Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series

by Blake Hausladen

  ‘What is this I see?’ the old yew asked. The sight of other trees and birds came to her, and she shared the vision with me, with us. Three men ran through the forest far to the north. One clutched a small bundle. They were tall, strong men, wounded, yet fierce of face.

  ‘Chaukai, my warriors. Three escaped the ambush. The bundle ... is it? Irisa. My granddaughter lives. What miracle is this? Mighty Chaukai, run. Run. All that we are is in your hands. The fate of the world is in your hands.’

  The king’s spirit shook with purpose and urgency, and he summoned to himself the strength of the world he loved and cherished. His spirit swelled and grew, and I, we, felt every leaf upon every tree. The Mother Yew joined him and added all that she was to his summons.

  He lifted his will and soul up like a great colossus above the forest and thundered his voice deep into the earth, ‘Great Spirit, hear me. If ever you have heard the prayers of a man, forsake not these two words. Bless them.’ The smoldering bodies of the Vesteal burst into bright flame and the earth shook.

  I, he, the tree, we watched the Chaukai work their way deeper into the thick green of Enhedu. The king’s exhausted spirit shrank and my vision faded.

  Another shift and I opened my eyes with a start. It was twilight, and I was lying under the same tree wearing Bessradi silk.

  Leger appeared with sword in hand and knelt down to examine my wound.

  “Prince, we must flee,” he said and hefted me up off the ground.

  Was I still dreaming?

  I felt the presence of the spirits in the trees, in me. They crowded into my head, and their thoughts became my own. “Man of Zoviya, step away from my heir. How dare you walk beneath me and lay hands upon my kin.”

  A movement caught my attention, and Leger noticed it too. Solon’s ghost was there, moving straight toward us, his blade held bare.

  “Leger, you must flee,” I said. “They will kill you.”

  “Get those legs moving,” he barked and dragged me along. I urged my legs to respond. They did, and we ran.

  The ghost of my most angry son Solon circled closer. “Leave this one, my son.”

  Leger shifted his grip and struggled to keep the same pace. The old soldier seemed used up. Other people rushed toward us. One was a woman. She looked so familiar.

  “Is that Avica? No, impossible,” I said. “She died in the ambush with the rest. My wife, my darling wife, how did you escape?”

  I did not know whose eyes I was looking through, whose thoughts I was having. I did not have a wife.

  ‘Yes we did. We’d all had one.’

  “Dia?” I said as other ghosts rushed toward the woman. Solon blocked my view and brought back his sword.

  “My kin, no! Spare them.”

  “Be gone, demon,” Leger bellowed and charged straight through him. The hot touch of the ash sucked upon my heart and my bones.

  Solon turned, but did not pursue us. He watched for a moment before he and the others drifted away with the breeze.

  Gern was there, struggling to hold and calm terrified horses. Sahin appeared and took my other arm. “We know you, Chaukai. Guard our heir well.”

  “We need to get him out of here,” Leger said. “He is delirious.”

  “No time for fainting, boy,” was the last thing I said.

  17

  Geart Goib

  I was in pain. I was cold and my cell was dark as hell. The tiny space was too small to stand or lie down. Everything hurt.

  I did not know where I had been taken and was no longer sure how long I had been there. I had left Bessradi in a caged wagon crammed with slaves. The trip took many days. I could not remember arriving.

  I had tried to keep count of how many cups of thin beans and mushy bread they brought me. Was it twenty-three or thirty-two? I tried so hard to remember, but all I could find in my head was my last day at the palace. I tried to think about something else, but that day was always in my head.

  I’d failed my prince in the end. I wasn’t smart enough. I’d betrayed him. I deserved my stone box.

  I tried to stop crying. I was so thirsty. Crying made it worse. I couldn’t help it. I tried to be angry instead. Angry at myself.

  A soft sound drifted into my ears. A soft whisper, almost taunting me it seemed. A woman’s voice in the hallway above? I pressed my face up against the iron grate to look down the blackened hallway. No one was there.

