had no real choice. The Lammas Master had
overpowered his mind – no, all of him – from the first moment
they’d met. He’d not been able to keep away. But from that one
encounter had flowed all the destruction which had brought them to
this: threats; murder; and war. Or perhaps this was not entirely
true. The heart of these dark matters had always been there, but
what had happened between Ralph Tregannon and himself had allowed
them room to live.
He should have walked away the moment he’d
heard Ralph’s voice.
Here, in the darkened hall, he blinked as his
eyes grew accustomed to the dimness. The tapestries of the seasons
he’d once admired so much were torn and ragged, their colours
bleeding or faded. Spring, summer, autumn and winter entirely gone,
the girl and boy, the man and woman on them no more.
Without warning, Simon found himself on his
knees. Gods and stars, I’m sorry.
The words reverberated in his mind, over and
over again, and he was distantly aware of the humming of the
mind-cane and the slight vibration of its shape in his hand.
Frankel had backed off, he realised. Gods, he didn’t want to
frighten anyone. He struggled to rise, but the seas sweeping
through his thoughts wouldn’t let him. It was like the first time
he’d met the mind-executioner, but without the fire and with only
an overwhelming understanding of blue. All its tones and shades. He
was drowning, but the vast waters came from within. The only enemy
here was himself.
The only hope also.
After the length of no more than a
spring-season story, he understood the words he’d been chanting in
his thoughts were now flowing from his tongue and into the dampened
air. He let them come. He could never have stopped them.
“Gods and stars, I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Gods and stars, I’m sorry.”
Finally, his words stilled and he wiped his
eyes clear again. Something had changed. The room was lighter, more
peaceful. No, he was both those things. Whatever had been trapped
inside him had found a door to flow through. The space and freedom
left gave him room for something else. But what?
Simon sat back, uncurled his legs and rose to
a standing position again. The cane’s humming faded away and he
flexed his fingers, feeling the comfort of it in his hand. In a
gesture he hadn’t realised he was going to make, he brought it to
his lips and kissed the carved silver top. It tasted bright in a
way he couldn’t explain. Something blue and silver glowed for a
moment at the edge of the carving and then he felt the heat of it
in his own mouth.
The scribe gasped, looked up and saw the dark
shape of Frankel hovering halfway between himself and the doorway.
The old man stepped forward, about to offer help. Simon understood
he mustn’t; the mind-cane had begun to act and neither of them
could gainsay it.
“No,” he said, panting, and Frankel stopped
at once. “Please, stay where you are, I don’t know what will
happen.”
And then he couldn’t speak any more. An
explosion of flame on his tongue and a soaring heat in his
thoughts. It leapt down through his shoulders and arms, his stomach
and his legs. It ripped through his blood, blending and moulding,
churning a pathway through all his secrets, all his past and all
his fragile future. He gasped, knew himself to be burnt from within
but not consumed, and then it was gone.
The mind-cane fell to the stone floor.
Frankel was at his side, holding him up once again. Simon took a
step back, anxious not to burn the man, but when he looked around,
the fire had gone. Neither of them was in danger. Even the cane was
still and silent.
He heard the sound of footsteps. Someone else
was arriving at the great hall.
Ralph
He is unable to help his actions. Turning
from them would have been like trying to turn back across a summer
river in full spate. Once in his bedroom, the emeralds at Ralph’s
side start to glitter and dance. As if they have been suddenly
awoken after a long time or
overpowered his mind – no, all of him – from the first moment
they’d met. He’d not been able to keep away. But from that one
encounter had flowed all the destruction which had brought them to
this: threats; murder; and war. Or perhaps this was not entirely
true. The heart of these dark matters had always been there, but
what had happened between Ralph Tregannon and himself had allowed
them room to live.
He should have walked away the moment he’d
heard Ralph’s voice.
Here, in the darkened hall, he blinked as his
eyes grew accustomed to the dimness. The tapestries of the seasons
he’d once admired so much were torn and ragged, their colours
bleeding or faded. Spring, summer, autumn and winter entirely gone,
the girl and boy, the man and woman on them no more.
Without warning, Simon found himself on his
knees. Gods and stars, I’m sorry.
The words reverberated in his mind, over and
over again, and he was distantly aware of the humming of the
mind-cane and the slight vibration of its shape in his hand.
Frankel had backed off, he realised. Gods, he didn’t want to
frighten anyone. He struggled to rise, but the seas sweeping
through his thoughts wouldn’t let him. It was like the first time
he’d met the mind-executioner, but without the fire and with only
an overwhelming understanding of blue. All its tones and shades. He
was drowning, but the vast waters came from within. The only enemy
here was himself.
The only hope also.
After the length of no more than a
spring-season story, he understood the words he’d been chanting in
his thoughts were now flowing from his tongue and into the dampened
air. He let them come. He could never have stopped them.
“Gods and stars, I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Gods and stars, I’m sorry.”
Finally, his words stilled and he wiped his
eyes clear again. Something had changed. The room was lighter, more
peaceful. No, he was both those things. Whatever had been trapped
inside him had found a door to flow through. The space and freedom
left gave him room for something else. But what?
Simon sat back, uncurled his legs and rose to
a standing position again. The cane’s humming faded away and he
flexed his fingers, feeling the comfort of it in his hand. In a
gesture he hadn’t realised he was going to make, he brought it to
his lips and kissed the carved silver top. It tasted bright in a
way he couldn’t explain. Something blue and silver glowed for a
moment at the edge of the carving and then he felt the heat of it
in his own mouth.
The scribe gasped, looked up and saw the dark
shape of Frankel hovering halfway between himself and the doorway.
The old man stepped forward, about to offer help. Simon understood
he mustn’t; the mind-cane had begun to act and neither of them
could gainsay it.
“No,” he said, panting, and Frankel stopped
at once. “Please, stay where you are, I don’t know what will
happen.”
And then he couldn’t speak any more. An
explosion of flame on his tongue and a soaring heat in his
thoughts. It leapt down through his shoulders and arms, his stomach
and his legs. It ripped through his blood, blending and moulding,
churning a pathway through all his secrets, all his past and all
his fragile future. He gasped, knew himself to be burnt from within
but not consumed, and then it was gone.
The mind-cane fell to the stone floor.
Frankel was at his side, holding him up once again. Simon took a
step back, anxious not to burn the man, but when he looked around,
the fire had gone. Neither of them was in danger. Even the cane was
still and silent.
He heard the sound of footsteps. Someone else
was arriving at the great hall.
Ralph
He is unable to help his actions. Turning
from them would have been like trying to turn back across a summer
river in full spate. Once in his bedroom, the emeralds at Ralph’s
side start to glitter and dance. As if they have been suddenly
awoken after a long time or
Similar Books
