The Executioner's Cane (35 page)

Eleventh Gathandrian
Interlude

Annyeke

It took Annyeke the length of several stories
to persuade the elders she could trust how she needed to travel
back to Lammas to tell Simon what he needed to know. The
Chair-Maker was not present. Annyeke had not allowed it, but
instead he had remained in his former dwelling which she had
protected with a powerful mind-net so he could not leave without
her knowing it. When she had shared what she knew of Iffenia and
the Book of Blood, the gathered elders had been silent, both in
shock and in grief, and their shifting mind-colours had almost made
her gasp. Perhaps there were indeed no words for it.

About her plan, Johan too was uncertain,
letting her sense his concerns about the danger of the trip. In
fact it felt as if the whole of the Gathandrian leadership was
ranged against her and for the first time she found herself having
some measure of sympathy with the First Elder before her, even in
spite of his errors.

“It is the way forward, I know it,” she said,
reverting to speaking aloud as she paced the length of the old
Council meeting room. The last time she’d been here was just after
Johan and Isabella had left for Lammas, and the elders had summoned
her to them. Then, she had been wary and the walls had been solid.
Now she was wary still, but for different reasons, and the room was
almost nothing more than broken stone and memories. “I must go back
to let the Lost One know he holds the power to let both our lands
live again by the strength of the stories that are his, and the
stories that he has yet to tell. It is he who will truly begin to
heal us.”

“What makes you think that, Annyeke?” This
from the Mentor, and she was glad he had taken his lead from her
and spoken aloud also. Everything must be in the open so all could
hear. This would be their way from now onwards and they would have
to get used to it.

In any case, her answer was easy. “I dreamt
it and, when I woke, the lemon tree in my garden blossomed with
parchment instead of leaves. I knew then it longed for stories, and
the Lost One also calls himself the Scribe, so who better to tell
those stories for us? The tales of the Great Library lie shattered
and, because of the situation in Lammas and the potential for civil
battle there, we do not have enough time to rebuild them, not
alone. The power of our city and our lives lie in our stories. In
order to live well, we need them.”

“And what makes you believe the Lost One can
do this task? It does not lie in our legends, First Elder.”

The Mentor’s question was one she knew she
would have to deal with, but she’d wished it not quite so soon.

“I know it does not,” she said, “and, believe
me, I understand and acknowledge the power of our legends to move
and inform us. But when I accepted the First Eldership, I accepted
it knowing we needed, under my leadership, to try something new.
This is something new.”

The Mentor shook his head. “That was akin to
the approach of the elder before you, an approach which led us
along paths tangled with difficulties, and leading only to
disaster.”

Annyeke blinked. Whilst she sensed he did not
wish to challenge her outright, the Mentor’s words had been almost
as cutting as the glass-making profession he bore. She stood up
from the table and paced towards the once-beautiful window looking
onto the park-area. When she swung round, she knew all eyes were
upon her, and the elders were waiting for her answer. She opened
her mouth but someone else spoke before her.

“The old ways have failed, twice. It is time
for a new story and, for that, we must walk the new ways laid out
before us.”

At the sound of this unfamiliar voice,
Annyeke stared at the man who had spoken. As did all gathered in
the meeting room with her. It was good to have their attention
elsewhere for a while. Everything then between them became silent,
because the elder who had spoken was the Silent One, the one who
was destined never to speak, the one whose quietness held them in
harmony, or was intended to. His voice sounded like the warmest of
summer nights when the skies were clear and the air perfumed with
pomegranate blossom. She wondered why he had left it so long to say
what he must need to.

It was up to her, as First Elder, to approach
him, and she felt the weight of expectation, even Johan’s, at her
back.

She straightened her shoulders and made her
way to the Silent One, or perhaps that should be the previously
Silent One. He stood up at her approach, and nodded briefly. Close
up, she could see the golden flecks in his eyes and the way the
colour of his hair shimmered so its precise shade could never be
decided upon. This close, she could sense his own surprise as well.
So many imaginings dwelt in his mind and none, up to now, had ever
been heard.

