Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series Page 20

  Barok drank it in instantly. “Where does the sea freeze?”

  “No where that I know of.”

  Barok shook his head and we gaped at it.

  Every map I had seen had Bessradi at the center. Not even my years campaigning in Heneur had shown me something like this. The plains were all that mattered to the Kaaryon.

  Barok asked, “The trail that Gern traveled to the coast ... there is a stone road that runs through the forest to a wide bay beneath a cliff?”

  She just smiled. Barok laughed, and I patted him on the back.

  A different world was drawn upon the wide, yellowed vellum. One run in a much different way than Zoviya and its long dirt roads—a place connected to its neighbors by ports and protected by a thick mountain.

  There would be no more reading of fiction that winter. We had plans to make.

  30

  Geart Goib

  I was empty inside. My bones hurt and the terrible tiredness wouldn’t go away. Avin fed me, and I slept upon his bed. I slept so much. I only woke when the blue light was in the room. It happened every three days. Once, twice, five times I woke enough to see a jailor and a prisoner healed. The blue light made me feel better each time.

  I slept, woke when food came, ate, and slept again. It went like that for many bowls of beans and bread. After twenty-nine, it got colder. Winter had come.

  Avin found more blankets for us and massaged my muscles but it did not help. He read to me often, I think, but I could not hear his words. He grew weaker and seven days went by before he could sing. No one visited us during the long stretch of days in between except the man with beans. There was no more bread.

  Waking up got harder. The cold was sharp and mean and I yearned for the next time Avin would sing, but the light did not come. I missed meals and began to ache.

  Forty-seven days.

  Forty-eight.

  Forty-nine.

  I did not dream most nights, or maybe I never remembered them. I dreamt that cold night, and it took hold of me as soon as I shut my eyes. I saw the bloody body of a child engulfed by a fog-shrouded forest. I didn’t know the boy or the place. All around him were the whispers of a woman. “Come to me. Come to me.”

  It was the girl we had killed. She had come to haunt me and drag my soul away to the frozen place where murderers go.

  The boy’s dead lips moved. His whisper was a magic chant like Avin’s, but older and richer, as if a grandfather spoke them. The fog swirled about him. His chant grew loud and overcame the girl’s beckoning. The trees shook, the fog was dashed away, and his voice faded. I wept for the boy and heard my sobs. I woke with a start and banged my head. I hurt all over but I was alive. Alive is good.

  Hands lifted me. I heard the splash of water. I felt it on me.

  “Why?” I heard someone gag.

  “Shut up and clean him. If the arilas dies, they’ll put us all in chains.”

  It was the senior jailor. He sounded thinner.

  “Let’s try to wake the priest again.”

  “He is unconscious and I am done arguing with you. Help me, or I’ll cave in your skull.”

  They rolled me over. They covered me with something. I felt warmer.

  “Are you sure this one’s a healer? This mound of bed sores is useless. He’s been lying here too long.”

  “I say he is a healer, and I’m hungry. I’m also done talking.”

  The other man started to help. Their hands pressed and rubbed. I flexed my body.

  “There you go, big fella. Drink this.”

  The warm liquor burned my mouth and throat, but the delicious heat opened my eyes. I coughed. My lungs were still dry. I didn’t have the sickness.

  “Can you make the blue? Do it and we’ll find you some meat.”

  “The warden won’t give up the last of the pork.”

  “Then I’ll cut his throat and dump him in the gully,” he spat and then asked me again, “Can you do it?”

  I nodded. I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t want to end up in the gully, either.

  The men lifted me and struggled with my weight. They took me a long way.

  “He’s still alive?” someone asked.

  A woman yelled, “You are going to let that thing touch my husband?”

  “He’s a healer, milady. I swear it.”

  “Fine. Do it,” she yelled and gagged. “Heal him. Do whatever it takes.”

  The men sat me in a chair before a man in a bed. I could see what hurt him. He was frozen in places. His face was swollen and gray and black and pink. They’d tried to warm him with fire.

  I searched for the words in my head. I put my hands on his face. I tried to say the words but had no voice. The jailors were growling. The arilas’ wife came back. She was weeping. She rushed toward me and put one hand on my shoulder.

  “Please. Heal him, please.”

  Her hand was soft and warm. She was very young. She reminded me of the girl I had murdered. I’d have wept if my eyes had tears. I closed them tight. Memories of my terrible deed made me choke. I held my breath and flexed my body until my face felt swollen and my heart was in my mouth and ears. I let out my breath and made my lungs work. I coughed and tried again. I found my voice. It was very quiet and ugly, but it made the healing words and the blue light lit my fingers. The glow was tiny its warmth went through me like the gulp of hot liquor. The man moaned, and the woman wept. My voice cleared as I sang, and my body rejoiced. The man received more of my blue magic, and I pressed it into him. The swelling in his face went away and his color returned. The senior jailor pulled away the blankets to reveal the man’s body. His arms and hands and feet were huge and looked like they’d been dead too long. I gripped them and sang. His arms changed shape and then his feet. I couldn’t make his missing fingers or toes grow back. I tried to count them to keep my concentration. I felt my eyes close. My voice stopped working, and the blue light disappeared.

