The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

noise and fury, but no form to harm us. Come, sleep in my dwelling tonight. In the morning he will be gone, his rage ridden out, but we will still be here. Whole, unharmed, alive.”
    When Simon finished his story, he looked up at Johan. The memory of Carthen hovered around like a ghost or a blessing, and he almost expected to see him. No. No, of course. He would never see him again. Not until he, too, was safe in the arms of the stars, if he could believe the ancient mysteries any more. He wasn’t sure that he could.
    Then the memory of the friend lost on the journey overwhelmed Simon once again. As he wept, Johan did too, weeping for Isabella as the scribe wept for Carthen.
    It was only when Simon dried his eyes at last that he realised everything looked different. All along the skyline, a line of fierce blackness bloomed where the brightness of the daytime sky should have been. The sun indeed was in its customary place but its trappings were those of the night.
    “Is it him?” Simon asked. “Was the story not enough?”
    Johan’s gaze flickered into his.
    “Yes, it is the enemy,” he said. “We have not been able to stop him.”

Chapter Fifteen: The Trial of Water

    Johan
    Simon springs to his feet, his face pale, but Johan grabs him, pulls him closer as he struggles against his grip.
    “No” , he whispers into Simon’s ear. “He’ll outrun us. We must stay, let him come.”
    “You want us to die?”
    “We might not. There’s a chance…still…”
    “What chance?” the scribe asks, as the roar and stench of dark heat surge ever nearer. Another few seconds and it will engulf them both.
    “The river,” Johan replies. “The river between us will be stronger now. It might…”
    And then all his words are lost as the heart and flame of the enemy swallows them up.
    Heat. Pain and darkness. This fire is a thousand times more piercing than any Johan has ever imagined. It rips asunder not just limbs, bone, and blood, but the thoughts and desires of the soul.

    Simon
    The mental pain was worst—agony; despair; the overwhelming need to die. From somewhere though, the knowledge of Johan— his pain too—held Simon steady. For a moment, during which something inside his head splintered away, he could no longer lay hold of who he was at all. Neither could he tell whether the minuscule understanding of the blue river Johan had spoken of was a terrible contrast to the dark or an unexpected relief from it.
    Then the river rolled to full spate and carried him through the terror and noise of death—glimpses of crimson; a sense of Ralph, as quickly gone—to somewhere far, far beyond it.
    It seemed then that a long time passed, if time counted at all in the place where Johan and he found themselves. At last Simon became aware of a rushing sound. No, more of a constant murmuring that lapped a welcome coolness against his skin. His breath felt steady and, without opening his eyes, he knew he was no longer burning in the pit. The terror had gone.
    He was lying on something uncomfortable that dug into the skin of his back. Reaching sideways, he felt small stones, most worn smooth. And when he did open his eyes, he saw a vast tract of sky, with the sun a kinder companion than that of the desert but which still dazzled him. He pulled himself upright, stomach muscles groaning. At the same time, the presence of Johan came rushing in.
    “You’re awake then,” Johan said. “Good.”
    Simon was about to reply when something else took his attention away from the conversation. For, behind his companion, instead of desert or mountain, wood or field, he saw nothing but a great expanse of water. The like of which he had never seen before. Not simply a river bordered by banks, but a thousand rivers rolling together without any gentleness of land to break the horizon’s power. A great, grey-blue mouth of water gaping at the sky, echoing in part the sky’s colour, with its lips and tongue lapping greedily only yards from where he sat.
    And, in his mouth, the taste of something…salty. But the measure more intense.
    Stumbling to his feet, Simon reached out to regain balance and met Johan’s steady hand. Nonetheless, he staggered backwards still and it took a few more paces before he came to a stop.
    “What, in the gods’ names, is that ?”
    “It’s the sea, Simon,”
    “The sea?” he repeated. “It’s… it’s big .”
    “And beautiful.”
    “Yes, but…” he continued to stare. “I have heard tell of the