The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

not here now. We have time and there is sense in my asking. Indeed, it will be foolishness to do otherwise.”
    Her words are harsh, but her brother makes no answer.
    For another moment, all is still. The sound of a rook soaring overhead breaks the tension.
    “As you wish,” he says and eases himself down next to her. At once, her muscles relax.
    She turns to Hartstongue.
    “Simon,” she says, praying that neither man will hear her lies. “You must tell us something of your story. It will ease the journey we must take and will, to some extent, protect us from further attacks on the mountain. Will you do it?”
    In fact her words are words of command. They brook no objections. Hartstongue raises himself upright, perhaps trying to appear a little taller. “Do I have a choice?”
    “Not if you wish to live,” she says. Oh how easy it is to fool men with words of honey and false smiles.
    “In that case, what do you wish to hear?”
    “Something important to you. Something which will cost you to say it. That will suffice and may yet protect us all.”
    “And afterwards? Will you tell me about the power you have?”
    Johan makes a sudden movement, almost as if he might strike the scribe, but Isabella lays a hand on his arm. There are other ways to kill than with blows.
    “So many questions,” she says. “And I have only asked you one.”
    “You have not answered me.”
    “No. I have not. You must tell us something from the deepest knowledge of your heart. And you must do it now.”
    Story-telling, of course, is part of the life of the Lammas people. And of Gathandrians, also. It makes the hours pass and fills the time, so her request is not unnatural. She is merely playing with the knowledge that she and Johan have—that stories are also a form of protection. What none of her companions knows is what Isabella hopes for; if Hartstongue gives something about himself away, something deep, then Gelahn can use it against him. The poisoned water the scribe has drunk will weaken his resolve and his soul will lie more open.
    Now, Hartstongue closes his eyes. She knows he is trying to grasp at what might be least revealing to tell.
    Of course what he says is not what he plans to say at all.

Sixth Gathandrian Interlude

    Annyeke
    The elders were waiting for her. That in itself was not shameful, but the fact remained that she was late. This, she felt, could not be helped. Annyeke had stayed with Talus’ tutor until she could see the boy was settled in. She had promised to return for him later when lessons were over. It was a promise she would keep; she could not bear the thought of Talus waiting, wondering where she was and if she were even still alive. She could not allow him to go through that misery a second time. If the elders had children to care for, no doubt their carefully-wrought schedules would slip also.
    Still, she bowed an apology when she saw them, then smiled at her own hypocrisy as she drew her cloak around herself. Even though it was not yet winter, the afternoon was already darkening with the threat of clouds overhead and, this time, the elders had chosen to meet at the edge of the park. The trees around them quivered in the wind. It had been many days since Johan and Isabella departed.
    The First Elder shook his head as if he had been thinking a great variety of things and was now trying to concentrate only on one. He stretched out his hand to Annyeke.
    “Come,” he said, “we must pray.”
    Annyeke had been expecting this. They were, after all, gathered near the Gathandrian prayer tree, its boughs empty of leaves as it had been for nearly a whole year-cycle. She was not a woman who usually gave much thought to prayer. She, like Johan, preferred to concentrate on the inner meditation that all their people needed to live. She did not worry too much about the gods.
    Now, she knelt next to the five elders but did not close her eyes. Instead she looked at her companions and waited. As she grew accustomed to the shimmer of power always moving between them, she realised that the mind-circle was also there. She wondered why she hadn’t seen it before. It wasn’t as strong as it had been the first time she’d seen them use it, as sometimes it seemed to vanish entirely before coming back into view. But at least it was there. In a fashion. But for how long?
    After a while, the images began to stream in. The four travellers: Johan and Isabella, Simon Hartstongue and the unnamed boy. Annyeke thought