by Barb Hendee
Nadja didn’t answer right away, as if she was considering her words. But before she could speak, a strange sound echoed into the hall from the front passage, like a sorrow-filled wail carried in on the wind. Even with the blazing fire, the hall suddenly felt cold. Nadja’s head twisted toward the archway leading out toward the keep’s entrance.
“What is that?” Jan asked following her gaze.
Then there was only the distant sound of the wind outside.
“It was nothing,” his father answered, reaching for more bread. “Just the wind in the hollows of this old place.”
But Nadja kept her eyes on the archway, as did Jan.
· · · · ·
Cadell left the following dawn as Jan and his mother stood in the courtyard, waving good-bye. Even in early summer, the sky was dark and overcast. A thin and misty drizzle seemed to hang in the air more than fall upon the ground. Down below along the road, Chemestúk village looked as drab and decayed as the exterior of the keep. But after his father rode off, Jan was almost embarrassed by his own sense of relief.
He needed time to adjust to this drastic shift of circumstances—to his new home. He had to try to find a way to live in this place. Keeping a brave face for his father had become exhausting, and at least now, he could be himself.
As if reading his mind, his mother said, “You should take the day for nothing but amusements. What would you like to do?”
Her black hair blew in the damp morning breeze. With her exotic eyes and bright red dress, she looked so out of place in this colorless courtyard.
But he thought on her question. What would he like to do?
He had no friends here yet. Perhaps he ought to go down into the village and try to make some? But the image of the ragged, superstitious, unwashed people he’d seen upon the night of their arrival put a damper on that plan the moment he started to consider it.
The acoustics in the keep were probably good. Perhaps he should practice with his fiddle? But could he do that every day?
He sighed. He was a realist if nothing else, and he’d have to find a way to manage until after the harvest.
“I know this is difficult for you,” his mother said, “and I’ve been grateful for the way you’ve hidden your worries from your father.”
Jan smiled. Though she knew his faults only too well—and occasionally pointed them out—in all his life, he’d never had an unkind word from her.
“I think I can hold out until the end of summer,” he said.
She shook her head in confusion. “The end of summer?”
“Yes, until you and I head east to meet up with Uncle Rosario and Aunt Doreena to wander with your people for a while. Let’s stay with them for at least three moons this year.”
The thought of music and card games and the laughter of the Móndyalítko brought enough ease to Jan’s thoughts and heart that he knew he could put on a cheerful face and suffer the rest of summer in this dark keep. Next winter might be another story, but for now, he had something to look forward to.
Then he took a good look at his mother’s stricken face, and an uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach.
“Oh, Jan,” she said. “I thought you understood… We cannot… cannot travel with my sister and your uncle this year, perhaps not even the next. Your father is now the vassal of five fiefs for the Äntes. I am his wife, and you are his son. He will need us to care for this place, to remain visible and available in this place while he travels between the villages and organizes the people. We cannot let Lord Malbek think your father has abandoned his post. His family must be here.”
As his mother’s words sank in, for the first time in Jan’s life, he felt angry with her, almost unable to believe she had said such a thing to him.
“Not go traveling with…?” He began and faltered.
He could have faced anything so long as he knew there would be an escape to freedom and joy each year.
“No!” he shouted, startled by his voice. “I cannot live in this place for years on end with nothing else in sight. Neither can you!” Then, realizing he was shouting at his mother, he took a step back and softened his voice. “We don’t belong here, neither of us.”
“Jan,” she said tightly, sounding like a stranger. “Your father may still call you ‘boy’ at times, but you are no longer a child. We do not always have the choice to do as we please. You are a man now, and it’s time you acted like one.”
Jan stared at his mother for a moment. Then he turned and walked into the keep, going upstairs to his room.
He stayed there for the rest of the day.
· · · · ·
By nightfall, Jan had considered his mother’s words enough to feel some sense of shame. All of this change had to be as difficult for her as it was for him—possibly more, as she had to show an even braver face to his father.
Emerging from his room after dusk, he went downstairs to find her sitting alone in the great hall. The guards had attempted to set themselves up in the old barracks and rarely came into the keep. A single candle lantern glowed on the table beside his mother, but the hall was dim and cold, as no fire had been lit in the hearth.
“Mother,” he said from the base of the stairs. “I’m sorry.”
She turned her warm eyes toward him, but those eyes were sad now. “I know you are. I don’t blame you for being disappointed.”
Disappointed didn’t begin to describe how he felt. “I’ll start a fire, and maybe we can play at cards?”
They’d certainly need some amusements of their own, as he had a feeling they would be spending many evenings alone together. She smiled gratefully as she rose, which only made him feel guiltier for his earlier behavior.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “Should I find us something to eat first?”
He was starving, but before he could answer, the eerie wailing from the night before echoed through the keep again. It swept into the hall, as if blown on a wind, and Nadja wrapped her arms around herself as the chill air turned icy cold.
“Jan?” she breathed in confusion. “Are the front doors open?”
The wailing grew louder.
On instinct, he hurried to stand in front of his mother. Somehow… he knew something was about to happen.
