The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

how the mind-executioner has used her mind-rebellion, her love for her husband and hatred of the Lost One to slip easily into our lands, what will happen then? Of all people, I should know how the heart’s greatest desires can bring treachery. We are companions in wrongdoing, Iffenia and I. Nor did she see the liquid she gave me was poured out under the washing cloths stored beneath the table. At least, that is what my hands told me they were; my eyes, of course, are beyond it.
    So I wait until the fullness of the silence seeps in. As I sit, I reach out in my thoughts to the remnants of my mind-strength. It is hard to link with it as each fragment is so very small. I cannot even find the special place that each Gathandrian except one holds within themselves as a point of refuge; the door to it is nailed shut. If I could dwell there, even for a moment, the task would be so much easier and, perhaps, then, the pain in my eyes would fade, but I cannot afford to dwell on what is impossible; I must work only with what can be done, however meagre. Slowly, so slowly, I pull my mind-strength back to the centre of what is left. The effort of it makes my body shake and I slip from the couch onto the floor. The smell of dust and wood shavings wraps round me and tiny slivers of clay pierce the skin on my knees. A flash of what the room I am in looks like fills my mind, scattered tables and half finished sculptures, bowls of water for keeping the dirt at bay, and windows placed to get the best of the daylight. I remember I visited once, many year-cycles ago, in happier times.
    What I recall does not fit with the message my body is giving me. The pieces of my mind gel together , but the journey seems achingly slow. There is something else in the darkness I cannot see, something I have missed, and which, as former First Elder of this land, all my instincts are telling me I should know.
    All I can experience , however, is only in my thoughts. The world of objects is too new to my taste and touch, hearing and smell to be fully understood without the help of memory.
    So it must be something in my mind , something else Iffenia has sparked off in me. The edge of discomfort nags more deeply; I must see to it, if I can, before I may continue with my task. Without the star-blessed focus of what I am doing, however, and with the uncertain mind-net, will I lose the light hold I have on my reason? No matter. I have committed worse atrocities than madness. I take a breath, try to straighten my shoulders, and let go.
    As in my thoughts , I step away from the rebuilding of my mind, the net Iffenia has left tumbles in. I had discounted it, I am a fool. The fluidity of its colours is as insubstantial as water and as deadly. It flows swiftly through the slow re-gathering of my mind, wiping away the bond that has been holding it together and, even as I try to cling to the pieces of myself, they are gone.
    Just as I open my mouth to scream, the net sweeps through my very self. The shock of disintegration , mindful not physical when, all around and within me, I find only emptiness instead of memory and senses, at least from within, although outside me I know it is still there. Something clings to me, though, a hovering presence in the darkness. Not Gathandrian, neither man nor woman, but connected to our inmost private longings. A dagger made from the night with the breath of fire contained inside it.
    How has Iffenia made such a thing? She must understand more of what she has done, and with whom she had allied herself, than I realise. That , too, she has hidden from me, from us all. It must have been deliberate; its concealment in the everyday reassurance of a mind-net does not smack of the innocence I assumed. She has taken this moment of unimagined terror and hidden it where none would seek. For what purpose exactly? I cannot fathom it. One thing I know, if this danger in the midst of the land is allowed to be free of whatever Iffenia uses to control it, then the greatest terror will not be from the mind-executioner, but from ourselves.
    H ow true that has always been.
    I find myself taking in great gulps of breath, but neither strength nor purpose comes from them. I only know one thing . It is vital for Annyeke to hear this. After all, Iffenia is with her, or will shortly be so. What dangers might her presence bring to the woman I have set in command of Gathandria? What dangers, then, for the land’s future?
    If only I could see.
    What good could