guest
unconscious. It had been more embarrassing because Gareth had
yelled out, ‘I do not! I mean I do not need help to…”
“Shut up,” O’rah had hissed before she fell
into a drunken slumber snoring so loudly she’d woken the person
she’d knocked unconscious. Paris had cast a spell on her and she
magnified her own snores making the ground tremble that caused
everyone to run away.
Paris winced, the memory burning too brightly
in his mind. Yes, it was then he knew he had to leave. He conjured
up a pseudo wind to try and blow out the flame of humiliation. The
Trinity, once the elite of the elite, was an embarrassment to the
Assembly and those they protected. He slid his head in his bony
hands. You'd think short lived, challenged people would forget a
little incident like that. Unfortunately, reporters, who seemed to
have the same disease where ever he went, would broadcast the happy
celebration now and then on vision. Many considered vision to be a
boon to the community but he considered it to be a pain in the
proverbial. The Assembly had spoken to them severely after that
reminding them about presenting a united front to the community.
The eighteen Assemblers had been very adamant and had ignored their
innocent looking, stormy faces as well as excuses and bruises. And
so, on cue, for more than three hundred years they switched on
their smiles when in the presence of the community. But deep within
their underground pit home tensions had been at a premium. Two
apprentices had already left, and under threat from O'rah, dared
not explain to the Assembly the real reason which caused their
hurried departure. One remained though, Harro. Paris was impatient
for his apprentice to finish his training and pushed him hard,
perhaps unwisely. Harro was no Paris, and although the accusations
that he was a little mindless and careless were harsh, he did get
the job done ... after a fashion.
A little nagging thought crossed Paris’s mind
that maybe, through Harro, he was taking revenge on the two
conspirators, just as he had been doing over the years when
supplying spells. The spells were always doable, always just enough
to get the job done and he was careful not to bring disrepute upon
their heads but they were devised cleverly to make O'rah and Gareth
work a lot harder. O’rah worked more to magnify and Gareth worked
harder to mind the spell—making sure it did its job by remaining
bound to the thing or person.
He grinned to himself.
Paris got up and shook his cloak sending
little stones rattling down the rocky cliff face. He only just
noticed the light rain as he turned into the wind. Annoyed now he
patted his shoulder feeling the damp brown cloth. Idiot! What did
he care? He was leaving. Now the decision was made he felt so much
better. First, he had to get home and organize a few things, then
he had to get to the spaceport. There were always freighters
waiting for the large containers to be lifted off with food for the
city worlds. He could hide in one of those since he had no money
and he wouldn’t starve. Some fruits had enough moisture so only
toileting would be a problem. And entertainment. He began to list
things he’d need. And his destination? Suddenly he didn’t care.
Paris hurried down the path back to the village.
“Paris!”
He turned at the familiar voice. A woodsman
stepped through the thick understory, with his axe casually resting
on his shoulder. Dark pants and light top was the extent of
Martin’s closet. The silly smile was still pasted on his face but
he didn’t resent Martin’s happiness. Newly married he’d just found
out his wife was pregnant.
“Where are you going to in such a rush?”
Paris glanced around. He trusted his best
friend with everything. While most best friends grew up together
and grew old together, Martin, as a toddler, used to follow him
around until eventually their ages were roughly in sync. “I’m
leaving,” he blurted out.
The smile on Martin’s face died
unconscious. It had been more embarrassing because Gareth had
yelled out, ‘I do not! I mean I do not need help to…”
“Shut up,” O’rah had hissed before she fell
into a drunken slumber snoring so loudly she’d woken the person
she’d knocked unconscious. Paris had cast a spell on her and she
magnified her own snores making the ground tremble that caused
everyone to run away.
Paris winced, the memory burning too brightly
in his mind. Yes, it was then he knew he had to leave. He conjured
up a pseudo wind to try and blow out the flame of humiliation. The
Trinity, once the elite of the elite, was an embarrassment to the
Assembly and those they protected. He slid his head in his bony
hands. You'd think short lived, challenged people would forget a
little incident like that. Unfortunately, reporters, who seemed to
have the same disease where ever he went, would broadcast the happy
celebration now and then on vision. Many considered vision to be a
boon to the community but he considered it to be a pain in the
proverbial. The Assembly had spoken to them severely after that
reminding them about presenting a united front to the community.
The eighteen Assemblers had been very adamant and had ignored their
innocent looking, stormy faces as well as excuses and bruises. And
so, on cue, for more than three hundred years they switched on
their smiles when in the presence of the community. But deep within
their underground pit home tensions had been at a premium. Two
apprentices had already left, and under threat from O'rah, dared
not explain to the Assembly the real reason which caused their
hurried departure. One remained though, Harro. Paris was impatient
for his apprentice to finish his training and pushed him hard,
perhaps unwisely. Harro was no Paris, and although the accusations
that he was a little mindless and careless were harsh, he did get
the job done ... after a fashion.
A little nagging thought crossed Paris’s mind
that maybe, through Harro, he was taking revenge on the two
conspirators, just as he had been doing over the years when
supplying spells. The spells were always doable, always just enough
to get the job done and he was careful not to bring disrepute upon
their heads but they were devised cleverly to make O'rah and Gareth
work a lot harder. O’rah worked more to magnify and Gareth worked
harder to mind the spell—making sure it did its job by remaining
bound to the thing or person.
He grinned to himself.
Paris got up and shook his cloak sending
little stones rattling down the rocky cliff face. He only just
noticed the light rain as he turned into the wind. Annoyed now he
patted his shoulder feeling the damp brown cloth. Idiot! What did
he care? He was leaving. Now the decision was made he felt so much
better. First, he had to get home and organize a few things, then
he had to get to the spaceport. There were always freighters
waiting for the large containers to be lifted off with food for the
city worlds. He could hide in one of those since he had no money
and he wouldn’t starve. Some fruits had enough moisture so only
toileting would be a problem. And entertainment. He began to list
things he’d need. And his destination? Suddenly he didn’t care.
Paris hurried down the path back to the village.
“Paris!”
He turned at the familiar voice. A woodsman
stepped through the thick understory, with his axe casually resting
on his shoulder. Dark pants and light top was the extent of
Martin’s closet. The silly smile was still pasted on his face but
he didn’t resent Martin’s happiness. Newly married he’d just found
out his wife was pregnant.
“Where are you going to in such a rush?”
Paris glanced around. He trusted his best
friend with everything. While most best friends grew up together
and grew old together, Martin, as a toddler, used to follow him
around until eventually their ages were roughly in sync. “I’m
leaving,” he blurted out.
The smile on Martin’s face died
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