The Beginning

(Aka Idle Thoughts)



Twice rang the bells, for death, for birth,


Twice the shining flare of light,

Twice read the story of all the world,

And the lightened soul burst into flight.



I have here a tome. Black as night, bound with silver, with hints of red. It is only so tall, and so wide, as you can see, and just so thick. It is not very large, indeed, for a volume of its destiny…


For it is the fate of the world.


The silver key enters the lock, and turns. Slowly the dark, dark cover lifts and the pages begin to fly, faster and faster, until they stop abruptly. The single cream page grows larger and larger, and the flowing script and misty drawings consume everything…



The candle sputtered, and the small pool of light it spread across the loose pages of the notes wavered slowly. It was almost dawn, and gray light filtered through the windows of the small room. Still, Cairon checked it nervously, fearful of its extinguishment but worrying about notice.

His fine pen skated across the page, recording his thoughts and observations. It had been a fine night for it. Cool, dim, quiet, without the noises he’d heard from the other day. The Lords must have done something to suppress them. They often had to nowadays, but they always did. It was one of the unchangeable facts of the world.

Except, then, what was he doing here at this time of night with only the light of a candle? At the least he should have a glowlamp, but he had been afraid of being…well, discovered. The light would have attracted a Watcher, who would have intruded and asked him what he was doing at 6 after Blacknight…and he would have been questioned. In this place of unchangeable, unquestionable things, what was Cairon Elarind doing here tonight doing a very questionable thing?

It had started not long ago. An urge, a whispering, to go outside when there was no one and no task to be done, to find out what things were like that he’d never been able to see. It was an honest feeling, and an excusable one. In the daylight there were always tasks, but at night there was no one, as everyone was lawful. Everyone except Cairon Elarind.

What would his parents have thought? He had never known them, being orphaned at a young age. According to custom he had been fostered and sent immediately to a school to find out his strengths. At 15 years, he was hard on the track to being a talented architect, or so his Masters told him. His aptitude for design and aesthetics had combined to create a wonderful mind for it, one that would help the community, they always said on his portfolios. It was what was expected.

He stacked his pages, finished for the night, and extinguished the candle, using the gray dawn-light to make his way back to his quarters. He stretched out on his bed, exhausted, trying to catch an hour of sleep before morning Calling.

They came for him that day.