They burned Master Harim’s body at dusk. I watched, hidden, my body wedged into a wide crack of the decaying yellow wall. Consul Dalric told me to stay put; Scholari were not allowed out after dark. But I had to come. I had to see.
I am to blame.
If the Masters discovered that a twelve-year old student – and a girl, no less – was to blame, then they would send me away from the Halo and away from the Academy forever.
My past reared its ugly head and a shudder cut my thoughts short. I recalled so few pleasant memories of before and none as pleasant as after.
This is my home. I will never go back. I will die first!
My stomach fluttered. Eleven dark-robed masters might tell me otherwise.
My ped slipped on a geo-lumpi, and peblie rained down, giving away my hiding spot.
Consul Dalric turned and saw me. Then, he raised one skeletal, black-robed arm, pointed his finger and screamed: “Scholari outa da dormitori!”
I fell at his feet, begging him not to send me away from Halo. He responded: “Your stomachi non flutteri, young Scholari. Thiso waso noto youro faulto, and weo know thato.”
But, then he added: “Deus Ex Machina!” And a large mechanical bird swept down, grabbing me in its talons—cutting short my pleasant memories of after.
Opening: Pam LaFollette.....Continuation: Dixon Hill