Gastien and the Golden Wine

Gastien held a single grape in his fingers, looking down at it with curiosity. He had never seen anything like it before. It wasn’t dark and purple, nor was it light and green. It looked golden, and almost transparent. Like a glass marble, filled with amber juice.

Where had it come from?

He looked around. The hillside was barren. Dead and dying vines lay across every trellis for as far as the eye could see. But here, on the eastern ridge, a single plant lived. A single vine, unlike any Gastien had ever seen before. It was full, and heavy with golden grapes.

To say the past few years had been difficult would be an understatement. Words like terrible, horrible, and hopeless would come to mind when describing them. The spring rains had regularly come late or not at all, causing the crops to wither and die. What had once been a thriving orchard of six hundred vines had now dwindled to just under a hundred, with more plants dying every day. There was nothing Gastien could do.

His wife Isolde tried to make the most of the situation, turning to sewing and mending in order to make ends meet. Gastien began to sell the aged bottles, but without a functioning winery they were living on less and less, and Gastien knew that it would only be a matter of time before he was forced to sell the farm. This little farm north of Douvray that had been in his family for generations.

So he prayed. Prayed for rain. Prayed for good crops. Prayed for a bountiful harvest. Prayed for some way out of this dire situation.

But no rain came. Year after year the crops failed, and died, leaving Gastien with little or nothing to harvest. This past year, he had only produced fifty meagre bottles of wine. Gastien began to lose hope, and his thoughts went to darker places. Thinking about death, doom, and the end of all things.

And that’s when the plant appeared, just when Gastien’s hope was at its lowest. He was on his morning stroll when he noticed it. A mysterious plant growing atop of the eastern ridge. That’s odd, Gastien thought. Nothing grows on the eastern ridge.

So he went to investigate, climbing up the ridge to get a better look at this odd little plant.

And what he saw was the strangest thing. It was a small vine growing on the trellis, bearing a fruit unlike anything Gastien had ever seen before. Golden Grapes.

In the morning light, they almost looked like they were glowing, like little orbs of honey hanging off the vine. Where had they come from? Was it a gift from heaven? From the Gods?

Gastien looked to the sky. All was silent. He looked back at the vine, then gently plucked one of the grapes. It was tight, filled with juice.

He brought it to his lips, tasting the fruit, and Gastien’s eyes widened as the flavour swept him away. They only way he could describe it was pure heaven.

This truly had to be a blessing from the Gods. There was no other explanation for a miracle so sweet, and so beautiful. Here in front of him was a vine covered in golden grapes, enough to fill ten, maybe twenty bottles. The taste still lingered in his mouth. It wasn’t juice, it was wine itself, ready to drink. Gastien couldn’t believe his luck. He wouldn’t need to let it sit in the barrel, he could bottle and sell this wine straightaway.

Gastien returned home to tell Isolde the news. She was surprised and a little confused, but Gastien couldn’t contain his excitement. He immediately got to work making wine.

With the grapes already filled with wine, the process was quick. All he needed to do was crush the grapes and bottle their juice, and the wine was ready to serve.

By the end of the day Gastien had produced twenty bottles of Golden Wine. Sitting in the press room that evening, he stared at the bottles. They almost seemed to be glowing in the dark.

He brought his bottles into Douvray the next day, selling them in the market at a markup. This was a rare wine, after all, and he wanted to earn all he could from his small batch. People were curious, and Gastien sold the lot in only a few hours, returning home that night with a fresh roast for dinner.

The next day Gastien returned to the eastern ridge, and was astonished to find that the vine was once again heavy with grapes. So he harvested them and began working on a second batch. No sooner had he begun to press the grapes when a customer appeared at his door, asking for another bottle of the Golden Wine.

Gastien was surprised, and told the customer to return the next day for his bottle. The customer returned the following day, along with five of his friends. They all wanted a bottle of Gastien’s Golden Wine, so he sold the second batch for double the price.

