A Scripta

Womby walked into the library, carrying a box of books. Although he didn't think anybody in the Havens group would be interested in marine micro-biology, the books were very up-to-date and could be useful to someone.

He climbed the stairs, heading to that section and was surprised to see Grim floating in the air in front of one of the book cases, looking like he was organizing the books.

"Oi, mate," he said, and Grim turned.

"Oh, hey, Womby. Long time no see."

"Been busy, school an' all. Whatcha doin'?"

"Organizing." He floated down. "It's what I do when I can't concentrate on magic."

"How come?"

"Lots of stuff going on."

"Like what?"

"Raina's pregnant, and her son has tech from the technomancers, and they want him to be a born technomancer."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Oh, supposedly he'll be a god like all the other technomancers seem to act."

"Hm." Womby put down the box of books on a table. "You got a thing against 'em?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"How come?"

"They remind me of the mages I used to hate with the Circle. 'You can't know this, you're not ready.' 'You wouldn't understand.' 'This spell has been handed down through my family for centuries and no one outside the family can use it.' That's a crock of bullshit. They want to control people."

"Maybe they don't think you'd understand."

"I would! I'm not a fucking idiot."

"Y' haven't proved it."

Grim's eyes narrowed.

"Grim, they might've been burnt an' they don't trust ev'ryone who comes down th' road. What's t' say that you wouldn't take their tech an' use it against 'em, like maybe somebody else did? Or abuse it?" Womby crossed his arms. "Y' don' have a trustworthy record, mate."

"I've changed!"

"'ave you? You still don' know how t' let go. You did it with Ariel. You did it with Mase. You did it with John. You're doin' it with the technomancers."

"What do you mean?"

Womby looked at him steadily. "They ain' the Circle, mate."

"They're worse! They're so damn mysterious, and they won't--"

"Maybe they got a right t' be." Womby leaned against the railing. "Ya know, mate, you're th' one who said 'No secrets'. I never had that rule, an' neither did Trip. Sometimes people need secrets, things t' keep t' themselves, things t' work out for th'mselves. We all had secrets." He looked up at Grim. "You jus' didn't care 'bout us so much t' wanna know."

Grim blinked at him.

"You ain' changed, Grim. You still want t' control people. But y're bein' more subtle about it now, gettin' inta people's good graces instead o' comin' right at 'em full bore like ya used to. You get 'em t' trust you, an' then you have 'em."

"That...that's not true."

Womby looked him in the eye. They stared at each other for a long time, and Grim was the first to look away. Womby stood up from the pillar. "That's th' first thing ya gotta let go, Grim. Control. Let y'r friends be y'r friends, not y'r followers."

"Control is what mages do," Grim said coldly.

"You ain' a mage anymore." Womby turned from him, and started down the stairs, then stopped and looked up at him. "You gotta start thinkin' diff'rently, mate." He headed down the stairs.

Grim watched him go, and then sat down on the floor amid the piles of books.