The Executioner's Cane

by Anne Brooke

  In the moon-cycle after the wars, when the dead had been buried and the mourning-drum had ceased to sound, the people had remained suspicious of him and his intentions, and he could not blame them for it. Moreover the presence of Simon, the cane and the strange raven continued to stir up fear in their hearts and minds and for a while he wondered if nothing had been achieved which could be counted as hope at all.

  Then, one morning as that first moon-cycle was waning, Ralph had risen early, taken the emeralds he kept close to his bed and left his chamber, his intent clear. At the threshold he had paused and glanced back, smiling to see Simon still sleeping, one arm splayed out across the pillows, his expression one of satisfaction and peace. This blessing had been one he longed for but had never thought would come about, but in the end it had been Simon who came to him on the second seven-day after the battle. The scribe had said nothing when he entered Ralph’s bedchamber that night after a day when both of them had been busy directing the men and women in the rebuilding of their village and ensuring the little food they had left or which the people could find was fairly allocated. Odd how there was so much Ralph had wanted to say at the sight of him, but Simon simply closed the door quietly, padded over the stone floor and slipped into the bed next to him.

  At their first touch, Ralph believed Simon had known everything in any case and after that, their re-encounter had been surprisingly easy. The mind-executioner had for a while lain in spirit between them, both in his overpowering of Ralph’s actions and in his ravishment of Simon’s mind, but then later that no longer mattered, as the colours forged in their coupling were strong enough to overcome his memory. The talking too had come later and in fits and starts – at heart Ralph was a soldier, not a lover – but it was slowly becoming enough. A new thing for him but a good one, and he took joy in it.

  But that first morning, no matter how much he longed to cherish the beginning of the day in Simon’s arms, Ralph had other purposes in mind. So he moved through the castle rapidly, gathering cloak and boots where he had left them in his dressing area, and striding through the corridors and down the great stairs until he came to the outer hallway. He did not bother with washing. With what he had in mind, there would be no point.

  In the courtyard, he passed the kitchen and could not help glancing over, thinking of Jemelda. His failure to recover her haunted him and, even though there was a new cook there now, a woman from the village and barely more than a girl, it would be a long time before he stopped seeing Jemelda’s face in his dealings with the kitchen. It would be a long time too before he forgot the look in Frankel’s eyes. The cook’s widower had lived in the castle since the battle and had not set foot in his old domain. Apolyon, Ralph’s young steward, looked after him as well as his master. Ralph would have it no other way.

  That morning, the Lammas Lord did not saddle his horse and did not call for his steward. Instead he made his way to the fields, carrying with him the tools he had found abandoned in one of his outbuildings. The journey took longer than usual as his leg remained weak, but the pain was bearable and he would have to use only the skills he possessed, not those he did not.

  Once at the furthest field, one close to where Jemelda had burned their seeds, Ralph had removed his cloak and knelt on it. Then he had got to work, using his hands and the hoeing implements to turn the soil around each sprig of corn in order to encourage its growth. This was work for the poorest of the people and he had never done it himself, but he had seen it done when touring his fields and it was easily remembered. Not so easy to perform though and only the start of an autumn story had gone by before his muscles ached and he gasped for water. It had been evident that all the military exercises in the world meant nothing when it came to working on the land. Nonetheless, the emeralds at his side gave him warmth and purpose and he continued the labour, moving his cloak every few minutes to the next part of the corn row and the next and the next until the sun was fully risen in the sky. That was where the first field-labourers found him when they came to commence their day-cycle. They had said nothing, but had stared for a long while, their amazement evident, before walking to the far side of the field and beginning the same work there. Not long after, Simon had joined him, bringing him water which he was more than grateful for, and touching him lightly on the cheek in the way they had before taking his place beside him and working with him. Ralph was pleased to see the mind-cane and the raven had been left behind.

