The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

fearful,” she said. “My brother’s meditation is strong enough to hide us from discovery. And the power in it will also help us on our journey. Besides, he will not be long.”
    Simon swallowed and did not reply. He could not disagree with Isabella’s judgement, but the fact that she had spoken her scorn aloud made his skin grow hot. He tried turning his mind to other questions.
    In his world, it had been a long time since meditation of any kind had been accepted as familiar practice. If Simon wished to calm his soul and know his thoughts more fully, he was obliged to perform the ritual in secret for fear of too many questions. For a long time, he had not dared to do anything more than the bare minimum to survive. Nor, in truth, had he wanted to. Johan and Isabella’s world must be very different.
    Why did things which had once been a normal part of everyday life, now appear to be so difficult to practise? Even though Simon had only fully dwelt within a village during the last two year-cycles, he had seen what people did and how they spent their days. The dwellers of the lands he had travelled through, and indeed the Lammas Lands, had been happy, free underneath their various masters; or relatively so. They had farmed, meditated, laughed, talked, and spent time together. But, during these last two year-cycles, the wars and rumours of wars they had heard of in the lands to the south had gradually taken over; the people’s freedoms had begun to be lost. Subtly, but inexorably, lost.
    Was it to do with his encounter with Gelahn ? Simon wondered. Was the mind-executioner the instigator of the wars which had befallen the neighbours of the Lammas Lands? But, why would a mind-executioner wish to have land? And in a way which involved bloodshed? He—or she—would have power enough to take what he wanted without anyone standing against him. Simon could see no sense in it. Instead, the lands south of Ralph’s had been subject to torment; the Marshlands with their brown, gentle-eyed people had ceased trading only two moon-cycles ago. What had become of them? It was over a whole year since anyone had heard from the Towns of the Plain. They were situated beyond the Marshlands. The Marsh people would talk of them regularly, but had not done so since that time. Where were they?
    More importantly, why did no one ask questions? Why did he not do so?
    They waited for half a story length before Johan returned, enough time to settle and know expectancy before either boredom or the approach of the conclusion began to rise. Simon passed the time by ensuring his goose quill was sharp and the knife clean. For a while, he considered offering the boy a lesson, revising the skills he’d learned before, but thought the boy would be too distracted to concentrate. Not that Simon thought he’d be any less distracted. Also, he did not know when they would again be setting off. Or to where they were travelling. Writing was not a task to be undertaken with a divided mind.
    When at last Johan’s tall figure loomed at the edge of the shelter, he didn’t say what he’d been doing beneath the trees. He ate the berries and drank from the now dried-up leaves in silence as Isabella sat beside him. The boy played shadow games in the sun, laughing and running from his own shape, while Simon watched Johan’s expression for signs of what he had done.
    He saw none. No outward indication of the peace the ritual must have given him, or if it was worth undergoing at all. But something around Johan, an aura hovering about his frame, made him appear more at ease, more certain of the path he had decided to travel. Whatever it might be. How Simon envied him that. With the strength Johan must have gained from his meditation, Simon didn’t dare try to read his thoughts without permission, so could discover nothing else.
    He turned aside, but Johan had already risen to his feet and was taking the two or three short strides over the parched soil towards him. Simon tensed, having no idea what Johan might do.

    Johan
    Standing over the scribe, Johan’s body casts the other man into shadow. His meditation has been inconclusive, but there is no time for more. The enemy is close. They have to go. But first he must test Simon. If he finds no purity in him Johan has already decided to abandon the mission. If this happens, he admits to himself that it will be something of a relief, in spite of the shame it will bring. He longs for the city, no matter how