The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

one word echoed in his mind.
    Remember.
    “No, sir, it is not true,” his father said steadily. “We are not criminals. We are a law-abiding household. What you hear in your barracks and at the lord’s table is envy. No more.”
    “Envy?” This time, the other man spoke, the one sitting down. He didn’t look up but gazed at his hand, as if fascinated by what he saw there. “What do you mean?”
    “My wife has gifts of healing, through the use of plants and herbs easily available on our lord’s lands. The women of the village take advantage of this but sometimes there is talk. Recently, my son here was set upon by local boys, and my wife ended the disagreement, making the ring-leader look small. His parents still bear the grudge. That is all.”
    The tall man nodded, as if this information was understandable to a man of the world. “Herbs and plants, eh? Such knowledge is of ancient origin, is it not?”
    “Indeed so, sir,” Simon’s mother spoke at last, releasing his arm and stepping out into the candle’s flickering light. “My mother and grandmother taught me the uses of all the plants, but the sin of mind-dwelling was never theirs. Or mine. Long may that truth remain to light our lives.”
    The soldiers bowed their heads at his mother’s invocation of the gods’ first prayer, and it was his father who broke the small silence that lingered after.
    “Yes,” he said with a laugh. “Do you think, sirs, that a man in my position would have married a sinner such as that? No, my wife is an honest woman. I would have no other.”
    Neither of the soldiers smiled with him and his father’s laughter faded away. The shorter man took a long, cold look around their home and then, with a sudden movement that he didn’t think any of them had anticipated, swept the remains of their meal off the table before upturning the table itself. His mother gasped and his father took one step forward but the frown on the taller man’s face quelled any action he might have taken. Although, of course, such a thing would have been unthinkable; nobody ever questioned or rebelled against the owner of the lands they lived in. The lord of the meadows and fields, the woods and the streams demanded and received total obedience. The same was true for all the villages.
    Instead, Simon’s father and mother watched in silence as pots were smashed, herbs torn and scattered, and the remains of the food they’d eaten thrown on the floor. The ransacking took no more than a few moments. It felt as if a hurricane had suddenly invaded their home in a land where the air had up to now been peaceful. When the soldiers finished, the shorter man strode up to Simon’s mother and glanced at her for a second or two before hunkering down to bring himself level with Simon. The soldier’s eyes, he noticed, were pale blue and cold.
    “Learn from this,” he said, as calmly as if he’d been showing Simon a new skill, nothing more. “Learn that it is not wise to ruffle the feathers of your lord and master. Do you hear, boy?”
    Simon nodded, once again too terrified to speak. And, for the second time in his life, he heard his mother’s voice in his head: Peace, little one, have courage.
    The knowledge of her thoughts vanished as quickly as they’d appeared, and the soldier rose to his feet, apparently satisfied with the mute response.
    At the door, the taller one paused and turned towards them, banishing his companion into the chill night air with a wave of his hand. He smiled.
    “Take this as only a warning,” he said. “And from now on, remember to run the affairs of your family with more wisdom. Or our lord will have no choice but to send us back to you again.”
    Then he was gone.
    When the three of them had finished clearing the destruction the soldiers had left behind, they spoke no more of what had taken place that night. And their neighbours were satisfied. For a while.

    Isabella
    For a few moments, Hartstongue remains silent as his story comes to an end. Then he coughs.
    “There,” he says, turning away from them. “There. That is the story of how I came to know my gifting and that is the end of it. I have no more for you.”
    As he speaks, Isabella becomes aware of a deepening blackness in her head. It is Gelahn. He is linking to her. She leans back and tries to concentrate. As if from a great distance, she is aware of her brother standing up, she can hear him speaking.
    “Thank you,” he says to the scribe. “But that is