The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

consciousness.

    Johan
    Johan wakes a long time before Simon. The boat is sailing steadily through the sea. He gazes back toward the land of the desert. With all his mind, he wants to turn around, find out if the woman he thought he saw was Isabella— can she still live? —but he does not dare. The needs of Gathandria, the mission of the elders, his mission; they must try to complete it now they’ve been given this chance. Returning the way they have come would mean death and failure. And he has Simon to consider too. Again, it is not his life alone that he risks, and he must think of that also. So, until Simon wakes, all Johan does is stare out at sea and wait.
    When the sun is high in the sky, the scribe finally awakes with a groan. “Johan?”
    “Yes, I’m here.” He places himself where Simon can see him, be reassured—if indeed he has any reassurance to offer. “We’re here. On the boat. It’s the middle of the morning.”
    As he speaks, the scribe pushes himself upright, and his face turns pale. The boat sways with his motion. “No more desert men?”
    “No. They’re no longer a threat,” Johan replies, frowning. “They don’t…”
    But Simon isn’t listening. He barely makes it to the side before he is vomiting, shaking and soaked with sweat, into the sea. Johan rests his arm across his shoulders, and holds him as he retches again.
    When the bout has finished, Simon gags twice more and then groans.
    “Lie down, you’ll feel better if you do.” Johan half-carries the sick man to the bottom of the boat again where, still shivering slightly, he lies curled like a question mark between the two benches.
    “What is this ?”
    “Hush. Don’t speak. It’s sea-malady. You’re not used to the movement of the water. Here, I have something that might help.”
    “Good,” Simon murmurs. “That would be nice.”
    Johan searches in the herb bag for what he wants, and then places two dried leaves in the palm of Simon’s hand. He senses the man’s surprise when he tastes them: ginger, but with a sharper tone .
    “That’s right,” he says. “It’s a type of ginger that grows in the parks and gardens of our city. It will ease your stomach and cleanse your mouth.”
    Simon nods but says no more. For a while, he continues to lie prostrate in the boat, his eyes closed. Johan listens to the screeches of birds, breathes in the salt smell of the water and welcomes the warmth of the sun on his face.
    “How is your head?” the scribe asks after a while. He sounds stronger now.
    “It hurts a little. But it will pass. Your sickness?”
    “The leaves you gave me are working, I think. Tell me, is it always like this on the sea? And, more importantly, why didn’t you warn me about it?”
    Johan laughs, but not unkindly. “It’s like that for some, yes. Others are better sailors by nature. But most grow used to the movement in time. Soon you will gain your sea-balance, believe me. Do you think you can sit up now?”
    “I really have no idea, but I’ll try.”
    He takes it carefully, allowing Johan to guide him to a sitting position on the bench at the front. He sits down next to Simon, tears off a strip of cloth from the supply under the bench and dips it in the sea. Then he opens the herb-bag and takes a handful of lavender grains, which he sprinkles onto the cloth.
    “Hold still,” he says. “This will sting, but it will heal your burns more quickly.”
    The first touch of the cloth to Simon’s hands makes him gasp, but a river of blue running from Johan’s fingers eases the shock of it and the lavender scent surges up around them.
    “Do you always use your minds to make the herbs more effective?” Simon asks. “As I do?”
    “Yes. It is a good skill, though different in intensity from yours,” Johan replies, glancing up at him from his work. “Later you can learn it more fully also. If you wish to.”
    Simon smiles, and Johan senses he is unsure of the answer. He has had much to take in; it is hardly surprising if he baulks at committing himself to any future plans now. Not only that, but he is beginning to turn pale again.
    “Look towards the horizon,” Johan says quickly. “Not at me. Or at the sea or the boat. It will help you steady yourself. Do that as often as you need to. The ginger leaves and the link between our thoughts will do the rest.”
    “That’s good to know. Thank you.”
    As Johan continues to salve his companion’s burns, the boat ploughs through the waters.