  I tried not to listen, but again she spoke, and the words came to me clean and clear. “Come. Come to me …” the ghost beckoned.

  The dead girl’s ghost had found me and wanted to snatch away my soul. I didn’t want to die yet. I tried to remember happy things. I remembered the blue light of the healer’s magic again, but then I relived the day I betrayed my prince.

  “You were going to murder the prince,” the Hessier had yelled.

  “No. I saved him,” I’d said. “It was Towb. I saved the prince from Towb.”

  That was my mistake. Saying the prince had been there. That was how they’d tricked me. Telling them my triumph was my defeat. I was a fool. I was a betrayer.

  What had they done to Barok? The Hessier had gone to find him. I prayed to Bayen that he had survived Towb treachery.

  “Villain,” I bellowed. I got angrier. Angry at Towb. “Horrible demon. Bayen’s wrath be upon you. You destroyed my prince.”

  My anger was warm. It made me feel alive.

  “Villain,” I screamed and pushed at the black stone.

  I heard a noise. I’d been too loud. Footsteps moved toward me. Light came with them. I shrank into the corner of my box. The light hurt my eyes. A small man stepped over the square of iron bars above me. He was not a jailer.

  “Who is a villain?” his calm voice asked.

  “The man who destroyed my prince.”

  “How did he do that?”

  “He tricked us. He did murder. He tried to kill the prince. But I stopped him, and I killed him.”

  “And you and the prince were blamed for the murder?”

  I wanted to say yes but coughed. Green and red came up. I tried to stop coughing. I couldn’t. It got worse. I’d gotten too angry.

  “Jailor,” the small man called back down the corridor.

  “No ...”

  “It will be all right. I am here to help. Jailor.”

  “What do you want, priest? What the hell are you doing down there?” an annoyed voice said from back down the narrow hallway.

  “Please get him up out of there.”

  “What for? He was sent here to rot and die. Looks like he’s finally getting somewhere.”

  “Yes, well, the men who sent him here are a very long way away, and if you want me to heal that broken finger of yours, you will do as I say.”

  “How about I put a spear through your guts instead?”

  I was worried for the priest. His reply was smart, though. “Your wrist is hurting you now, too, is it not?”

  The jailor paused. “How did you know?”

  “Your broken finger’s sickness has spread. Your hand will turn green and then your wrist and then your arm. It will have to come off. There aren’t many one-armed jailors.”

  “You’ll fix it?”

  “If you help me with this man, yes. I will heal you, and I will do so for free.”

  The jailor grumbled and spat, but then I heard his keys and his heavy boots. He unlocked my box and lifted the iron lid. He was thick and tall like me and wore a beard to hide his pockmarks. I had seen him before. He was the senior man and had a heavy trudgeon hidden in his sleeve. I held very still so he would not have an excuse to use it.

  “What a stink.”

  “The same stink that is in your finger?”

  This scared the jailer.

  “Get him up, please, and take him to the church.”

  The jailor laughed. “Your church is a small room with a bed and a chair.”

  The priest’s shoulders sagged. The jailor smiled.

  “Yes, it is just that. B
ut while I am here, it is also where I will save your arm.”

  That erased the dirty grin and I closed my eyes. I wasn’t dumb enough to let the man see I’d heard.

  The jailor called for another man and they lifted me out of the box. I couldn’t make my legs or arms unfold. I hurt everywhere. I shivered and coughed more green blood. They dragged me a long way. They swore often about my smell and weight. They dropped me in the corner of a small room.

  “You first,” the priest said to the bearded jailor.

  “Truly? You will heal me now? For free?”

  “Promise made, promise kept. I was sent from the capital to be the priest of this place, and as long as you let me do my work, you will know no pain.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he said but sat.

  Other jailors came and gathered around the doorway. The priest took hold of his crooked and swollen pinky. He said the healer’s words softly, and when a blue light appeared upon his fingers, I rejoiced. The glow was so warm, so friendly.

