by Anne Brooke
First it was evident more practical issues needed to be attended to. She did not want to be cruel.
“I have corn-broth and water to offer. Bread and the remains of yesterday’s stew, although it will be cold.”
“Please,” the Chair Maker spoke first, his voice hoarse and spiky. As if he had either damaged it from overuse or not spoken for a long time. “Your kindness is worth all the gods and stars we know, Annyeke Hallsfoot, First Elder of Gathandria.”
Annyeke blinked at him. She had not expected he would be the first one to acknowledge her presence, let alone the role she carried. She had thought it would be the Mentor, the ancient one. The honour should, by rights, have been his, but he had ceded it to another. This puzzled her, but when she glanced at him, his lined face gave nothing away. No doubt many, many things would be different now. Still, she couldn’t help but mourn the loss of the mind-circle’s power, which had once given her access to the elders’ secret thoughts. Not to their reasoning though – that discovery had been entirely hers. Well, hers and Talus’ of course.
She nodded her thanks for the Chair Maker’s courtesy and busied herself ladling out the remains of the broth and the stew for the hungry Gathandrians. They accepted it gladly but in silence. She’d always thought the elders were a strange grouping. She was sure if any of the remaining elders had been women, they would not have acted in such a way. Still, she could play this game also. So she waited until the food was gone and then she spoke again.
“There is much to be done,” she said, gazing at her companions, one by one. “You will need to tell me about your experience at the praying tree and on your journey back home. Our people need to hear us speak as one. There have been too many lies already. I did not set out to take on the role of First Elder when these wars began, but I have done so because I care about our survival and the survival of the lands under our care. And because it is time for women to have a voice. Up to now, whilst there have been women in the Council of Elders, none has been given the role of First Elder. So, I must hear everything that has happened to you, in the mind, and then the five of us will begin this great task. Sadly, it is not one which will give us back the world we knew. We cannot return there. No, our task is to create our world anew and, this time, to make it truthful and good. There will be no more tears or pain, as far as we can prevent either. Instead, we will be honest about our plans, as a Council, and we will listen to our people. This is my desire. I hope it can be our desire.”
When Annyeke finished speaking, the four elders gazed at each other and nodded. She heard their response in the innermost depths of her mind.
Yes. You are right. You are First Elder, Annyeke Hallsfoot. So, let us tell you what we have found. Link with us.
She thought about their suggestion. The mind-links between the elders were an ancient tradition. Part of their privileges and their responsibilities, and their mystique. It was the kind of link the Council had always kept hidden from their fellow Gathandrians, whereas other links could be freely known amongst the land if the parties to it were willing. This had been where many things, in her view, had gone wrong. If the people of this great city had known these same elders had planned all along to let the mind-executioner go free, simply in order to bring the Lost One, Simon Hartstongue, back to them and to usher in a new age of peace as a result, would the actions taken have been very different? Annyeke hoped so. She hoped the Gathandrian people had enough compassion that if they had known what the elders were planning, they would have prevented it. But, no, even this she could not tell. No matter how much of a path anyone had into someone’s mind, she had come to realise it was impossible fully to understand another or to influence them unduly. People were who they were, or who they were allowed to be. It had taken these wars, the horror of nearly losing Johan and the unexpected pleasure of meeting the Lost One to make her realise this for herself.
So she paused. She wanted to make the elders accept her more fully in the role she must play, and at the same time she needed to make things different from what they had been.
Finally she spoke. Aloud, not just to their thoughts.
“Yes,” she said. “We must link our minds and offer a true leadership to our people, simply in order for the land to continue its slow path to recovery and a new direction. But this time we must find fresh ways of doing it. So, we will link, as is the custom when a new leader is brought before the Council of Elders, but we will do it in public, where our people can see. Do you agree?”
A long silence followed her announcement. Annyeke let it settle. She sat back on her stool and waited. She hoped she wasn’t a fool; it was obvious that asking old men steeped in tradition to change, even after so many difficult changes had already taken place, would be a hard demand. They would need to consider, but she wasn’t allowing them to leave until they had made their decision. She permitted that thought to be at the forefront of her mind; these men must make of it what they might. Whatever happened, she wanted no more secrets.
Finally the Silent One nodded. He reached out and touched her hand. His fingers were cold against her skin. At once, Annyeke felt the strength of his thought colours in her own mind: cerise; lilac; gold. And beyond those, the knowledge of the other elders also, the four of them linking in ways she had never thought to imagine. For a heartbeat out of time – no, more than time, for it seemed to her time itself stopped while she reeled at the visions filling her blood – she saw and felt the vast expanses of the ocean and was transported across the far-flung regions of the sky. The clarity of blue and a sensation of floating. And then something else. Something other, overpowering her so she could not cry out. She had experienced mind-visions before – who amongst Gathandrians of-age had not? – but never as real or as physically felt as these. Was there magic in the elders’ traditions she had not understood before? Though how could she, when they had always been so secretive in their dealings?
