by Barb Hendee
Foremost in his mind though, was the information Bieja passed along that the last vassal here had not abandoned his post. Rather, he’d fallen, thrown himself, or been pushed from the top of the tower.
Jan quickened his pace, hurrying up the road to reach the keep and his mother before full nightfall. As he passed through the decayed outer wall and into the bailey, he saw light seeping through cracks in the shutters of the barracks. He almost envied the guards inside there, preparing their own dinner or playing cards in company.
There were no guards stationed at the missing front gates, as there was no need. No one ever came up here.
In spite of this, upon Cadell’s return, Jan resolved to speak to his father. At present, expenses at the keep were being funded by a small loan from Chancellor Malbek—until the first season of taxes could be collected. These men should at least put on a show of doing some kind of “work” up here or why bother paying them?
Perhaps the guards had heard all the same rumors and were simply trying to pass the time until Cadell gave up and fled this place like all the other vassals? If so, they were quite mistaken. Jan’s father would never give up.
Although Jan was no good at planting or organizing peasants, he might yet help his father after all.
With this in mind, his resolution to follow Bieja’s advice grew firm. He needed to find out what the ghost wanted—and protect his mother at the same time.
As he made his way to the keep’s front doors, the evening grew darker. Once inside, he looked down the passage and saw some light in the far main hall, enough to make his way there without touching the wall as a guide.
“Mother?” he called, walking swiftly. “I’m back. Sorry it took me so long.”
When he stepped into the main hall, it was empty. Several candle lanterns were lit and the fire in the hearth as well, but Nadja was nowhere in sight. Turning around, he decided to go and check the kitchen.
The first hint of a wail echoed off the walls.
The main hall grew cold.
He tensed, trying to hear where the sound came from, but it seemed to careen off of every stone in the keep.
Crossing his arms, he shouted out, “Where are you? Show yourself.”
The wailing ceased.
Almost instantly, a transparent form materialized near the hearth. He appeared exactly as he had the night before… shaggy hair, leather armor, sheathed sword on his hip. Only now, he wasn’t wailing. He was staring at Jan.
The hall was freezing, and Jan would have been lying if he’d claimed not to be afraid, but he had to solve this, to stop this. It was the only way he knew to help his father.
“What is it you want?” he asked.
With a desperate expression, the ghost opened his mouth, as if trying to speak, but only a low wail came out. Perhaps that was the only sound a dead spirit could make without a true voice?
Closing his mouth again, he continued staring, almost as if he couldn’t believe Jan had spoken to him.
Jan knew little about spirits—no more than tales and folklore—but it stood to reason that the manner of this guard’s death was probably related to his reason for remaining.
“What happened to you?” Jan asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “How did you die?”
The ghost flinched visibly and floated forward a few paces. His face twisted in what looked like anger, but Jan stood his ground. Then, suddenly, the spirit rushed at him.
Jan never had the chance to step back once more. The ghost’s translucent face slammed straight into his own, and the whole hall went dark.
He must have screamed. He had to have screamed, but he didn’t hear it.
He was so cold inside that he couldn’t feel his own body, and then something—somewhere—else rose out of the darkness around him.
Jan found himself in a windowless room with torches burning in iron mounts on the stone walls. He guessed it might be underground, though he couldn’t be certain. When he tried to back up, his feet didn’t respond. He was frozen in place as he took in his surroundings.
There was no sign of the spirit.
“Where am I?” he nearly shouted.
No answer came.
There were five crates in the chamber.
The first was made of steel-bound oak planks, and sounds of muffled rage rose from inside of it. The second was timber framed, with stained canvas stretched over each of its sides. Soft sounds of fluttering misery were barely heard from inside it. The third was cedar and silent inside, while the fourth was a framework of oak holding an urn large enough for a man to crawl into, and some sloshing sounds within it were plain to hear. That one’s bulk was enough that, in being filled with liquid, it had to weigh three or four times more than the first three.
The fifth container was by far the most disturbing.
It measured less than half a man’s height in all dimensions and was made of steel plates that were discolored and blackened. Steam rose around it with a sizzling crackle from the damp floor on which it rested, and erratic scraping came from within those metal walls. The frantic noise grew until a screech from the steel made Jan flinch. Then the crate sat silent.
Was there something alive in each one of them?
In the center of the room, sat a large brass vat.
“Where am I?” Jan cried out again.
He was alone except for whoever—whatever—was in those crates.
Then he heard shouting and scuffling outside the room.
“Get your hands off me,” a male voice shouted.
The door flew open and two men came through it, one of them dragging the other. The leader was unusually tall and broad shouldered, with nearly colorless crystalline eyes and features even paler than the peasants of Chemestúk. His long aquiline nose ended above a wide, thin-lipped mouth. He wore steel vambraces on both forearms, and beneath his cloak was a crestless, burgundy tabard over a shirt of mail.
A nobleman.
He dragged the second smaller man—a bound man—behind himself.
