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Following is the second in a series of cuttings from my short stories book, Tales of the TREVEL.

Legalities –part 2   {That afternoon}

The afternoon’s testing excursion took the Temple novice class to the City of Atlantis Senate House as silent advisors for local minor judgments.  As Filly had recovered from her diving ordeal over lunch she was permitted back on schedule but was warned to keep a low and restful profile.

In the Trevel culture, the Senate is a highly important seat of law making, culture development and all philosophic judgment.  In fact, the King’s only son cannot even be named Prince-in-One, or heir to the throne, until the Senate approves the King’s choice. Thus, most of the novices were frightened into silence within the austere presence of the great Senate Magistrates.

The first case that was brought before the courts was of a teen male charged with “Intent to grow unregistered farm crops,” the kind that gave relief to a weary mind. His lawyer, or Verital Mediator, was contending for compassion.

“Master Senators,” Verital Mason (as was the lawyer’s title and name), urged the judgment seats to consider the teen’s future, “Fhell has a remarkable ability with Flora energy and I insist that locking him away from nature will not aid in his reconstitution into society.”

The facilitating Senator questioned,

“And what would you suggest, Verital Mason?”

The long haired truth mediator was quick with his reply,

“I urge you to apply the Training Memo that I offered the courts a week ago.” Mason pulled out a rather thick block of papers. “A whole reshuffling of youth philosophy applied in an open atmosphere of free acceptance that enables the multitudes of trouble urchins that run rampant in our cities to discover their abilities and play to their strengths.”

“Verital Mason,” interrupted another toga draped ancient, “our ways are of tradition. We are not untamed barbarians like the powerless Bacht who inhabit this Earth’s surface. We are gods and the sooner the young ones step up to their responsibility or step aside and let those who know what’s best do what needs to be done, then we can all continue in a better peace.”

Mason insisted,

“I must disagree with you . . .”

He was interrupted again,

“I can see this is your bone to chew, Verital Mason, so I will let you have one.” The facilitating Senator complied, “for the young Fhell there, I will grant him freedom, this once, if you will take legal responsibility for him and test your theories of reconstitution in your own home. Where is that now?” The Senator knew full well where Mason lived, but poked his paperwork to emphasize his snobbish distain, “The Rusty Rabbit Tavern isn’t it, a family inheritance in the low levels of this great city?”

Mason stammered briefly, all too familiar with the class distinction disgust, while the young teen looked hopefully at him,

“Sir, it would be my honor, but I have been called to ply my speech in the courts. I am unsure I have time to attend to the needs of such a robust youth as Fhell.”

“Then he goes to the prison hulks.” The facilitations of the Senate only moved so far.

“I will take him.” Mason had no other reply.

“Excellent.” The Senator nodded, bragging his full control to the Temple Novices who were taking notes intently. Filly felt nauseous, but doubted it had anything to do with her nitrogen-packed adventure that morning.

The Facilitator continued, “Next,” and read his document of Court order, “Leucacha Appollsen for the crime of theft, fifth count.”

Filly sat up instantly as Ropholo was lead into the room and the Facilitator droned on,

“You are quite the frequent flyer for theft and fraud, son.”

The defiant charmer stated clearly,

“I’m not your son, or am I?”

There was a terse pause from the bench before the cold voice uttered,

“Ten years in the Prison Hulks.” The gavel banged and Leucacha flinched slightly.

Mason burst out,

“You haven’t even heard his case!”

“No need.” There was a hard chuckle from numerous bench senators, “We are quite familiar with this one.”

Mason pushed forward,

“How will they ever achieve height if you continue to crush them from birth?”

“That is how a diamond is created, Verital Mason, and that is final.” The Facilitator raised his gavel, but froze in mid-air as a clear voice chimed in from the balcony of Novices,

“Pearls,” Filly was standing and the whole room stared at her in shock.

“Filly, sit down.” The Temple aids hushed the inexperienced novice in embarrassment.

The Senate Facilitator smiled wryly at the attractive girl,

“You wish to speak?” He threatened.

Filly faltered slightly and her eyes blinked toward Ropholo, or Leucacha as was his true name. He stared at her in adoring amazement, so she continued encouraged,

“Pearls are created by being irritants.”

Silence rolled loudly across the court house as the audacious novice lectured,

“A tiny grain of sand enters the muscle of the oyster and irritates it enough so that a mucous casing hardens around the grain and grows there over the years becoming an exquisite pearl, just like this young man . . . is accused of stealing.”

“Indeed, you speak the truth, my young novice.” The facilitator encouraged. “But, as you said, the irritant is locked away for some time before it is ready.” The gavel pounded loudly and he repeated, “Ten years in the Prison Hulks, eight if he behaves well.”

Filly didn’t care that she hardly knew Ropholo.  She didn’t even care that his name was really Leucacha.  She allowed the tear to flow down her cheek as the Strategists dragged him away. His one long Trevel finger pointed to the outer corner of his eye and he saluted her to say, “I’ll keep my eye out for you.”

The Novices were ushered rather unceremoniously out of the House and lead directly back to the Temple, but they were stopped by the sudden appearance of the high and mighty Senate Facilitator who spoke directly to Filly,

“I will be keeping an eye on you, myself, young child. I do not encourage such insubordination, so I will recommend further study of the Verital Law as requirement for your graduation.”

The Temple aid bowed in feigned acquiescence,

“Such extra assignments will be immediately applied to her study hours, sir.”

“Filly,” said the young girl clearly to the Senator’s back as he stalked off.  He stopped and turned slightly, as she continued, “my name is Filly.” She smiled in defiance, “so you can better keep an eye out for me.”

The Senate members paused and took in all her postured poise.  The Senate’s usually silent Seer spoke,

“It will not be your name that gives you fame, child.”

And the retinue of ancients oozed their wrinkled frowns back to their offices.

Secondary Officer Schmidt joined Filly on the Temple veranda after supper that night to offer his best and most disciplined consolation,

“You will still be graduating early, but your vacation season has been canceled to accommodate for your new studies in Verital law.”

Filly stared off into the Skyling’s automated blaze of light as it descended the cavern wall and smiled at her mentor,

“That’s good. I have nowhere else to go anyway.”