The Executioner's Cane (13 page)

He let the feelings come. For the first time
in his life he did not run. Instead he opened his arms wide and let
the pain take him. It connected with parts of his history he had
not considered for a while, it connected with all he could offer
it. And, just as he saw how such pain might destroy him utterly,
the shapes and patterns he had been aware of in his mind before
became as clear as sunlight.

He was walking through the Lammas village,
from the dwelling nearest the fields along the one street towards
the castle. He could not see the small houses clearly as the dark
river layered his eyes, but he had the impression it was after the
war had devastated them. Even so, each group of people, each family
filled his thoughts as his strange mind-journey continued. He knew
which had died, and which still lived, and the straitened
circumstances they lived in. Only the night-women and a few
half-starved children remained in the village, but the rest of them
were scattered through the fields and woods. That understanding
shook him most of all; the wolves would be most dangerous in
winter, and most desperate for food. They must have killed some of
the people. Whatever happened, at least Jemelda’s actions were
bringing them back to their ruined homes, if only temporarily. He
could not fully understand why they had scattered, apart from the
terror of loss and the fear the mind-war would continue to destroy
them. But the war had ended and did they still fear to return to
the village?

In his mind, the Lost One continued to walk,
reaching the old well, where he had first met Ralph on a night as
dark as the air he journeyed through now. It was then it truly
struck him: the river of pain was not only in his mind, but it
clung to the stones and mud of the village also. It flowed through
the air he breathed and lurked within the well. It rubbed against
his body as he moved, even only in thought, and it could not be
escaped. The misery had become flesh and he understood why the
villagers did not return on a permanent basis; the threat of wolves
and winter was easier to bear than this terrible distortion of
home. He wondered indeed at the courage, or real desperation, of
the women and children who remained. The village needed to be
cleansed of the dreadful things which had happened here, both
directly and through the mind-links with Gathandria. Simon thought
there was such strength in the links between the lands, but such
potential for vulnerability too.

As he made his way past the shattered homes
of those he’d never really known, the echo of their lives and what
they had once been sparked through the darkness: children and
laughter; the smell of corn in the oven; the braids knitted by the
women; the boots of the men, muddy from the fields. A hard life but
not an overly cruel one, until the coming of the scribe, and how
that in the end had brought the mind-executioner to them. There was
much he had to put right, more perhaps than he had imagined, but he
would do it. Whatever griefs lay ahead, let them be his alone, and
let the people he had injured go free.

Something turned within him, coinciding with
his thought. He felt as if a door had been opened and let in
unaccountable light. The pain remained, a dark and silent shadow in
the background, but this did not overcome the sense of space
filling him. For a moment he understood someone else accompanied
him in this walking vision and he waited for a voice, but no-one
spoke. Perhaps the voice was simply in what he saw and not what
might be heard this time-cycle.

The Lost One allowed the pain and the
spaciousness to dwell within him, denying neither, simply letting
them exist. He knew soon he was likely to have need of them both
for whatever the Spirit of Gathandria might intend.

After a while, although he could not tell the
extent of it by a story’s length, Simon became aware the glimpses
of the villagers, and indeed the village itself, were fading around
him. He began to hear the steady pace of his own breathing, and he
caught the faint scent of spices in the air. Then the press of the
chair against his legs and the weight of someone’s hand on his
shoulder.

He blinked himself into the surroundings of
the Lammas castle kitchen again.

“Scribe?”

“Yes,” he whispered, placing the voice as
Frankel’s. “Yes, I am here.”

Frankel let him go and at once Simon missed
the connection. He didn’t remember anyone touching him with concern
since he’d returned to his former home. Bearing in thought his
skills, it had been a small act of courage. The scribe could taste
the old man’s mind in his; he had not been prepared enough to form
any kind of barrier between them. He shook himself, tried to focus
on his own thoughts only.

His companion frowned. “You looked as if you
were a long way from here.”

“I know. I think in some ways that’s true,
although what I saw was your village. That’s familiar enough, or
rather it was so. But as I walked along the main street, past the
wells, I could feel the presence of the people who once lived there
standing at the edges of my thought. I could see their lives,
almost experience them, even though I know it’s a vision, not the
reality you and yours have suffered here.”

He stopped abruptly, wanting to say so much
more but being unsure how it might sound. If he were in Gathandria,
it would be a simple matter to offer a brief mind-link, and then
all his thoughts could be known fully without words. Here, such an
act would be, because of what he and Ralph had done, a reminder of
injustice and death. Besides, he could not suggest it to one who
was not a mind-dweller himself. It would be unthinkable. He glanced
up at Frankel.

The old man looked puzzled. “There is more
you wish to say?”

Simon took a breath, knowledge coalescing
within him. “I came back because I believed it to be the right
thing to do. I still believe this, no matter what you and the
villagers decide about me. What I hadn’t fully comprehended, and I
do so now only in part, were the depths and heights, the length and
the breadth of your suffering. Forgive me, Frankel, because nothing
I can do through the way I live my life or lose it can ever in any
sense make up for what you and your people have had to face.”

He swallowed and Frankel stared at him.
Several emotions passed over the old man’s expression but Simon did
not wish to take the liberty of naming any of them. It was not his
right. As he waited for the man to speak, if indeed he was
intending to do so, the scribe became aware of the light and the
falling snow beyond the narrow window. He could feel the sharp tug
of an occasional draught through the door-curtain and heard the
soft cries of the snow-raven. Soon, he understood, he might need to
respond to the bird’s demands, whatever they might bring him, but
for now he simply wished for Frankel to speak. Still, when the old
man did so, Simon felt his heart beat faster.

