Gewey Stedding’s wagon rolled up the main avenue of the village of Sharpstone, heavy with its cargo of fall hay. Normally this would be neither exciting nor very important, but recent years had been hard and the sight of commerce filled the villagers with hope. Fall hay meant food for the livestock, meat for the winter, and trade for the spring.
The streets were empty for this time of year. Usually merchants and travelers from up and down the Goodbranch River kept them busy, but over the last several years, trade had slowed to a trickle. The few people that did pass through did not linger and brought little coin. News of trouble and hardship came with each boat and wagon regardless of where they came from. The world was in turmoil, and everyone could feel it.
In better times, Sharpstone would be readying for the Festival of Gerath, god of the earth and mountains. Gewey had eagerly looked forward to the festival each year since he was a boy. It was three days of games, music and some of the best food in the whole kingdom. It ended with the entire town parading to the market square to crown the King and Queen of the festival. As a child, Gewey had dreamed of being crowned King, but as things were, it didn’t look like that would ever happen. Last year, the Village Council cut the festival to one day; this year-with little to celebrate and no money to spare-the festival had been all but forgotten. Only a few elders had hung the traditional pumpkin vines above their door, and no one had decorated the statue of Gerath that stood in the village square.
Despite the hardships, the sight of Gewey’s wagon made the people smile. Gewey’s honest dealings and helpful nature made him very popular in the village. He was always ready to help those in need and never shied away from hard work, even when he worked for free- which lately, happened very frequently. Though only seventeen years old, he stood six feet two inches tall and had the shoulders of a blacksmith. With raven black hair, flawless skin, and chiseled features, it was little wonder that the young girls of the village swooned as he passed. The older women were already talking about who would be a good match for him. Luckily, he hadn’t turned eighteen-the time of his coming of age-and he could avoid certain uncomfortable conversations with the Village Mothers.
Called the “Village Hens” by the men (though only when they couldn’t hear), the Village Mothers handled most of the day-to-day operations in Sharpstone. If there was a fire, they organized the reconstruction. If streets needed repair or the river docks rebuilding, the Village Mothers saw it done. The Village Council-headed by the mayor-controlled the finance and commerce, but without the Mothers, Sharpstone would come to a halt.
Gewey had been his own master since his father had died two years earlier of an illness that had swept through the village during an extremely harsh winter. His mother had passed when he was but three, from injuries she received falling from her horse. The memories he had of her were few, and colored by a child’s perception. He knew she was kind and beautiful. A painting of her hung above his fireplace. His father would look at it all night on the anniversary of her death and tell Gewey stories about her life and his love for her.
After his father’s death, the village council had approached Gewey about selling his farm and taking an apprenticeship with one of the local tradesmen. Gewey’s father had been the largest producer of hay in the area, and they had serious doubts as to whether a fifteen-year-old boy would be able to maintain a farm alone. The idea of losing such a resource was unthinkable, and though Gewey had not come of age, his father had left him all his property. Short of petitioning the King, there was nothing they could do to make Gewey give up the land.
Gewey refused every offer, saying his father wanted him to keep the farm going and had told him so before he died. The Council was preparing to make one more effort to change his mind when he showed up at the market square with enough hay to supply the whole village for half the year. He had not only bundled and loaded it himself, but also turned a nice profit at market. From then on, Gewey was thought of by all as the master of his own land; his coming of age was never mentioned again. He was treated as any other landowner and even consulted occasionally by the Council.
Gewey’s image of himself was somewhat different. He harvested hay as he had seen his father do a thousand times before. He bartered the way his father had taught him. He held onto the farm because his father would have wanted him to. Nevertheless, in his heart, he was not yet a man. He was merely a boy, still trying to make his father proud. His size and strength made others think him a man, but at night, when he was all alone, his mind was full of fear and doubt.
The village of Sharpstone was just south of the Sarlian Wastes, at the northern most part of the Kingdom of Megados. Just to the north was a crossroads that joined the Pithian Highway, leading south to the western gate of the capital, Helenia, then on to the southern ports and the Far Run Road which spanned the breadth of the entire continent. The land was flat and fertile, and the weather moderate and prone to early springs. The inhabitants, though not numerous, were kindly and welcomed strangers, so long as they did not cause trouble.
Though not a great producer of goods, the village thrived by being a stop-off point for commerce. They boasted some of the finest blacksmiths and liveries for a hundred miles, and provided a welcome respite for many a weary merchant or pilgrim. The inns were clean and comfortable, and frequented by traveling entertainers that often provided a lively nightlife. Overall, Sharpstone was a decent place. That is, until the dark times began.
It had been six years since what the villagers called the Long Freeze. The winter did not break, and the planting season came and went. Many villagers became ill and died. Gewey remembered the sadness in his father’s eyes each morning as they had stared out on the frozen fields during the first year. The thought of those long days of fruitless labor still made his belly ache with hunger. For an entire year, the ground stayed frozen. When spring finally came, the land was different. It seemed as if the life had been sucked right out of it. The crop was small, livestock suffered, and each year Gewey watched his father’s land shrink and dry up further.
The few villagers up and about at that time of the morning waved to Gewey’s wagon as he passed. Mostly, they wished him a good day. Others, however, had earnest business and called for him to set aside time for them. This always made Gewey feel uneasy. He was not interested in business. Despite his ability to turn a profit, he hated bartering and trade.
