The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

done.
    It is only when the first streaks of dawn begin to appear in front of them that the scribe realises he can no longer sense Carthen’s spirit.

    Simon
    “ No. ” Simon’s voice was no stronger than a reed by the stream, but his companions turned at once as if he’d shouted across the sand.
    “What is it?”
    Already he was stumbling to the ground, untwisting his cloak from around his waist, laying Carthen down on it as if he were precious parchment. Touching his face, his hands, his hair.
    “I-I don’t know,” he stammered as Johan fell to his knees next to Simon, Isabella only moments behind him. “I don’t know, I-I can’t feel him.”
    The rising sun was a sudden fire on their heads, the horizon of flame still visible in the distance.
    Without speaking, Johan eased Carthen up into his arms while Simon’s fingers danced around them both. Isabella’s figure cast a shadow from the sun, but she did not move. His heart was pounding, and he could hear the echo of it within his head.
    Johan put his ear to Carthen’s mouth and frowned. Then he sat up and put both his hands on the boy’s forehead, closing his eyes as he did so. As Simon watched, tiny sparks leapt from Johan’s fingers and disappeared through Carthen’s skin. He must have made some move, some protest as Isabella gripped his shoulder and held him back.
    At once, he sensed shadows and storm, but a moment later she let him go and the sensation vanished. Johan released the boy, laying him again on the sand.
    “What can you sense?” Simon leaned towards Johan, gripping the edges of his tunic and almost spitting words in his face. “What can you see?”

    Johan
    Johan hesitates. The boy is dead and this time there is no spark left to bring him back, if such an act had been possible a second time. The destruction is total. The look on Simon’s face tells him that the man already understands this, but cannot bear to accept it. For this reason alone, Johan does not put up any kind of defence against Simon’s onslaught and, when he speaks, his voice is kind.
    “I’m sorry, Simon. There’s nothing we can do. Either of us. I’m sorry, but Carthen is dead.”
    The scribe frowns and grips Johan’s tunic harder. He can barely draw breath.
    “What do you mean? Don’t be foolish. He’s still alive, he must be…it’s simply that I can’t sense him. The sun, the night’s heat, I can’t…”
    “Please. There’s nothing Johan or I can do.” Isabella’s voice is shaking and her eyes gleam with tears. “He must have slipped away during the night, while we walked. The journey here is so hard, you must see that.”
    Johan doesn’t understand this. The journey should not have killed the boy. There have been other forces at work here and, once more, he has failed to protect the vulnerable. Already, Simon is losing control, his thoughts jagged and wild.
    “ Why didn’t I know? ” he whispers, letting Johan go at last. “He slipped away while I was holding him . Why didn’t I know it? I could have done something, I… No, surely you can do something. You can, I know it. The two of you. You have the power. Even if I do not. Why don’t you bring him back like we did before? ”
    The scribe grabs Johan’s arm and shakes it. He makes no answer, but puts his hand over Simon’s.
    “I can’t,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
    “Why not?”

    Isabella
    This is working as she has hoped. The scribe is distraught at the loss of his friend and a murder is a small price to pay. One life that will save so many. Such a little thing to take. She must establish the death in Hartstongue’s mind more fully.
    “Because Carthen has been brought back once,” she tells him, plucking his fingers from her brother’s arm. “Even we cannot do this a second time. If we did, the shock would only kill him again. Please, we’re sorry.”
    Hartstongue stares at her and she sees the truth take hold of his heart. Break it. Carthen is dead. His friend has died in his arms. And he has not known it.
    The scribe shakes off Isabella’s touch, stands up and walks a few paces away from them all. His movements are jerky, sharp. The sun continues to beat down. He takes off the covering from his head, ignoring Johan’s intake of breath, and lets the sharp rays sink into his hair and skin. She knows then that he wishes to die and the thought of this makes her hide a smile. It is better than she has hoped for. Gelahn will find Hartstongue to be easy prey