Though it seemed impossible, the air grew even colder.
A shape took form in the archway of the passage to the keep’s doors.
A nearly transparent man appeared out of dark passage, his booted feet floating just above the floor. He drifted through the archway, and his mouth opened. Another wail echoed through the main hall, filled with the sound of anger and pain. His dark, shaggy hair whipped about his face, though there was no wind indoors, and strands of it appeared to catch in a few days of stubble on his jaw.
The man wore leather armor and a sword, like a guard or a soldier, each as translucent as his face. Jan barely noted these details as he stared in shock, putting one arm behind himself to try to shield his mother.
“Stay behind me,” he said, not knowing if she’d heard him when another wail cut loose.
The spirit raised his arms, motioning to Jan to come closer. When Jan didn’t move, the ghost drifted a few paces, leaving a clear path to the upward stairs. In that moment, Jan only thought of protecting his mother. He grabbed her hand.
“Run!”
Before she even moved, he bolted, jerking her along in a dash away from the soldier spirit toward the stairs.
Of all places, Jan ran to the room of the woman who’d left all her belongings behind. He knew it was irrational, but for some reason, he felt this room might be the last place the ghost would go.
After pulling his mother inside, Jan slammed the door shut and bolted it—as if a bolt would help.
The wailing below in the keep died away.
Jan turned, and though his mother appeared shaken, she watched the door with her head tilted slightly as if listening for the wail to come again, possibly closer this time. When it did not, she turned, and Jan follow
ed her gaze as she looked about the room and then went to the dressing table, looking down at the silver brushes and perfume bottles.
“Well, at least now we know,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. “This must be why the chancellor has been unable to keep a vassal here. I’ve been wondering about that, and now we know.”
Jan shook his head. How could she be so calm? They’d just seen a real ghost, angry and wailing in what had sounded like pain. Then something else Lord Malbek had said occurred to Jan.
“Mother, do you remember what he said about… something happening to the last vassal, something that stopped anyone else from taking the position?”
“Yes. Have you heard something more about this?”
“No.” Jan shook his head slowly. “But I’m going to find out.”
· · · · ·
Jan and his mother remained in that same room all night, emerging only in the late morning to find everything as they’d left it. But that afternoon, once he’d eaten an enormous lunch, he left the keep and walked down into the village. He was sick of mysteries and secrets and vague warnings, and he was going to get some answers.
In broad daylight, the neglected wattle and daub huts looked even bleaker. A few thin hens pecked at the mud, and the villagers moved like shadows, vanishing from sight as soon as they spotted him or if he called out to one of them.
What was wrong with them that they would fear the son of their own zupan? Or maybe they just feared talking to him… or the questions he might ask about this place in which he’d come to live?
He wasn’t giving up that easily.
Jan ignored the graveyard as he tried to remember which hut belonged to Yoan. While he was busy wishing that he’d paid more attention on the night of his arrival, a tallish girl emerged from the outer trees. With long, unwashed hair, she wore a ragged dress of an undistinguishable color and carried a basket. It was hard to tell, but Jan thought with a bath and a clean gown, she might be pretty.
She froze at the sight of him, like a deer spotting a hunter.
With natural ease, he flashed her a smile. For him, this was actually better than trying to question old Yoan.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice intentionally lazy. “I’ve just come down from the keep for a visit.”
His mention of the “keep” was a mistake, and she glanced fearfully up the road, her whole body tensed for flight.
“I’m Jan,” he said quickly. “I haven’t talked to anyone but my parents in almost six days.” He flashed another smile.
Looking back in his direction, her eyes locked onto him in fascination, as if she’d never seen anything like him before. Maybe she hadn’t. She studied him from head to tow, from his dusky features and clean, bright clothes, down to his boots.
“I’m Julianna,” she finally said.
“Beautiful name. Can you show me around the village?”
“No, I can’t talk to you. You’ve been up there.” She tossed her head toward the keep, and he wondered what color her hair might be once it was washed.
“I promise I’ve not brought some disease down with me,” he joked.
She didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile.
He didn’t feel anywhere near as light-hearted as he was forcing himself to sound, but he could see her taut body relaxing a little. He knew only too well that his handsome face and lithe form had won over more than one overly cautious young woman.
Without waiting, he walked toward her. He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t run.
“Julianna,” he breathed. “I need to know why you’re all so afraid of that place. My mother is expected to live up there.”
“Get her out,” the girl whispered.
“Why?”
“Terrible things happened up there… a long time ago.”
Her eyes were hazel, and up close, the barest smattering of charming freckles ran across her nose.
“What things?” he asked more seriously this time.
But she sidestepped away, shaking her head and looking around as if she feared being seen with him. Pointing to a hut nestled between two trees on the outskirts of the village, she whispered. “Talk to Bieja. You ask her.”
Without warning, the girl whirled and fled back into the trees.
Jan almost went after her, but then he thought better of being seen chasing a village girl. Instead, he looked toward the hut Julianna had pointed out.
Who was this Bieja?
