The Crux of the thing
|The taste was familiar but not immediately identifiable. He felt strength return to his spent body as he chewed the fortuitous fruit. The flavor spread through his mouth relaxing, renewing, then seemed to enter his mind, taking it back in time to the first time he had tasted this fruit.|
A huge crowd had gathered to fill a plaza with a central stage made of wood. Occupying this pulpit were three people. A huge brute of a man in full face mask and holding a large ax, dominated the trio, physically. A shorter figure was neatly dressed in bright robe with a gold badge of office banging off his chest as he gestured to the crowd, punctuating his diatribe, voice magically magnified to reach the outskirts of the crowd. The third figure was easily missed, slouching between the others, eyes never rising to meet the crowd, body shaking on occasion as the crowd roared at the orator’s direction.
In the shade and high above the crowd there was a quiet feast with rows of stone terraces covered in comfortable chairs and long wooden tables. Servants scurried around, never obstructing the view of the plaza, bringing food and drinks to the gathered special guests of the king.
A public execution was the show of the day. The orator was telling the crowd of the charges and the accused was there without chains, acclaiming his guilt by not fleeing.
Near the top of the terraces but far off to one side, denoting a moderately high social position, sat a richly dressed young man, a piece of fruit in his hand with a single bite taken out of it. His reverie was broken by the figure seated next to him.