The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

elders, taken the Maker of Chairs, Iffenia’s beloved, to the ancient place of prayer. The journey had not been a long one and he had not spoken a word to her during it. Instead a cloud of impenetrable black shadowed him and kept them both company in their quietness.
    When they reached their destination, the Chair Maker had spoken first against all that was right.
    “You wish for me to leave you and your people, and take my beloved with me,” he said, his voice and mind tearing at her soul as his anger and grief flooded through her. “And you and the elders have the power to do it now the Book has gone and whilst Iffenia and I remain so weak after the battle. But I tell you this, First Elder, you will say no prayer on my or my wife’s behalf for mercy. Because for as long as I live there will be none such. For unless you kill me and therefore destroy us both, there will be no real peace for you.”
    In response, Annyeke strode up to him, brushing his mind-power aside and replacing it with her own. Just for a heart-moment, his eyes widened and she sensed the Gathandrian behind the obsession which consumed him, but then he was gone. Some things could never be rescued.
    She gripped his arms and shook him, allowing the strength of her role and calling to match his.
    “I have killed before,” she whispered, “and if it is needful I will kill again. For my country, for my people, and for those I love. Know that, Chair-Maker. And may the lack of peace you offer remain with you, until all things are resolved in the Spirit’s mind.”
    For a moment or two, she thought he might fight her, he and Iffenia both, but the power they possessed had been weakened. They were no longer any match for her and the strength the elders shared with her.
    So Annyeke watched and kept on watching as he left, stumbling away in a frenzy of black and red and darkest purple mind-fire until his figure disappeared entirely from view in the higher hills. She felt the stain of him on her skin and wondered if all First Elders felt the same and if it would ever truly leave her. Then she had fallen to her knees and prayed until her heart was calmer again.
    It had, she thought then, been the hardest thing she had ever done. Without the Book of Blood, any future attack on them would be weaker. If the Chair Maker ever returned then she and her people would be ready.
    A sudden soft footfall behind her as she stood in the garden, overcome by memories, and she felt gentle arms encircle her waist. You think too much, Annyeke.
    She smiled at Johan’s words. Perhaps that is what drew you to me in the first place?
    One of many things, I am sure. He kissed the top of her head and she leant backwards into his embrace, sensing the delight between them as their minds melded.
    Talus is asleep? she asked him.
    Fit to sleep all the morning through unless we rouse him, he replied. I did not believe a child could sleep so much. Now I know better.
    This time Annyeke laughed and brought their hands to rest on her gently swollen belly, the first outward sign of what was to come. She was thankful her worst experiences would soon be balanced with such a blessing. We will have a chance to compare the sleeping patterns of children when the summer-season is gone, though the women tell me we will be lucky to get any sleep at all. Perhaps when the Lost One comes here to welcome our daughter, he will give us the gift of sleep that Talus has now.
    Johan joined in her laughter and hugged her closer still.
    I would set nothing past Simon the Scribe, he said. He has proved to be a most unusual cousin.

    Ralph

    The Lammas Lord closes the castle door behind him and takes in a breath of the warm evening air. Three moon-cycles since the internal wars ceased and he is at last beginning to sleep well at night. His wounds have healed, thanks to Simon’s skill with herbs and the mind-cane’s power, but his leg still aches when the day’s work is over. Something in him sees this as fitting, a reminder of what he has done and the vital necessity never to let it happen again.
    In the moon-cycle after the wars, when the dead had been buried and the mourning-drum had ceased to sound, the people had remained suspicious of him and his intentions, and he could not blame them for it. Moreover the presence of Simon, the cane and the strange raven continued to stir up fear in their hearts and minds and for a while he wondered if nothing had been achieved which could be counted as hope at