The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

destroys what little there is left to build on, how can I and the mind-cane help then? Assuming we even understood what it was we could do.”
    “You will do what is needful when the time arrives, Simon,” Ralph replies, feeling in his blood both the truth of it and his companion’s confusion. “Tomorrow I will take a few of those left here and go to find Jemelda. You must take the seeds which remain and try to make them grow, the gods and stars know how but I see no other solution. The cane, and perhaps my emeralds, will help you. The important thing is that I do not destroy the land my father bequeathed me, Simon, because above all else I cannot countenance that shame .”
    When Ralph finishes speaking, his hands are clenched into fists and his skin feels hot. He did not mean for the conversation to turn to these matters so soon, as he meant to speak only about Simon, but he finds he could not and his only escape route is in the matters of the land, which itself rightly clamours for his attention.
    Simon’s reaction is not what he expects. The man slams him back into the wall behind and the jagged stone digs into his body. The mind-cane shines a piercing silver and Ralph cannot look directly at it because of the intensity.
    Do not speak of shame, Simon tells him mind to mind with no speech needed, when we both have shame enough to last us a life-cycle beyond measure, and when you yourself have barely the taste of it on your tongue. Believe me when I say you know nothing of shame.
    With that, he lets Ralph go. The Lammas Lord stares at him and knows he has not been mistaken. Beneath Simon’s anger is the same current of desire that runs through his own blood. It may overwhelm them both if they do not take care, as he fears if once he lets the scribe, no matter what he has become now, into his life again then the fate of the land he loves will be as the rivers after the flood which rise up at night and are gone again in the morning. He will not countenance any distraction to what he has sworn to do for his people.
    Simon wipes his hand up and across his face. He too is sweating.
    “We cannot do this now,” he says, his voice unsteady and gazing only at the mind-cane which is suddenly quieter. “As you say, there is too much else at stake we cannot afford to lose. But believe me, if the land survives and if we ourselves live, there will be a reckoning between us one day, my Lord. Now, go, all of us need to regain our strength.”
    With that, the scribe slips around Ralph’s frame and disappears back into the room that holds his father. The Lammas Lord is left alone in the draughty corridor and more than unsettled by what has occurred. Although there is no door to stop his continuing pursuit of the man, Simon’s message is clear and he has said what Ralph could not, for all his planning, bring himself to say, may the gods and stars damn them both. Because of it, Ralph cannot follow him. He would look like a beggar if he did, and he refuses to take on such a role more than he has already done so.
    However, Simon has given him his orders and, whilst obeying them goes against the grain of generations of Lammas rule, the command to rest remains a good one. With a muttered curse, Ralph turns on his heel and makes his way to his own quarters, far more open to the elements than are Simon’s.
    Behind him, he does not see the Lost One watching him go.

Tenth Gathandrian Interlude

    Annyeke

    She woke even before dawn, her head full of visions of the Great Library. She could see books and parchments drifting over a level plain. It was the height of the summer-season, the sun warming her skin. Annyeke always suffered in the sun and made every effort to cover her head if she had to venture out. Now though, in this strange and waking dream, she had no sensation of burning. When she looked up, she could see a shape walking towards her over the layers of books strewn across the grass. Behind him, trees faded and vanished as if being pulled away by an unseen force. Gradually the shape became clearer and she could see the figure of a man, with sparks of silver flashing from the object he held. She knew at once it was the Lost One. Simon the scribe.
    She called out to him, but in her dream she had no voice and he did not respond to her mind. As he came nearer, she tried to reach out for him but her body would not obey her command and, at the last moment, Simon turned away, not even acknowledging her. Her heart filled with a