  For three day-cycles the two of them worked in this way, and on the third day the villagers had joined them where they laboured. From then on, something between the Lammas Lord and his people had softened and changed. Ralph had begun to feel a deeper connection with the land and world he and his family had ruled for so long, and a slow acceptance from the people he had never known before and which, now, he treasured.

  After the fields, he and Simon had turned their attentions to labouring on the houses in the village, making them fit for the people to live in, and finding time too at the end of the day-cycle to forage for food in the woods. For that, and because of his leg, Ralph rode his stallion Nightcloud who could more easily find out edible winter-leaves and fruits than could any man. The very fact of riding brought him joy also, as it had always done.

  During these last three moon-cycles, there has been connection with the Gathandrians too, an alliance Ralph has come to value, not least for the pleasure the visits of Annyeke and Johan give Simon. Their two emeralds seem to have power enough to bring them easily between countries, but he wonders if it is something to do with Annyeke’s strength of heart, as well as the jewels’ strange mystery. Sometimes when the three of them are together talking, he thinks they will never stop, but when he remembers the experiences all three have shared together, particularly Simon and Johan, then he cannot find it in his heart to begrudge the companionship. A man needs friends, as well as a lover, and it pleases him he and Annyeke have become closer. For a woman, she has wisdom, though it riles her to hear him think in this way.

  Both their countries are healing, slowly but surely. With luck and with the gods and stars behind their efforts, they may yet pull through this time of scarcity into the fullness of summer.

  All of which ponderings bring him to this evening and his purpose in being here, in the castle courtyard. For tonight Simon has asked him to accompany him to the edge of the woods, where the stars are at their brightest. He has said it is important and Ralph believes him. For now, he has not delved further. He is learning, in this relationship with this man, how to give him the space he needs. He trusts together they and the people can build another kind of future far apart the life they have lived in the past. Perhaps after all, he is different from his father, and in that too there is value.

  Simon

  The scribe watched Ralph for a few moments before stepping out from the corner of the castle to greet him. The mind-cane rested in his hand, and above him the snow-raven circled in the darkening air. He could feel the mind-link between the three of them calm and strong beneath his skin, and treasured the haunting melody and colours it produced. He would try to remember them always, he swore it.

  For he had been waiting for three months for this day and this hour-cycle. The realisation had come upon him slowly but had been growing in intent over the last week. He could no longer deny it, and neither could he talk about it with others. Not even Johan or Annyeke. And not even Ralph though he had chosen the Lammas Lord to accompany him during this last journey. He wished he had time to write the stories which lived in his thought and body, but that much was up to the gods and stars. He could not see it. Because the end of his own legend was approaching.

  He greeted Ralph with a brief kiss, savouring the way their colours blended on his lips, red and blue and the deepest mauve. Simon sensed the Lammas Lord’s curiosity but also his patience, hard-won. He hoped he would not keep him guessing for too long, but he could not explain anything now. It was destined to keep until they came to the place the mind-cane had showed him.
The place where his journey, seemingly so long ago, had truly begun.

  Thank you for agreeing to accompany me, Simon said in thought only, knowing this close and after their recent love-making, the words would be simple for Ralph to hear. I have need of a friend.

  I am glad you do me the honour of counting me as such, Lost One.

  Ralph’s words were faint, due to his status as mind-sensitive and not a full dweller, but Simon heard them nonetheless, and his answering smile echoed Ralph’s own.

  The two men took the journey through the courtyard, over the newly-repaired bridge and onto the path around the woods to the fields in silence. Near the stables, however, Simon lingered for a moment in case Ralph wished to ride, but the Lammas Lord merely shook his head and walked on, his limp not as pronounced as was usual for the end of a day. Still, Simon set a slower pace to lessen any pain. He would feel it too if it happened.

