The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

have to work together, Tiraq, or find a way to do so or … or our house can never be built again. Do you understand?”
    She had struggled to find the image she wanted to show him how important this act of renewal was for all of them. In the end it didn’t have quite the drama she’d hoped for, but the truth was there, which was the most important thing, and it seemed to convince the young man. The green mind-aura around him lost something of its darkness and he nodded. It was a step forward, of sorts.
    “Good,” she said. “Please believe me I will never, as long as I remain First Elder here, try to stop the voice of dissent. We need it so we don’t fall into error again, but the most important thing I see today is how the Library is fighting our efforts. Tell me, has this been the case all the while you’ve been gathering stone, or have you had moments of success?”
    Annyeke addressed this to the whole group and it was their leader, Aleff, who answered.
    “We have not been trying for long,” he said quietly and with an unexpected bow. “Only since yesterday-cycle, but it is as you see, First Elder. If it continues, the task will never be done.”
    “Then we must turn your skills and time to another task,” she replied. “I have no answer for this difficulty yet, but there are many who will need your help. You are a man of the theatre, Aleff, and in my wanderings this day-cycle and in the thought-colours in the air, I see not many have turned their attentions to that part of our city. Perhaps there is where you will be must useful.”
    The older man snorted. “After the war there is no time for theatre or indeed art. We must rebuild what is most essential to us. The Library is part of our life.”
    “Yes, it is,” Annyeke agreed, “but life is not only found in survival and responsibility. Enjoyment is also part of being Gathandrian, and I have no wish to lose it.”
    Aleff paused and Tiraq opened his mouth to add something, but Aleff shushed him. After another few moments, he nodded at Annyeke. “There might be some wisdom in what you say; perhaps the war has undone us more thoroughly than we imagined. I will do as you ask, First Elder. We need to remember what it is to live as well as what it is to survive.”
    “Good,” she said. “And thank you. While you do that, let me worry about what the Library might want. Such is my task, I believe.”
    After the men had gone, Annyeke spent several moments bringing her thoughts in line with the emptiness and, yes, silence she sensed in the Library. The stories they had gathered just before the battle in which she killed the mind-executioner were no longer there as she and the people had taken them into the unused rooms of the Council buildings. Annyeke had no clear idea what would happen to the colours and textures of the ancient Gathandrian tales if they remained exposed to the elements, but she did not wish to be the first leader to find out. Best to be cautious. However, without the stories, the life of the Library lay more quietly within its shattered portals and it was harder to sense its purpose. Perhaps this was the reason the workmen could not succeed in layering the stones upon each other again, and perhaps only the old tales could bind its walls together once more. No , she could not regret her decision to move and try to protect them as she was working with the unknown and so she had only done what she had thought best. If the stories needed to be returned, then it would be later, when the people’s minds were calmer, not now when the horrors of death were fresh in their memories. But, this day-cycle, Annyeke needed to align herself with the Library’s silence, allow it to connect with her also. So she walked slowly, pausing often, between the broken stones and grasses, reaching out with her thoughts to see if the once great building and its soul waited anywhere for her touch.
    For a long time-cycle, she sensed nothing, and she was ready to move on to where she might be more needed, when something in the grasses at her feet shifted. A faint colour, barely seen, almost nothing more than a shadow of some small creature. But her mind was alert and she knew it for what it was: a soft voice, waiting. From instinct she wanted to fling her thoughts after it, catch it before it could fade away, but something told her such an act would be worse than useless.
    Instead she sat down, as slowly and quietly as she could. In the distance she could hear