Gern and Company was ready to move south the next morning. All the hundreds of Fell Ponies they had rented out to Urnedi were together, as were the fifty-odd wagons borrowed from the consortium’s master craftsmen.

  Darmia stayed behind to see to our affairs. Our parting was odd to me at first—a simple kiss and a wave goodbye. But I smiled the rest of the way south remembering it. We had found each other. That was enough for both of us, no matter what else life demanded.

  We reached Alsonvale without delay.

  81

  Geart Goib

  Arilas Harod Serm kept us camped nineteen days upon Smargnoid’s hill.

  None of the riders sent east or south had returned, but one would eventually. While we waited on word of a new use for us, we repaired the wall of his new town and tended to his new fields. The jailors who kept watch over us were as miserable as we were. They had gotten none of the loot from the town and were paid no more than the thin silver Harod called their wages. I did not have to work too hard to overhear them talk about it either. They were far from home and hated every minute of it. Some of them worried, the way things were going, that they would end up conscripts, too.

  Halfway through that stretch of days, Harod sent riders up the valley to demand that Heneur surrender and afterwards took Heneur’s grain south, leaving most of his army behind to guard the captured town. I did not think the riders would return. The men of Heneur would not bow so easily and Harod had not looted so much wealth that he could afford to pay the Hessier indefinitely. Once the Hessier left, the mountain men would be back for Smargnoid and revenge. They had lost their arilas but not their army.

  A fe
w of the convicts tried to escape the next night. The Hessier caught them and staked them to the ground around the bottom of our hills. They screamed for two days until the ants and crows got their way. The next morning there was little left of them but the smell.

  “Quiet today,” I said to Avin, but he did not respond.

  He wasn’t the same man. He sat beside me and wouldn’t talk.

  “Come friend, you must start wanting to live, or you will not survive the winter.”

  His response was a long time coming. “Your hope is a false one. Winter is coming, and it will see us all dead.”

  “Don’t give up hope, teacher. We will survive, and we can escape.”

  “Escape? You can’t escape the Hessier. Their magic can find a man hiding three hills away.”

  “I can prevent their magic.”

  “Prevent? No, you cannot. You can push it away for a moment, maybe two, but stopping their touch isn’t possible.”

  “How can you be so sure? Have you ever tried?”

  “No, and I don’t need to,” he said with a bit of anger.

  “How do you know? Their magic is so much different than ours,” I said with hopes of keeping him talking. “How do they make it?”

  He laughed dryly. “They aren’t responsible for their magic any more than you and I are. It’s the Spirits of the Earth and the Shadow we draw upon.”

  “What are you saying?” I asked, worried for his sanity. “Spirits? What of Bayen? The blue light is his grace. Aren’t you one of his priests?”

  He shook his head and spat in the dust. “I am too tired to listen to his name any longer. Have you ever heard the word Adanas?”

  “Adanas? It’s a monster from a story, a children’s story.”

  “You’ve never heard the word used another way?”

  “No. I am sorry, teacher. I have not.”

  “Just as well. I’d be surprised if you had. In the story, what kind of monster is Adanas?”

  “Ice and shadows. The evil under the bed.”

  “What defeats Adanas?”

  “The boy does.”

  “Does he?”

  “Yes, he opens the window and lets in the sun ... It’s the sun that defeats the monster.”

  “Yes, and it’s one of the few true tellings of the world that remains. The Shadow is our true enemy. But don’t be confused, it’s Bayen’s priests who gave the shadow a false name. Adanas is the warmth and the light, not the ice and shadows.”

  “How do you know these things?”

  “You should listen more to stories and songs, my friend. Belief in these spirits is in much of the way people talk and think about the world. When we marry, it’s still with a green ribbon, and our affirmations are not those the prophets from the east brought with them.”

  “I am confused, Avin. What is there but Bayen?”

  “Bayen is a fiction of the church, and they use the goodness of the Spirit of the Earth as proof of his power. The symbols and goodness of Adanas have been stolen, called ‘Bayen’s grace.’ It’s all still there for you to hear and see if you choose to.”

  “The healing magic is from this spirit?”

  “Yes, and when you make the blue light next, you might find she is there, a kind and giving energy standing at your shoulder. You might also feel something monstrous watching from wherever there are shadows.”

  My eyes flared. “You learned all of this from the man you defended. The priest the Sten charged with subversion.”

  “I did, and he learned if from another, but all of it’s there for anyone with eyes and ears. The truth of the world isn’t very well hidden. It has been given many names, and the spirits have been described as many things, but that doesn’t change the truth of it. There are two forces ever at work upon the world: one that creates and one that destroys. The destroyer has prevailed. This winter will be colder than the last. Every year it is colder. The earth is lost.”

  “How do you know this telling of the world is the true one?”

  “Don’t be foolish,” he said sternly. “I’ve felt it, like you have. It’s a truth proven to me each time I make the blue.”

  “I am sure Bayen’s priests have the same argument in mind when they ride alongside the Hessier and use their magic in the service of Bayen and his Sten.”

