The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

Ralph and smiled. After a heartbeat or two, the Lammas Lord nodded and held out his hand, this time steadily. Simon took it, felt the promise it held for them all.
    It was enough.

Epilogue: Three moon-cycles later

    Annyeke

    In the first light of morning, the Gathandrian First Elder stood by her beloved lemon tree and stretched both mind and limbs to greet the sun just beginning to warm the land. The action reminded her of the day-cycle, not so long ago but seeming a lifetime, when she had padded out to enjoy her garden whilst everyone else was asleep and seen the first hint of new growth on her tree. Everything had started then, and now it was finished. Or rather the land and the people were experiencing a new beginning and she was grateful. Even the tree was in full blossom, its leaves the deepest green and the colour they should be. No messages from the gods for her this morning, apart from the blessings of bright air, sunlight and safety.
    Since the day when the Lost One had fought the Battle of Silence, as the people were beginning to call it, and won them back their stories, the land had changed, for the better. All the lands. Back then, once the Lammassers had begun to waken after the fight, and seeing Ralph and the Lost One assuming control of the aftermath of war, working together she noted, Annyeke had stepped away and, using the two emeralds she had in her possession, taken her leave of them.
    She would have preferred a less bumpy journey back to Gathandria, but not everything could be perfect, or how she might like. A terrible admission for a red-headed woman to make, but it did not matter as she would not be sharing this thought with others. Except perhaps Johan, one day soon. At the time she had landed with an undignified thump in the middle of the public square, next to a startled Talus and a more than relieved Johan. When her beloved had helped her to her feet, he had hugged her until she thought she would never breathe again before smoothing down her hair and wiping what must have been smudges from her face.
    She had hugged him back before turning to speak with her people gathered there and those more distant in the city. Holding Johan’s hand tightly in her uninjured one and with her other arm around her foster son, she had told them her thought.
    The battle is won, she had said. The Lost One and our own courage have saved us. The lands are safe in truth. Now we can live again.
    After that, she had all but fainted – oh the shame of it – and Johan had carried her home, Talus tugging eagerly on her skirts as they strode through the streets.
    Now in the daylight she could smile, just a little, at that memory. Since then, life had been better. The very next morning after her return, she and Johan, along with the rest of the people, had begun to rebuild their city with a greater confidence than they had possessed before. Something of the darkness around them had eased and they had started to find hope. Hope was always good, and the rediscovery of it had opened Annyeke’s eyes to how much it had been missing before.
    The Gathandrian Library had been the most astonishing revelation of them all. Since her vision there when the colours of green and silver had come to her, almost from nothing, her meditations had grown deeper and she now spent time each morning bringing the colours to her and giving herself to them. Somehow it gave her wisdom for the role the Great Spirit had given her. It must have been the way the Lost One saved them, by restoring the words which had been taken, as when Annyeke had entered the library two day-cycles after the Lammas battle, she could sense its spirit already at work: colours flowed through the air, and the parchment and books pulsated with red and blue and gold. The Book of Blood was nowhere to be found, destroyed she assumed in their victory, and she had been all the more relieved for it. The task of rebuilding the Library’s walls and rooms and shelves was as a result proving far easier than she had assumed, although it would be many moon-cycles before it was fully finished.
    Against these delights, the last three moons had had difficult aspects to them also. What elder could ever say everything was so well it could not be improved? The presence of Iffenia, how she had influenced the Lammas cook and how she still dwelt in her husband the Chair-Maker could not be ignored.
    Annyeke had therefore gathered her courage to her and, with the blessing of the remaining