The Executioner's Cane

by Anne Brooke

  She waited until they were quieter and then she stared around at each one of them, catching their gaze for a moment or two before moving on to the next and the next. Finally, she looked at Thomas. He had not spoken although his posture in the shadows seemed folded in on itself. She could only see his eyes.

  “There must be blood shed,” he whispered but loud enough for all to hear, “before we can be free again.”

  She thought he would say more but he did not. She cleared her throat. “It is a terrible thing one of our villagers had to die, but the wolf startled him and he ran. I could not stop it. But I know if the murderer stays amongst us to do his will, more of us will die as we did before and then no-one will be able to stop him. Our own Lord cannot stand against his wiles, so how should we think we can do it? Remember the wars and steel yourselves for battle. For this is only the beginning. We will harry our neighbours and our friends too so they have no choice but to come to join us, and we will continue to fight to destroy the murderer until we are free or until we die. There are no other possibilities. We must steal the little grain they have left, contaminate the water they drink and burn yet more fields until there are none left to sow in order to flush him out for destruction. We are the courageous ones and it is up to us to make our land safe again and, though we will count the cost of the blood which is shed, we will not turn away from it. Do you understand this?”

  Jemelda paused and looked round the people. One by one they nodded, although some swallowed hard and a few of the women gripped the hands of their neighbours. It was up to Thomas to speak for them.

  “We will follow you, Jemelda,” he said, “until the man who has wronged us is most truly dead.”

  Eighth Gathandrian Interlude

  Annyeke

  The First Elder didn’t waste any time-cycles; within the length of a winter evening story, she had settled the Chair Maker into her home, leaving Johan organising the people into work-teams for the morning. Little could be done tonight. Talus was asleep in his bed-area. She had kissed him and soothed a mind-comfort around his thought. Though such things were used for younger children, she knew he had need of it, and now he would sleep until daylight.

  In the kitchen, she poured a beaker of water for the Chair Maker who had accompanied her in silence and was sitting on one of her kitchen stools. She was glad for the lack of speech, as she needed to concentrate her mind for what needed to be done. She was not fool enough to imagine her fellow-elder did not glean at least some of this from keeping company with her, but he would not understand everything. Annyeke had made sure of it.

  She gave him his water-beaker and took one for herself before sitting down opposite him. The water tasted warm and musty but it would have to suffice as she did not have the heart to renew it. The rest of her people did not take fresh water more than once a day in this post-war world, and neither would she.

  Annyeke put down the glass and gazed at the Chair Maker. “You must tell me the truth, about everything you and your wife have done, or nothing of what we try to heal in any of the lands will succeed. Why did you not tell me this before?”

  She thought he might protest, tell her she was mistaken, but he did not. He laughed and she swore a dark shadow she could not grasp drifted over his expression but the next moment it had gone and he was himself again.

  “Why do you not simply read my mind?” he asked her. “It would be quicker to get the truth you say I keep from you.”

  She leaned forward, knowing a frown was wrinkling her forehead. “I do not ravish your thought like that, because I am not made of that ilk. I am not an elder who moulds everything to suit myself and does not care who suffers for it. Then again, neither am I an elder who will let you ruin the lives of our people and not see you punished in full. So, I will ask you once more only in words: tell me the truth about your wife and how far this dabbling with the most evil of legends has gone, and do not addle me with the foolish sentiment you did before. By the great Gathandrian spirit, Chair Maker, speak or that will be the end of it.”

  She meant what she said, and she knew the Chair Maker could see it. His lips thinned and he sighed.

  “No matter,” he said, breaking her gaze. “You will know soon enough, and the damage has already begun. So, I will tell you what I know, First Elder.”

  As the Chair Maker began to speak, he first took a careful sip of the water she had given him, so Annyeke wondered if he thought it might be poisoned, as if drinking from her own beaker should not have told him otherwise. If she killed, she would kill cleanly as she had despatched the mind-executioner; she would not perform such finality in the dark.

  “I explained to you how much I loved my wife,” he said. “Iffenia has been my heart’s joy from the day I met her. When Johan and Isabella started their journey to find the mysterious Lost One, we knew there would be difficulties for us and we knew above all else that finding the Lost One would bring a diminishing of the elders’ power. How could it be otherwise? We knew, or at least some of us did, the story we were unleashing. In the very beginning, whilst our then First Elder was burying himself deep within our ancient Gathandrian legends in his search for what he could discover about Simon, Iffenia and I were, all along, meditating on other, perhaps more ancient, stories. As you have discovered, the Tale of the Book of Blood was one of them.”

  Annyeke blinked. It was as she had dreaded. The Book of Blood was the one book in the elders’ library which was never opened for fear of what lay there. She couldn’t help shivering at the knowledge the Chair Maker and his wife had plundered it. What had they found within its pages?

  The man opposite her laughed once more, and she felt the sudden pressure of his mind on hers, like the onset of a winter storm. “Ah, Annyeke, we found much riches in it, such quantity of them you could not dream of. All our partnered lives Iffenia and I had dreaded the certainty of death and the terror of being apart, but the Book of Blood took away our fear. We knew if we followed its wisdom, the wisdom of the earth and not the sky, we would find the everlasting link between us, which meant we would never be alone, not even after death. Can you see how happy that made us and how we had no other choice but to follow the teachings we discovered?”