  The finger shrank and lost its terrible color. Ugly fluid dripped onto the floor. Tears rolled down the jailor’s face. He moaned and then sobbed. The priest stopped singing, and the godly light faded. The finger was still bent but had turned pink.

  The jailor cried like a child. “Thank you. Thank you. Bayen’s grace upon you, priest.”

  “And you, friend. His grace upon you also. Hold still now. This will hurt.”

  “Yes, sir,” he sobbed.

  I heard the finger snap and pop. The jailor cried out.

  “It will swell again, but it will mend well if you splint it and leave it alone.”

  The man nodded and wept.

  “Now go and see that this man’s cell is cleaned.”

  “Clean it?” he sobbed.

  “Yes. Then every three days I will heal another jailor and prisoner, and you’ll clean another cell.”

  The other jailors grumbled at that.

  “You there,” the priest said. “What is your name?”

  “Ebbit,” the man mumbled.

  “I can fix that black ear of yours. And, you there, I can tell your milky eye hurts you. Your sickness comes from the filth and wounds of the prisoners. Let me heal them and help me clean this place. Helping them will help you. You don’t have to suffer their sickness.”

  I heard Ebbit scrape scabbed flesh. “You will heal my ear?”

  The priest must have nodded, because the jailors all made happy sounds.

  “You’ve a deal, priest.”

  “And a happy one, too. Now go clean out this man’s cell and let me heal him. Come see me in three days about that ear and in three more about that eye.”

  The healed jailor was still sobbing. Everyone was looking at him and his finger. He must’ve felt their eyes.

  “You heard him. Get to work.” The others fled the familiar and ugly tone. Then he whispered to the priest, “If anyone gives you trouble, you let me know.”

  The priest patted his shoulder and the jailor left the room. The door closed.

  “You can open your eyes now,” the priest said down to me. He was very smart. I opened them. The priest was very tired but knelt next to me.

  “My name is Geart.”

  “And I am Avin. Now be still, and I will try to make that cough go away. It will be hard with the hurt so deep inside, but we can get rid of the green at least. Shall we give it a try?”

  I tried to nod but was too weak.

  He began chanting again, and I heard his words. They were so friendly and calm. I tried to say them. They were very difficult words, and very hard to hear. I listened and listened. The blue warmth filled me with wild emotions. My ears warmed, and my face tingled. I made great fists and flexed my legs and arms. I was wrapped in Bayen’s blue flame. My anger and triumph stirred in my belly and my head. I found the five strange words in my mouth and said them as he said them. Over and over, the words made me burn hot inside.

  I remembered my prince and my triumph and betrayal. I said the words louder, and the light flared. The priest stopped, but I did not. The words were mine, and I kept them. The blue warmth became a white heat.

  It is me. I am doing this thing!

  I said the words louder and faster, and I opened my eyes. The priest had fallen away from me and was sitting on the floor. My lungs burned as if all of Bayen’s love was inside me. The words were so clean in my head. The fire spread through my arms and legs. I pressed against the wall and heard the boards groan and crack. Hotter and hotter, brighter and brighter, I burned and glowed.

  Very distant, I heard the priest cry out and the jailors return. The priest reached out and touched me where I sat. His face looked like porcelain and his tears like trails of diamonds. The jailors looked at peace, their gnarled faces bathed in the bright white light.

  “Stop, Geart. You must stop.”

  I wouldn’t. Never had I felt it. Never something so good, powerful, pure, and happy. I sang the words.

  Avin said them with me. He said them slower than me. I couldn’t help but follow his pace. He kept saying the words slower, and my eyelids became lead weights. He reached out and put his hand over my mouth. The white light died, and only a lantern’s ugly light remained.

  The priest fell backward and did not move. My bones felt dry and heavy, but I managed to stand. The jailors gasped and retreated into the hallway. I lifted Avin from the floor and set him into the chair.

