The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

of her plants. At the start of the wars, it had been bereft of any leaves, but as they progressed, some growth had come to it, starting with the one leaf she’d seen there after Johan and Isabella – poor Isabella! – had begun their journey to Lammas. Later more leaves had sprouted, but since the onset of winter and the Library’s demise there had been no more.
    She expected to see none this morning. She was wrong.
    She smelt the tree almost before she saw it, though surely this was impossible as the budding-season was many week-cycles from now. The ghostly shape of the branches glimmered in the low light and for a moment Annyeke thought they were actually moving before she realised it was the abundance of leaves adorning the tree and not the branches themselves which swayed in the slight breeze. She peered closer, the breath catching in her throat, and saw the leaves were not green but the purest white. The pale pink dawn caught their brightness and all but dazzled her even in the gloom. And although there were no buds, the leaves themselves gave out the lemon scent.
    She reached out and took hold of one of them. It felt like parchment to her touch, with none of the smoothness she associated with her tree. What did such a thing mean? Annyeke could not fathom it. The leaf came off in her hand and, at the same time, she heard a movement behind her. When she turned round she saw it was Johan. Despite her best efforts, she must have woken him.
    “Look,” she said, too startled to even think of connecting fully with his mind. “Look at the tree.”
    Johan did so, taking hold of her hand and drawing her to himself. “It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure whether this is real or a dream. Because I dreamt of the Lost One, Johan, before waking up and coming here, and then the tree was like this.”
    She explained to him what had been in her dream and he frowned as he tried to put the pieces together. She could feel in her blood the working of his thought. From instinct, his mind melded with her own in wild sparks and dances of colour, red and blue and the brightest of yellows, and it was then that what was right and what was needed came together, and she knew, from the dream, from the tree and from the man she loved what she must do.
    In order to defeat Iffenia and the power of the Book of Blood, she must contact the Lost One again, but would he be able to complete what the Great Spirit asked of him?

Chapter Fourteen: Dreams

    Simon

    Simon woke with a start, his mind filled with images of vast empty fields, strange white leaves and Annyeke. Next to him he caught the faint glow of the cane and, when he turned to the other side, he saw his father was sleeping. Lucky for him as yesterday had not been restful. First, the foolish attempts to speak with the old man, then the demands of the Lammas Lord and his own response too, and finally the long hour-cycles before sleep became necessary.
    Morning had come too soon. There was much to do and consider. The mind-cane’s brightness was rising, and he could sense the beginnings of its song in his thought.
    Hush , he said. I know you are here. I am awake.
    The cane danced to his hand as if it had been waiting all this time for his call. The song ceased its journey and Simon was aware of a deep silence in his mind, accompanied only by the colour green, one he associated with Ralph and the emeralds of course.
    The most important story is near and you must listen to it.
    The words rose in him as if they’d been waiting a lifetime to be heard. Simon clutched the cane to his chest and felt the slow hum it made transferring to his skin. He knew the voice was the cane’s but it was also something of his own. By the gods and stars, he could not interpret it. Perhaps it was too early for such magic, and it was certainly too dark in the room where Ralph had lodged them. He needed to be up and in the air, where things might seem clearer. In the past, when he’d been on the run, flitting like a ghost from habitation to habitation, it had been so. The outside air was his refuge.
    He could not leave without his father though, because no matter how difficult their reunion was proving, he could not abandon the old man. With a sigh, Simon laid a hand on his father’s shoulder and shook him awake, but gently.
    His father groaned, murmured and sat up. He said nothing and Simon was glad of it. Conversation hadn’t succeeded