  Annyeke knew there were no words to respond to this story of his, so she said nothing, and after a moment or two he continued, perhaps seeing something of what she held in her thought. Still, in spite of his insistence of joy, the Chair Maker told her the heart of his tale in something approaching a whisper. His eyes clouded over as she watched him, as if reliving the experience over again.

  *****

  It happened one winter evening. I was late back from my initial meeting with the elders, as it was the time when I was about to become one of them. We had even meditated together. Iffenia was waiting for me on the threshold of our home and the sight of her made my blood sing. She must have been looking out for my return. I knew before I reached her side there was something different about her; the shifting colours of her aura were rippled with black. She was hiding a secret from the minds of others she planned to reveal to me alone.

  “Come,” she whispered as I came nearer and she reached for my arm. “I have something to show you and something to tell.”

  Inside, shadows encroached the familiar shapes of my home and I followed my partner through the narrow hallway and into the bedroom. I thought she would share her day with me in the eating-area as she cooked, but that was not her plan. She gestured to me to sit upon our bed and I did so, gazing up at her with a smile. I eased my mind to hers and felt her warmth envelop my thought.

  Instead of allowing me to sense her purpose, she shook her head and returned my smile. Do you trust me?

  The answer to her question was simple: with all that I am.

  Iffenia nodded and hunkered down next to me. She reached under the bed and drew out something rectangular that glittered crimson. I knew what it was at once. From its heart flowed fire and blood and I couldn’t help myself, I veered away and stared at he
r. How did you get that and why have you brought it here?

  The elders were busy with other matters so whilst you met with them, I slipped into the library and searched amongst its most hidden texts. I knew the Book of Blood was the one I wanted, but I did not think to find it. I assumed the elders would have hidden it in their secret library the people talk of, but they have not yet done so. Our stories tell us of the ancient power of its legend to bind a couple together in life and in death too, and of the joy it can bring, so I took hold of it in the Great Library’s silence and weaved a mind-trick to fill its space. I do not have the strength for it to last more than a day-cycle but we will explore this book’s magic tonight and I will return it tomorrow. Nothing will be lost but everything gained, I promise you.

  I did not know Iffenia could act in such a way, even through all the time of loving her, and I was about to open my mouth, tell her to return the dreaded book to our Library and pray none had sensed its absence, when she touched my arm. At once our thoughts connected and I could see to the full the reasons and the possibilities behind what she had spoken of.

  Yes, and so easily, such magic was part of the power of the Book of Blood, but it is also hidden deep within our own blood. I could not see, and I still do not see, how what she wanted to do was wrong. Who would not want to link more closely with the one they love? It gave us both hope and from hope only greater hope can come. It was a private matter, not a public one, and did not affect my journey to becoming an elder. No-one had to know of it.

  So, with Iffenia, I opened the book and began to experience its strange tales. I cannot tell you the beauty it contained nor its wildness, not to the full and certainly not in a way anyone else could understand. But I tell you that, as we allowed its distinct flavour into our thoughts, I knew everything I saw and touched and tasted would be more alive and more vibrant than it had ever been. It was as if up until that point we had both of us been walking in the half-darkness and the Book of Blood opened our eyes so we could see the world anew, as if we had been born a second time upon the earth. It was ice and fire, the deepest night and the brightest day. When we pledged ourselves over its pages, Iffenia and I knew we would never be parted, and we knew the blood the book contained would be the binding strength to our lives and after our deaths. Death was indeed meaningless, as your Lost One has so recently discovered.

  *****

  The Chair Maker paused in his tale. As Annyeke saw it he had plundered his mind and his traditions in pursuit of what should, by rights, be the gift only of the Gathandrian Spirit. She knew the beliefs of her people were too deeply ingrained upon her thoughts for her to see otherwise. What shook her to the core was how his actions sat askew with what the Book of Blood was said to be.

  “But the Book of Blood has no stories,” she said quietly. “Its pages are said to be blank and no-one knows their meaning.”

  The Chair Maker laughed, the sound of it filling her kitchen-area, unfamiliar, harsh. “That is because the Book brings out all that is hidden within and makes it real so it can never be gainsaid or destroyed. It shows us the secret places and power of our hearts, and has no need for words to enchant us. It makes ourselves the meaning and then we can do anything.”

  “This is against all we know and love,” Annyeke said, her voice low and direct, ensuring her mind echoed her emotion to try to reach her fellow-elder. “Any deceit we plunge into and practise, as elders or any of the people, will turn and destroy us. The Book of Blood is dangerous and no-one should touch it. It is said to bring silence where there is life and despair where there is light. Truly, what have you done, Chair Maker?”