His lips moved, but this time there was no
sound. Something in his eyes and thought caught her, however, and
she gasped. Reaching out, she touched the edge of his mouth with
her fingers and felt the power of words leap into her skin and fill
her flesh and mind. Then the Silent One stepped back and she felt
the vast reaches of the power he contained in so frail a vessel
leave her. For a heartbeat, she missed them beyond measure, but
then she knew she could not live the way she wanted to, nor rule
her country, if his words, the words of the Spirit, were melded
with her skin. Only one elder and his family could do that and
live.

The Silent One nodded before brushing one
hand across his mouth as if her contact there had taken something
from him. Or gifted him with something. At the same time, she
sensed Johan’s curiosity rise.

“I did not expect to speak,” the Silent One
whispered, the speech falling from his tongue as something unknown.
“But the stories and what they might be compelled me.”

“Tell us what you know,” Annyeke commanded,
“by the gods and stars.”

The Silent One nodded and again all around
him was silent, as silent as the air before a perfect music is
played. He swallowed.

“The words are mine and my family’s,” he
said. “They come from our legends and our lives, both now and from
the past. But the words themselves tell me it is not enough. There
are spaces waiting to be filled before the peace which longs to
visit us can be fully here. It is seen in the First Elder’s dream
and in the leaves of the lemon tree. The Lost One and the story are
united and one must tell the other if we are to begin again. Our
First Elder is not as the one before, Mentor, and will not, I know,
destroy us. There. I have spoken. My words here are done.”

The air altered in the room, and something
passed over the Silent One’s face so Annyeke knew he would not
speak again.

She waited for the other elders to say
something, whether it would be for her or against her but, to her
surprise, it was Johan who broke the silence.

“I will stand by the First Elder,” he said, a
half-smile glimmering on his lips amidst the seriousness that lay
beneath, always. “I have never known her to let me or anyone down,
although her actions and decisions often surprise me. In any case,
though I am concerned for her safety in this venture, the Spirit
has spoken through one who speaks not, and I take my place at
Annyeke’s side.”

With that, he turned to stand square at her
shoulder and she felt the quietness as golden as the autumn-season
between them. She gazed round at the elders, picking each one out
in turn and ending with the Silent One, who nodded as if she had
spoken something directly to him, but she had not.

The affirmation, when it came, was simple and
from them all: the word yes echoing in her head with the voice of
each elder part of its music.

“Thank you,” she said aloud, so that Johan
would not be left out in any manner. “Then we must do it now. I
must travel to the Lammas Lands and meet with the Lost One.”

Chapter Fifteen: Battles and Silence

Simon

As Ralph set out his plan there in the Lammas
castle kitchen, it seemed sensible enough, although Simon was no
tactician. The remaining seeds would be guarded in storage on a
day-cycle rolling rota, whilst the most important fields would gain
the same level of protection. The small number of men and women
amongst them would be stretched, but they had little choice. This
morning-cycle, Ralph and a handful of men, some former soldiers,
would track Jemelda’s whereabouts and see if some kind of peace
could be reached. Simon had little confidence it would be but he
was pleased Ralph was trying. He had assumed the Lammas Lord would
fight first and only think of talking later, if anyone was left
alive.

You underestimate me, Scribe.

The shock of Ralph’s continuing link with him
made Simon blink and he glanced down to see the soft silver glow on
the mind-cane’s carving. It must be strengthening the connection
between Ralph and himself for reasons of its own, though he could
not fathom them. Quickly Simon span a mind-net round his thoughts
and saw Ralph’s slight smile fade. He turned away.

“So,” Ralph said, bringing his plans to a
close. “That is what we will do.”

“Unless anyone has any other suggestions,”
Simon said quietly.

Ralph stared at him and then nodded. “Indeed,
unless anyone has anything else to say.”

