The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

him just for a moment or two before she let him go.
    “You don’t like the snow-raven,” he said, the words spoken before he could reclaim them from his tongue. “In fact, you don’t like birds at all.”
    He’d known this before, of course, but not the degree of it. Annyeke pursed her lips and rose to her feet, brushing down imaginary stains on her skirts as she did so. “No. Not really. I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be. It’s not a crime.”
    The bird hissed at that, but Simon stood and made sure he interposed himself between the raven and his companion. Annyeke drew herself up a little taller and glared at him.
    “Thank you, but you don’t have to do that,” she said. “I can look after myself.”
    “I know,” the scribe replied. “But I can’t. And I don’t want to be in the middle of another fight before I have to. Tell me why you don’t like birds.”
    Simon had no idea why this suddenly seemed important, but he could not have stopped the words if he’d tried.
    Annyeke shrugged. “I just don’t. That’s all. I don’t want to say any more about it. What would be the point? But I do understand that for whatever reason we need the snow-raven. You need him.”
    “But you find it difficult to teach me what I need to know about Gathandria with the bird here?”
    A long pause. Both the cane and the snow-raven were silent. Then Annyeke sighed and her shoulders slumped. “Yes, I think I do.”
    Without hesitation, Simon took a couple of paces forward and hugged her. In his arms, she felt warm and surprisingly vulnerable for someone as strong as she was. He hadn’t touched her before, not like this. In fact, it came to him that he hadn’t touched another woman since his mother. As that thought crossed his mind, a strange sound came from Annyeke and a moment later he realised she was snorting with laughter.
    “I’m most certainly not your mother, Simon,” she said, releasing herself and stepping back. “And I’m glad to discover I’ve given you at least one new experience today.”
    He let her go and then couldn’t help joining in her laughter. It was she who recovered first.
    “Good,” she said. “Because if we can laugh, then perhaps there’s hope. But we need to press on. There isn’t much time. Before it gets dark, I think I should tell you the Second Gathandrian Legend. It deals with justice and anger.”
    Even before the snow-raven opened his beak and hissed once more, Simon already had his answer on his tongue.
    “No,” he said, so quietly that Annyeke had to lean forward to catch his words. “This time, no more faceless legends. This time, tell me a tale from your own experiences of justice and anger. I think that will help me more. Give me something of yourself.”

The Second Gathandrian Legend: Justice and Anger
    Annyeke
    “Why?” she asked him, her voice shaky and high pitched. She hadn’t counted on this but, then again, she hadn’t really counted on any of it. “The legends will give you the history of our people and it is this that will draw you closer to the centre of yourself, not anything I can tell you.”
    Simon shook his head once more and sat down. “I can read the legends well enough. If you grant me access to the Gathandrian Library, then I can discover them there. I might even be able to hear them from the page directly to my thoughts. Who knows? There is magic enough in this land, as far as I can see. Anything I need to ask you about them, I will do. But surely what will give me greater understanding about your—our—shared country is how its people interpret it in their own lives. Isn’t that what Johan taught me on the terrible journey to reach this city? Those which give most strength and clarity are the personal stories we carry? Surely it is through them that our goal is reached most fully.”
    He sat back in his chair and took a long breath. He blinked at her and she felt his confidence seeping away. It wasn’t the strangeness of that which held her most, though. It was the fact that the mind-cane was now lying across his legs, at a slight angle, the base of it by his left thigh and the silver top near his right knee. She hadn’t seen it move there. Neither, she felt, had he. And he still didn’t realise it. But, for a heartbeat or two, it was as if Simon and the cane were one being, and the most natural thing in Gathandria was for him to rest his right hand, glowing a soft blue now, gently on its carving, anchoring it to him by his touch