With a gasp, Annyeke tore her hand away from the Silent One’s grip. At once the link broke and she stood up. With all her being she wanted to walk away from these … these men, but she would be damned if she would give them the satisfaction. There had been something in the experience which gave a bitter taste to her tongue so she could scarcely speak, let alone think. What was it? The knowledge slipped away as suddenly as it had arrived and she pursed her lips, steadying herself. Perhaps it was nothing. They had taken her by surprise, that was all. Or one of them had. She could not see how it could be the Silent One, who held them together. It must have been one of the others. Well, she would say what she thought about it and damn the consequences.
“Don’t ever,” she whispered, low and fierce, her gaze taking in all the gathered elders, “ever do that to me again. Because I have had enough – we all have – of people with greater powers flexing their strength over us. I may not have the mind-skills you evidently possess, I may not have all the knowledge and mind-wisdom you have between you accumulated over the year-cycles, but I have something you do not possess in any measure. I have courtesy, and the desire to come to an equal agreement over matters that concern us all. I state my case but I do not force my will on you. You may choose whether you accept or not the mind-requirements I have asked of you concerning what you have done and what the people should know. If you do not, then we will have to search for another way to help our land. And, let me remind you. I may be a woman who has had little to do with your workings in my life, but I have been bequeathed the role of First Elder, and I will perform it to the best of my ability. With or without you. Is that clearer now?”
When she finished, Annyeke expected either more hesitation or more mind-tricks. She dreaded to think what they might be. In the end the response was neither of these assumptions.
The Maker of Gardens brushed back the hair from his face and smiled.
“Yes, Annyeke Hallsfoot, First Elder of Gathandria,” he said. “We will do as you say.”
Annyeke felt her shoulders relax at last, just a little. Still, she rem
inded herself, could she really trust any of them?
Chapter Four: Encounters
Simon
He decided at once he would do it. In any case he had no choice. There, in Jemelda’s darkened kitchen, he found himself agreeing to her terms. He would present himself before as many of the Lammas people as they could muster, he would not carry the mind-cane and neither would the snow-raven accompany him. Simon thought of offering the truth that the snow-raven was highly unlikely to take anyone’s side; the bird’s role seemed so far to be that of observer, and protector of the cane rather than himself. Indeed at their first meeting, the raven had taken him to a strange place, tested him and attacked him. Although of course the attack had brought about a partial healing. He mustn’t forget that either. In which case, Jemelda was right.
Now he looked her right in the eye.
“I’ll do exactly as you wish,” he said. “When do we start?”
From outside the door, a humming sound became apparent. Simon had the sense it might have been going on for some time but had been until now too low for them to notice it. As he glanced towards the outside, he saw the colours around Jemelda grow darker.
“I can’t control the mind-cane’s song,” he said. “I can only sometimes control its actions.”
Frankel reached for his wife’s hand. “Will it come in?”
“I don’t know,” Simon replied. “But I think it might be trying to gain my attention. If so, it’s succeeded. May I …?”
He gestured at the thick curtain which failed to keep out all the winter draughts, and Jemelda nodded. He could see the tightness round her mouth and the frown on her forehead. He could not blame her for any of these things; the cane – although it appeared to be his, for the time being – made his heart beat faster also. Though he knew to the core his identity as the Lost One, the mind-cane nonetheless made him wonder who was the true master, and what it might be waiting for. It seemed to be waiting for something. If only it – or the raven – might divulge what that something might be.
Outside, the courtyard was as empty as it had been when he arrived. The raven had vanished but one glance upward revealed the bird’s location in the skies. His gaze moved to the high-up window of the Lammas Lord. Now it was empty, though before he’d been sure …
But no, he couldn’t focus on Ralph and the unfinished issues which still hovered between them. He had other more pressing matters to consider. He reached out and grasped the mind-cane though, in truth, it had already leapt halfway into his fingers of its own accord.
The moment he touched it, the humming stopped and again that strange warmth eased upwards through his skin. He blinked and felt the presence of it settle into his thoughts. For the first time, he realised he’d missed its closeness, and not just because of the confidence it filled him with. He’d missed its silent companionship too.
“What will you do while we are waiting?”
The question jolted Simon out of his pondering and he swung round. Frankel was standing in the shadow of the doorway to the castle, shielding his eyes from the winter sun.
“Is there anywhere I may stay?” Simon asked.
Frankel considered this. While he did so, the scribe noticed the glances his companion was giving the cane and tried to hold it to one side of him, as far away from the old man as possible.
Finally Frankel spoke. “There are one or two rooms in the castle which remain habitable, but I am afraid comfort is meagre.”
Yes, Simon had assumed it would be. Comfort everywhere, even in distant Gathandria, was meagre. They would have to do the best they could, until life began to improve.