Word began to spread about this marvellous new wine being produced just north of Douvray, and Gastien realized that this was his chance at wealth, and power. The vine continued to produce a fresh batch of grapes every morning, which Gastien would harvest, press, bottle, and then sell in the evening.

Some customers became regulars, finding themselves addicted to Gastien’s new wine. And each time Gastien raised the price, they paid. He hired a guard to patrol the grounds at night, and built a fence around the vine on the eastern ridge, hiding it from view.

But not all the changes were good. Gastien began to feel his strength draining during the day, and only felt replenished in the morning, when the vine was full. Isolde began to worry after his health, but he brushed her aside.

“We are going to be rich, my love! I can buy you anything you want!” he cried.

“I’m happy with our simple home, and our simple life,” she replied.

But Gastien was no longer happy with simplicity. A hunger had now awoken within him. A hunger which could only be satiated with gold, notoriety, and power.

He began to keep several bottles back from every pressing, and hired a wine merchant to visit the estates in the surrounding region, selling the rarest of his vintages at a premium. Soon he had Lords and Ladies visiting his humble vineyard to sample his wine, and leave with an exclusive selection.

Gastien was beginning to amass a small fortune. He installed a flagstone path and a tasting patio to entertain his esteemed guests, he purchased new bottles and fine labels for his wine, and he bought his wife all the gowns and jewelry she could have ever hoped for. She was happy for the gifts, but insisted that she did not need them, and she just wanted to spend time with him, her husband.

But Gastien was becoming too busy for such things. He was building an empire, and it required all his time and attention. He spent long hours poring over notes and details, mapping out the region to find who he could attract next, and how he could continue to climb the social and economic ladder.

Something else was happening as well. Gastien could feel his body beginning to alter. He distinctly noticed that when the grapes were heavy on the vine, his strength was full, but after they had been harvested, his strength was weak. Moreover, he found that he could feel every grape that was plucked from the vine, as though he was plucking a hair off his arm or leg. Welts began to form on his arms and legs after the harvest, and he began to wonder if perhaps the vine might be connected to his body, by some strange magic.

But by now he was selling his wine for such a high price that he did not need to harvest the entire vine every day, so he began to take the grapes sparingly, releasing only a limited batch every day in order to conserve his energy by leaving more grapes on the vine. He covered his arms and legs to hide the welts, and continued on as though nothing was happening.

And Gastien soon became wealthier than he could have ever dreamt possible. He hired more guards to watch his property, built a higher fence around the vine, and ate like a king.

And the more money he made, the more his connection with the vine deepened. His strength began to wane, being consumed by the plant. Every grape that was plucked rang out in his body. He could feel the sap pulsing through the plant, like blood flowing through his veins. It was alive, within him.

But Gastien didn’t care. His mind was fixed on wealth and power, and the gold just kept piling up.

Isolde asked him to slow down. She said he didn’t look well, and was tossing and turning throughout the night. Gastien snapped back at her. “What good is sleep or food if you don’t have money?”

She fell silent, looking upon him with pity.

Gastien was slowly becoming a shell of the man he had once been. He lived in the darkness, and only came out in the morning to harvest his grapes, then returned to the shadows to press and bottle them. He trusted no one, and kept his schemes and designs to himself. He was consumed by greed, always calculating how he could earn more from this Golden Wine.

And one day, the Duke of Douvray came to visit, the wealthiest man in the region. Gastien was absolutely shocked, and tried his best to put on a brave face, showing the Duke around and letting him taste the finest selection.

“Hmm…” the Duke said, tilting his glass into the sunlight. “It is delicious. I think I’ll take…fifty bottles.”

“Fifty bottles?” Gastien coughed, and the Duke nodded.

“Fifty. And I’d like them tomorrow. Of course I’ll pay…”

The Duke pulled out a slip of paper and wrote down a number, then slid the paper over to Gastien.

