The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

Wars and had also had the foolishness to ask her to marry him.
    “And besides what have our menfolk given us recently but death and loss and misery?” was her final triumphant question.
    Johan blinked and his smile vanished. Instead one eyebrow raised in a manner she recognised from the not-too-distant day-cycles when her new husband had been her overseer at the Sub-Council of Meditation. In truth, those experiences seemed like a lifetime away. But always the raised brow had signified some misdemeanour of hers which would need to be corrected shortly. Back then, he’d tended to be right in his judgements and she had to acknowledge he was right this day-cycle. Probably.
    Annyeke grimaced, drew up a stool and sat down opposite him. She sighed. “All right. I accept my last statement may have been rather too harsh, but just because I’ve married you doesn’t mean my whole personality changes, you know. I love you, Johan, but I’m still me.”
    This time he laughed before reaching out and holding her hand. She could feel the warmth of his touch flowing upward through her skin. Red and gold and lilac.
    “I know,” he said. “If you weren’t who you are, then I would not be as happy as I am now. And yes, I understand what the former Gathandrian elders have done to our lands and the lands of our neighbours. But I am a man, as is the Lost One, Simon himself. We are not against you, but for you. Surely men and women must work together if we are to be what we could be?”
    She took his hand, kissed it once before letting go.
    “Now that depends entirely on the men and women involved,” she replied. One of the best things about being married to Johan, even if only for a couple of week-cycles so far, was how easily teased he’d turned out to be. Gathandrian women needed every kind of good thing they could find in the great task they all faced of rebuilding their country and, she hoped, that of their neighbours too.
    This time, however, Johan neither frowned nor grimaced, nor even rolled his eyes at her. No, this time, he sprang up from the table, took the three paces needed to bring him to her side and gazed down at her. His deep blue eyes and serious expression never failed to make it hard for her to breathe, and she experienced no change to that response now. Perhaps men always had the last word.
    Before she could think of gathering her thoughts together and making a suitably caustic comment which would uphold the honour of Gathandrian womanhood wherever it might be found, the colours flowing round him shifted from gold and the calmest of blues to a shade of deep swirling red. They made a pleasing contrast to the soft yellows of her kitchen-area. The next moment, he’d pulled her to her feet – an action that only made her level with the height of his chest – and gathered her into one of his unexpected but welcome mountain-hugs. She breathed in the scent of him – rosemary and winter-jasmine mixed with the wool of his tunic – and smiled. Knew he sensed her smiling. Then she heard his whispered words reverberating in her mind, not spoken aloud.
    Yo u’re right, my love. Everything depends on the man and woman involved.

    *****

    Some time later, Annyeke lay on her back staring up at the patterns of her wooden ceiling. She’d always enjoyed allowing her eye to take in the ebb and flow of the grain. It was an aid to meditation, a secret pleasure. Though of course she would never have admitted it to anyone else apart from her husband. As First Elder of this great city, she couldn’t afford to seem either dull or strange. She sighed and snuggled up to Johan who was lying on his front, snoring quietly. Something she’d teased him about at once when she found the custom out after their joining, and something he’d always strenuously denied. His presence here with her, when she’d kept her feelings hidden for so long, was still a source of pleasure, and it made her gazing at the ceiling and thinking moments more companionable too. Even when he was asleep.
    Because she knew this moment of peace would be short-lived. The remaining elders were expected back in the city later this day-cycle. They had stayed in the place of prayer since the end of the battle – a time she skirted round in her head as the memory of it was currently beyond even her strength – but now they were coming home. She understood why they had stayed away. She could feel their prayer, both its strength and its weakness, flowing through