The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

sea, of course. I have even seen it in my visions, but I didn’t ever think—could never imagine—that…that…”
    “That it would be like this?”
    Simon nodded and Johan smiled, releasing his hand but remaining close.
    “Forgive me,” he said. “I had forgotten that you would not have seen the ocean before. I should have warned you.”
    This time, the scribe shook his head. Slowly. “Believe me, no matter what you could have said, or shared in my mind, you could not have prepared me for this. By the stars, how far does it stretch?”
    “As far as Gathandria,” he said.
    “We’re almost there then?” As he spoke, Simon’s blood quickened and something inside him began to sing.
    Johan smiled. “Almost. Though there is still much to do between where we are now and our homeland. Both outwardly, and within the heart. Come, we cannot stay here. We must make preparations for our journey.”
    Simon followed in silence along the narrow strip of pebbles, with the voice of the salt-waters murmuring always to his right, and black cliffs, stained here and there with moss, rearing skywards at his left. Above their heads, grey birds shrieked a wild harmony as they swung on the wind. Every now and then, one of them would plunge into the sea and rise again, carrying a multi-coloured fish in its bill. Once he saw a small, brown creature, with a hard body and strange talons, scuttling to shelter as he all but stumbled across it.
    “Careful,” Johan warned. “Some of the shore spiders are poisonous.”
    Simon laughed. “That would be humiliating.”
    “What would?”
    “Surviving all this,” he gestured in an arc with his hand to describe this , “being within scent of our country and whatever we must do there to defeat our enemies, then being killed by a spider . It would be a sad end to the tale, for sure.”
    When they’d walked for five field lengths, perhaps six, Johan stopped and turned left, picking his way towards the cliff edge. By now the light had begun to fade into evening, and Simon watched as he ran his hand along the sheer rock and moss.
    “What are you looking for?” he asked.
    The other man shook his head and pursed his lips, answering nothing. Then, suddenly, he stooped down, took two more steps and melted into the solidity of the cliff.

    Johan
    I’m here, it’s all right. Though Simon hasn’t spoken aloud, Johan can sense the rising panic in the air and sends his words straight into his companion’s mind.
    “Good. But where? Where are you?”
    Here. Johan steps out of the cliff onto the beach again. I’m sorry I startled you. I had to be sure everything was as it should be, that’s all.
    “And is it?” Simon’s eyebrow is raised. He looks as if he is unlikely to cope well with any more surprises. Still, he will have to.
    “Come, I’ll show you. It’ll be faster.”
    Johan takes him by the arm and draws him closer to the rock. There he crouches down. “Follow me.”
    He touches the moss and stone with his free hand which, instead of staying on the solid cliff-face, passes through it. Before his companion can object, Johan pulls him through the rock, which shimmers like a rainbow, and into the murky darkness. Stumbling, Simon falls to his knees.
    While he adjusts, Johan stares around the tunnel, its walls adorned here and there with sparkling stones. It is these which lighten the heaviness of the dark. Finally, he squeezes Simon’s shoulder and the scribe struggles to his feet. Once there, he raises both eyebrows and waits for an answer.
    “It’s an illusion,” Johan replies to the unspoken question. “Isa…we placed it here so that the cave would be less likely to be discovered by accident. It’s not foolproof of course, for those who are seeking it, but it’s enough to deceive the innocent eye.”
    “Why keep it a secret?”
    “Because here, Simon, lies our only means of travelling across the water. That is, if…if it will work for us without…” He shakes himself and sighs. “Come, see for yourself.”
    He turns and plunges into the deeper darkness, knowing that Simon follows closely behind. The walls around pulsate and several drops of water fall onto their necks. A few moments later, they reach a larger cave, lit by greater numbers of sparkling stones.
    “Where does the light come from?” Simon asks him.
    “From our thoughts.”
    “I see,” the scribe says, although of course he doesn’t see at all.
    “You don’t have to lie, Simon. It is impossible