The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

impossible.
    “What shall we do?” the question came from the boy at her side, still clutching her hand. “Where’s my master’s scribe?”
    Another question she had no answer to, but as the woman in charge she had to make a decision.
    “I don’t know where the Scribe is right now,” she said, “but he will be with us soon. Until then we need to reach shelter. Tell me, which is the safest house in the village?”
    The boy reddened and pointed, dropping his gaze. Annyeke frowned but followed the line of his finger to a hovel which, though damaged, seemed slightly more sturdy than those around it. At least it had a roof and some semblance of a wall. She turned to head in that direction, sensing the churning mix of colours around the young boy. But, before she could take a single step, the boy had grabbed her.
    “It is the night-women’s house,” he whispered.
    His fear blended with the colours of the people near her and began to mix with black in her mind. Heart beating fast, Annyeke swung round.
    “This is no time for your delicacy,” she said, fixing each one with her gaze as she spoke. “ Here is where we will take refuge.”
    She bundled them in. Yes, that was the only word for it as she didn’t think they had time for niceties. Inside a woman sprang up, gasping with fear, and Annyeke cursed her own stupidity for not taking a mind-view of the place before they entered. She hadn’t thought anyone would be present.
    “I’m sorry,” she said, holding out her hand in a gesture of appeasement. “We need safety. Please can we stay? I swear none of us will harm you. But we need to fight our enemy.”
    The woman – whose name, if indeed she had one, Annyeke could not sense – stared for precious moments at them all and then nodded. Without a word, the night-woman headed for the back where the shadows lurked and disappeared out of view for a heartbeat or two before reappearing with some threadbare blankets and pieces of wood. She held them out.
    “If you promise me no harm, then you are welcome,” she said softly, not meeting Annyeke’s gaze. “This is all the comfort and weapons I have.”
    “We will make it enough,” Annyeke replied.
    By now the old man, the Lost One’s father, was trembling and muttering under his breath over and over again. Annyeke could feel the cut and thrust of ebony and green anguish in her thoughts from him but she tried to contain it and focus on the matter in hand.
    “How will we fight?” the boy, Apolyon, asked her.
    “With our minds and with our hearts,” Annyeke told him. How she hoped the Lost One would come soon. There was more happening here than she could comprehend or perhaps even defeat. Then it came to her what she must do. “Listen to me.”
    As if she had given them a command it might be death to disobey, everyone at once stopped what they were engaged in and turned to her. Really, it was quite unnerving to see for herself how ingrained the instinct for obedience was in these people. Could they not think for themselves? On the other hand, wasn’t that obedience exactly what she most needed? Only Simon’s father continued to be lost in his world of madness and muttering.
    She took a deep breath. She thought she might need it.
    “ This is a battle of the mind,” she said. “I know your people do not hold to matters of the mind and I understand how recently these gifts have brought you nothing but grief, through no fault of your own. But whatever is out there is pursuing us and it is an enemy which is more than physical even though we can see it with our eyes. So I’m asking you to trust me and let me link as far as is safe with your thoughts. I swear to you I will do you no harm, and you will lose nothing by it. But we must have all the advantages we can glean. What do you say?”
    For a long moment, silence. Annyeke held her breath, and kept her senses back from exploring what their reactions might be. Although in this close proximity, some of the feelings were obvious, the greatest of these being, of all things, surprise.
    It was Frankel, the cook’s husband, who finally answered her. When she thought it might have been the night-woman.
    “We have always hated the mind-manipulators,” he said, “but nobody has ever asked us for our consent before.”
    “I know.”
    Another silence, then, “I will do it, First Elder.”
    The others followed Frankel’s lead, and even Apolyon nodded.
    “Thank you,” Annyeke said. “Sit down and take hold