The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

remember why he has been so desperate to reach him, or what the rounded shapes in his other hand are, but they are linked. They have to be. But how can he tell the scribe what he should know when he cannot access it himself?

    Simon

    With Ralph’s touch, the Lost One knew exactly what the Lammas Lord longed to tell him. The picture in his mind was as clear as the sun: Ralph and the emeralds, both of them offering him the last word he needed to complete his story.
    What is it? he asked, making the link to Ralph complete by grasping the man’s hand. Give me the word you hold.
    But Ralph was beyond reasoning, and his thoughts were shattered by the mist. Simon could glean nothing and was terrified to cause more damage by entering the Lammas Lord’s mind himself. That way might kill him and he would cause no more death this day. Not if he could help it.
    There had to be another way. But what? The answer came to him along with Anneyeke’s mind-cry: it is over. Help us!
    But not yet, not yet was it over. There were still heartbeats for them to live. Because the Lost One grasped Ralph’s senseless hand, took the emeralds he found there and ripped their master’s word they had kept safe all this time from their bright mystery: desire.
    Ralph’s word was desire. Simon’s mind swallowed it up, and in it found his own once more: acceptance. As both words pierced his thought, they joined with those of the people and created a multi-coloured circle in which everything was born, dwelt and had its being. A place where there was no silence but only perfect song, no dissent but only a harmony which came from the air and the earth and the sky. The colours danced with the music, and Simon thought he had never experienced anything so perfect, and knew he would never afterwards be able to describe it to his satisfaction. Within the circle, pulsating most strongly with green, the words lived to the full: expanse and grief, despair, mistrust, anger, bitterness, all of these alongside loyalty, trust, hope and love. Binding them together were acceptance and desire.
    It was nearly enough. The white mist spat at the circle but could not enter it. Neither did it vanish and when the story had finished, the silence would remain to destroy them. An instinct deeper than words drove the Lost One to his feet, clutching the mind-cane. As he heard from somewhere within the long and distant cry of the snow-raven, he glanced down at Ralph and saw the Lammas Lord’s hooded grey eyes fixed on his own. He was still there then, somehow.
    With a great triumphant cry, Simon the Lost One swung the cane once more through the dancing circle and the words within. Fire sprang from the silver carving and the words flew towards and inside it, forming something far greater than themselves and far greater than Simon had ever known. As the brightness and the flame melded into his flesh and thought, he knew this time his actions were for life, not death, and he understood this was good.
    Then the darkness of pain swallowed him up and he could sense no more.

Chapter Seventeen: The Music of Words

    Annyeke

    One moment a chaos of silent destruction whirled and beat around and within her, the next the overwhelming pounding which lanced Annyeke’s mind ceased and she felt her thoughts begin to unfurl once more. And with them words: words of memories, words of present truth and future imagination. She almost sobbed aloud at the relief of knowing herself again. When the pain of loss was at its worst, she had looked up, and seen the Lost One in the middle of a circle of green, words singing from inside it, singing through him also. She thought she recognised her own word, and then the circle exploded into the mist. It was then the mist vanished, and her world came back.
    She fell to her knees, gasping, and desperately trying to assess the injuries, or worse, of the people around her. As she reached out with her mind, her eyes were still fixed on the Lost One, and she cried out a warning as he too fell, his face expressionless.
    “Simon.”
    As he dropped to the ground, Annyeke saw behind him the looming figure of the blacksmith, the crimson of hatred and revenge swirling round his head. The knife in Thomas’s hand flashed silver in a sudden burst of sunlight through the clouds, and she opened her mouth to cry out again. But Simon was beyond hearing and she was too far away to help him. She could not bear the thought of her friend dying again and cursed her own