The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

one. He had never let his master down. He couldn’t abandon the boy now.
    I haven’t enough… Help me.
    Fears shook themselves into words and flew from Simon’s mind, linking the part of himself in the boy’s thoughts to the greater part outside, in the shallow cave. For a flashpoint of time, he could see the shapes of their two companions and taste the chill of air. A fleeting sense of the frown on Johan’s face, a hint of his hand’s movement and then Simon was back in the interior darkness.
    Where the images were beginning to move faster again.
    He tried another breath of peace, but could see no sign or hint of the boy’s response.
    No.
    Now his legs felt weak, and his arms were shaking. Not only that, but his vision was becoming blurred. Soon there would be no reason for this wild endeavour. Soon he would be more truly alone.
    One more time. Surely he could try one more time. He just had to…
    Simon stretched out his hand, eyes closed. The gesture was futile but he wanted the boy, somehow, to know he’d tried. Perhaps even now his fingers would pick up some trace of where the boy might be and he might be able to…
    And then, suddenly, his eyes flew open. Someone else stood next to him. He knew it, although it was impossible to see for sure in the darkness. Someone else’s arm stretched out and Simon felt an unexpected strength flowing through his limbs and heart. He had no idea how it happened but the images of the boy’s memory suddenly slotted into place and held position. The shape of them formed a tunnel, just large enough for a man to walk through. It glittered with an unseen light although, even as he stared, the images began to fade.
    Hurry, Simon. There is not much time.
    Stepping forward, the other presence still at his side, almost a part of him, he glanced from left to right, trying to make out gaps in the memory images which might speak of the boy’s location. Trying to see the impossible.
    At first nothing. Then, at the edge of his vision, a scar.
    Without thought, he turned. As he did so, the distant rumble of mental collapse—the boy’s—began to reverberate from not far along the tunnel. In less than three or four beats of the heart, the boy would die. The rumble increased into a roar. Simon could see the scar now—undulating. Placed between a tall woman with an expression of sadness and a narrow stream. He recognised neither. It didn’t matter. He swept his hand across and into it. His fingers met pulsating heat. Something in the heat brushed against him. He clutched whatever it was and held on.
    The roar filled Simon’s head. Concentrating what little thought he had on escape, he began to run. The darkness rushed into the space behind. Began to catch up. Overtake. It tore at his legs, his body, his mind. From the presence next to him, another surge of impossible strength. The nameless terror spinning its web now. The acrid smell of sweat. Then a slash of light, a sensation of flying, the knowledge of release.
    And he was back in the cave, sun dazzling his eyes and tears pouring down his face. Torn, bloody, shattered, but alive.
    Simon fell backwards, the boy still clasped in his arms. A long moment of uncertainty, the foretaste of failure, and then the child took a harsh breath. And another, and opened his eyes.
    “It’s all right. It’s all right, little one,” he said over and over again, though he was sure the boy could not understand the meaning. “You’re here, you’re safe.”
    The boy smiled and closed his eyes again. In sleep, he began to breathe easily.
    At last, his torrent of meaningless words came to an end. His mind felt weak and his limbs shook as if they’d never be able to move again. When he looked up, Simon could see Johan kneeling at the entrance to the shelter. His face looked grey and his eyes as black as night. He too was trembling.
    Simon swallowed.
    “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how you did it, how you helped me, but thank you.”

    Johan
    For a long moment, while the morning birds fall silent and wolves stop howling, Johan gazes at his sister. She’d refused to help him with the mind-rescue. Why? He has never known her be ruled by fear. For the first time, the connection between them feels harsh and unnatural. He cannot do this without her.
    Isabella shakes her head and turns away from him.
    “You had no need of my help,” she whispers. “See, the two of you have succeeded well enough on your own.”
    Springing up, Johan