The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

has just taken place makes any kind of control difficult. Johan will leave the management of the scribe to her for a while; always he casts his sister in the caring role. These days, since Petran was lost, he simply does not see Isabella at all.
    “All right,” Hartstongue mutters. “What do we do now?”
    “You stand up as we are standing, and walk.”
    “Is that all? And what about the boy?”
    “You must carry him. As my brother has told you. He is your responsibility.”
    How she longs to say more, but understands that sometimes silence is best. Particularly in deceit. Gelahn is a wise master. A sudden warmth in her head, as if something unfamiliar has brushed against her, found a small door into her inner being. And then the feeling is just as quickly gone. The scribe gasps and Isabella pushes down her thoughts. He cannot have read her far, but it is best to be careful.
    In the meantime she waits and watches him.
    Slowly, Hartstongue brings himself onto his side and draws his legs underneath. Twice during the process, she causes the air beneath to quiver with the movement he makes and he freezes. It pleases her to see him struggle. At last he is kneeling, the boy clutched in his arms.
    “That is well,” she says. “Now, stand.”
    Again, it takes a while, but eventually Hartstongue stands, as Isabella has commanded, legs shaking, and breathing irregular. The boy reaches up and wraps his arms around the scribe’s neck. His breath comes in short bursts.
    She has done what her brother expects and it is Johan who speaks next.

    Johan
    He is glad Isabella has taken her time with Simon. It has given Johan the chance to calm himself, plan what to do next. The emotions in the air are highly-charged and hard to separate. More than all, his sister’s impatience is strong and he hopes she hasn’t lost her faith in him. By the gods and stars, he is doing his best. Now there are things he must ponder—other factors in their journey to do with Simon, which he has not counted on. His three charges—no, two; Isabella is a helpmate not a charge—will expect him to know what to do. He cannot let them down.
    “We must waste no more time, Simon,” he says and is surprised to find his voice is strong. “You are alive. We are all alive for the moment. You must trust to that. Our journey across the Kingdom of the Air will, if we are lucky, be less strenuous than you may believe. But we must climb higher if we are to get the help we so desperately need. I know that to you my words will appear harsh, but let me say this: if we are not at the place of air-meeting within the next hour—the length of a winter story—you and the boy will die. You are both so unused to this element. You must…”
    “ Wait. ” Simon’s interjection stops him in mid-sentence. “None of what you say makes any sense. What air-meeting? Do you mean the entrance to your country? And why do you always threaten death, when so far no death has come? Why don’t you think of the boy?”
    Johan takes two strides towards Simon across the air. He can feel the nerve pulsing in his forehead. The scribe flinches as if Johan might hit him, but he holds his position. For a long moment, there is an utter silence as Johan thinks what to say and how to say it and then he realises that the power of his mind is hovering over Simon’s, as if poised to attack. At once, Johan loosens his mental grip and steps back.
    “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse as if he’s been running. “I should indeed think of the boy. Perhaps death will not come. You are right. We may survive this, all of us.”
    Simon nods.
    “Let us climb then,” he says.

    Simon
    It took an age, although he never had any idea afterwards exactly how long it had been in reality. Here, with the empty air vibrating in his ears, time or place had no meaning. He could hear no other sound and no birds flew near them either, which struck him as strange. Now and again, he still felt the warmth of the mind-cane where it had touched him and shivered as he remembered his lucky escape. Johan and Isabella must have been protecting him; he could think of no other explanation.
    There was much else which was equally strange. The air, for instance, felt sharp against Simon’s skin, as if its life was more solid than insubstantial. It tasted different too, leaving almost a scent of lemons on his tongue. As they climbed, the taste and sharpness grew stronger, the mountain air differentiating its