  As they walked, the Lost One gripped the mind-cane close and remembered. The snow-raven had flown on ahead and he could not see the bird for the darkening sky. He trusted the raven would know when to appear again, if he did. All the time, in his memory Simon saw Carthen, his lost boy, and Isabella too, Johan’s sister. Alongside her, Iffenia, the elder’s dead wife, and all the havoc she had wrought in the lives of Jemelda and, through her, Frankel. Simon hoped one day Frankel could be easy in his presence, but he understood this would not be soon, if he was spared tonight. Still, he prayed for it, and with a depth which had not been present in his prayers for a long time. He remembered Thomas the Blacksmith also, and his own father, and he wished with all his soul his father could have lived. Simon would have tried to come close to him if that particular blessing had been granted, in a way they had never been close for most of his life. There was no saying if he could have done this, but for the love of the stars he would have liked to try.

  Impatiently, Simon brushed a hand over his eyes and felt Ralph’s brief touch on his arm. It gave him strength. Some things were not destined to be, and his father’s return to him was one of those.

  But this evening, he had other matters to attend to, and he must give them his undivided heart, mind and soul if they were to be carried out to the full. Ralph would know all soon.

  Finally the two men reached the edge of the Lammas boundary, the fields which led to where the mountains had once been, in their ancient splendour. The mind-cane in Simon’s hand began to hum, although he could see no sight of the snow-raven.

  But it was the mind-cane which had brought him here, wasn’t it? All those day-cycles of terror, discovery and strange deep joy had brought him once more to this place. Not long ago, but how it seemed like a lifetime since the scribe had stood here, at the path to the mountains, poised between one life and another. How well he remembered the fear which had thundered through him, fear of what the Gathandrians, Johan and the unfortunate Isabella, had asked him to do, fear of the mountains, fear for the young boy that had stood next to him, and fear for himself.

  He had taken the first step then, but the choices on that day-cycle had been obvious: stay in Lammas and die, or travel through the terrifying mountains and live. Today, the choices were not so clear. The Lost One frowned and the humming of the mind-cane at his side intensified. Turning towards the artefact, he grasped it more closely, but as had been increasingly the case during these last seven-days, it danced out of his grip. How he missed the warmth of it flowing through his thoughts.

  What did it need from Simon? Had he ever in fact been the master it wanted him to be, and could he be so in the future? He would not know until he enquired of it. He squared his shoulders and faced the mind-cane, hands outstretched to the side and vulnerable.

  For a heartbeat before he spoke, he was going to sift the words only in his thoughts, knowing the cane could read him, but then he understood he was here not simply of his own volition, but on behalf of Lammas, and Gathandria, and all the countries beyond. So his voice met the evening air and twisted into the wind.

  “I don’t know what you want,” he told the cane, “and perhaps I have never done so. But you have been both an enemy and a friend to me, and whatever you wish I will try to do it. You know the visions I have seen these last few day-cycles, but I cannot sift their rightness from my own imaginings, and fears too. So, please, speak to me in a way I can truly understand.”

  Simon had thought the cane would come to him then, rest in his hand in the way he longed for it to do. Instead, silver fire flew from its carving, something like the sun and stars, and surrounded him with light. He heard Ralph cry out and then everything went silent.

  He opened his eyes, not having realised he had closed them but the light must have been too bright to bear. It was softer now, thank the stars, so he sat up from where he had fallen, and stretched out his hand. At once he heard a low and unfamiliar voice.

  It is time.

  Whether those words were only in his mind or spoken aloud, he could not have said. He only knew they were true, and in a way that cut him to the heart, though he did not wish to understand them.

  No.

  The silence following his denial swallowed him up as the land swallows water. He could not endure it, but when he opened his mouth, the silence filled him also, crushing any words he might have had. Inside him, it felt white and heavy, like snow. Almost as it had in the last battle, and he could not bear the thought of revisiting such terrors once again. He had had enough of winter and silence, and even though it threatened to overpower him, he would be damned if he’d let it. Concentrating with the powers the mind-cane itself had liberated in him, he pierced through the whiteness within and found his own small centre. The effort of it all but shattered him but he fought on, holding to his sense of himself, the blue and the silver, as much as he could. All the time, the denial he had voiced clung to him, nearly choking him until finally he had strength enough to release it.

