The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

“Simply keep your eyes straight ahead and follow me.”
    “Yes, I know—haven’t I been doing that all this time? But what are they? You know, don’t you?”
    “Nothing,” he said. “There’s nothing there. It’s a vision, that’s all.”
    But Simon knew he was lying.
    They continued to walk. Through darkness, into darkness. In spite of the heat, Simon shivered, and thought of Ralph. The first sight of the Lammas Master after leaving his home, and he’d fallen once more. Even now, the thud of wanting him lay heavy on Simon’s heart. He tried to tell himself Ralph had used him, turned against him, and tried to kill him. It was the truth, and no sane man would open his arms to such a one. Nor should he. But, the mind may tell the heart many things, and the heart is free to ignore them. So still he wondered, indeed fretted, about what the ravens might have done to him. Simon didn’t want Ralph to die. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. Because somehow, at the very centre of his being, he and Ralph Tregannon were connected.
    It was supposed to be impossible of course. He, the rich land-owner, and Simon, a simple traveller. He, the one who’d hired Simon, and Simon, the one who in the end had bowed his head and agreed to his terms. All of them. He had wanted so much to please him from the beginning of it all. And Ralph had seen that, and made full and terrifying use of it.
    Next to the scribe, Carthen tugged at his hand and at once Simon could sense his weariness.
    “Wait,” he called out to the others. After a moment or so, he heard the sound of his companions retracing their steps in the dark.
    Without speaking again, he knelt down and felt Carthen’s breath on his cheek. At his side, he touched the bulky shape of a rock, and the sand drove its grit through his breeches into flesh. When he touched the boy, his body shook as if about to fall and he cursed his own wash of reminiscence that had stopped him from sensing Carthen’s need.
    Simon untied the water-pouch from his belt, not caring what the others might think.
    “Drink, my friend,” he whispered as he held the water to his lips, feeling his smile. “You need to regain your strength. Soon there will be rest, I promise you.”
    By the gods, he hoped that would be true. Afterwards, he secured the container once again, lifted Carthen into his arms and stood up, staggering under his weight.
    “I can take him,” Johan said.
    “No.” Simon shook his head, though it must have been impossible for Johan to see the gesture. “No, I’ll carry him. I want to do it.”
    “You won’t be able to. Not for long at least. This is not the Kingdom of the Air where you can gain strength from the breeze. This is a kingdom of fire.”
    Simon cursed under his breath. “Then, by the gods and stars, help me, if you have the mind for it.”
    A moment’s pause and then he sensed Johan’s presence next to him. A light touch at his shoulder and then a faint spark of golden red leapt from the other man into his skin. Simon felt fire travel through his blood, knew himself to stand a little straighter on the earth. “What is that?”
    “It is some part of my body’s strength into yours,” said Johan, as if what he was saying made any sense at all. “It will not last long and I will not be able to do that for you again on this journey, at least not until there is time to meditate, but it may be enough. For a while.”
    Simon swallowed.
    “Thank you,” he said.
    They journeyed onward. Carthen’s mind seemed easier now. Soon he slept, and Simon allowed himself to drift back to the memories that had netted him.
    Ralph’s body. The way he touched Simon’s throat before they made love. The shiver he felt each time their thoughts linked together, and how Simon had helped his mind-skills to grow. So much so, that the last few times they’d been together, it had been he who’d reached out to Simon’s thoughts first to join them. Never in Simon’s life, either before or since Ralph—though there’d been little enough time for that of course—had he known the power of such a connection. From the stories of those few other mind-dwellers he’d met and known for what they were on his travels, he’d heard tell of the peace which could come from one mind linking to another. But until Ralph, it had been a story only. When Simon had come to know him, the joy of it had poured into his mind and flesh like a winter river rushing from the hills and sweeping away