The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

since that moment. But it allowed him to know what to do without hesitation. Feeling the solid stamp of the mind-cane melding with his hand and thought, he stepped forward into the shifting colours, his pace neither too hurried nor too slow but steady as a man with purpose who knows he will fulfil it. Because the time-cycle, as it had always been, was perfect.
    At the end of the corridor he saw a layer of silver mist. The colours around it did not meld with its strange shimmer but formed an unbroken frame that held it in place. The Lost One wondered for a moment if he should step through to the other side, but he was no god or sky-star, he was only a man and it would be wise for him to remember it. His own foolishness made him smile.
    Look , the mind-cane spoke directly to his thought, and the Lost One obeyed. He gazed through the mist at the scene beyond. He could see the Lammas fields burning up almost as far as the woods. For a heartbeat, it was impossible to understand and then he knew, as clearly as if the Gathandrian Spirit had spoken directly to his heart, that this was what Jemelda had planned and this was what she was hurrying to do when he glimpsed her. He had no sure knowledge of the ways of farming although he had spent much of his life gleaning what nourishment he could from the fields and leavings of farmers during his travelling life. But he understood only too well how the seeds sown before the snows came were the lifeblood of the people, and this year-cycle there couldn’t have been many because of the war’s horrors.
    Jemelda had struck a blow at the heart of the life the Lost One was trying to reclaim for Ralph’s people. If the villagers were left to starve, what would that mean for his mission to save them? Simon cursed under his breath at the cook’s cruel cunning, and the mind-cane twisted in his grip. Look again.
    Throat dry, he did so. Someone was running across the field and the weight of the man’s fear slapped across his belly as if he felt it himself. Wolf . Simon cried out, stretching forth his hand towards the mist before snatching it back again as searing heat from the cane pierced him. He could not help the man, but how he wanted to. Some things remained impossible no matter how much you tried.
    The fire pursued the fugitive across the burning field and the Lost One held his breath, hoping some miracle from the stars themselves might yet occur and the villager would not be consumed. Something else caught his attention at the edge of his vision: a dark-haired man beginning to run towards the one who was doomed. No. If one man must die, why should another perish? The moment he understood the man intent on rescue was Ralph, he cried out a jagged warning which could never be heard, but already the scene had reached its terrible conclusion. The fire oil consumed the unfortunate villager, and Ralph and the young lad gripping his cloak were flung backwards onto the earth. Simon’s mind shook with dread, but he felt nothing in his thoughts that spoke of a final separation from the Lammas Lord. Injured or not, Ralph was alive still. How had he felt when Simon had died? By the gods, there was a question he did not wish to dwell on, neither for Ralph’s sake or his own.
    Even as he forced himself to ignore this puzzle, the vision in front of him melted away and he could see what was happening in the corn fields no more. He gripped the mind-cane harder, willing it to connect with him and bring back the events he needed to know.
    The gifting of sight can only be borne for a story’s start, not for its full completion.
    “Yes, so you say,” Simon spoke aloud, surprising himself. “You are full of wisdom, but now is the time for action and not for meditation on whatever deep mission you and our gods are drawing us towards. But no matter, I must go to the people. Whatever occurs, I need to be with them, whether they want it or not.”
    His own impassioned words, like the mind-cane’s, were all very well and good, and Simon meant them, but though his thought was sure his limbs were weak. He needed to get to Ralph and the villagers, but he needed to find another way than by walking. The cane gave him no answers but then he had it.
    He leaned out of the window, the crisp night air sending a harsher chill through his bones, and scanned the star-bright skies. “Where are you, great air-lord? Come to me, I have need of your strength tonight!”
    Simon held his breath to listen for what he