  He gazed at her and she noticed his eyes were unclouded as if the memory of what he and Iffenia had done was gone and only the result remained. “I have done what is right for me, and Iffenia is alive still. Her spirit lives within me as we cannot be parted, and also within the one from Lammas who is most like her, the one who will destroy the Lost One. Because Simon must die or the Book of Blood will begin to lose its power, and Iffenia and I cannot countenance that. Through that chosen Lammasser, the Lost One will die a second time, the death from which there can be no returning. And because of Iffenia and because of the Book of Blood we can only succeed.”

  Chapter Twelve: Aftermath

  Simon

  This wasn’t how he’d wanted to encounter the Lammas Lord again, not in the early morning-cycle of a winter’s day in a burning field at the beginning of what might turn out to be another smaller war. No, Simon’s hopes had been different. He rolled off Ralph’s body onto crackling soil which flattened itself beneath his weight. It smelt of fire. How he hated that smell and how he’d hoped here he would have none of it. Indeed the Gathandrian Spirit, and even the gods and stars, brought their will to pass through mysterious means.

  “Thank you,” he said to the figure next to him, preferring to use the spoken word rather than any form of mind-link. That would be an intimacy too far under the circumstances. “Are you hurt?”

  Ralph’s reply was slow in coming, but clear. “No. But I must get up, we must defeat these flames, Jemelda must not be allowed to destroy everything.”

  Somehow the two men got to their feet, Simon racked with pain which he could sense in Ralph also. This was foolishness, they were both too physically weak to overcome the fire, although the explosion had blown some of the flames out near its centre. There would be perhaps some salvaged seed where it had failed to burn them to the core. But something deeper than Simon’s own mind had constrained him to come, he had the cane in his hand, and the snow-raven flew slowly overhead, so he must have some purpose here. The villagers also needed Ralph and even now lurked around them, awaiting his command.

  The Lammas Lord was not slow in giving it either.

  “I am winded,” he said to the crowd. “You must continue the battle and I will do what I can. When you work, do not run, whatever dangers you see, as the wolves will not venture onto a field for the fire-oil, but walk slowly and beat the flames down.”

  For a heartbeat, the Lost One thought the people would baulk at this necessary command, partly because of the terrible death of one of their own, but also because of their uncertainty about their own Lord. It struck him for the first time how much Ralph’s authority had weakened due to recent events, and he felt a thud of compassion in his stomach.

  Ralph swung round and fixed him with a fierce gaze. He laid his fingers on Simon’s shoulders. Do not pity me, scribe. I stand by my own decisions and they are not for your judgement.

  The fact Lord Tregannon had himself instigated this link knocked Simon off balance and he stepped back, breaking the contact between them. It was, as he had anticipated, too much, given their history and given the men they were or had become. However, as he stepped away, Simon caught the look of surprise on the Lammas Lord’s face, and then dislike and sorrow, something which for a heartbeat or two he could not fathom.

  Then it came to him: Ralph had seen, even in this brief link, what had transpired between himself and the mind-executioner when Gelahn had stolen him away, and Simon felt the heat rise to his skin. He had kept the unsettling encounter hidden where none could discover it, or he thought he had, but all it had taken for the Lammas Lord to know his secret was one touch, may the gods and stars be cursed. He turned away, still shaken by Ralph’s expression. He had no time for regrets. What was done was done, and his own unwillingness and strange pleasure in Gelahn’s ravishment could not be altered, for all the wishing of it.

  Unable to help himself, he glanced again at Ralph, but the man had already noted Simon’s unspoken truths and turned again to the immediate crisis.

  “Quickly,” he urged his people, “we must do what we can. But leave the place where death occurred to me; I will salvage what I can there.”

  This time, the villagers obeyed, spreading out slowly across the field wherever flames appeared and beating them down until they were nothing. The Lost One noticed the first glimmer of dawn was lightening the far hori
zon to soft yellows and pinks. He shivered, realising once more how cold he felt.

  “Come then,” he whispered to the mind-cane as the Lammas Lord limped away. “You have helped me here so let’s see what you can do.”

  The Lost One stood for a moment and ran his fingers over the cane’s silver carvings as he scanned the burning field. When his gaze fell on the western side, nearest the woods, the cane began to hum and he felt the warmth of its vibration through his hand. He smiled.

  “You are a strange artefact and I will never fully understand you,” he said, “but I will follow where you lead and work with you where I can.”

  Using the mind-cane as support, Simon began to make his way in the direction it had promised him. Halfway across, the Lammas Lord interrupted his journey.

  “There is little use in going there, scribe,” he shouted, the words rising in mist from his tongue in the chill air. “If you wish to help and are able to, then come and join us where we are.”

  The Lost One shook his head. He trusted the warmth in his fingers and the cane’s song, and had no time for distractions. He waited until Ralph shrugged and turned back to his own task before continuing.

  When Simon reached the furthest end of the field, the mind-cane ceased its humming. This is the place, he thought, and crouched down, resting his free hand on the earth. It was almost hot enough to burn him and he gasped. It should not be like that, as the fire had gone out here, unless the essence of it had had time to sink into the soil, but he could hardly credit this as being possible. If it was so, then there must be a greater mind-magic at work here than he had imagined. Was it something to do with the dark power he had already sensed in Jemelda?