Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series

by Blake Hausladen

  It was a moment meant for celebration, but the defeated general’s proper remembrance of all those who had died was what colored the mood after he and Kuren were at last taken back down.

  We helped Barok collect the documents. It was somehow already nearing the dawn.

  Umera asked, “May I retire?” She was looking at her clothes as she said it, the request more a plea to be rid of the terrible garment.

  Barok, just as morose, did not miss this. “With my compliments, Umera, please. The Tracians got more than enough of a look at you and Avin. The tales they will tell about you are more valuable to us than these sheets. You have Enhedu’s deepest thanks.”

  “It was my honor.”

  I heard a calling then, and knew the voice as soon as I heard it.

  ‘Chaukai, come to me,’ the Mother Yew pleaded. ‘A druid is here. Come to me.’

  The sound was warming. Was I Chaukai, too, that I heard the call? Sahin and Leger looked to the sound. Barok did not. We all turned to him, and our knowing smiles faded. He had returned to his dark place, the lonely well he fell into after blood was spilled.

  “Barok and I will retire now as well,” I told the room and pulled him toward the stairs. Leger bowed his head to me before he and Sahin made their way down.

  Back in our room, I stripped our clothes away and set him into a new bath. He was pliable and dim—his retreat was much deeper than the last time. The move and press of my hands did not rouse him. I left him in the warm water, built up the fire, and spread blankets in front of it. He said nothing as I dried him and sat him down before the warm glow. I sat on his lap and wrapped my arms and legs around him.

  “Are you there?” I asked as I kissed his neck and nibbled on his chin and ear, pulling at his hair. He put one hand on the small of my back but more to quiet me, it seemed. He was not aroused.

  What could break him free? I leaned back to look at his face and set my bracelet-adorned wrist along his side and rolled the metal slowly up and down his skin. His eyes fluttered, and then the annoyance of my ticklish device made his entire body twitch. He came awake with a squawk and an unhappy laugh and wrapped me in his arms to stop me. My nose was free enough, and I slid it along his neck. He yelped and twisted and laughed as I found ways around his gentle defenses. A smile was at last on his face, and his eyes were alive. I batted shy eyes at him then and reached down between his legs to give him a soft squeeze. His body relaxed forward, and the ugliness inside him escaped in a giant sigh.

  When I kissed his neck and bit on his chin this time, he kissed me back, and our passion matched, at last, the warm red of the fire’s glow upon our naked bodies. His hands came alive, took firm hold, and pushed me smoothly onto him. The moment of it was different, new. I almost backed away, too, excited by the feel. My stomach fluttered as if I were falling. I gripped him tightly, and he slowed. His hands caressed me, slid up through my hair. He took a slow handful of it and tipped my head back, kissed my eyelids, kissed my cheeks.

  I gripped him tightly, and he hugged my head to his chest. My legs trembled, and I squeezed them around him to hide my strange nervousness. He moved us faster in response, and the warmth I had always known became a heat. The deep, trained muscles clenched tight involuntarily, and the falling sensation was replaced by the growing fire. What was this feeling? I had given up on it so long ago. A moan escaped me, and when he tipped my head back a second time, my name a whisper on his lips, the rapture of orgasm shook me. The pulse of it grew slow and weak, and by the end of it, I could hardly move. I giggled and then wept. I hid my face against his neck but noticed he had tears in his eyes and a grin pointed up at the ceiling. He had achieved the moment, too. I kissed his chest and relaxed into his embrace. The warmth of it filled my whole body, and the terrible feeling of emptiness that had always followed did not take me. The dead black weight that had been my insides was a healed and ready thing.

  It could be true. At last, it could be true.

  98

  Druid Geart Goib

  I woke during the dawn surrounded by men. They sat upon the ground around me, and I recognized them as the Chaukai. The tree had called to them, or they had followed me. It mattered not which. They were at ease, and I learned their purpose from the evenly spaced circles they formed around me, like the benches in a church. They’d come to listen and to learn. I sat up and tried to prepare myself for this unexpected task, resolved to stay quiet as long as it took to be certain of what I would say.