Jan’s breath caught, for he knew the shaggy dark hair, leather armor, and sword of the prisoner. The captor hadn’t even bothered to disarm his captive, as if it didn’t matter.
Jan wondered what the tall nobleman would do at the sight of him, but neither captor nor captive even noticed him, as if he wasn’t even there. He had no chance to ponder this as a third man came through the door.
His long, hooded robe swirled like black oil under the torchlight as he glided across the floor with no hint of footfalls. The torchlight raised shimmers of faint symbols and strange letters on that dark fabric. Where his face should’ve been was a mask of aged leather that ended above a boney jaw supporting a withered mouth. But there were no eye slits in the mask.
The shaggy-haired guard in the nobleman’s grip saw the crates and the vat and nearly went wild, setting his heels and trying to pull away.
“Get off me!”
Neither of the other two answered him nor did they slow down.
“Get him up over the vat,” the masked one said.
With one final wild effort, the guard broke free and tried to make a dash for the door. But with his hands bound, he couldn’t use his arms to help him run. Jan could only watch helplessly as the noblemen caught his quarry with one hand. His other fist cracked the jaw of his captive, and the guard slumped.
“Don’t kill him, Bryen,” the masked man ordered. “He must be alive.”
“It is of little matter,” the nobleman answered in a hollow voice. “We need but one human, and there are others, if need be.”
But he did not strike his stunned prisoner again.
The masked one began chanting as he stepped in beside the vat.
Before Jan could even try to comprehend what was happening, the tall nobleman heaved the guard up and bent him over the vat’s edge, holding the man there with only one hand.
The masked one pulled a curved dagger from his robe and slashed open the prisoner’s throat. The captive slumped fo
rward, gagging as his blood drained into the vessel.
“No!” Jan shouted, but no one appeared to hear him.
He must have screamed out that word, again and again, until the noise of his own voice deafened his ears… and darkened the chamber, until he saw nothing at all.
Then there was light, only a small bit at first. More came, flickering blurred yellows and reds, until he stood again in the main hall of the keep, with its candle lanterns and burning hearth.
Jan felt himself breathing hard. He tried to move one foot, and found that he finally could do so. He stumbled back, his body still numbed with cold inside, and he bumped into the wall beside the archway.
There was the ghost in the hall again, his face twisted with emotion. He began to wail, pain and suffering pouring from his mouth.
It was too much. Any thoughts of what the ghost might be seeking fled from Jan’s mind. He couldn’t stay here anymore. He couldn’t witness anymore.
Whirling, he ran for the stairs, nearly flying up to the next floor.
“Jan!”
He heard his mother calling to him from down the passage. He didn’t slow himself until he found her in the same bedroom where they’d spent last night.
Dashing inside, he closed the door.
“What’s happened?” she asked, her dark eyes wide.
Leaning with his back against the door, Jan couldn’t yet start to explain.
· · · · ·
One of the many strengths of Jan’s mother was her talent for listening. As he crouched beside her on the bedroom floor, she allowed him to pour out his entire story in fits and starts without a single question.
“Something terrible happened here,” he whispered, still horrified by what the ghost had shown him. “I know Father swore we wouldn’t abandon this place… but he couldn’t have known. We cannot stay. We must leave here.”
He had no idea about the meaning of what the ghost had shown him, and in truth, he didn’t want to know.
“No,” she said, finally breaking her silence. Her lovely face was intense. “We will not.” She paused, her eyes shifting back and forth. “You were wise to go to one of the village women… Bieja?”
“Yes, her name is Bieja,” he answered, ready to argue. “She’s the only one who would talk to me. But Mother—”
“She’s right, Jan. If the ghost is still here, there’s a reason. We need to find out what he wants.”
· · · · ·
When they returned to main hall, it was empty and quiet. Of all the things Jan might have expected his mother to do, her setting up a spirit-calling from her people’s ways was not among them.
For one, the ghost was hardly making a secret of his existence, so why should they bother putting an effort into calling him?
Jan told her as much.
“Because this will help him focus,” she answered, putting three small candles in a triangle on the table. “It will let him know we seek to help. That we wish for him to come to us.”
Jan couldn’t argue with that, but he didn’t like his mother becoming involved, and he feared the ghost might show her the same scene it had shown to him.
But Nadja wouldn’t be swayed.
“Sit down and take my hands,” she said.
Reluctantly, he obeyed.
Closing her eyes, his mother called out, “Come to us in peace now. Show us what you seek.”
Jan was no longer certain the ghost sought anything at all. Perhaps the guard had simply died so violently, helplessly, in this place that his rage wouldn’t let him move on. But Jan held his tongue as his mother called out softly again… and again.
And then the hall grew colder.
Nadja opened her eyes and looked toward the archway of the passage to the keep’s front. Turning his head, Jan followed her gaze.
The ghost floated there, a few steps in from the archway. For once, the guard seemed calm. He motioned to Nadja with one hand, as he had done to Jan, and she rose to walk toward the spirit.
