The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

people talking, some shouts, a short burst of laughter. Beyond that the whisper of the breeze and the open sky, dotted with clouds. Snow had fallen last night, but none this morning, and she knew soon the harshest of the winter would be over, although the chill and iron-hard earth would remain. The weather would hold them back in their intentions but it would not stop them; people needed to be sheltered and fed, and they needed to learn how to live again. That was what she was here to do, Annyeke swore it.
    She closed her eyes and brought back her thoughts to herself, giving her mind enough space so any voice close to where she sat might feel her willingness to hear. There were more things in Gathandria, as the tales themselves said, than could be imagined in the stars.
    What do you want? she asked, but holding back the power of her mind so it did not destroy whatever she might have glimpsed.
    Nothing. No voice of a story they might have missed or even a breath of the Library Spirit; that she would have given much to listen to. Then, out of nowhere, one word: Turn.
    She obeyed and saw a glimmer of green in the place of shadow. It was like a voice, yet not so. Its own equivalent of a voice. The shimmering green grew suddenly darker, flashed once and was gone, leaving behind it an impression of silver. Annyeke pursed her lips. Whatever it was, it had gone and she didn’t know if it would return, or even reveal itself in this way again.
    Its silence worried her, more than she wanted to admit, because it was as if there was some other force stopping the colour and sound from reaching out to her. Only one legend had the power to do that, but it could not possibly be so. Such an act was far too dangerous, and nobody would dare it. Not even the mind-executioner had tried. Still, the faint green echo had communicated, she sensed it, though its sound was in colour. She must therefore be mistaken in her fears and she would not be so foolhardy as to name them. All she had to do was interpret it, and oh the wisdom she might need for that. The shades of green reminded her of the Tregannon emeralds, and the silver the shape of the mind-cane’s carving. Yes, she could see it, but what did it actually mean? Should the emeralds be here? The mind-cane too? Now her head fizzed with questions when what she really needed was space to think and let the answers come …
    Annyeke became aware of her young charge mere moments before he raced up to her, panting, his hair sticking out as if she had not that very morning combed it.
    “Talus?” she scrambled to her feet. “What is it? Are you well? Is it Johan?”
    He shook his head. “No, we are unharmed. But you must come. It is the elders.”
    Talus turned and ran, through the library and out across the park, heading for the Square of Meeting. Annyeke followed him, picking up her skirts and running like a young girl with no fears as to what people might think. By the gods, she was First Elder and, if the role had any privileges, they surely must include the ability to run without bringing down judgement upon herself. She hoped so anyway. Besides, if judgement was to fall upon her, it would be for something far grander than her social behaviour which had never been first-class to begin with.
    By the time she and Talus arrived at the Meeting Square, Annyeke was almost laughing with the excitement of it. But the picture that greeted her set all amusement aside and she became sober at once. The elders were sitting in a circle in the middle of the square, praying. She could see the colours humming between them: lilac, the softest green and earth-brown, with the occasional flash of silver which they called the blessings of the gods. That wasn’t the issue at stake, for which Talus had run and fetched her. No, the problem was the Gathandrians, huddled in groups surrounding the praying elders. The colours dancing in fiery ribbons from the people were more dangerous, a savage threat on this cool morning-cycle. The anger almost drove her back, but Annyeke had tackled worse situations than this, so she stepped forward, ignoring the elders. This in itself would be an insult to them.
    “What’s going on?” she demanded from the nearest Gathandrian. “Tell me, by the gods above us.”
    The ritualistic question and the fact she’d asked him and not the elders startled the man, whose fists were clenched and eyes wide. Some of the darkness around him faded.
    “They do not help us, First Elder,”