The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

you, Simon!”
    But already the next man had reached him, bony arms outstretched for his shoulders. Simon ducked and aimed a punch at his frame, just missing him as he side-stepped away.
    From behind, he heard Johan curse and the next moment a string of pebbles flew past and rebounded off the second man. He fell, bones crunching against the ground, and the volume of the keening lessened.
    Simon took a breath, thinking he might be safe for the moment, the third figure being still some distance from them. But a sharp pain and the sensation of burning at the ankle made him cry out. When he glanced down, he saw the first man’s bony hands had wrapped around his leg, which smouldered at the touch. Pulling backwards didn’t shake him off and instead the scribe fell, landing with a thud on the stones.
    “No.” Johan flung himself down beside Simon, scrabbling at the skeleton’s grip, his efforts useless against the creature’s unexpected strength.
    The others were nearly upon them.
    Fighting the pain and wondering if death by burning would be better than death by drowning, Simon struggled to a sitting position and launched himself at his captor, knocking Johan out of the way as he did so.
    His hands buried themselves in the skeleton’s hair. An impression of crackling fire, more pain, bones, teeth, the stench of decay. And then, without warning, the creature rose up, bringing him with it as they grappled each other. As Simon’s feet left the ground, he pulled at the hank of hair and, sparks roaring from the skull, tore it free.
    The desert man screamed.
    With the scream, he hurled Simon away, but something inside refused to let go, couldn’t have let go with his other hand still entwined in its fire-hair. Together, the two of them tumbled through air and landed on the side of the boat, bone and flesh cracking against wood.
    Simon’s world exploded once more.
    One moment he was surrounded by flame and the next moment it was gone. He found himself lying on his back on the pebbles, this time only a few yards from the boat. Around him a scattering of bone and bright hair. Both were moving.
    And the boat too was moving. Sliding fast towards the sea.
    “Come on ,” Johan grabbed his arm, hauling him upright. “Quickly.”
    They began to run as, in their wake, the wailing grew louder, more desperate.
    “Don’t look back!” Johan yelled. “Get in the boat.”
    They reached it as it slid into the dark water, the waves parting before it as parchment is parted by the knife. Johan took a great leap, his fingers finding the curve of the wood, and the next moment he was over the top of it and tumbling down inside.
    Simon was not so fast. The shock of the salt sea on his burns made him stumble and he missed Johan’s outstretched hand as he leaned back from the boat.
    “Simon!”
    A splashing from behind told him the desert men were already entering the water. An eerie shriek filled his head and the stench of death overtook him.
    “ Simon.”
    At the sound of Johan’s voice, he leapt once more towards the rapidly distancing boat. Now his fingers scrabbled on wood, met Johan’s hand, and clung on. At the same time, bony claws grasped the remains of Simon’s tunic, pulling him backwards.
    “Simon, I will not lose another in my care. Hold on!”
    “What—do—you—think— I’m doing ?”
    From nowhere, the river of blue ran deep between the two men, giving Simon the strength he needed to cling to safety. His tunic ripped away, and his enemy fell, his screams cut off by the sea.
    Johan pulled him on board and he collapsed, sweating and shivering, into the depths of the boat. Glancing up, he could see the lines of tension in the Gathandrian’s frame as, for a reason Simon couldn’t understand, he strained towards the shore.
    “Isabella,” he cried out as one foot stepped upward as if he would launch himself out onto the water again.
    With the last of his physical strength, Simon grabbed Johan, bearing him away from the boat’s edge and danger, and downward to safety again. His head caught the bench end. He groaned once and fell silent. Looking out towards the cliff, Simon caught a glimpse of what might have been a woman standing high up, her fair hair blowing free in the wind, but he couldn’t be sure.
    As the boat forged a path through the waves, Johan stirred beneath him and groaned again. “Isabella?”
    “No, hush,” he whispered. “We’re safe now.”
    Then Simon’s burns overcame him and he lost