Prologue

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Ear-piercing screams cut Ella off mid-sentence. The focus of the Council meeting shot to a hive of activity at the top of the amphitheater. The center of the disruption was a raging tornado of wind, dirt, and debris. Logologists, seers, winders, and miners tumbled away from the roaring winds, wailing and screaming.

 

The whirling mass slowly edged down the side of the amphitheater. Pericles, the Council’s lead logologist, banged his gavel on a tabletop from below, bellowing for order. On either side of him stood Alexis and Kyros, their faces taut with anxiety; all three dressed in the dark purple chitons of head logologist. 

 

The wooden handle of Pericles’ gavel cracked from unrelenting use. The audience’s screams and the roar of the tornado continued. 

 

Pericles, Alexis, and Kyros stood behind a table, elevated on a dais. In front of them, on the floor of the amphitheater, stood the seer Ella, and Frendric her supporting winder for the Council planning session. Together, Ella and Frendric faced the oncoming mayhem, frozen in fear.

 

The wind lifted Ella's chocolate-brown hair from her shoulders; she and Frendric parted like swinging doors. The whirling mass pushed between them, tossing them to the floor like discarded trash. Pericles, Alexis, and Kyros stood firm, stone-faced, challenging the oncoming tumult.

 

The whirling wind slowed and stopped. At its center stood a seer. A rustling passed through the audience like the final gust of wind leaving the theater. Pericles wryly smiled and returned to his seat, glancing and nodding at Alexis and Kyros to do the same. Alexis and Kyros obediently sat down.

 

The seer was normal size for a seer—much smaller than a miner, but taller than a dwarf. He was slim and healthy looking; dressed in a black, heavy rough-cloth shirt and matching pants. He had a pointy black goatee and black shoulder-length hair, his hair tousled from the wind.

 

Pericles frowned and said, "It's been a long time . . . Argo."

 

At the mention of the name, the crowd erupted in furor. A giant miner rushed forward screaming, "I'll make you pay for what you've done!"

 

Argo's hand twitched and the winds returned, whipping around him, tossing the charging miner back into the crowd. Pericles jumped to his feet and banged the theater quiet with his gavel—ignoring the crack in the handle. The vortex around Argo died away. Pericles addressed the audience in a loud, firm voice, "I'll tolerate no more disturbance! You will remain seated and quiet or be escorted out of the theater!” 

 

He slowly swept the crowd with his eyes, then returned to his seat. Shifting his gaze to Argo, he said, "Nice toy you have there. The result of a stolen gusher, I presume."

 

Argo smiled and slowly shook his head. "You'll never change. I just happened to get to it before you did, that's all."

 

Pericles didn't reply.

 

Argo said, ”Like many of the gushers you do manage to get your hands on, you fail to see the potential. To you and your ilk, it's either of little use or too dangerous: something to be locked away in your vault and watched over by those who know best."

 

Pericles nodded. "Until the time is right."

 

"As decided by you!" spat Argo.

 

"As decided by the Council. The Council that would have welcomed you with open arms."

 

Argo sneered. "No thanks. Let's just say the company’s not up to my standards."

 

A restive hiss arose from the audience. Pericles quieted it with a raised hand. He grinned at Argo. "You're wrong about most things, but on that, you do have a point."

 

The audience gasped. Pericles waved his hand in warning. “But your standards, which are power and control, are far different than ours."

 

"Oh really?" said Argo. "You say that as you sit there, elevated at the table of honor, all great and powerful."

 

Pericles slowly leaned forward, his hands flat on the table in front of him. "That's not true and you know it! I work for the common good, as part of the system. I’m simply one of many logologists. It’s our job to store and analyze all discovered logos, and determine proper release times—which is critical, in the building of the pyramid, as you’re well aware.”

 

Pericles stopped, scanned the audience with his eyes, and smiled.

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“But it takes more than just logologists. It’s a team effort. It takes an army of seers, winders, miners, finders, diggers, domestics, odd-jobbers, and logologists, each contributing their part. But that’s not good enough for you: being a part of the whole. You have to be at the center. You want all the glory."

 

Argo and Pericles glared at each other, then Pericles sat back and said, "You never did tell us what you call that little wind-making gadget of yours."

 

Argo shook his head and laughed. "It’s called a Climee-bubble."

 

Pericles nodded.

 

Argo said, “But it's much more than a little wind-making gadget—as you say. With the Climee-bubble, I can control the weather!”

 

The audience hissed.

 

Argo grinned. "Granted, the area of control is somewhat limited. But it's only a matter of time . . ."

 

Pericles laughed. "Or maybe you don't fully understand it. Maybe you're outside your area of expertise."

 

Argo twitched his right hand and a band of rain encircled him. Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped.

 

"And that's supposed to impress me," said Pericles, water dripping off the end of his nose. "Let me guess: the Cold Spring Dig."

 

Argo nodded. "Very good. If your minions had been a bit quicker, it may have been yours."

 

They glared at each other for a moment without speaking, then the tornado of winds resumed around Argo, and he left the way he had come: up and out the amphitheater. 

 

Once he had gone, Pericles silenced the crowd and said, "This changes nothing! Argo’s downfall will come soon enough, you will see. We continue as always.”

 

He looked at Ella, standing off to the side of the floor. "The miner at the Twisted Tree Dig is in need of your help, I believe."