The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

through, I swear it. All depends on the way the snow-ravens allow you to go. Yes, there is darkness and light, but this part of the journey is strange to us all.”
    Simon did not question him again. Johan’s authority pulsed always from his inner being, enfolding all, no matter who might have any temporary advantage. How the scribe envied him that.
    They reached the cloud mountains as darkness fell, proving Johan’s words to be true. Simon chose not to remind him of the fact, pausing only to stare upwards where no stars shone. Perhaps, however, the stars dwelt beneath. He had no way of telling. Heart beating quickly, he stretched out his hand to the expanse of cloud. It disappeared in whiteness and he almost gasped before telling himself not to be so foolish. It was only cloud after all. When he drew back, Simon could see his skin glistening with a scatter of droplets. Brushing them off, they dropped to the path and danced back into the cloud like small pearls.
    Go forward or stay here? He didn’t know. He turned to his companions, intending to make some kind of authoritative decision, but not having the faintest notion what that might be.
    He didn’t need to. Isabella’s eyes were wide and Johan’s lips tightened for a moment. A sudden pressure on his leg made Simon look down to see the boy still facing the cloud mountain. His mouth had formed into a perfect “o”.
    “I don’t think you need worry,” Johan said, with a smile. “The air kingdom may have already decided for you. Look.”
    Shrugging off Johan’s knowledge of his thoughts, Simon wheeled around to the cloud again. He had no idea what he might see but the picture in front was beyond his imagination. The droplets of moisture from his hand had formed a doorway into the cloud and continued to glitter in the growing darkness. From within this frame, the dense whiteness rolled back and away into the depths of itself, vanishing as the birds had done earlier. In the space left, Simon could only see a pale blue light. Across this light, strands of mist drifted.
    For a few moments more, he couldn’t tell what he was seeing, but then he understood: the birds. They were here. Flying within the cloud. Dwelling in space.
    Are you going to enter?
    Johan’s question arrived in his mind like an unexpected guest, but Simon simply smiled at him.
    Why not? he replied. I was hoping for a door. And, look, here we have one.
    Then, gripping the boy’s small fingers and sensing his instinctive acquiescence, he walked through, with what he could only hope was a near-confident stride. At once, Johan followed, Isabella trailing after him, bringing with her the scent of lavender. Behind, the doorway dissolved and the cloud drifted in once more.
    Inside, all was warmth and song. Light, clarity and a strange sense of rightness. The singing wasn’t intrusive, but instead provided a background to the glitter of movement. They were standing near what looked to be an oak, though he couldn’t be sure. The boy let go of Simon’s hand and reached up towards the tree. When he touched it, the leaves began to shimmer in the light and the harmony of the music increased. The tree is singing, Simon thought. It’s singing.
    A river of cool laughter surged through his blood. His fingers on the gnarled trunk brought a further rush of joy through the skin and up towards the heart. It was as if all the bad things he’d done, the things that held him back, were swept away and he was left in the space the tree allowed—naked, clean, alive. Looking up, the leaves glowed a gentle green as if framed by their own inner light. He blinked and could hear the music again, this time louder. It sang in his mind for a while like the best of rainbows.
    When he could take no more of such happiness, he stepped away and the link was broken. The music around and within became softer, but still his mind was full of the echo of joy.

    Isabella
    “It’s beautiful,” she whispers. “The Kingdom of the Air has not been like this before.”
    Hartstongue simply nods, as if he imagines it could be him she was addressing, and gazes beyond her to the land around them. Isabella sees a place of gentle white clouds both above and beneath, skies the colour of water, and endless lines of oak trees. Not lines though, but rather a pattern she cannot interpret. And interspersed between them lie conjunctions of rocks laced with herbs and grass, while small grey bridges join hands over bright streams. Petran