He followed Frankel across the courtyard to the main entrance to the castle. Memories filled his blood, both bad and good. Memories of the murders he’d caused here, of the way he’d helped destroy the villagers, taken away their trust and their lives. Memories of how he’d been hated, and rightly so, and how Ralph and Gelahn had tried and failed to kill him. At the same time, as his feet tramped over the shattered slabs, the good memories flowed through him also, the ones he’d tried to dampen down in his quest to do the right thing for once, by the gods and stars above. He could remember the first time he’d met Ralph, the Lord of the Lammas Lands, how much he’d wanted him from the beginning, though he’d refused to name his emotion until much later. He could remember the first time Ralph had touched him, and how he’d always been willing to do whatever it took to keep his interest. Gods and stars, how this truth had undone him. How it had shown him both how low he could fall and the darkness of the person he would become. It hadn’t taken long, had it? And still, he carried his feelings for Tregannon like a disease he couldn’t rid himself of. Nor did he want to, may the stars preserve him. It was astonishing the raven and the mind-cane, both clothed in purity as they were, stayed with him.
At the castle entrance, Frankel stepped through, but Simon paused, touching the broken brickwork with cautious fingers. He found his throat was dry and his skin damp. A damnable combination.
“ Scribe ...”
Frankel’s voice floated out of the interior darkness. He must be able to see Simon’s shape clearly enough, but the old man was invisible to him in the gloom. Simon wiped one hand over his face as his own history, and the knowledge of Ralph’s presence somewhere in this castle, beat at his skin.
The next moment, a gentle pressure was at his shoulder, and he could sense the reassuring mauve presence of the old man. Even in the midst of the storm rocking Simon’s mind, he had the wherewithal to acknowledge Frankel’s courage in touching him while he still held the cane. “Thank you.”
“Do you want to come in?”
Simon nodded. “Yes, but …”
“… it’s difficult,” Frankel completed the scribe’s thought after a heartbeat or two.
That, he thought, was an understatement. “Yes, more difficult than I’d anticipated.”
“There’s nowhere else but the castle that’s fit for living now.” Partly due to the fact Frankel was still holding his shoulder, making the mind-link easier, Simon sensed this wasn’t entirely true. There were one or two dwellings in the village which still maintained some form of shelter. The fact neither Frankel nor Jemelda had offered those did not surprise him; they did not trust him. Even where they feared him – and he was sure they did – they would want to keep him close. They would want, more than anything, to keep the remnant of their people safe. He would have much to prove, if they let him.
Now he answered Frankel’s lie. “Then I will have to show more courage than I currently am, won’t I?”
He moved forward and the old man stepped aside to allow him through. His hand fell away from Simon’s shoulder. He was alone.
Simon remembered so well the first time he’d come here. He’d been aching to see Ralph again, his whole skin quivering with anticipation. Not fully knowing what drove him onward, but knowing he had no real choice. The Lammas Master had overpowered his mind – no, all of him – from the first moment they’d met. He’d not been able to keep away. But from that one encounter had flowed all the destruction which had brought them to this: threats; murder; and war. Or perhaps this was not entirely true. The heart of these dark matters had always been there, but what had happened between Ralph Tregannon and himself had allowed them room to live.
He should have walked away the moment he’d heard Ralph’s voice.
Here, in the darkened hall, he blinked as his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness. The tapestries of the seasons he’d once admired so much were torn and ragged, their colours bleeding or faded. Spring, summer, autumn and winter entirely gone, the girl and boy, the man and woman on them no more.
Without warning, Simon found himself on his knees. Gods and stars, I’m sorry.
The words reverberated in his mind, over and over again, and he was distantly aware of the humming of the mind-cane and the slight vibration of its shape in his hand. Frankel had backed off, he realised. Gods, he didn’t want to frighten anyone. He struggled
to rise, but the seas sweeping through his thoughts wouldn’t let him. It was like the first time he’d met the mind-executioner, but without the fire and with only an overwhelming understanding of blue. All its tones and shades. He was drowning, but the vast waters came from within. The only enemy here was himself.
The only hope also.
After the length of no more than a spring-season story, he understood the words he’d been chanting in his thoughts were now flowing from his tongue and into the dampened air. He let them come. He could never have stopped them.
“Gods and stars, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Gods and stars, I’m sorry.”
Finally, his words stilled and he wiped his eyes clear again. Something had changed. The room was lighter, more peaceful. No, he was both those things. Whatever had been trapped inside him had found a door to flow through. The space and freedom left gave him room for something else. But what?
Simon sat back, uncurled his legs and rose to a standing position again. The cane’s humming faded away and he flexed his fingers, feeling the comfort of it in his hand. In a gesture he hadn’t realised he was going to make, he brought it to his lips and kissed the carved silver top. It tasted bright in a way he couldn’t explain. Something blue and silver glowed for a moment at the edge of the carving and then he felt the heat of it in his own mouth.
The scribe gasped, looked up and saw the dark shape of Frankel hovering halfway between himself and the doorway. The old man stepped forward, about to offer help. Simon understood he mustn’t; the mind-cane had begun to act and neither of them could gainsay it.
“No,” he said, panting, and Frankel stopped at once. “Please, stay where you are, I don’t know what will happen.”
And then he couldn’t speak any more. An explosion of flame on his tongue and a soaring heat in his thoughts. It leapt down through his shoulders and arms, his stomach and his legs. It ripped through his blood, blending and moulding, churning a pathway through all his secrets, all his past and all his fragile future. He gasped, knew himself to be burnt from within but not consumed, and then it was gone.