Before the Long Freeze, the avenue leading to the trading court would have been bustling with activity. However, in recent years shops opened later and later, and a few had even closed, the owners moving to the capital in hopes of finding work. As he approached the market square, he could see that it was almost empty, aside from a few vendors who had only just arrived.
Suddenly a scream pierced the air, making Gewey jump in his seat.
He halted his wagon and saw Thad Marshall, the local baker, running from the square. He jumped down and grabbed the man as he passed. Thad was normally a calm fellow, but it was clear to Gewey that something had terrified him.
“What happened?” Gewey exclaimed.
It took a moment for Thad to steady himself enough to speak.
“My wife….” Thad said, “I just saw my wife.” He was shaking uncontrollably.
The baker’s wife had died the previous winter. The whole town had turned out for her funeral.
“Your wife?” asked Gewey, uncertain how to react.
“I know it sounds crazy, but I swear that I just saw her, standing in the market. I saw her as clear as I see you now.”
“Are you sure it was her?” asked Gewey.
“There’s no mistake,” he cried. “I was with her for thirty-six years. I’d know her anywhere.”
Gewey looked thoughtfully at the man. “Well, Master Marshall, I don’t doubt your word. The ways of spirits are strange. Who can understand them?”
“You don’t understand,” the baker replied. “She looked decayed and rotten. It wasn’t her spirit I saw.”
“You mean you saw your dead wife’s body walking in the market?” exclaimed Gewey, surprised.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Thad said, tears streaming down his face.
“Did anyone else see her?” he asked.
“No…maybe…I don’t know,” he stammered.
Gewey helped the baker into the wagon. “Come,” he said. “Let’s see if we can find out what’s going on.”
The baker nodded slowly and slumped down in the seat, tears still pouring down his face. Gewey urged the horse forward in the direction of the market. He didn’t think the baker would lie, and he wasn’t the unstable type, but a grieving man’s mind could sometimes play tricks.
Gewey guided his wagon across the square to the far end, near the entrance to the river dock, and halted the wagon. Thad doubled over with his face buried in his hands. Gewey hopped down from the wagon and put his hand gently on the baker’s arm.
“Come on, Master Marshall,” said Gewey, in his most soothing voice. “Show me where you saw her.”
Slowly, Thad crept from the wagon and led Gewey to the corner of the market where he usually set up his stand.
“She was standing right there,” he said, pointing a few feet ahead of them. “At first I thought I was seeing things, but she looked right at me.”
Gewey examined the area but could find nothing out of place.
“Wait here,” said Gewey. “I’ll ask around and see if anyone else saw anything.”
Gewey questioned the few people there, but no one had seen anything, other than the baker screaming as he ran out of the market.
“What could have scared old Thad so badly, I wonder?” asked Melton Fathing, a local artisan and town gossip. “I was just about to check on him.”
“It was nothing,” answered Gewey, quickly walking away. He certainly didn’t want to humiliate Thad, and Melton would already have started talk. Besides, he didn’t like Melton.
Gewey told Thad that no one else had seen his wife.
“I’m not making this up!” Thad exclaimed.
“I’m not saying you are,” replied Gewey, trying to calm the man down. “Why don’t you go home? I’ll keep an eye out and let you know if anything unusual happens.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said Thad. “Maybe I just need to rest. It’s been so hard this last year, losing my wife and all. Business hasn’t been the best, either.”
The rest of what Thad said trailed off into incoherent mumbling as he stumbled from the square. Gewey noticed Melton staring intently and forced a smile. ‘Best to let it be,’ he thought to himself.
It took him only an hour to unload his wagon. He had always been good at physical labor. His father bragged that his son could outwork ten men. Though this was true, Gewey always held back when others were around. He didn’t want people to think he was odd or different, and if people knew how strong he really was, the talk would start.
The rest of the day was uneventful as he sold his hay, most of which went to the livery. Gewey did as he promised and kept watch for anything unusual, but thankfully saw nothing.
His wagon empty and his purse full, Gewey began the long trip back to his farm. He stopped by Thad Marshall’s house to check on him but there was no answer. ‘Probably sleeping,’ he thought.
As he turned toward his wagon, he noticed a shadowy figure approaching from the avenue. The evening shadows obscured his features, but Gewey knew right away who it was. His long strides and graceful motions gave him away.
“Hello, Lee,” called Gewey.
The man said nothing. Lee Starfinder was a strange sort. He was nearly as tall as Gewey, though not as wide in the shoulders. He had distinctly sharp, angular features and deep olive skin. He had moved to Sharpstone more than ten years ago, claiming to be a nobleman and scholar, from north of the Razor Edge Mountains, here to retire and live out his days quietly; Gewey, however, thought he had the look of the sea-people from the coast of the Western Abyss. He kept to himself and employed several local artisans, so the villagers made little fuss about the man’s oddities and reclusive nature.
Lee walked straight up to Gewey and pressed a letter into his hand.
“Wait until you get home to read it,” said Lee. “No questions, boy.”
Gewey stared at the man, his mouth gaping. Lee spun around and strode off, leaving Gewey baffled. He stared at the letter. It was old and yellow, but the seal was unbroken.
“Great,” muttered Gewey. “A long trip made even longer.”
Gewey continued on his way home, trying to think about anything other than what the letter might reveal.