The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

he could feel the confusion of thoughts in Carthen’s mind.
    “It’s all right, little one,” Simon said, though he had no idea if that was true or not. “We’re alone now.”
    That much was true. Simon could sense no pursuit and all around was silent. No wild birds, no screams, no danger. He drew Carthen to him and soothed his brow, whispering words that made no sense. And all the time, the vision of the mind-cane and how he had touched it, held it in his hand before casting it back, gripped him. Why was he not dead? Simon could not understand it, and he didn’t want to think about it. Whatever had happened, it was too complicated to struggle with. The important thing was that they were alive. At least, he hoped they were.
    After a few moments, his eyes became accustomed to the harsh light and he could focus on his surroundings again. To his right, the figures of Johan and Isabella lay sprawled upon the earth. He could see they were breathing. They must have taken the brunt of the fall when they arrived here.
    Wherever here was.
    Getting up, Simon stumbled towards his two companions, each step causing sweat to break out over his body. His throat felt dry and he ached for water. A few moments told him neither had come to any harm. Isabella had smudges on her face, like those of smoke, which he wiped away. In the absence of any apparent danger, perhaps it would be better to let them sleep. But in this heat, he thought that even that might cause difficulties, so he tore the front of his cotton tunic and laid the cloth over them both.
    As he did so, Simon saw that next to them, on the other side, two pouches lay, attached to a belt. A single white feather drifted over one of them. A brief inspection found that each pouch contained water and he allowed a refreshing drink for Carthen and himself. The snow-ravens must have gifted them somehow. He didn’t dare drink too much, not knowing how long they would remain here. Afterwards, Simon took one water-belt and tied it around his waist, leaving the other for Johan. As his hand rested at the man’s side, he caught the sense of coolness, a river flowing, that he’d sensed before, and smiled. Even in sleep, Johan’s soul was strong.
    He and Carthen sat and waited. After all, they had nowhere else more pressing to go.
    The sand stretched as far as the eye could see. The only break in the landscape was the dark red glow some three or four field lengths behind where they were sitting which lined the horizon. Fire , Simon thought. It’s fire, but it doesn’t move. More strangeness on this journey, to accompany the strangeness that had gone before. Just what they needed . As he stared at it, something told him that in their flight from the snow-ravens’ land, they must have come through the long wall of fire, but he could not see how that could be possible, and he shook the thought away.

    Isabella
    When she awakes, the sun is high in the sky, and she has many questions in her heart. For a long moment, she stays with those questions. When she opens her eyes, Carthen and the scribe are kneeling next to her.
    “It’s all right,” Hartstongue says. “We’re safe. Or as safe as I can tell. At the very least, no one is chasing us.”
    Isabella doesn’t deign to answer him. Remembering the mind-cane, she wonders at the power he must have, and how he cannot know it. It has surprised even Gelahn. When she struggles to her feet, swaying in the sun, she almost falls so the scribe has to catch her. She shakes him away.
    While they wait for Johan to wake, Hartstongue offers her water, but Isabella refuses it. He frowns but is silent. She hopes that is the end of their conversation as she needs to think and plan. It is not.
    A story’s length before her brother wakes, Hartstongue speaks again.
    “Why do you dislike me, Isabella?” he asks. “Is it because of what I’ve done? Or for some other reason? And don’t try to tell me that it’s not true. I’ve felt your disapproval often enough.”
    She blinks. She did not think he would ever have the courage to ask that. Something in him has changed and she has not taken note of it. It is easier for her to focus on this mystery rather than the fact of where they are.
    “I don’t dislike you,” she lies, turning away. “This journey is simply so long. We must wait for…for Johan.”
    And then she says no more.

    Johan
    It is near evening when Johan wakes. His skin feels the dark heat of night. In the distance, along the