The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

the route from his bed chamber to the mind-cane. For a man who would face judgement today, he felt extraordinarily calm. He had woken early and had spent the time before morning immersed in further meditation. It felt like coming back to a refreshing river he had left abandoned for too long. He centred himself on the names of the stars: the mountain; the lone man; the lovers; then the horseman; the river; and the elm, feeling the memory of his mother sift through his deepest thoughts with the latter star. Her star. After that, he called to mind the wolf and the oak; and finally the fox and the owl. Ralph Tregannon’s star and his own. He did not pause to study his reactions to the great names, but he simply accepted the ebb and flow of emotion for what it was. Nameless, but present. The structure itself gave him a kind of a peace.
    When he had begun the meditation in earnest, he found the mind-cane was nestling in his right hand, as if it had been there for a long time although he hadn’t been aware of it. Its warmth and slight quiver flowed through his skin and into his blood and its sparkle gave him an energy he hadn’t known he needed. In his thoughts he was alone on an island. With the sky a clear blue above him and with the sea a deep unfathomable presence at his side. He found it strange that he clung to the image of such vast waters when his one journey across the sea, with Johan, had been fraught with difficulty. He was not a good sailor. Still, he continued to sit within the scene his mind had given him, and waited for what it might want to convey. The sensation of sand under his body was both warm and comforting and he wondered if he should bring words into the meditation, but did not know if they would complete or break the situation.
    After a while, he delved deeper into his mind, not in search of words but for thought-states and colours he could bring into play. Emotions he could use in whatever he must face later. He found acceptance in soft mauve, and quietness in amber; an unaccountable courage in silver, and finally fulfilment in the deepest blue. Something to echo the sea.
    As he came back into his body, his muscles ached with the strain of holding one position. He must have meditated for longer than he’d anticipated, and indeed he was unused to the discipline. It was one he would need to take up on a more regular basis, if he survived the day. He glanced down at the mind-cane and saw the silver carving was glowing in the room’s darkness. He waited until the glow had almost gone before rising.
    Now he was back in the castle’s kitchen. Not wishing to cause any offence, he left the cane outside in the company of the snow-raven. The cook was conspicuous by her absence, but Frankel nodded at him and fetched a beaker of thin gruel. Simon took it but noticed it was half-empty. He gave it back, wondering if he might be taking all their sustenance for the fast-breaking, but Frankel frowned and the Lost One yielded.
    He drank the gruel in silence, allowing his companion the opportunity to speak first. The drink was not unpleasant and he smiled at Jemelda’s skill, no matter what her thoughts might be on him personally. It tasted of mulberry spice and river-nutmeg, both spices which would last long after everything else had been eaten. A drink for winter. When he’d finished, he nodded at Frankel and washed out the beaker in the dish of water left for the purpose.
    After that, Frankel spoke.
    “My wife has gone out early,” he said, “to gather the people. The judgement time is set for the midday hour.”
    Simon was grateful for the information. He could, he supposed, have gleaned the details from the man’s mind as such fresh knowledge would not yet be buried deep, but he had not thought to do so and besides it would have been unseemly.
    “Thank you.” Then, “I must find somewhere to store the cane while you decide whether I live or die. I do not wish the villagers to be afraid. There has been enough fear.”
    “You do not believe it will try to save you?”
    A good question. All Simon could say in response was what he hoped in his heart was true. “If I desire it to leave me be, then yes I believe it will obey. The snow-raven will follow it. There is a bond between them I have not yet fathomed.”
    A long silence followed his statement, and Simon could sense the waves of doubt in the old man’s mind, set against the instinct to trust. The Lost One sighed.
    “You have no reason to