The Executioner's Cane (38 page)

“Look!” Frankel said from behind him.
“Look.”

Simon turned round, steadying his father so
he didn’t fall. The old castle servant was staring up into the
trees and pointing at something Simon couldn’t see.

“What is it?” he said, feeling Annyeke’s
impatience sweeping over him like a wintry gust of wind. “What can
you see?”

Frankel didn’t reply directly, but merely
carried on pointing, glancing first at Simon and then at whatever
he’d seen in the trees. Simon followed the direction of his gaze.
Heart pounding with the need to reach the village, he nonetheless
forced himself to be still. Whatever the old man had seen might
turn out to be important. In these time-cycles you never knew.

At first he saw nothing. Then, when he
blinked, he realised the topmost branches of the trees were white.
He had imagined it was snow but it was not. It was … nothing.

Next to him, Annyeke gasped, but he had
already understood the meaning. The sudden cry of the snow-raven
and the lurch of the mind-cane in his grasp told him what he
already knew.

“They are vanishing,” he whispered. “The
trees are vanishing.”

Annyeke’s hand on his arm gave him courage.
“Yes, it is the power of the Book of Blood which makes everything
disappear and begin again, but for good or ill depends on us. It is
just as I saw in my dream. Simon, Lost One, by all the gods and
stars, I know you are the only one who can help us. Please, we must
hurry.”

“Yes,” he said. “Let us go. We must get to
the village.”

He quickened their pace as far as he was able
to, but was determined not to leave behind those he’d sworn to
bring with him. Around them other sections of trees and undergrowth
were vanishing too, the bleak whiteness swallowing them up. He
wondered if that same blankness could take people also, but did not
want to answer the question. Next to him his father began to mumble
words which made no sense, and the grating sound of them pierced
him and made him tremble. He could not push aside the fear the old
man understood something he could not convey, in the way the very
mad or the very young often do.

They must reach the village.

Finally, after what seemed to be the length
of several winter-season stories, Simon caught sight of the first
ruined houses, no more than huts. When he glanced upwards, he could
see the terrible whiteness flowing steadily through the treetops.
He tightened his grip on his father’s arm and tried to quicken the
pace further until the old man cried out. That sound too pierced
him, took him back to the day of his mother’s death when his father
had driven him away. So much to be considered, still, and no time
for it.

He couldn’t make the group travel any faster,
so he must think of something else. Letting his father go, but not
before ensuring he could stand, Simon lifted his eyes to search for
the snow-raven. The bird came at once, a blessing he hadn’t fully
expected. The raven swooped in upon him, but Simon did not flinch,
although he stepped forward in order to shield Annyeke from his
arrival. When the bird landed, his bright wings settling against
his back like mist melting into a deeper haze, Simon raised the
mind-cane and brushed it lightly across the raven’s great beak. It
was the only way he could think to communicate his purpose,
although the bird had always understood him well enough before.

The safety of the nest is to be found here on
the earth. So I will fly and perch as you command.

Yes, he thought that might be as good a way
of putting it as any.

“Annyeke,” he said, swinging round to face
her directly. “Take the people to the village as quickly as you
can. Find somewhere to hide and I will come to you.”

“What will you do, Lost One?”

“I will stay here, with the mind-cane. I will
try to fight the white emptiness to give you time to find safety.
You will have the snow-raven. He will protect you.”

The look on her face told him what she
thought about that particular plan, but there was no time for
argument.

“Go, First Elder,” he said, giving her a
gentle push in the right direction. “I give these people to your
command.”

It was enough. She nodded, turned and began
to hurry along their small group towards the huts. The snow-raven
sang one long musical note in a key which reminded Simon of all
that was golden and warm in the land and then launched himself up
into the air, tracking Annyeke in his flight.

By the gods and stars, Simon prayed, let them
be safe. Then he gripped the mind-cane more firmly and looked for
the whiteness again.