  I felt the woman kiss my forehead. I heard the bed sag as she sat next to her love. I heard him say a loving thing back to her.

  That’s all I remember from those fifty days.

  31

  Matron Dia Esar

  Sahin

  By the end of that long winter, we would have been at each other’s throats if Barok and Leger had not finally begun to share with the rest of us their plans for a town. Urnedi was too small to contain so many idle people for so long.

  Fana and I had also just finished choking down our fourth dose of mangor root so were particularly unhappy with the world. My only solace was that Barok had yet to lay a hand on her. I caught him glancing at her, however, so it was only a matter of time. I considered discussing the matter with him, but broaching the topic before his trip to Trace seemed particularly foolish. The last thing I needed was for him to get any ideas and come back with three washerwomen from an Almidi bathhouse.

  But all of that faded into the background when we got a look at his drawing of a town-to-be. Urnedi was bursting with excitement, and it was roundly agreed that Barok’s stipend simply could not come fast enough. I survived the anticipation by spending time with Clever. It was also good to get a break from the Dame. I loved her, but all she wanted to do was talk about the menu of Bessradi, and there was little more I could teach her without the dishes themselves before us.

  The forest was still choked with snow, but it was easy enough to make it out to the stone road. We spent a good portion of each day trotting up and down it, so it was not long before we discovered a wide trail winding its way north along the west bank of the river. The first day warm and dry enough for the trail to be clear, we raced it as far as we could in one mad gallop.

  We kept at it all morning. The winding trail took us up and down ridge after ridge of snarled forest as it turned slowly west. It was nearing midday when we broke free of the trees at last, and I was delighted to find a lovely village before us, perhaps even the one so many in Urnedi called home. The rocky hills behind us were no place to plant crops, but the rive
rside village looked as rich as it was beautiful. Its hardy buildings were surrounded by rolling grasslands that reached north as far as the eye could see. Zoviya’s understanding of Enhedu was very, very flawed.

  I was just about to ride down to introduce myself when I spotted a rider making his way up to me. It was Sahin.

  “Greetings, bowyer. The day’s warmth has you out as well?”

  “Dia? What are you doing here? It was freezing out last night. You don’t even have a bedroll. Is something wrong at Urnedi?”

  “Nothing at all. I am just out for a ride. We raced all the way here this morning.”

  “I find that very hard to believe.”

  “Not my fault really,” I laughed and patted my stallion.

  “Amazing,” he smiled. “And you were going to race all the way back this afternoon I suppose?”

  “Clever will want to walk a bit to cool off and take a moment at the feedbag and that river over there, but it won’t be long before he’s itching to run again. The mares are all in season.”

  “That explains it,” he chuckled with good humor at last. “Let us walk a pace then, so you can tell me all the news.”

  I was happy to oblige, but by the time Clever had eaten and I had finished recounting the garrison’s study of the Hemari manuals, Fana’s appointment as scribe, and Barok’s plans to travel to Almidi, Sahin was simply flabbergasted.

  I smiled, “You did not expect the winter to pass with little to tell, did you? I bet if you were inclined to tell me of your winter, it would not be a simple tale either.”

  He did not like my reference to his business as Chaukai. I bit my lip and changed the subject quickly. “The village is simply lovely. Is it your home?”

  “No. I’m from Hippoli,” he said with the smile I was hoping for and added, “It’s a smaller village a bit north and east of here, but just as striking. Not what you expected to see was it?”

  “Not at all. I am surprised it is so small, though, as rich as the land looks.”

  “An often lamented fact. We were never allowed to do much with it. The land does not belong to us, and permission to use any more than the one parcel per village has never been granted.”

  “That is horrible. Has Barok fixed it?”

  “Yes and more generously than I could ever have wished. He is even allowing us to pay our rents to him in crops instead of coin. Fana may very well decide to choose another profession when she learns how many men have decided to accept his offer. The recordkeeping of all the new parcels alone could well be beyond any one scribe.”

  “The whole peninsula will be planting?”

  “Yes. We will be hungry this spring, the way our stores will be used to plant new crops, but the harvest will be a fine one.”

  “You have waited too long for this day, I think, the way you smile about it now.”

  “Very much so. There is little pride in being the only man in the province who can afford to pay a craftsman’s taxes.”

  “I have been wondering about that. How did you become one?”

  “The same way my father did. We had to go to Trace and petition its craftsmen’s consortium for credentials. I lived there for two years paying Arilas Pormes’ taxes. I cannot imagine what Barok hopes to find there.”

  “Well, with you and Leger along, I am sure he’ll find something worth bringing back. Keep him on the west side of the river, though.”

  “Your escape from the Kaaryon didn’t take you to Almidi’s darker half did it?”

  “Unfortunately, yes, though it did allow me to finally lose the bluecoats Prince Yarik sent after me.” As I said Yarik’s name Sahin flinched and looked ready to do murder. “You know Barok’s brother?” I asked.

  “I hope someday to meet him in person.”