“Mother!” Jan said in alarm, jumping to his feet.
“It’s all right,” she answered.
As she walked, the ghost began moving, floating backward. Jan and Nadja followed him down the passage to the main doors—where he passed right through. Jan quickly opened the doors for his mother, and they found the ghost waiting for them on the other side.
Again, he began floating backward, this time toward the stables.
“Keep following,” Nadja told Jan.
The calm in her voice almost convinced Jan that their actions were not so far out of the ordinary. That illusion vanished as they entered the stables, where three guards sat playing cards at a makeshift table. All three jumped to their feet in a panic when they spotted the ghost, and one of them was foolish enough to pull his sword.
“Stop!” Nadja ordered them. “It’s all right.”
She seemed to be saying that too often tonight.
The ghost ignored the guards and floated into an empty stall. There he stopped and, still watching Nadja, pointed down at the floor.
“Jan,” she said, but he didn’t need to be asked.
His fear of the ghost was fading, and he hurried over, dropping to his knees to examine the floor of the stall. The boards appeared intact, nailed down. He looked up.
“What?” he asked. “What am I looking for?”
Then he noticed the color of the ghost’s eyes: light gray. Those eyes were pleading again, and the spirit continued pointing down.
With a frown, Jan used his fingers to start checking boards… until he found one with enough of a gap between it and the next one. He looked about and spotted a bailing hook. When he pointed at it, one of the guards grabbed it for him but would only come close enough to toss it into the stall. Jan picked up the hook and began prying at that one board until its nails pulled loose.
His mother hurried in as he ripped out the board… and the next one.
Beneath, he found a small saddlebag. For some reason, he didn’t want to open it himself. His mother knelt down and took it from him. When she lifted its flap, Jan saw something within wrapped in mildewed brown paper.
Nadja lifted out the package, and they both saw the writing on it. It was addressed simply:
To Anna of Volokán Village
When Jan looked up, the soldier had knelt before him and his mother. The spirit brought its hands together, and then folded them apart like an opening book.
Nadja tore at the brown paper, exposing a pouch and a note. The note was written in small letters, with a neat, even hand.
My dear Anna,
I have good news. My search for work has gone much better than I ever expected, and a great lord appointed to Chemestúk Keep has hired me. Few men would take the positions offered, but he paid me a year’s wage in advance.
I have enclosed the money. It is enough to pay off our entire debt and still buy food for yourself and the children until I return. If you can, buy yourself a new dress.
I must remain here for a year and finish earning the wage I was paid, but I will send word when I can. A merchant who recently delivered supplies to the keep has agreed to carry some letters and packages for the other guards here when he leaves. I’m told he can be trusted.
I know you will feel the same relief as I that our debt is finally paid. We will be free of it.
The work here is not difficult, but I count the days until I see you and the children again.
All my love, Bran
Jan finished reading and looked up, trying to sort his emotions.
This spirit—this man—had taken work here in the keep as a guard, intent upon sending his earnings home to his wife to pay off a debt and feed his children. He’d been murdered before even one coin had ever reached his wife, and twenty years had passed since then.
Jan took the pouch and the letter from his mother, and he looked into Bran’s anguished, transparent face. “I’ll find them,” he said. “If they still live, I will find them.”
Br
an closed his gray eyes briefly and opened them again, focusing on Jan. He was still staring at Jan when his form began to fade.
Within moments, he was gone, as if he had never been there at all.
· · · · ·
Two days later, Jan climbed on the back of a horse in the bailey and leaned down to kiss his mother good-bye.
The rooms and passages of the keep were quiet at night now, and Nadja had even talked some of the guards into coming inside and sleeping on bedrolls on the floor of the main hall—by the fire. It had to be more comfortable than sleeping in the shamble of the barracks.
“At least maybe I’ll finally have done something Father will be proud of,” Jan said. “I wonder what he’ll say when we tell him?”
His mother shook her head. “We won’t tell him. His burdens are already too great. Let us allow him to think the three of us could do something no one else could… and make a home of this keep.”
As she finished, he knew she was right, and he nodded.
“I’ll return as soon as I can,” he said.
He hated to leave her alone with only the guards for company, but he wouldn’t trust this journey to anyone but himself, for he was the one who’d given his word. With one last smile for his mother, he headed out along the road from the keep, beginning his journey to Volokán to try to fulfill the final wish of a lost husband and father.
But he stalled when he reached the village of Chemestúk, and, as usual, it had something to do with a pretty face, or one that might be pretty. He dismounted at the tree line where he’d first seen Julianna with her basket.
Sitting on a fallen log, he waited for some time, and finally, he saw a pale face peering from out of the woods around the side of one tree.
“You may as well come out,” he said. “I’ll just wait until you do.”
She took a step, coming partially into view. “For me?”
Her face was a little cleaner today, and he definitely thought she might be pretty.