  Most of their faces were young—impossibly young yet already veterans. Leger and Sahin sat a bit forward of the innermost circle. Sahin’s expression was unlike the others. Too many questions tightened his brow and teemed behind his pursed lips. His profession, both private and public, spoke of great patience and resolve, but there was a rashness to him I didn’t understand, an urgency only thinly hidden by his hard eyes and poise.

  While I considered what hurt had caused it, he said, “She calls you druid. How could this be? Their art and knowledge died even before Edonia was put to the torch. How did you learn it?”

  Knowing the answer almost made me grin, and I wonder if the Mother Yew had felt the same mirth when I’d so recently asked her how I had learned. I was glad I’d slept upon her answer because as I examined his urgent face, I understood what she’d said to me.

  I chose to make my first lecture an explanation of the answer.

  “The Earth,” I told them, “is an open thing. It takes all seeds and all the world’s dead, and from the two all that is green is born. It listens to the wind and water and the sun and the moon. Each blows and wets, warms and pulls upon Her, and She dances with each.

  “Men too have an audience with Her, asking for their crops and orchards, fish, livestock, and fowl.

  “You are all men of particular experience in this, surrounded by the towering green, existing in secret as the last wardens of a line of men and a way of living. Yet, I wonder if you listen to the Spirit of the Earth as well as you guard Her. You aren’t just servants or guardians. You are part of Her, and in recognizing your own better nature, you’ll find you have ears as well as arms.”

  Some of them wept. Leger sat in perfect repose. Sahin did not. His eyes were closed tight, his thumb pressed between them. He was refusing his tears.

  I said nothing else while Sahin struggled. His eyes popped open from the weight of the silence. He looked up at the tree and demanded, “But, druid, how did you learn it?”

  “Bowyer, I asked and I listened.”

  He deflated forward but was no less urgent. He was after something. I guessed it to be revenge. He wanted the power I had gained and to be able to use it against those who hunted us. I briefly thought to ask him to consider the yew trees, to ask the earth for their name.

  ‘Nich,’ I heard the word whispered in my ear. ‘They were the first trees.’

  I flinched from the gifting, the pure alto was the Spirit of the Earth herself. I was at once exhausted and in great pain. I dreaded suddenly the thousands upon thousands of words I must learn. A song that names all things, she had said.

  “Can you put things right?” Sahin demanded, startling me.

  “Yes, Chaukai,” I replied after a time. “The Mother Yew has told me what needs to be done to set the Shadow back. She sleeps now, but I know enough to begin it.”

  “And for us? What task for us?”

  “As you have done so well for these long centuries, Chaukai, guard well the Vesteal, for without them, we are lost.”

  Leger interrupted Sahin’s next question, and said, “The men of Trace will take stories of you across the mountains. Barok has done much to reshape the tale, but I fear what the Sten will do when word of you makes it to the halls of the Tanayon.”

  I considered this and replied, “I have learned of such things from Avin and have overheard Hessier discussing me. The Ministry hunts those like me, seeks to destroy anyone who can compete with their magic. But I have seen and learned also from the Mother Yew how little the He
ssier trouble themselves with their mission anymore. Only one of the eight Hessier cared at all when he learned of the magic I could make. They are driven by greed and have begun to act for themselves. We are very fortunate.”

  Sahin replied, “They will come regardless. Ten of them have died here.”

  “I can sense them—at great range I can tell their number and when they are moving,” I replied. “When they return, I will know.”

  Sahin had more questions, but Leger stood and stated, “And when they do, we will kill them.”

  The thirty-year man’s confidence should not have startled me. But after a year of watching weak men decide for others, the shock of seeing such strength wore off slowly. As it did, I found myself suddenly at ease. Sahin, too, relaxed for the first time.

  “Come,” Leger said to us. “There is much we could discuss, but there will be other days for that. This morning we must return and bid farewell to our fallen.”