  Enough! You must listen to me, as well as I to you. Is that not where grace lies?

  A flash of heat in his mind and the silence suffocating him ebbed slowly away. Simon took a much-needed breath and rose to his feet.

  You have spoken well, this time-cycle.

  Thank you, was the only thought he could convey, though a wealth of others lay lurking beneath. Then: Are you the mind-cane in truth?

  A sensed sound like laughter, quickly hushed, and only this: I am what I will be and what I have always been.

  Good, thought Simon, another riddle to add to the many riddles this role of Lost One had given him. So I am not to know the answer to my question?

  There are many questions and the answers do not satisfy them, nor would they satisfy your thoughts, Lost One. Have I stepped alongside you for all these lengths and you have not understood this simplicity?

  That much was true, and in these words Simon found a rock of sorts he could hold to. He laughed, and his laughter formed strange spikes in the air around him which melted away almost at once. There is much I do not understand and much I never will, and perhaps this is true between us in both ways though I cannot tell it for sure. But you speak of time and I long to know your meaning: the time is here, for what?

  You fear so much it blinds you. Do you not read and digest the legends, the legends which speak of you?

  Simon let the memory of the legends Annyeke had showed him and the ones already in his blood fill his thoughts. He could see nothing obvious the mind-cane might be trying to convey to him, simply the story and life he knew: a boy lost and found again through danger and pain; a slow realisation of his life’s meaning; the struggle to change what had gone wrong; the battles on the way; death and life again; and then a kind of enlightening on the road to achievement. Taught by his friends, the snow-raven and the mind-cane, this was what he knew and what he had found. The legends revealed nothing else, and here he was.

  He blinked and something cleared in his inner vision.

  This is it then, isn’t it? There is nothing more beyond what the legends say and I have come to what is
now. Annyeke and Johan and the Gathandrians interpret what is happening through their legends and I have come to the end of their knowledge. The next step is my own.

  He sat down, suddenly, heart beating fast, trying to understand his own unspoken words. Unexpectedly, he laughed, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, shaking his head. When he looked up, the cane was floating in front of him, its colours sparking and jagged as if puzzled at his response.

  His amusement seeped away and he found himself staring at his strange companion, as if looking at it truly for the first time. And when he came to think of it, perhaps he had not contemplated the fact of the mind-cane before, not with his eyes. At their initial meeting, Simon had been too terrified even to glance at it for more than a moment, let alone gaze like this. Since that time, he had run from the cane, fought with it, been thought-beaten by it and, more recently, held it close in order to access his own power, but he had never truly looked at it.

  He did so now. At first glance, it was nothing more than a walking cane. But, as his eyes grew accustomed to the shape of it, Simon could see slight curves and indentations patterning its smooth ebony length, as if it had lived for so long a time-cycle and endured much which could never be conveyed. What histories had this object seen, both of his own lands, those he knew and those he did not? What people had it encountered, and how had it left them? Terrified, inspired or, most likely, both? If it hadn’t killed them first. By the gods and stars, Simon would never reach the end of its mysteries, however short or long a season they spent together.

  Gradually his eye reached the mind-cane’s carved silver top: the constellations and all their glory in miniature, both beautiful and deadly. The everlasting mountain, present in the sky though no longer here on the land, the lone man and the lovers, the horseman and the elm, the latter his mother’s sign. Then, as the cane slowly spun in its air-dance before him, he could see the signs of the river, the wolf and the oak. Something strong and wild. Finally in the carving and echoed in the night skies came the fox, Ralph’s sign, and the owl, his own. Strange how they were always together, although their differences were so many. He flicked the memory away, believing it unsuited to the time.