  “How can you compare them, Geart? I am surprised at you.”

  “I felt the magic once, before you gave it to me, Avin. Another priest of Bayen saved my life at the capital. Other priests might not know the touch of it, but the healers do, and theirs is a faith I’d wager is every bit as honest as yours.”

  “Rubbish. There is nothing behind it. Bayen’s house is made of old vellum. You can’t live in it.”

  “Yet many seem to.”

  His brow twitched, and he looked away from me. “We’ve talked enough.”

  It was the last time we spoke for many days.

  82

  Arilas Barok Yentif

  “Tell me again about the carriage ride and the ponies,” Dia smiled. She’d missed most of the trip north, asleep on my shoulder.

  “Again?” I laughed.

  I took her by the hand and led her back up the long narrow beach toward the calamity of broken stone that hid the Chaukai’s cottage. On the hill above the beach, Furstundish the Senior and his two troops of greencoats were getting ready for another day of keeping watch over us—one of our last there, sadly. The brothers paced behind us, quiet and hawk-eyed.

  “Please,” she cooed, and I relented.

  “Sevat’s wedding present was waiting for us by the well when the party ended—its polished silver railing and fitting catching the light of every torch. The heat of the day had broken, and the moon’s light glowed upon the clouds from horizon to horizon.”

  “And the Fell ponies?”

  “Proud, quiet as Urnedi’s gray stone, and speckled like a sparrow’s egg. We climbed into the carriage and waved goodbye to Urnedi, and before I knew it, the measured trot of the team put us both to sleep. I woke early with a view of the ocean through one window and fat fields in the other. Every man and woman from the villages were out, scythes flashing in long lines. Behind them was Mount Thumb, which proved as funny as you’d described—a gnarled little burp of rock that moved slowly across the view.”

  “And the peninsula?”

  “Almost there. You’re forgetting the northern forests.”

  “I saw those when I toured the villages. Skip to the good part.”

  “Well, the forests were my favorite.”

  “They were?”

  “400-year-old pines leave an impression.”

  “I like the beaches more.”

  “I know,” I replied and kissed her.

  “Do you know what all of this broken stone is? Has Kyoden told you?” she asked as we made our way toward the gap in the mounds of stone that led to the secluded cottage.

  “It has been many days since Kyoden or his kin have crowded into my head—not since my last ride out to the harbor. Seeing the ocean quieted them. I did learn of this place, though, during those trips. Kyoden’s grandfather built a fortress here to guard the long bay and the dockyards where they built their fleet. But the guards were betrayed and poisoned, the fleet was burned where it docked, and the fortress was toppled into the sea.”

  “What were they like?”

  “The ships?”

  “Yes, I have seen the boats and barges that run up and down Bessradi’s river. What do boats that can sail the sea look like?”

  “They were big—tall and narrow, twice as long as the biggest river barge. And above, on tall poles as long as those ancient pines, they hung great sheets of canvas that could catch the slightest wind.”

  “Can you remake them?” she asked excitedly.

  “No. Not great ships like those. I could maybe draw pictures of them for someone else to build, but then what? I don’t understand the wood they used or how they put the great hulls together. And who would train the men to sail them? I
hope one day for Enhedu to have a fleet, but Edonian shipcraft is gone.”

  Dia looked to a sound, and I turned with her to see a rider approach. It was one of Leger’s men.

  “Good morning, lord. Pardon the interruption. I bring word of the caravan.” He handed us a letter.

  * * *

  The 53rd of Autumn, 1195

  * * *

  Barok,

  Alsonvale treated us well, but there was trouble with Kuren Pormes as we passed back through Trace. He did not like his percentage of the apple sale, and when I explained that the timber contract would not be renewed, he thought to draw his sword upon me. I was forced to slap him to the ground. He sent a force twice our number against us the next morning, but they did not like Gern’s arrows or spears, and they broke when I sent two troops of cavalry against their flank. We suffered three dead and ten wounded in the skirmish in exchange for 48 of them dead and scores more wounded.

  Kuren seemed intent upon trying us again the next day with a much larger force, but was too disorganized to engage before we reached the high foothills. He gave up the chase, but his force did not break camp during the days of our assent and seemed to grow in size. I did not get a look at them after that but think it very likely that Kuren will try our road yet this year, despite the lateness of the season.

  We will arrive in Urnedi the day you are reading this. I have scouts upon the road and await your return.

  Leger

  * * *

  “We must get back,” Dia said.

  “Break camp,” I ordered the brothers. “We depart at once.”

  It was done quickly, and we were soon aboard the carriage. The sharp cries of the driver and the cracks of his whip punctuated the constant rumbling of wheels.

  We stopped for the night at Hippoli, the quiet village where Furstundish and his men garrisoned, and slept at the home of the loudest woman I’d ever met. Burti, I think her name was. I didn’t quite catch how we knew her, but was too tired and numb from the jostle of the carriage to care. The dawn saw us moving again, and we made it back as the sun was setting.