“There is a difference,” his companion said,
“between knowing something and understanding it. Being married has
taught me that.”

Simon smiled. At the same moment, another
noise began to announce itself alongside the snow-raven’s calls.
The distant murmur of people, and they did not sound calm. He
shivered before drawing himself up a little taller in his chair.
Finding this was not enough however, the scribe stood, wiping away
the sudden sweat lining his palms.

“My wife,” Frankel said, as if making an
announcement which might come as a surprise to Simon. “She has
found the villagers. She is returning. It is not long till the
midday-hour. We must prepare.”

Fourth Gathandrian
Interlude

Annyeke

She stood in the middle of her work-area in
the former Council of Meditation building and surveyed the scene of
near-devastation around her. It didn’t take long. There wasn’t much
to see. In one corner of the room, Johan was in the process of
placing scattered books into a neat pile while Talus helped him,
trying to put their Meditation Records in order. In all truth,
Annyeke was astonished there was anything left to put in order
anyway. Since the end of the war, she had assumed everything would
be different. It was reassuring to see some things from the past
had nonetheless remained.

And here she was about to change them.

Because she needed to set up the Council of
Elders again and, for that, they required a meeting place. The old
Council building was destroyed, along with the great Library, and
it would take many moon-cycles to rebuild them. For now, they would
have to meet here, in the Meditation Building. Yes, some of it was
open to the air, both walls and roof, but there would be enough
shelter to protect them from the worst of the weather. And if it
was more open so their fellow-Gathandrians could wander in at will,
let them. She had nothing to hide.

Johan stood and smiled down at Talus, still
busy with the remaining records.

“Are you sure you want to make your base
here?” he asked her and she nodded a response.

“Yes,” she confirmed it, holding his gaze.
“There should be enough good rooms here for the elders to meet and
for the Meditation staff to work also.”

“Especially as there are so few of us.”

“Yes, especially because of that.”

Annyeke said no more. She understood her
life-partner’s reluctance to give up his work domain to the
discredited elders. Somehow she had to find the balance between
being one of the people, a privilege she would never give up in a
thousand life-cycles, and being First Elder. She knew she could do
it; it was simply a matter of time.

Johan smiled. “Sometimes I can see your
thoughts only from your face, my love; there is no need to link to
your mind to know you.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’ll have you know
we redheads have in any case no need to dissemble as we’re always
right. It’s a known fact of life.”

Annyeke’s aim had been to make him laugh but
instead the man she loved frowned and moved closer to her.

“Right enough to use the rooms which should
belong to me, when I have so little left of the Council of
Meditation?” he whispered.

She blinked. In truth, she could not judge
him for his accusation; she had not spoken or linked with him
before coming here. She could see more clearly there were many
things a First Elder must learn, and amongst them was how to be a
wife to this man.

“Forgive me, I did not think to share with
you what was in my mind,” she whispered in return. “I forget I am
no longer alone. I forget that now we two fight together against
all the world if need be, not apart. Johan: I ask you this and you
have all the freedom in the world in your answer. Would you be
willing to share what you have here with the elders? Perhaps our
close proximity can benefit us both and give us a new kind of
city?”

The First Elder let her questions hang in the
air between them, allowing what was said out loud to be echoed in
her thoughts. Clearly enough so anyone might read them if they
wished, even a child.

Unexpectedly, Johan hugged her, and Annyeke
revelled in the warmth and strength of his grip. She suspected she
would need his strength for quite a while to come.

I love you, Annyeke, he said directly to her
mind, no speech needed. In this new life we both have, I want to be
part of yours, that is all.

You are my life, Johan. The depth and the
height of it.

And you are mine. But, as the Lost One has in
the past told me, I am too quick to consider what might be strictly
correct and not to see things as they really are. First Elder, you
are welcome to whatever you wish of this place. Forgive me.

He broke the embrace and gazed down at her.
“Let me see how structurally sound the remaining walls are. Then
you can decide how best to accommodate all you need.”

Annyeke touched his hand briefly.

“Then we can decide,” she said. “I have no
wish for this new government to be a dictatorship, and neither, I
think, do the people.”

As Johan tested the structure, Annyeke knelt
next to Talus and helped him finish off the piles of paperwork he
had created.

“What shall I do with them?” he asked her
when the job was done.

Good question, she thought as she gazed at
the slight shifting of colours across the records. Nothing untoward
there: a few mind-disturbances, mainly of a domestic or commercial
nature; some child issues, particularly in the young Gathandrians
just coming up to their adult-cycle; and several requests for
mind-skills development. The latter had always been the highest
demands on their work-time, and Johan and she had delighted in
their city-wide mix of mind-groups. Annyeke had no idea if any of
these still functioned, and whether it mattered if they did or not.
Everything had changed; were any of their former successes useful
to them now?

She sighed, not something she particularly
liked doing, but she found she couldn’t help herself.

“I don’t know,” she said in answer to her
young charge’s question. “If we still had any desks left worth
mentioning, then there would be the ideal place for them, but as
you can see we only have a floor, some walls and just enough
ceiling to cover us. They may as well stay where they are; they’re
protected enough from the snow, and any wind that might follow it,
for now.

“We could take them home,” Talus said.

Annyeke gazed down at him. “Home?”

“Yes,” he nodded eagerly. “Didn’t you tell us
that everything is different since the war? If you took the records
home, First Elder, then there would be more space here for the
elders and for meditation.”

She knew he was right. Sometimes it took a
child to point out what was obvious. She hunkered down next to him.
“I agree. That’s a good idea indeed, but we need to ask Johan
first.”