  The tiredness got worse. I felt it deeply. I’d never been so tired. I collapsed onto the bed.

  “No one touches this man again,” Avin said.

  I knew the number of days then. It was twenty-three.

  18

  Lady Dia Esar

  Ghosts

  Leger and my prince rode my horse through the dark hours of our return. Clever was the only one that could carry them both and was by far the calmest of us all. A bright moon tried to light our way, but thick clouds hindered her aid. The terrible gray shapes haunted the corners of my vision and by the time we returned to the castle, I was desperate for warmth and light.

  Leger proved again to be a man for urgent occasions. He pushed everyone aside and carried my prince all the way up to our bed. He explained that the prince had fallen and had cut his shoulder but would be fine. He stood guard beside his bed while Urnedi’s relief became frenzy as everyone dashed about in search of things they hoped would help their wounded lord and bring him comfort. Several worked at the fireplace in our room, and extra blankets were brought up. Soup and water arrived and, for some reason, a bowl full of grass.

  Gern was beside himself, doing and ordering a dozen things at once. One of the women got hold of him and took him down to the great hall for some soup. Sahin departed too, once the prince was settled, and I understood his quick, disconnected thoughts and actions. If I’d had the strength, I would have acted on each of my compulsions as well.

  I did not know what to make of Sahin. Perhaps the beings in the woods had driven him mad. I hoped they had. I did not understand what had happened in the trees, but I did know Sahin was part of it.

  An older woman with a pleasant air and a gracious smile cleaned and dressed my prince’s wound, and when she was done Leger ushered everyone else out. He barred the door and leaned heavily into it.

  My limbs were still trembling. I took hold of a fire-poker and stabbed at the logs until they burned hot and bright. I heard something else in their squeak and crackle. It was like the moaning growl of the being in the woods, and the more I listened, the more I could hear them. The smoke swirled and I began to worry that I would find demons wherever I went.

  There were too many mysteries and I turned to Leger for some answers. “Did Sahin take Barok out there so that those things could kill him?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Why? What could you two have done in a single morning to convince these fine people to murder you?” He didn’t answer me. “Speak, man, before I go mad. What happened?”

  He flinched and lo
oked up at me. He’d been staring into the smoke and fire, too. “When we arrived, I was too drunk to stand and Barok was in a rage. He broke the reeve’s hand, his wife’s nose, and promised to have everyone murdered. The reeve had already heard a terrible account of why Barok had been banished and was so terrified he asked Sahin to get rid of him.”

  “What had he heard?”

  He could not look at me while he said it. “That Barok had murdered a girl, his grooms, and three Hemari guards.”

  “What lies.”

  “Are they? I smell the stink of a Bessradi rumor, but a son of Vall is not banished for nothing.”

  “The dead groom was my father. Whatever happened that night, it was his doing.”

  “What was he to Barok?”

  “He trained horses for the Yentif. But, he was never the same after my mother died. We lost the ranch—lost everything. The prince rescued us and became my patron. I did not know how much my father had changed, though, until I got back to Bessradi. He was very much hated.”

  Leger put his thumbnail across his chin as if he were unsure. The scratch of his stubble was loud. He sat on the rug in front of the fireplace. I sat down next to him.

  “What is it, Leger?” I asked.

  He looked over at the prince for a long moment. “He sent you to Dagoda?”

  “No, he is not like that. He meant for me to be trained as a wife.”

  “I hope you are right, but perhaps it doesn’t matter if you are. Who we were and where we came from has very little meaning now. Bessradi is so far away, it might as well not exist. The only thing that will matter to this place and these people is who we are tomorrow. Who he is tomorrow.”

  We sat quietly for a long time.

  I did not know what to think. The dreams upon which I had ridden to Enhedu were burning away faster than the logs on the fire. I searched the curling smoke for signs of demons.

  “What were those things in the trees?”

  “Ghosts. Spirits. Wraiths. I do not know what to call them. Barok said some words, but I am not sure what they mean yet.”