  I was glad for this man. He could tell Sahin was warming to questions that should not be asked. I shook off my fatigue and rose to follow him.

  99

  Colonel Leger Mertone

  The 71st of Autumn, 1195

  We walked back through the yew toward our horses. I had fallen to the back of the line while I daydreamed of an assault upon the Tanayon—Geart’s magic burning a thousand Hessier alive while an army of Chaukai put knives to every red hat and sermod they could find. They’d had their Doctrine and their Creed—we would have ourselves a Great Purge.

  But the druid’s words plagued me. There were other secrets. Things I was never to know. Knowledge men would sell their souls to taste. The Chaukai’s duties and our danger had grown immeasurably. The fidelity of our order and the ceremony that severed me from the Shadow—both felt startlingly insufficient. The Spirit of the Earth deserved more.

  I set myself down upon my knees, put my forehead upon the earth, and promised myself to Her. She did not respond. No soft touch came to tell me the truth of my pledge. There was no trembling of the ground to welcome me. I was an old man kneeling on the damp grass, mumbling into his hands.

  I became convinced I was a fool.

  I brought my eyes up and was confronted by the brightest yellow flower I could ever remember seeing, its stalk just able to reach up through a thick tangle of weeds. I considered this, considered perhaps it was a message. I did not like it.

  Was the flower like me, alone in the forest? How long could its beauty last? What good was a man if alone? One man? What could he do, ultimately? What could I, the flower’s bright example demonstrated, accomplish if I was alone?

  I pushed myself up to see that the forest floor was alive with flowers of all shapes and color, bees noisily accepting their invitation. I had never noticed them before. Yes. I was so simple. Alone you die. But men and women standing together can fill the world with beauty. I was giving my vow to the wrong woman.

  I had been away from Darmia too long. I hurried to catch up, jumped into the saddle, and led us south.

  “You are a good teacher,” I smiled up at the forest, and chuckled when I went again without a response. “How many fools have tried to talk to you?”

  The ride back was short and bitter. Smoke from the long pyre of Zoviyans scratched the sky, and we could smell our dead long before we emerged from the thick trees.

  The view of the surrounds was arresting. Wide swaths of the brambles and tall stakes had been trampled flat and ugly. On the far side, the Zoviyan dead were none but hot ash, and to our left Enhedu’s dead waited for torches and for our attackers to depart. To our right, the remains of the defeated army of Trace marched west along the stone road toward the harbor in a thick disorganized line where Barok’s ships waited to ferry them home. Barok and Dia stood with Selt and the merchant Onmar at the end of this procession shaking hands with General Oklas and his officers. Much of Urnedi gathered around the palisade’s undamaged north gate. Darmia was there, and I made straight for her.

  But the day conspired against me. Barok waved all of us in, and I had no choice but to lead Geart and the Chaukai across.

  “Good morning, sirs. All is well, I trust?” I greeted and noticed Erd did not seem to be staying. “You are departing us, General?”

  “Yes, though Barok’s offer was generous. I must see my men home and help Trace hold together after the loss of so many.”

  Barok said, “Kuren agreed to appoint Erd the regent of Trace. He will be seeing to the province and its vote upon the Council.”

  “Kuren will live up to this?” I asked absently, but still rather hoped to get free of them so I could put my hands through Darmia’s soft red hair.

  The general shrugged. “Fat load of good it would do him if he did not. I have copies of the confession he signed, and no man in this army will take an order from him again. I’ll install him in a back dining hall with the rest of the Pormes. My wife won’t talk to me the rest of the year, but that was likely anyway.” The general noticed my distraction and spotted Darmia. “They do want after our time, don’t they?”

  “Nicely, yes,” I replied simply. “But, please, do lead us out to the harbor. We would be remiss if we do not see you safely away.”

  He shook my hand. “Never again will we stand upon opposite sides of the field, Leger Mertone.”

