The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

same blue river drifted into mind-spaces she hadn’t visited for nearly a lifetime, flushing out the dark and the crimson spatterings and swallowing them up into a different colour. She blinked, and the river was gone.
    The scribe appeared to have noticed nothing untoward. He stretched his arms and stood up. Behind him, Annyeke saw that the snow-raven looked as if it was poised for flight and the mind-cane was quivering. For the first time, she was more worried about the cane than the bird.
    “Do justice and anger always fight then?” he asked her. “In the legends and in our lives?”
    An impossible question, but Annyeke met Simon’s steady gaze.
    “I don’t know,” she said, “but it’s always been a battle, a personal one.”
    He opened his mouth to reply but never got the chance because the mind-cane spun upwards and began a high-pitched humming. At the same time, the snow-raven began to sing, each note a perfect sphere of gold that melted into the air.
    The scribe took two steps towards the door, his sense of calm dissipated and arms raised upwards as if to ward off attack, but Annyeke grabbed him.
    “No, don’t run,” she panted. “Not this time. Why don’t you take hold of the cane, Simon? Properly. You’ve touched the cane before and it hasn’t hurt you.”
    “B-but that was accidentally,” he stammered, straining to free himself from her fingers, but she wouldn’t let him. “Or when I had no choice. I hated it though. I hate touching it.”
    “Why?” she said. He’d never said that before. She’d never sensed it from him, not with such vehemence, anyway.
    He finally wrenched himself free.
    Because it shows me myself, he said. That’s why.
    She had nothing to say in reply, no wisdom to give. The snow-raven flapped its wings and the cane’s humming grew louder. Simon put his hands over his ears.
    “ No,” he said. “I’ve had enough. Please. Let me go. I need to get away. I need to think. For the gods’ and stars’ sake , why won’t anyone let me think? ”
    With that, he reached the door and flung it open. The late afternoon air came rushing in, bringing with it a hint of snow. The time they had was already running out. Too soon. With heart beating fast, she let him go and watched him stride away, the raven and the cane following swiftly in his wake. From his mind-depths, she caught his destination before he knew it himself—the Great Library. It might be dangerous, but surely the mind-cane would keep him safe, and, after all, where else would a scribe long to go?

    Simon
    The wide and broken road bordered by the remains of the parkland swallowed him up. He’d had enough. At first, he’d thought the calmness he’d felt would hold him, but then the raven had started to sing and all his fear had come rushing back. Besides, there had been something in Annyeke’s honesty that had spoken to him in a different way from the first tale, where the outcome had been almost more than he could bear. With this one, something in him had shifted, releasing a river of blue he hadn’t known was there, or not in such abundance. For a moment, maybe more, he’d been on the brink of discovering…he didn’t know what. No matter. It had come to nothing—as was usual in his life, damn the stars, and now he was here, walking to no purpose through an unknown city and pursued by a strange bird and a mind-cane.
    It wasn’t the scenario he’d hoped for and, even as he smiled grimly to himself, he couldn’t find much of amusement in it. Swinging round, he faced his pursuers.
    “Why don’t you leave me alone?” he yelled, not caring what kind of attention his behaviour drew from the passersby in the street. “What do you want me to do, anyway? What do you want me for?”
    No answer, of course, and neither cane nor bird retreated. The raven simply cocked his head at him and the mind-cane stood quivering, as if expecting orders. The scribe had none to give but, by then, the wave of apprehension—no, fear—that the presence of the cane outside was drawing to him from the Gathandrians was clear.
    He waved a hand in apology at strangers. “Please. I’m sorry. It’s all right. The cane won’t hurt anyone, believe me. At least I don’t think so. The only one it’s after is…is me.”
    Then, without waiting for any kind of reply to that poor reassurance, and not expecting help, he set off on his previous course—to nowhere.
    He walked for the length of a spring story only as his feet