The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

am sorry for it. The gods know he was never meant to be part of our journey but…”
    “No.”
    The scribe’s harsh tone brings silence. But Isabella has no time to lead her brother away from the realisation of what she has done as, suddenly and shockingly, the boy stirs.
    It is impossible. But it is real. She does not know what to do or how to react but it doesn’t matter; neither man glances at her.
    “See,” Hartstongue whispers. “You, too, can be wrong. He’s alive .”
    It is so indeed, but not for long. Holding the small frame closer still to his heart, cloak and all, the scribe tries to infuse his own body heat into the child’s, in an effort to stop him falling into the great slide to death from where no one has ever returned.
    No. He must not be allowed to do this. She will do anything. Anything to…
    Already it is too late. Into the air comes Johan’ voice: “Do you love him that much, Simon?”
    “Yes. Yes ,” the scribe says. “What did you think? Would you want someone you loved— your own sister —to die like this? Would you?”
    Without waiting for any answer, Hartstongue groans, his mind searching wildly for solutions and unable to settle on any. At once Isabella sees her chance. Yes, this could destroy them both. She reaches forward and touches him on the arm, putting all the compassion she can muster into her face.
    He blinks at her, the tears rising fast.
    “Why don’t you…?” she pretends to hesitate and he’s caught as firmly as bird in a trap. “You can help him, you can…”
    She doesn’t even need to finish the sentence; Hartstongue’s expression clears at once. The fool. He’s going to do what can never be done. Now they have him; she and Gelahn.

    Simon
    Isabella’s stumbling words rolled through the chill air. In his frantic efforts to warm the boy into life again, he’d forgotten the one thing that might help the child most.
    But it was madness, and he was so out of practice in the ancient skills. How could he…? But there might still be time.
    He would have to hurry.
    Ignoring Johan’s warning cry, Simon placed his hand on his own forehead, concentrating the essence of his soul into his fingers. Then, drawing them away—a sense of separation that made him gasp—he placed them onto the boy’s head. Just next to his eyes, where the skin would be most fragile: the easiest entrance to his mind. Simon had only performed this rite once before and then it had been with Ralph, in the act of love. It was not something a mind-dweller used lightly. Now, it would be an act of rescue; if it worked.
    Burn marks appeared where he touched the boy. Gods , Simon had been too quick, too rough in his desperation to bring him back from the valley of quietness, but he had no time for anything more complicated. The part of his mind he’d taken soaked in through the boy’s outer coating of flesh, blood and memory. A quick journey, but brief and bloody. No time for meditation or slow acceptance. Simon prayed he would not hurt him too much.
    And then he was there. Spinning through unfamiliar darkness, eyes assaulted by images and people he could not name: a tall man, a dog, trees, a woman crying, the village. All of them glimpsed only for a moment as he reached out to try to find the boy. Where his inner life lay hidden. So dark, so very dark. How could Simon find him in this? He could not cry out, as the boy would have no means of responding. The physical disabilities of a person were always the same, inside as out. Though the wishes might improve on weakness, they could not give something where there was nothing. Simon would have to find him by other means.
    What attribute most described his friend? If he could focus on that, then he might somehow reach him through it. But what described the boy best? Eagerness? Willingness to learn? Courage? All of these were true, but none so deep as to…
    No. He had it. The attribute the boy possessed beyond all measure and which Simon envied him for. And which might save the child now.
    Peace.
    The small, separated part of Simon breathed out. The speed of the images slowed, but did not stop. He took another breath and tried again. Still it was not enough. If he expended energy enough to bring peace and steadiness here, he would not have strength left to bring the boy back. The two of them would be trapped. To save himself, Simon would have to leave him.
    But he could not do that. He counted the boy as a friend. Perhaps his only true