When the call came for the Exodus, Lucas was not ready.
“That’s fine,” the Council said. “We needed a Remembrancer to stay behind. Lock the door behind us when we leave.”
It took the Prognosticator half a bag of burning Clee, three Ecstasies assuring success, and,
finally, a really hard shove to get Lucas’ mother onto the ship. She howled the whole way, beating her fists
against the portals and mouthing dire portents as Lucas waved from the launch
arena.
Lucas, finally alone in the rows of burgeoning garden
plantings, smiled up at the crimson sky and could not remember a thing.
On purpose.
