The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

to be out of his mouth.
    “ You must carry him. We cannot.” This time the words were Isabella’s, a faint whisper Simon had to struggle to hear.
    At the same time, Johan stepped back. As he did so, something like an orange dart flew from his mouth, over Simon’s head and towards the howling dogs. It burst into a crimson river. From behind it, a man’s scream rang out, bitter and long.
    Ralph?
    “ No time, Simon ,” Johan’s voice, hoarse as dry gravel, cried out. “Come! You must follow. And the boy. The mind-fire will not hold our enemy for long.”
    No time for thought or question. Already he could see the strange, undulating river fading in red and the wild dogs behind it crying out for release.
    Clutching the boy, he stumbled to Isabella and Johan. But they were no longer there. Not on the mountain. Not anywhere.
    He could not comprehend what his eyes were telling him; the two of them were floating, solid ghosts, on…nothing. The boy gulped and shook.
    “Johan?”
    Simon could not voice the words, could not even focus them, merely fling them from his thoughts. So close, and yet a thousand fears away, Johan tried to smile, but Simon could see the spasm in his cheek. Feel it echoed in his own.
    “What do I do?”
    The other man’s body balanced between sky and the far-off earth, hemmed in only by air, he stretched out his hand. “Come. I cannot touch you during this part of the journey, Simon. The Air Kingdom forbids it. But we can give you the strength you need. You can follow my hand. And Isabella’s. You can follow me .”
    “I can’t,” Simon said, staring at him as if for a moment they might be the only two people alive. “It’s not possible, Johan. Don’t be stupid. I’m not strong, not like you and Isabella.”
    He found his legs could no longer support his and the boy’s weight and, in spite of the terror behind and the destruction to come, he collapsed onto bare rock, pain ricocheting through his body. Shivering, he turned to his tormentor, hovering on a plateau of air and incomprehensible faith.
    “By the gods,” the scribe begged him. “Don’t make me do it. Please.”
    “Simon. You don’t have time for this. I know you want to live.” Johan’s voice came somehow not from where he stood, not even simply from within Simon’s mind, but echoed throughout the whole of his body. “Please. Trust me. Don’t you trust me?”
    “What do you think?” he cried out. “No. I don’t. Not enough.”
    “You don’t know that. Come .”
    “No, believe me; I can’t.” From behind came a sudden tearing sound, like a knife ripping silk. The mind-fire was dying.
    “ You can ,” he said.
    In the emptiness after his words, Simon lay face down on the ground, trembling, the boy almost crushed under his chest. Impossible, it was impossible .
    A roar and a flash of redness and pain as the last protection collapsed. The stench of meat and the dogs’ teeth came scrabbling through the flames. In his mind, the boy screamed at last, in a way he could never do in the flesh. With a groan that came from the gut and sliced through him, the scribe stumbled to his feet and stood, swaying, he on rock and Johan on air. Although fully clothed, Simon was as naked as he had ever been.
    He caught and held Johan’s ice-blue gaze. For a moment, somehow, time stopped and everything became still.
    “I am afraid,” Simon told him, as simply and clearly as he could.
    “I know.”
    “I don’t trust you.”
    “Simon, I understand. Take one step. Trust me for one step only. But you must leave the mountain behind, or you will both suffer the death that is not true death. Come. ”
    Wild roaring, and then the pounding feet of the dogs.
    Breath ragged in his throat, Simon covered his face with his one free hand and smelled the stale salt of his own tears. Then at the edge of thought, already infiltrating his mind’s frail barrier, the executioner’s triumphant cry.
    The scribe turned. The enemy rose before him, a figure clothed in flame which did not burn. Pain cauterised his mind and he screamed. A flash of black and silver at the edge of his vision. He raised his hand to protect himself. The mind-cane flew towards him: a dagger, a bearer of an impossible death. He screamed again. Then everything fell silent. The cane brushed against his arm, the silver carving impossibly cold. A flare of warmth encased him and then just as suddenly vanished.
    He should be dead. He was not.
    The mind-cane lay at his