Strange how he could not focus on it for
long. It was only in the edge of his vision where he thought he
could sense it more clearly, because it was not purely a physical
entity, he knew. When he glimpsed the whiteness, his mind too
echoed with the same emptiness, bringing him at once to a place in
himself he had not realised existed.

In death and what is not, you can discover
life and what is.

“What?” The exclamation tumbled from Simon’s
lips before he could realise the foolishness of it. No-one was here
but the mind-cane, and it was therefore the mind-cane whose words
had reached right into his soul and pierced him.

What do you mean? he asked it, sending the
words in all the colours he could imagine through his thought and
flesh.

You will know, when it is right. That is why
I am here.

That was all very well, Simon thought, but
not entirely helpful. He scanned the trees and sky, then the lower
branches and bracken for the whiteness. He was meant to be
protecting them, allowing them time to reach safety, but he
couldn’t even track his enemy for more than a few moments without
losing him.

What would Ralph say at such laxness?

He would fight, Simon told himself. Ralph
would fight.

“Come then!” he shouted, stretching his arms
wide and brandishing the mind-cane like a sword. “I am here. Why
don’t you try me, whatever you are?”

The noise of his own words astonished him and
he almost missed the shimmer of echo in the trees on the right,
where no echo should be. He whirled towards the sight and caught a
glimpse of the white emptiness which had eluded him. Still shouting
but not in any way that made sense, he ran towards it, the cane
dancing and humming wildly in his hand. Sparks of silver flew from
its carving and landed deep within the heart of the whiteness ahead
which, this time, had not shifted away from him. A flash of snowy
fire from the first of the sparks and then it vanished. Simon kept
on running.

The next heartbeat, he was within the
emptiness, within the silent pages of the Book of Blood. Though it
was not within him, but he was within it. It felt like purity but
also the deepest of terrors, and its colours were nothing and
nowhere, sliding away from his mind like ice. Then he too was
nothing, more fully even than he had been in death, and he had no
markers to know himself or any other thing. The only object he
recognised was the shape of the mind-cane in his hand and its song
in his thought.

This is the story, live it.

He could not tell if the words came from him
or the cane but it didn’t matter because at that moment they were
one and the same. And the song was both the snow-raven and himself.
It was then the words rose up within him. No they were him.

I am the Lost One, he said in his mind,
knowing he’d said the same before but now he meant it. The words
are mine.

Annyeke

She didn’t glance back. There was no time.
She cursed herself that her small efforts to contain the power the
Chair Maker had released had been worse than useless – the danger
was already amongst them. All her instincts told her to run, but
she had the Lost One’s people, the Lammassers, to protect and so
she would not do that. It would not be the action of a First Elder,
and certainly not of the kind of woman she believed herself to be.
So she gathered Frankel, the boy and the Lost One’s father close to
her and began to walk as swiftly as the old man allowed towards the
village.

“Follow me,” she gave the command with a
confidence she couldn’t find in herself to the rest of the group,
and knew in any case they would have no other option.

A loud cry behind her but she didn’t turn
round. Something told her not to.

“Don’t look,” she whispered fiercely, making
the words resonate from her thought as well as from her mouth. She
no longer cared whether her mind-skills would terrify the villagers
or not. They had moved beyond such small fears. She hurried her
troop towards the hoped-for safety of the village as best she
could. All the time she prayed the Lost One would be safe.

It seemed to take the length of more stories
than she could remember to reach the village and Annyeke couldn’t
help but be aware of the emptiness at their heels. In the trees and
in the air she sensed it, though it did not touch them. Whatever
Simon had done or was still doing, the white terror had not
attacked them. It was an advantage she could work with, her only
one.