With no other options, he made his way over and knocked on the rickety door. Loud, quick footsteps sounded, and the door was jerked inward from the other side.
“What?” a gruff voice demanded, startling Jan.
He stood face-to-face, or nearly so, with a plump woman in a faded purple dress. Her gray-streaked black hair was pulled back into a thick braid, and her lined, round face seemed to cast an expression of perpetual ire.
She looked him up and down. “Oh, no. Don’t need no fortunes told by the likes of you.” She began closing the door. “Off you go.”
“Wait!” he said, frustrated with himself for the hint of desperation leaking into his voice. He normally made a firm point of never sounding desperate—even when he was. “My family is living up at the keep. Julianna told me to talk to you.”
Bieja stopped with the door halfway closed. She lifted her chin, her eyes widening briefly before they narrowed in another glower.
“You’re the zupan’s son?”
Jan decided to stop trying to mask his desperation. “Please… talk to me.”
The plump woman let out a quick rumbling hiss. It was something like that of a skunk he’d once startled his youth, just before it turned in an angry dance and lifted its tail. Finally, Bieja stepped back from the door.
“Get in here… before the whole village sees you.”
Jan was startled for only an instant. Then he stepped in, and she slammed the door, nearly clipping his heel. But the inside of the little hut distracted him.
It was neat, even homey, with a table and two chairs, and a clean hearth with an iron swing arm and hook for hanging a kettle or pot over the fire. Something savory bubbled in the pot already on that hook. This was the most comfortable place Jan had been since arriving in Chemestúk.
“So you’re living up there?” Bieja asked, not as a real question but more like it was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard.
“We’re trying. Right now, my father’s away, and the guards are sleeping in some makeshift barracks. My mother and I are alone in the keep.”
Bieja snorted again. “That’s no place for either of you.”
“What happened to the last vassal?” he asked bluntly, hoping to catch her off guard.
She didn’t even flinch. “Threw himself off the tower… or fell… or got pushed, as some of them out there in the village think. Yoan found his body on a pile of fallen wall stones. Sad really, such a young man.”
Jan went rigid. The last vassal had thrown himself off the tower?
“Everyone keeps telling us ‘terrible things’ happened up there,” he said, and now his voice shook, and he couldn’t stop it. “What things?”
“You want some tea?” she asked instead of answering. “I think the pot’s still warm. Sit down.”
Uncertain what to say, Jan sank into a chair and watched her pour him a mug of what he hoped was only very, very dark tea.
“Drink that,” she said, settling across the table from him. Her gaze drifted away, focusing on nothing.
“So, you really want to hear this?” she asked.
With the mug at his mouth, Jan swallowed something that didn’t taste like any tea he’d ever had. With a cough, he answered, “Yes.”
Bieja grew quiet for a while, and then, with a grumbling hiss like the skunk Jan had turned from and run, she began…
“A little over twenty years ago, three lords from the keep broke in here, into my home and took my sister, Magelia, ripped her from me. They took her back with them and locked her away. Strange c
omings and goings were seen in the courtyard… and we heard men screaming in the night.” Her voice tightened. “A few moons later, I learned Magelia was with child, and my heart almost broke. I couldn’t get her back, and I nearly drove myself mad wondering what was happening to her.”
Jan wanted to run a hand over his face, but he didn’t. “Did you get her back?”
“No,” Bieja answered and then shook her head slowly, still staring at nothing. “She died giving birth, from what I heard. One of those lords who’d stolen her brought me the baby. That same night, the keep went dark. None of those so-called lords were ever seen again, and since then, no new vassal has ever stayed there long.”
“But you got the baby?”
Finally, Bieja looked at him, and a smile touched the corners of her mouth. “Yes, she was my girl. My beautiful girl. My Magiere.”
Jan looked all around the hut. “Where is she?”
“Gone. The superstitious lot in this village treated her like she was part of that madness up at the keep. They drove her away four years ago, when she was only sixteen. She couldn’t stand it anymore… but she’ll be back. I know she’ll come back one day.”
Bieja rose, watching him intently, as if that was all there was to say.
Jan was quiet for a long moment. “There’s a ghost in the keep. I think that’s why no vassal has stayed.”
Her expression went blank. “My sister?” she asked. “The ghost of my sister?”
There was a panic in her voice that didn’t show in her hardened expression.
“No,” Jan said quickly. “It’s a man, wearing leather armor and a sword.” He paused. “I don’t know what to do. What should I do?”
Bieja frowned. “Well, if he’s still there, he must want something. Find out what he wants.”
· · · · ·
Jan emerged from Bieja’s hut to find dusk was coming. He hadn’t realized they’d been talking for so long. Trudging back up the hill toward “home,” his thoughts tumbled with all the things she’d told him.
Twenty years ago, a young woman had been abducted and locked away in the keep… and then she’d become pregnant. He shuddered to think what must have happened to her. Bieja also said there were “strange comings and goings” and “men screaming in the night.” Later, a child was born and abandoned, and the place had fallen silent. He wondered what any of this meant—or if it had anything to do with the ghost.