  The cause of his sudden rage was too easily known, and I liked the Chaukai more for wanting to avenge Barok’s mother. “Be patient, Sahin. Barok will see her name carved upon a thousand Yentif corpses before he is done.”

  He did not look convinced, so I added quickly, “Do not let his unsettled days before the snow trouble you. He spent the winter reliving Kyoden’s death and dreaming of the Edonia that was. His focus is terrifying. I worry only that he will move too fast for the rest of us to keep up.”

  “You love him truly?”

  His gentle sincerity and the sudden topic were arresting. I replied, “Yes, Sahin, I do. I mean to take care of his house and will follow him to any end.”

  He nodded slowly, the conversation apparently over. Sahin and Leger were going to get along just fine.

  He noticed Clever was eager to run again and asked, “He can’t make the same ride back yet today, can he?”

  “Shall we find out?”

  He liked the idea, and we were soon racing south. We made it back before sunset, though his mare was a bit ragged from the effort.

  32

  Healer Geart Goib

  I liked the days after Avin and I saved Harod Serm and his wife. The arilas kept his promise and sent us good food. The jailors were very kind to us for it. We even had meat and fruit to eat. My body recovered quickly, and the snow relented. Avin was very happy to see me again. He told me about the new warden. He was the man who had put me back in my cell. He had not believed I was a healer. He believed now. We were left alone mostly. Everyone was happy to have food, thanks be to Bayen.

  Early one morning after things settled back down, Avin handed me a book.

  “What is this for?”

  “For you to read.”

  “I can’t read that well.”

  “I’ll help you, my friend. I am sure you can read just fine. All healers can.”

  I liked those words. I’d never been anything but a swineherd’s son, a recruit, or a Hemari. To be called a healer made me warm inside. I tried to read the cover.

  “Zoviyan aygrikulturray?”

  “Agriculture,” he corrected me kindly. “Farming. It’s a book about farms.”

  “Why do you want me to read this book?”

  “I have some books that healers read, but first you must learn to read better. This is the simplest book here, so it will be the one you learn from.”

  I told him I’d try. There was a small window in the room, so the light was good for reading. The jailors left us alone except when someone got hurt. They were clumsy people. I forgave them. I liked to make the blue light. It filled my head with happiness. Avin was always ready to stop me, but I did not lose control of the song again. Summoning the blue light and making pain disappear became easy. Avin, though, would not talk about the song. All he wanted me to do was read.

  So, I read. It was difficult. The days went very slowly. There were too many new words. They fought in my head, and the weak ones were pushed out. I liked the part about when you let fields go fallow, to let them rest. It was a good word, fallow.

  I learned other kinds of words from that book, though. Mean ones like churl. I had heard people spit the word at each other my whole life but had never understood what it meant. I found it in a chapter called Procurement of Labor and was sad to learn what it had to do with farming. “Churls” were people who lost their freedom to municipal service as punishment for a crime. A churl was a slave, and a good farm needed many, many churls. Knowing how to petition the Chancellery for assignments of good churls, therefore, was a requirement of being a good farmer.

  “Is that what everyone here is?” I asked and pointed at the word. “Everyone here in the prison?”

  “Very much so,” Avin replied. “Everyone at Apped Prison belongs to Arilas Serm of Aderan.”

  “How can that be?”

  “The Chancellery’s bailiffs deliver all of the Kaaryon’s convicts and debtors to Aderan prisons until they are assigned to municipal projects. In exchange for maintaining the prisons, Aderan’s arilas is assigned a percentage for his own use. This is the largest prison in Zoviya, and everyone here belongs to the arilas. There are other prisons further south of here, but all the churls there are assi
gned to others petitioners.”

  “I don’t like these words, ‘assign’ and ‘petition.’ The book should say ‘sell’ and ‘bribe.’ The word ‘bailiffs’ is a bad word too. ‘Slavers’ is what they are. How come I did not know these things?”

  “It’s not that simple, Geart. The Chancellery and its bailiffs are responsible for catching those they think have broken the law, and everyone is judged in one of the Sten’s courts before being deemed churlish. Instead of wasting away in cells, churls contribute their labor back to society in payment for their crimes. It is a very good system of law.”

  “How did it work out for you?” I asked.

  “It did not work out for either of us, Geart. But we both broke the law.”

  “I am a churl, too?” I asked with a frown. I didn’t want to read any more and tossed the book aside. “I thought I was just a convict condemned to death. When did I become a slave?”

  “When the Tanayon court in Bessradi found us to be churlish. You for treason, and me for—”

  “That’s what was being decided while I was in the dungeon?”

  “Yes. I am afraid so. We have become the property of one of Zoviya’s most prodigious farmers. The churls here work the land all the way east to the river and all the way north to Aderan’s border with Heneur.”

  “We are close to Heneur?” I asked excitedly and Avin nodded again. I was glad at least to know where I was. I loved the mountains where I had first served as a Hemari. My good memories of them were shoved back, though.

  “I saved the man who owns me?” I asked, and again he nodded. “Are we farmers now?”

  “No. We will stay here and be healers. Everyone else here will be a farmer soon enough though. You’ll get to see it for yourself when it’s time for the spring wheat to go into the ground.”