The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

to be there. Annyeke wondered what he saw; this morning, they were meeting within his special place of safety. The other side of the park. Bare walls and rush matting under their feet. A table, on which the remains of a meagre breakfast lay. A scene so familiar to him, but utterly new to her. It added fuel to her desire to go.
    “Have we failed?” the elder whispered. “Are we all quite simply for the dark?”
    The question was rhetorical. It had to be, but Annyeke couldn’t help staring at its speaker. Instead of him, however, she saw the city she loved. The wide streets, the green comfort of their parks, the clear skies, the tall glitter of the buildings. Most of all, the people: the hum of their minds, the rhythm of their speech, the colour and vibrancy of their clothes. Not any more though. All that was vanishing since the battles began. Since Gelahn escaped the elders’ prison.
    Without realising that was what she intended, Annyeke found she had pushed back her stool and risen to her feet. Five pairs of eyes stared up at her.
    “Forgive me,” she bowed but not for long. “I have to go. Talus…”
    She trailed off. Talus wouldn’t be at home; he would be at classes today. Besides that she had work to do—two meditation meetings to arrange and a series of workshops to try to hold. For those who still dared attend them. But she wanted to read the manuscripts.
    The First Elder looked at her. She wondered what it was he saw when her thoughts remained protected. Whatever it was, it gave him no cause for concern. On the other hand, he looked as if he might sink to the ground at any moment. Before she’d seen Gelahn’s prison, Annyeke would have hurried to help him, even tried to find words to ease his anxieties; now, things were different. She did nothing and wondered at the change.
    “Yes, go by all means,” he said, gripping the table and seeming to gain strength from it. “We will summon you when the next stage of the journey is reached. There is nothing we can do now.”
    As Annyeke made her way home, she hoped that wouldn’t be true. Or at least, not for long.
    In her sleeping area, she unlocked the table drawer and took out the papers she and Talus had stolen. No, she thought to herself, she shouldn’t make things worse than they were; she’d borrowed them, not taken them permanently. If the elders came to visit, she had a list of her own accusations to make in return. And, by the stars, she’d be sure to make them. Putting the journal that she’d already skimmed through in the prison to one side with a shiver of distaste, she concentrated on what the other manuscripts might contain.
    The gold and mulberry-leaf decoration of the first book crackled under her fingers. From what she could see, it was simply a collection of legends and ancient truths from Gathandria and the connected countries. Nothing she didn’t know about already. Most of the other manuscripts proved to be the same and she was just about to discard them with a sigh and return to work when an unfamiliar phrase caught her eye.
    She turned back to it, the pages sliding together and making it difficult to find what she only thought she’d seen: the start of an unknown legend, one written more recently. At last she found it. It wasn’t a legend though; neither was it exactly an account as the journal entries had been. It was something between the two.
    As she read, turning the pages more and more quickly and following the truth from book to book, the day lengthened and all Annyeke’s other responsibilities and commitments faded away. The sounds around her dwelling—the sigh of the wind, the smells of the garden, the murmur of voices on the street, a neighbour’s laugh—became almost hidden from her. She read the tale twice.
    When she finished, her hands were clenched together and she was breathing hard and fast. It was almost midday. She couldn’t see how she could bear to wait before confronting the elders with what she now knew. But the ability to find out where they were and how to gather them together was not hers—had never been so—and she would have no option but to wait.
    But, oh, when she saw them, how much indeed would they have to answer for. To her and to Gathandria.

Chapter Fourteen: Simon’s Third Story

    Simon
    The two remaining travellers sat in the small shade of rock for the telling of Simon’s story. But, once more, what came out of his mouth took him to a place he had not dreamed of going. Because