The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

hand drifting through air, and touched the leaf. It folded gently around her finger, as if stroking her. She could feel the beating heart of the tree. Not dead, but sleeping. Not quite ready for life, but willing to admit the promise of it.
    For a while she stayed there, touching the small leaf and glimpsing all the memory of the land’s power. How it had waited so long, was still waiting. For the hope of redemption through the agonies it had had to endure. The legends she knew so well told of the heart of the land, how Gathandria could sometimes speak to its people, but she had never guessed the stories might have within them a grain of truth.
    If it was so, and if what she was sensing now was real, why had she not felt it before? Was it because of the enemy? But he had only been free for two year-cycles, and she had never before had this experience of harmony with the soil between her feet and the winds which gentled her. She could not understand why that was so.
    She determined to find out. But not yet.
    Now, in her mind, she called out to Talus, and sensed his slow awakening. He would know where she was. He would come to find her. They could share in this joy together.
    While she waited for him, she smiled. One fact only must have been making this difference. Johan had managed to rescue Hartstongue. They were still alive. Both of them. All of them. She must tell the Elders and soon, although of course they would already know. They would be expecting her. Somewhere. The city of Gathandria had today taken one step towards the distant glimmer of peace.
    But would it find the strength to take another?

Chapter Seven: Beyond The Woods

    Johan
    Once away from the village, and with the noise of pursuit growing fainter, Johan orders a brief stop for Isabella to bind up the wounds on Simon’s legs. She tears small strips from the hem of her cloak and wraps them around the scribe’s shins. He has never before known a mind attack to have failed to destroy its target. The enemy’s power is strong. Why is Simon still here? All the while Isabella works, the boy crouches next to the scribe, his unblinking brown eyes wide and staring at his rescuer. He makes no sound, and neither does Simon. This is good, Johan thinks, as he has no answers to any questions that might arise.
    When Isabella has done all she can in the brief time Johan allows them, they travel on. They have to reach the mountains soon. For the moment, Simon is happy to let them lead the way, and Johan can sense his exhaustion and relief.
    For the length of several stories—enough time to walk three times and back to his Gathandrian work-place—they travel in darkness. Around them the woods become thicker, the branches almost block out the stars, and the grasses at their feet grow dense and drag at their cloaks. Every now and then, the screek-screek of an owl can be heard, and once or twice Johan feels the beat of its wings passing them in the night.
    Once, the boy disturbs a nest of small lizards and they scurry away into ferns and nettles, the white markings on their backs pulsating in fear. Johan can tell the scribe is almost dead on his feet and takes each step in a state halfway between reality and dream, praying he won’t stumble. This is not surprising, bearing in mind the kind of courage Simon, whom he knows is a coward, has shown today. It would leave anyone exhausted, both in mind and body. Still, given what he knows about the man, Johan has been expecting him at least to complain and is puzzled as to why he does not. This, too, he stores in his mind for pondering later.
    Slowly the darkness around the small group begins to unfasten its hold. Ahead the trees are thinning and, beyond them, Johan sees the faint glimmer of pink and yellow in the sky. At the far edge of the wood, in plain view of the scraggy fields and wilderness beyond, with its distant backdrop of black mountains, Simon stops.

    Simon
    It took only three paces for their leader to sense Simon was no longer following him.
    Johan turned, his cloak swirling in shadows around his feet. The hint of dawn sky framed his hair like a halo. Simon clutched the boy tighter to his side as Johan strode back. Behind him, Isabella waited, motionless.
    “What are you doing?” Johan said, speaking aloud rather than directly to Simon’s mind. Perhaps he thought Simon could take no more unasked-for invasion. And, gods, he might have been right. “We have to keep travelling. At this stage in the