The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

impossible without light to see by. Neither did he have the strength for it.
    Johan took the first watch, and Simon gazed after the shadow of his back as he returned along the path they’d travelled. Only a few moments and he vanished into the night, as if swallowed up by it. A little apart from the rest, for modesty’s sake, Isabella spread out her cloak on the ground and then wrapped herself up in it. Almost immediately, her breathing steadied and grew rhythmic, and Simon knew she slept. Next to him, the boy, too, was asleep.
    The only creatures awake tonight were Johan and Simon. Small comfort. A longing for Ralph hit home, in spite of everything, but he tried to ignore it. Instead, he lay down, listening to the hum of the boy’s mind as he dreamed his dreams.
    It took a while for Simon’s eyes to become accustomed to the pattern of the stars. At first, they shimmered at the corner of his vision, but soon he could look at them directly and trace their shapes in his mind. All of the Whitelanders, and some of the Lammas people, believed in the strength of the stars’ wisdom, but for Simon it had always more closely resembled a game. Although, sometimes he wondered.
    First, the Owl, queen of the skies, the sign Simon was born under. He longed for the wisdom she was said to endow her children with, but such a gift had never been his. In fact, as far back as he could remember, the shape of her had been obscured by the encroaching journey of the fox. The stars were never still. The Fox. Ralph’s sign; a symbol of swiftness and cunning. Gods, that much was true. Had always been so. One day soon, in the lands amongst the clouds, the fox’s teeth and tail would overpower all memory of the owl. Simon wondered if she would still be there, once the fox’s path had moved on.
    The battle taking place far above in the stars held no surprises, echoing as it did the way in which Ralph had so swiftly bent Simon to his will. And more. Even now, after what had taken place, Simon’s body still longed for him. Missed his touch. No, craved it, even though what they’d done together had been wrong. In his sleeplessness, he twisted and shifted his position to try and break the memory but it was no good. His mind betrayed him most; the space in his thoughts where Ralph’s presence dwelled lay empty.
    Cursing under his breath, Simon blinked and tried to focus again on the changing patterns of the stars. What came next in the skies’ mysteries? Yes, above the Owl, fragile as she had become, flickered the starlight leaves of the Oak. Something strong and eternal. He knew nobody born under that symbol, did he? A moment’s confusion, then he remembered. Reaching up, he traced his fingers over the scar. Of course. Thomas. How could he have forgotten? An acid taste in his mouth, he closed his eyes and tried to forget again. How could an owl ever damage an oak? The world Simon lived in was deeply wrong somewhere; such things should not have occurred. But it was he who had made them come to pass.
    When he opened his eyes again, his sight was blurred. At his side, the boy sighed a little and Simon smiled. It felt good to have one friend near him, no matter how small and helpless that friend might be. Gazing once more at the skies, he found the boy’s sign. The Wolf. Some distance to the left of the Owl and Oak, but still most definitely in that region of the sky. If Simon let his mind drift free, he could almost see the glitter of the animal’s jaw and the expectation of the hunt. The boy was loyal, of course. Hadn’t that been proven beyond all doubt in recent days? But there was no fierceness in him, just as there was neither wisdom nor gentleness in Simon. Or so Thomas would proclaim. He’d be right too.
    Simon allowed his gaze to range over the rest of the heavens, repeating the mantras he found there; the destinations written in the night skies. Beyond those he knew now, there were stars for whom he knew no one. The River, a long line of large stars stretching almost across the whole expanse of the sky. A symbol of refreshment. In the darkest months of winter, when the River shone most brightly, was when the rains would come.
    Slipping over the next symbol, saving it for last, he studied the Horseman. The seventh sign. Clouds obscured his distant glory tonight but Simon knew, without being told, how the outline of his spurs nudged his horse onwards, following forever the River’s distant path. Those born in the Horseman’s