  To Geart, he said, “And to you, sir, though I know better than to ask how you managed to save so many, it will be long remembered that your magic healed our wounded just as completely. We know this act very nearly killed you and are grateful beyond measure. May Bayen’s grace be upon you.”

  “And his upon you and yours, Regent Oklas,” Geart replied. The words stung my ears, but I and the rest managed not to react to their insult. Erd would be chief amongst those who carried word of these days south. It seemed strangely fortunate he was a man of faith. Bayen would get all the credit, and that was just fine with me.

  Selt handed Erd a letter case, and Barok gave him his sword and the reins of a horse—his own, judging by the reunion. He swung aloft and started west. Barok, the Chaukai, and I led the honor guard of greencoat cavalry that followed them. We rode up through Ojesti and down to Urnedi Bay.

  We found the harbormaster and our new admiral, a man named Elsar Mercanfur, directing traffic along the pier. The half-finished length of dock was just enough for their efforts, and all but the last barge and the captain’s ship were loaded, the rest anchored in lines further out upon the placid waters. I had also learned on the way the full measure of their dead. Of the 6,000 Tracians who had come to Enhedu, only 2,600 hundred were going home. Back at our makeshift prison, the 2,400 hundred slaves who had survived the battle were having their new freedom explained to them by Fana and Avin. Parsatayn’s bailiffs had not fared as well. Only ninety of the 2,000 survived, and they would be spending the rest of their lives in Enhedu’s first prison. How long that would be had not yet been decided.

  A great crashing wave sent the sea spraying high into the air before us, and the general and his men cried out in surprise. All the rest who knew to anticipate the monstrous sound laughed lightly and explained it to those who did not.

  Mercanfur, a bull-like gruff of a man, looked a seaman’s version of Gern. He also seemed to have become fast friends with our harbormaster. The sight alone put the last of my misgivings to rest. Paltry though it was, Enhedu had itself a fleet and a man who knew how to care for it.

  “Hurry there now,” the admiral shouted to the last of the weary levies boarding the last barge. “The tide is turning. Tarry now, and it’ll be another day before you’re safely home.”

  Barok interrupted him long enough for a few quick instructions, but the man would suffer no more than that. The barge pushed off, and the last of the admiral’s crew was aboard his ship in a flash. Its few passengers hurried up the ramp after them: Erd and his officers, the merchant Onmar, and a dozen of Sevat’s men who would help him take over Kuren’s timber market. I would have missed the arilas in their midst if not for his size. He a
nd his nephew had been skulking somewhere along the pier and scurried up the ramp.

  “Good riddance,” Dia spat.

  Kuren must have heard and made the mistake of turning to look at us. His weak gaze was met by a hundred cold stares. He shrank back and was installed below decks.

  “Farewell, admiral,” Dia bowed low to the man when he and General Erd at last climbed aboard. “See yourself back here safely.”

  “We will be fine, Dia Yentif, but thank you all the same. I spotted a number of places along this big old thumb of yours to take shelter if needed. We may be delayed by winter’s appearance, but we will return.”

  He bid us all a last farewell, and with a flurry of orders, they cast off, hoisted the ship’s tall, square sail, and set oars into the water to the steady beat of a drum.

  We watched his ship and the rest swing out into the harbor trailing their short lines of barges. I nearly asked the crowd if anyone else thought Mercanfur and his sailors were madmen. They did make a graceful show of maneuvering around the bend of our harbor, however, so of their skill, there could be little doubt. They slid around the towering rocks that rose sharply at the end of the bay’s long arm and out of sight. And with that, Enhedu was rid of Kuren Pormes.

  “Come,” Barok said to me, to everyone, “we must get back.”

  Thoughts of our destination kept us quiet as he led us back down the road. Dia looked out of place astride a Fell like the rest of us, though strangely she glowed. I scratched once at my chin and closed my eyes for a long moment. Geart’s magic had healed her, healed the damage the women’s medicine had done to her. I shrugged. The Vesteal would have an heir, and Vall be damned. I’d lay even money Vall would not survive to see the child born anyway.