As Gastien looked at the paper, he struggled to retain his composure. This was enough money to buy a small palace of his own. He would never have to work again.

The Duke left a down payment, telling Gastien he would send his Quartermaster the next day to collect the wine and settle the bill. And with that, he was off.

Gastien told Isolde the news, and she was absolutely shocked.

“We’ll never have to work again,” he said, and she nodded.

“But Gastien. All that wine. You don’t have that many bottles, do you?”

Gastien shook his head. “I only have thirty in storage. But if I harvest the rest of the grapes tomorrow, I should be able to get twenty more.”

“The rest of the grapes? Are you sure you have the strength?” Isolde asked. She had seen his endurance wither away over the past few months, and was worried.

“I can do it, Isolde! Of course I can!” Gastien cried, storming out of the room.

Gastien tossed and turned that night, unable to sleep. Was he up to this task? What would happen if he harvested all the grapes from the vine? Would he have the energy to press them?

He went to splash some water on his face, and looked at himself in the mirror. And the face he saw was unrecognizable. His eyes were sunken. The skin hung off his face. He looked like a corpse, risen from the dead. He looked like a monster.

Staring into his own eyes, Gastien realized that he hated himself, and the man he had become. Consumed by greed, he had neglected his wife, his home, and his life. He no longer wanted to live, if this is what living meant. But he also realized that the only way to free himself from this life was to harvest the grapes, and sell off the last of his bottles, once and for all.

The sun began to rise, and Gastien plodded his way up to the eastern ridge. The vine was full, fuller than he had ever seen it before. He plucked the first grape, and the pain rang out in his body. This would be the hardest thing he had ever done.

Gastien gritted his teeth, and continued to harvest the grapes. Every single one hurt more than the last. Gastien cried out, he winced, he shivered and shook. But he did not stop. Never for a moment did he take his mind off the dream. The dream of all that gold, the dream of freedom, of opportunity.

The grapes were nearly half picked, but Gastien could no longer see. His eyes were filled with tears from the pain. The world was growing dark. Blood pounded in his ears. And still he continued.

He fell to the earth, gasping for breath. The agony was so great. His body refused to go on. Gastien looked up at the plant. Only one grape remained. One last grape. One final task to complete.

He reached up, picking the grape off the vine, and the world fell into darkness.

Gastien had no sense of time or space. Had he been asleep for an hour? A day? A year? He did not know. All he knew was that a voice called him back to the world.

The voice was warm, and soft.

“There, there. Just sleep. Rest.”

Gastien opened his eyes. He was lying in his bed. Over him was his wife, Isolde. She had a hand on his forehead, stroking his hair lightly.

“The…the grapes…” Gastien blurted, and Isolde shook her head.

“They are gone, my love.”

“Gone? Where?”

“I do not know. We found you several days ago, lying beside an empty vine, with an empty barrow.”

“What about the Duke? What about the bottles?”

Isolde shrugged. “The strangest thing happened. When the Quartermaster came to collect the bottles, we found them all filled…with water. Clear, clean water.”

“What? Water?…So — ”

“So I returned the down payment, and sent the Quartermaster on his way.”

Gastien shook his head, dumbfounded. “The money. The g — ”

“We will be fine, Gastien. Just sleep. Rest.”

Isolde stroked his forehead, and Gastien closed his eyes. He loved the feeling of her hand on his skin. Isolde. Always there for him. Without fail.

He breathed deeply, and realized that he no longer felt the sap of the vine pulsing within him. He had been freed from its hold. He was no longer a monster.

The plant was gone. The money was gone. His power was gone. But Gastien knew that he had been given a second chance at life.

As his strength returned, he walked with Isolde through the fields. They were poor once more, but Gastien was happy somehow. Happy with his wife. Happy with his life.

Isolde pointed towards the horizon.

“Look,” she said, and Gastien followed her gaze. And in the distance, he saw rain clouds approaching. For the first time in years, the rains were finally coming.