The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

full as, without his own willing consent, the cane would have no choice but to stay. If this happened, then he would be no better than the mind-executioner himself.
    He brushed his fingers over Ralph’s face, partly for his own comforting. Then he took several paces away from him, so he was standing with a clear view of both the castle and the ruined mountains.
    “This,” Simon said, stretching his arms as wide as he could, still holding the mind-cane. “This must happen now, and may my own heart utterly consent to it.”
    He wasn’t ready, not by a long river, but the cane had made it clear the time was now and he would have to bear it as best he could. So the Lost One stood, hands outstretched towards the sky, waiting though he wasn’t sure for what. At first the heavens were empty, only the stars in sight. The mind-cane hummed in his hand and he could feel its vibration penetrating his skin and, again, one lone tear slid slowly down his cheek.
    For a time-cycle longer, the sky continued to be clear of anything but stars and still the Lost One waited. He knew as if it had been branded on his bones he had to do this, he had no choice. Or rather, he had already chosen, no matter the loss to come. His arms grew tired and his head ached, and from nowhere he found he was praying, to the gods and stars, and to the great Gathandrian Spirit , wherever it might dwell: in the sky, in the air, in the earth, in the cane. And, over and over again, the words in his mind were these: great Spirit, come, come, great Spirit.
    What held him there, apart from Ralph’s presence, was something deeper he could hardly express to himself: the understanding what he did now had been waited for throughout all time-cycles. It was in some way more important than his discovery of the cane, the terror of the mind-executioner, the wars and even, perhaps, his growing connection with the Lammas Lord, forged from guilt and pain but opening out into light, and love.
    So he waited, peering into empty sky. Then, when he thought he would stumble and fall from the pain in his body clamouring for attention, he felt Ralph step beside him, on the right, where he held the mind-cane up as high as he could. The Lammas Lord grasped his arm, holding it firm, and Simon almost cried out with relief. Slowly the trembling in the Lost One’s body lessened and he felt his breathing grow steadier again. With this help, he could wait for whatever he was waiting for a while longer.
    Thank you.
    He could not speak, could scarcely even nod his thanks, but he hoped Ralph could hear the gratitude easing itself through his thoughts.
    The moon was at its height and the sweat pouring from both of them when Simon finally spotted something bright at the far horizon. Something small and white which could have been a distant star but was not. He made a noise, nothing but a small moan, hardly worth the hearing, but Ralph tightened his grip and drew subtly closer. Simon could sense his readiness for whatever was to come. It made him smile; he wasn’t ready for whatever it might be himself, but the Lammas Lord had always had a soldier’s spirit.
    The white dot in the clear night sky drew ever closer and ever larger, until finally Simon could see the shape of the snow-raven, drifting on the wind towards them. He wanted to cry out, to greet the bird or acknowledge its mysterious presence but he could perform neither act, as his throat was closed with tears. He swallowed them down as the bird came nearer, almost upon them now, and freed his arm from his companion’s support. The ache of independent movement shot through him but he ignored it. There was more at stake here than his own mere comfort, much more.
    Ralph protested, made to reach out for the Lost One’s hand again, but from somewhere Simon found the words he needed: No, please, this is something I need to do alone, for the sake of us all.
    The Lammas Lord shook his head, but stayed back. Simon closed his eyes for a heartbeat or two, finding the will he needed, before opening them again. The time-cycle was now. The great snow-raven was above them, slowly circling. The Lost One knew it would be the last time he ever saw him. Simon remembered how the bird had challenged him and helped him, sometimes being his only companion on the strange journey he had taken, he remembered both the sharpness of his beak and the softness and safety of his wing.
    And then, before he could stop himself, he found himself shouting out to