The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

the sun rise.
    His father would then make his journey to the fields for his day’s work. He didn’t need to start as early as the other men, as his job was to supervise the harvest of the seasons. Because of this, Simon’s mother had no need to spend her days working alongside him to bring in extra money in order to live. His father’s wage was sufficient, and she was easily able to pursue her abiding interest in herbs and the healing they could bring. Looking back, the scribe realised they’d lived as a family in a state of grace in the midst of people whose day-to-day life was a struggle. Having been born to it, he didn’t understand why they were so different, or indeed even that they were. Nobody questioned it. But Simon’s mother would never have fitted into the ordinary life of the village. She was born to be different.
    Simon was eight years old when he began to understand how different.
    And he’d been nearly eleven when…

    Johan
    “Simon?”
    Johan whispers the scribe’s name softly so he does not startle him. He can tell that Simon is deep in thought.
    “What? What is it?” Simon’s voice shakes and Johan can only hope that he will prove strong enough to bear the next stage of the journey home. They need all the help the gods can give them.
    He does not reply, but skirts around where Isabella lies and comes to stand next to the scribe. At Simon’s side, the boy stirs but then sleeps on. Johan probes the scribe’s thoughts as he struggles to bring himself back to the present. It is dangerous to think too much of the past; the enemy can use it as a weapon, unless it is wrapped in the protective gift of story-telling. For the elders’ sakes, he must look after his charge.
    It surprises him to see the scribe has no defence against him, should he want to know all. Johan realises he could, with his power, even plumb the depths Simon has never admitted to himself. However, such an act would be distasteful so after a moment he withdraws.
    “What is it?” Simon says again, this time with more strength in his voice.
    “It is best we leave before dawn,” Johan replies. “It’s time for us to go through the mountains.”

Fifth Gathandrian Interlude

    Annyeke
    “So,” said Annyeke, finally reaching the end of her explanation about the lemon tree and what she had seen on her way to meet the elders. “Gathandria has taken a small step towards healing. It must mean that Johan and Isabella are alive, and that Hartstongue is safe.”
    At her side, Talus gripped her hand and gave it a squeeze before letting go. The elders did not react quite so warmly. Perhaps they did not appreciate the venue of the meeting quite so much, Annyeke thought. Men set too much store by their working environment. Today, they were sitting in one of the theatre dressing rooms, disused now since its partial destruction during the previous spring-cycle. A few of the actors had tried to resurrect it, helped by poor Petran of course, but the effort failed. It seemed that once the enemy left his mark on a building, nothing anyone did would help bring it to life again.
    Now she stared around the broken mirrors, the abandoned wigs and torn costumes. If she turned her head quickly enough, she could also see the quiver of the elders’ mind-net, spun to protect them from harm. It was a shame, she thought, that they could not spin one large enough, and strong enough, to protect the whole city. Come to think of it, why couldn’t they do that anyway? Surely, if there were enough people with the necessary mind-skills, it would be an easy task. It was one of the ways they hoped the scribe would able to help them. Annyeke thought all these things, but the most important of all was why the elders did not respond to her news with the enthusiasm that she thought they should be feeling. Why did they not share her excitement?
    “As you say, we must hope that is the case,” the First Elder spoke, causing Annyeke to jump and wonder how deeply the speaker had been probing her. She should have been more circumspect in her imaginings, but it had never been her way. “If our travellers are still alive, then it would be natural for the land to sense its own salvation. That is news at which we all must indeed rejoice. Unfortunately, the mind-circle cannot be mended to the extent that we had hoped, so we cannot be sure.”
    He might have intended to say more, but Annyeke interrupted, still puzzling over his reaction. She needed him to get to the