The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

his contemplation of the renewed castle stone and turns on his heel towards the stair. There is much to do and he must start at once. For the war and its shadow is not yet over.

Sixth Gathandrian Interlude

    Annyeke

    This morning wasn’t going well. Annyeke could see it perfectly clearly without the need to glean anything from a mind-read or even ask a passing Gathandrian. It was the day after she’d returned from her unexpected adventure in Lammas and she was still trying to come to terms with Simon’s death and strange rebirth. Not to mention the hatred and potential rebellion of some of the villagers, and the concerns whether Lord Tregannon could in fact take charge again and in a good way, rather than a bad one. Any questions about the Chair Maker, she was determined to leave until later, when she might feel better able to deal with him. By the gods and stars, the troubles of a First Elder were greater than she had expected but she was proud of who she was, and come what might, she would never let any of her troubles defeat her if she could help it.
    So she watched as the people struggled to rebuild the great library. This was not the first attempt at recreating the city she had witnessed since rising one hour-cycle ago, but it was the one most fraught with difficulty. Other buildings seemed to be less complex as in, for instance, the glass-makers’ and wine merchants’ areas of Gathandria, where many people, men and women alike, worked together to build up stone on stone and reframe the windows of the houses which had been destroyed. Even a few streets away, the Council of Meeting looked a little more like the glory of its former self. But it would take time, a lot of time, and they must learn to live with the consequences of being not quite what they had once been. Such were the lessons the war and the betrayal of the elders had taught them.
    However, here at the Library, the very heart of their life, nothing seemed to be working. Annyeke watched as several men, grunting and bending under the weight, lifted one of the largest of the nearby stones into place. They were trying to rebuild the western wall. She continued to watch as the men paused to settle the stone, the colours of their mind-link a contrast in mauve, and then step away. The link between them drifted darker, almost black, before a sudden flash of crimson splintered the calmness and the stone fell with a great crash.
    The mind-link disappeared, and Annyeke caught the whisper of their curses before they recalled who was watching them.
    “Forgive us, First Elder,” the oldest man spoke, his long grey hair flowing back over his shoulders, the sign of a theatrical. “We do not intend to insult the gods but we have been working here for two hour-cycles now and nothing we do is successful.”
    “Yes,” a younger man thrust forward, a frown creasing his forehead. “We are not fools in our trade. My father was a master-builder and Aleff here used to make running repairs to his stage-house regularly. But the stones themselves fight us and will not be released into their places. Are there more battles to come? Is that why the Great Library protects itself, or is it because the elders have returned and the land rises up against them?”
    At his last remarks, the young man spat onto the earth, his saliva forming a globule of silver against the dark soil. It sparkled where the sunlight met it. Annyeke blinked.
    “Hush your words,” the man called Aleff hissed, glancing once at Annyeke. “Such rebellion is no use to us.”
    No, Annyeke thought, it was not, but in Lammas Jemelda and those who cleaved to her had chosen that way. There was much to face, but she hoped it would not be as the young man feared.
    “What is your name?” she asked him.
    He paused before answering and wiped his hand across his mouth.
    “Tiraq,” he answered at last. “My name is Tiraq.”
    Annyeke stepped forward until there were only inches between them. “That is a good name. In attempting to rebuild the land we love and that of the neighbours under our protection, we will need strength of hand and openness. We also need the courage to say when things are wrong so we do not waste time. This includes the courage to confront the past and to understand our bitterness. It took courage for our disgraced elders to return to us once we knew what they had done as they could easily have run for safety and never felt the good Gathandrian earth beneath their feet again. We