The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

Ralph and the mind-executioner had tried to hang him for his crimes. He’d been terrified, begging for mercy and weeping, with the taunts of the people echoing in his ears. He had hardly been able to believe it was happening, nor later that the Gathandrians had rescued him at the last moment-cycle. Then he’d been a reluctant participant but now it was different. Very different.
    The realisation of this flowed over him like a shock of water on a warm day and his mind flickered with strange colours before settling again. This time he was ready. Yes, his skin and thoughts trembled with the knowledge of what might come and how the villagers would judge him, but today he had come here of his own will and purpose. He would accept whatever Jemelda and her people decided, and let it bring peace to the land, both this one and their neighbours’.
    Near the Tree of Execution, Jemelda stopped. Simon waited. He couldn’t be sure but he thought she might have hesitated before squaring her shoulders and walking towards the place where the Lammas Lord should stand. He wondered if Ralph would attend at all, and what his verdict might be.
    “So,” Jemelda began, making Simon jump. By the gods and stars, he had grown quickly used to the silence. “We are here, but first I must ask where the mind-cane is.”
    Frankel coughed and his wife turned to him.
    “It is in the bread-store,” he said. “The scribe wanted to be alone when he met us like this.”
    A brief silence and Simon could see the range of emotions flowing over the cook’s face: surprise, puzzlement, relief and a dark silent joy.
    She only nodded her understanding before continuing. “Good. It will make our task easier. We are gathered here to meet a man who is our enemy and to give judgement on him. I have no fine speeches to give you. They do not sit well in a labourer’s kitchen. But we must judge for ourselves as our own Lord cannot do it. He is not what he once was. As you see, the murderer who caused this war and the death of so many we love has returned. Our land waits for justice to be done so we can live again. That is what our stories tell us and they have in the past proved true. So, will you help to bring about an ending and a beginning to this new day-cycle?”
    The people’s response was in no doubt, and Simon knew his judgement was near. The only problem for them was how to perform his trial. He did not have long to wait to discover Jemelda’s mind.
    The cook turned to face him and he could not look away. Even without reading her thoughts, he could see the almost overpowering range of emotions skittering across her expression. This was a day Jemelda had longed for, a day of retribution, for calling to account his sins and the suffering he had put so many through. But it was also a day when the natural order of their world, which said the Lammas Lord’s word was law, could not be followed. It was a day when the people would have to speak their desire directly and to the full. It was more than anyone should be asked to stand under, but there was no choice. If Simon could have reached across and given her the strength she needed for the task, he would have done so. But he had no right to anyone’s mind, let alone hers. Finally, her thoughts settled and he found he could breathe again. If he was going to die this day-cycle then let it be done well and with some kind of dignity.
    When Jemelda spoke again, she continued to hold his gaze, but her voice was strong enough to carry to all who waited there.
    “We have no red or white stones to choose death or life,” she said. “And I am glad of it. For today something new will happen and the old ways are not for us. In my most secret moments, I have sometimes thought the choosing of stones is too simple a method. You do not bake bread without deciding how many herbs to flavour it with, or the taste is lost. There is more to a decision than a yes or a no . So, instead of stones, each of us here will tell our stories, and the cruel ways in which the man under judgement has dealt with us. Then when our tale is done, let each of us stand to the right if you wish Simon the Scribe to live, and to the left if you wish him to die. If you do not know, and the spices of your history are not clear to you then remain in the middle where you have accused him. When we have each spoken and taken up our places, then we will carry out the verdict. Do you agree?”
    A pause ensued. Not that Simon could blame them;