The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

the strangeness of the journey that leaves him unable to feel their protection. It is a one-way path however; there is no method of linking with his home. Not until he is there. Now, Simon closes his eyes. He is still talking.
    “How could I resist his plea, or the life he offered me?” the scribe says, as if he is asking permission, although Johan has none to give. “I was already in love with Ralph—more than I have loved any man—and besides, no one had ever asked me anything before, as if leaving me room for choice. That is the truth of it. And because of this, I have done all Ralph Tregannon’s bidding, however cruel or strange, up until the time of the hanging. I hated it, but I did it, whatever he asked of me, because I believed him and because the taste of him clung to my mouth. It still does. Because of me, many innocent people are dead. You see, I am not worth your labour. You should leave me.”
    Johan does not know what to say to this. He is not skilled in matters of the heart but, as the acknowledged leader, he must do something. Simon’s despair will overwhelm them all and then they will surely be lost. He had thought the story telling would strengthen them, but instead he feels jagged darkness in the air. Does Isabella feel it too? He glances at her but she is deep in thought. The cool mountain breeze drifts over his face and body.
    Swallowing, Johan rises and walks towards Simon, his feet tapping out an uncertain rhythm over rock. He’s not sure, but he thinks the scribe might be crying. He has no idea what will be best to say. The man may be a coward and a murderer, but he is still a man.
    “He speaks to you,” he says at last. “Even now, after what Tregannon has done to you, he is first in your mind.”
    The words are meant as a kind of comfort, even respect, but Simon looks up, frowning. “Is that an accusation?”
    Johan takes a step back. “No. A statement only.”
    “Meaning…?”
    He stares at the scribe and, after a moment or two, decides to tell him the truth of the story.
    “Meaning,” he says, “that what you have told us here wasn’t the first tale on your heart. Was it?”
    “No, but I don’t see…”
    “Wait. I haven’t finished. You can argue with me later if you wish.” Now in his stride and away from the subject of emotions, Johan finds that his shoulders have relaxed. “What I’m saying to you is this: you wanted to tell us about your mother. No, don’t ask how I knew that. It was as clear in your thoughts as if you’d shouted it to the stars. But instead you tell us about Tregannon. Haven’t you wondered why that is, Simon? You tell us the story of how you met him because, even as far away as they still are, the enemy is allowing him to infiltrate your thoughts. He wants to make you come back to him. He wants to catch you.”
    Simon laughs. “Don’t be stupid. That’s impossible. Ralph never had the power for that. He wouldn’t be able to contact me. Not without my knowing it.”
    Johan sighs. “That may be true, but because he now has access to another kind of power, then he can do far more than you imagine.”
    “You mean because of Ge… the enemy?”
    “Be careful. You mustn’t say his name. Neither out loud, nor in your thoughts. The pulse of it draws him closer, gives him more power over you.”
    As he speaks his last few words, Johan hunkers down and fixes the scribe with his gaze.
    “You must beware of making too many mistakes,” he continues. “Do you understand?”
    “No,” Simon replies, and Johan can tell he has surprised himself with such honesty. “No, I don’t. I know that the…the enemy has unbelievable power. I’ve seen it for myself. Experienced it. But what I don’t understand is why I don’t sense I’m being manipulated. If that is indeed what’s happening here. I only have your word for it, after all. How can you be so sure?”
    Johan blinks before returning to where Isabella sits patiently. For a moment he says nothing, and when he does speak again he doesn’t turn to look at the scribe. Instead he gazes off into the bleak mountain air, waiting for what he hopes will happen.
    “It is not my certainty that counts, but yours. But we are not done with you yet,” he whispers. “This journey is only at its beginning. And this only the first stage. Open your eyes and see. The mountain will spare you for your honesty. Look, its people are coming.”
    With that, he takes two steps back towards Simon and grips his