The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

This time, Simon turns to run, the onslaught of stones beating, cutting, wounding his flesh.
    As he scrambles over grasses and moss and rocks, up to the track and safety, he hears behind him the strange chant of the tall man.
    “Purge the evil from your midst! Purge it and be clean. ”
    It is then that he understands that he will never see his home again.

    Johan
    No. He can feel Simon’s pain ripping through him. The hillside they are scrambling up disappears and they land on cool earth, face up, staring at blue sky. I should have been able to help my mother, I should have… The sky rolls away, but nothing is left in its place except the pounding of their hearts. No.
    Simon.
    Johan mind-thinks his name in an effort to bring the man back; any more of this and the danger is too great for them both. His cry thunders in their heads and is written before them in the sudden darkness: yellow on black. As they launch themselves to their feet, the ground beneath vanishes. The scribe flings out his hands and his fingers clutch the yellow S of Simon . The next moment he is falling into the brightness of his name. It swallows him up.
    Fire, burning and light. An unexpected lurch and the falling sensation stops. Johan feels the sea-air on his cheek and hears the song of birds. Opening his eyes, he knows they are in the boat once more, Simon’s fingers still pressed against his forehead.
    Simon is sobbing, breath coming in gasps, his body shaking, his face wet. “I-I c-can’t… I d-don’t… know … I…”
    “It’s all right. I’m here.” Johan releases his hand and grips the other man by the shoulder. “Cry, Simon. You need to cry. It’s all right to do that.”
    It takes a while until his companion’s breath grows steadier. Johan is glad of the respite. This last story has been a strong one.
    “Do you want to sleep?” he asks.
    “No.” Simon shakes his head. He looks lighter as if something that has been pressing down for too long a time has at last been lifted. Johan understands that. “No, I don’t feel tired. I feel alive, Johan. Alive . Did you…? Did you see what I saw?”
    “Yes. You shared your story with me. I saw it all. Felt a little of what you felt also. Simon, though in my own land I never knew her well, I’m sorry for what happened to your mother.”
    The scribe nods. “As am I. Thank you. But I still don’t understand. Why the stranger came, who he was, or what happened to me. Though… It was to do with the wars, wasn’t it? Between Gelahn and your people. But the tall man wasn’t…”
    “Wasn’t Gelahn himself.” Johan finishes the sentence and brushes one slow hand through his hair. “No. But he worked for the mind-executioner. As some do. And was empowered to do his bidding. Your mother was not the first of us he killed in your country. Nor the last either. But I am sorry for it. And for what you had to go through.”
    “And what about my father’s “gift”?” Simon asks. “I have never understood what he meant, nor afterwards why he should turn against me.”
    Johan frowns. There is much here that Simon does not know. “I am not as sure as you that your father did turn against you. The power of the gifting is a blessing to a mind-dweller but a burden and a curse to those without that ability. Your father must have carried it in trust for you through that night on your mother’s behalf; it would have all but driven him mad.”
    Still his companion is not convinced. “But the rock he threw. Surely he must have hated me then.”
    “Or perhaps he was simply forcing you to escape. If you had stayed, it may well be that Gelahn’s man would have killed you, too, once he’d understood the power you had received, giving you the maturity of a mind-dweller before you were ready for it. I see now also how much your father loved your mother—and it is true that your presence would have made her powers more evident, more open to discovery—so he might have been angry with you through no fault of your own. But that rock may still have saved you, Simon.”
    “I see,” Simon speaks slowly and the frown he has been wearing clears. “But tell me about my mother’s gifting. I need to know.”
    Johan smiles. “She was a brave woman and had great trust in you. The powers that we have are there in us at birth—as your childhood experiences tell you—but it is only when we are old enough that we grow into the full gifting of them with the help of our parents, and those around