When the ruined houses appeared, Annyeke
blinked. Even though she’d known Lammas had been severely damaged
by the mind-wars in Gathandria, she hadn’t seen the results for
herself. Piles of broken stone and tile lay scattered across the
snowy path, and the small remnants of houses which remained were
barely holding together. Though at her next glance she couldn’t
really tell how solid or well-constructed they had been in the
first place. Lord Tregannon obviously did not set great store on
the concept of providing for all reasonably, whether rich or poor.
Typical man, she couldn’t help thinking, and then brought herself
up short. No matter whose individual fault it was, it was up to the
Gathandrian city to oversee the welfare of these lands. They had
not done so here, so the blame must be shared.

Putting aside her thoughts of future
judgement, the First Elder of Gathandria turned and scanned the
path along which they had hurried as the people huddled in behind
her. The whiteness hovered in the trees though she thought it might
be less intense. She couldn’t see any sign of Simon and cursed
quietly under her breath. She needed the Lost One with her. More
importantly, she wished with all her blood and bone Johan was with
her, but it was impossible.

“What shall we do?” the question came from
the boy at her side, still clutching her hand. “Where’s my master’s
scribe?”

Another question she had no answer to, but as
the woman in charge she had to make a decision.

“I don’t know where the Scribe is right now,”
she said, “but he will be with us soon. Until then we need to reach
shelter. Tell me, which is the safest house in the village?”

The boy reddened and pointed, dropping his
gaze. Annyeke frowned but followed the line of his finger to a
hovel which, though damaged, seemed slightly more sturdy than those
around it. At least it had a roof and some semblance of a wall. She
turned to head in that direction, sensing the churning mix of
colours around the young boy. But, before she could take a single
step, the boy had grabbed her.

“It is the night-women’s house,” he
whispered.

His fear blended with the colours of the
people near her and began to mix with black in her mind. Heart
beating fast, Annyeke swung round.

“This is no time for your delicacy,” she
said, fixing each one with her gaze as she spoke. “Here is where we
will take refuge.”

She bundled them in. Yes, that was the only
word for it as she didn’t think they had time for niceties. Inside
a woman sprang up, gasping with fear, and Annyeke cursed her own
stupidity for not taking a mind-view of the place before they
entered. She hadn’t thought anyone would be present.

“I’m sorry,” she said, holding out her hand
in a gesture of appeasement. “We need safety. Please can we stay? I
swear none of us will harm you. But we need to fight our
enemy.”

The woman – whose name, if indeed she had
one, Annyeke could not sense – stared for precious moments at them
all and then nodded. Without a word, the night-woman headed for the
back where the shadows lurked and disappeared out of view for a
heartbeat or two before reappearing with some threadbare blankets
and pieces of wood. She held them out.

“If you promise me no harm, then you are
welcome,” she said softly, not meeting Annyeke’s gaze. “This is all
the comfort and weapons I have.”

“We will make it enough,” Annyeke
replied.

By now the old man, the Lost One’s father,
was trembling and muttering under his breath over and over again.
Annyeke could feel the cut and thrust of ebony and green anguish in
her thoughts from him but she tried to contain it and focus on the
matter in hand.

“How will we fight?” the boy, Apolyon, asked
her.

“With our minds and with our hearts,” Annyeke
told him. How she hoped the Lost One would come soon. There was
more happening here than she could comprehend or perhaps even
defeat. Then it came to her what she must do. “Listen to me.”

As if she had given them a command it might
be death to disobey, everyone at once stopped what they were
engaged in and turned to her. Really, it was quite unnerving to see
for herself how ingrained the instinct for obedience was in these
people. Could they not think for themselves? On the other hand,
wasn’t that obedience exactly what she most needed? Only Simon’s
father continued to be lost in his world of madness and
muttering.

She took a deep breath. She thought she might
need it.

“This is a battle of the mind,” she said. “I
know your people do not hold to matters of the mind and I
understand how recently these gifts have brought you nothing but
grief, through no fault of your own. But whatever is out there is
pursuing us and it is an enemy which is more than physical even
though we can see it with our eyes. So I’m asking you to trust me
and let me link as far as is safe with your thoughts. I swear to
you I will do you no harm, and you will lose nothing by it. But we
must have all the advantages we can glean. What do you say?”