Nobody did, so Ralph rose to his feet and
gestured towards the doorway. With the Lammas Lord, no sooner was
something decided than it was done. How Simon remembered that. But
just as he too rose, like the others, to follow, there was a
shimmer of green in the courtyard, and Simon could feel a great cry
in his thought which pierced through all nets and defences.

“Simon?”

Ralph’s voice shook him back into himself,
but the terrible pain of the cry remained. Outside, the shimmer of
green began to dance and flash. Simon started to run, the mind-cane
firm in his grip.

“It’s the emeralds,” he shouted. “Someone is
coming to us. It’s not working. They’re in pain.”

Ralph was right behind Simon as he juddered
to a halt in front of the shifting streaks of green. Whatever was
going on, and whoever was making this journey, it wasn’t enough to
get them here. No more deaths, by the gods and stars, he had
promised himself once and he would do his best to keep his
word.

“Do you have your emeralds?” he asked Ralph,
and the Lammas Lord nodded, delving into his belt-bag and
retrieving a handful.

Simon snatched them up, although in truth it
was more as if they’d lifted into his palm themselves. He could
feel a sudden warmth where they touched him. In his other hand the
mind-cane began to sing.

“What can you do?” Ralph asked him, a frown
creasing his forehead as his gaze danced from Simon to the
fluctuating circle of green and back.

“Trust me,” said Simon.

As Ralph and his servants watched, Simon took
the emeralds and flung them as hard as he could towards the skies.
As they flew upwards, he took the mind-cane, its song piercing his
thoughts and mingling with the cries of the traveller, and swept it
through the arc of the emeralds as they fell. When the ebony cane
touched the sparkling emeralds, the black-and-green melded
together, forming for one wild moment a perfect circle. In it,
Simon could see the figure of a woman struggling to escape and knew
at once it was Annyeke.

Ralph was at his side at an instant.

Take my hand, now, Simon said in his mind,
praying Annyeke would hear him and somehow she did as she stretched
out her fingers, grasped Ralph and then him, and at the next
heartbeat all three of them were sprawled on the courtyard cobbles.
Around them, the cane and the emeralds clattered to the ground.

While Simon scrabbled to his feet, Ralph was
already helping Annyeke. The Lammas Lord handed her two of the
emeralds he’d retrieved as she dusted down her skirts although to
Simon’s untrained eye she looked far neater than he felt.

“Not my best journey ever,” she said with a
smile, although her voice broke a little, “but it warms my mind to
see you again, Lost One.”

Simon could think of nothing whatsoever to
say in return and simply hugged her, thanking the gods and stars
she was safe.

Annyeke broke the hug quickly, her expression
serious.

“I know you and the Lammas Lands have much to
occupy you,” she said, glancing at Ralph before returning her gaze
to Simon. “But there are other battles we need to fight.”

Simon snorted. “There are always other
battles, Annyeke. So many of them I wonder we will ever have
peace.”

“Yes, I know,” she replied, “but peace also
comes by fighting for it.”

Yes, he imagined it did. Indeed, Annyeke had
fought bravely in Gathandria for her ward Talus and had defeated
the mind-executioner for all time-cycles in a way Simon could never
have done. He needed to listen to her.

“Speak,” he said, “and then we will fulfil as
best we can the commands Lord Tregannon has given us.”

Ralph’s expression was carefully neutral at
this delay of his mission, but Simon could sense the jagged red and
green of his impatience.

“If that is acceptable to you all?” he added,
turning to take in the small group of gathered people with his
glance.

After a heartbeat or two, Ralph nodded. His
agreement seemed to speak for the rest also, but then who amongst
them would object now Jemelda had gone?

“Bring the First Elder a cup of water,” the
Lammas Lord said. “I believe she has need of it.”

His steward ran to obey, though Simon doubted
any water today would be fresh. Still he couldn’t help but admire
the confidence with which Ralph had spoken, as if unexpected guests
could be easily catered for in these difficult times. Annyeke too
must have caught the sense of Ralph’s action as he saw her hide her
smile. The Lammas Lord must have temporarily forgotten the depths
of the Gathandrians’ mind-skills.