Chapter One: The Bard

Chapter Two: The Mountain

Chapter Three: The Cave

“When I began, I led you to believe that this was a mere story or a fragment of truth from the mists of the past that had never reached the ears of this land.  Heed me closely now, though, for I tell you earnestly that this was no story, no idle wiling away of the hours or bard-wrought tale.  It is as real as these bleating sheep, this mountainside, the city below, as you and I.  I tell you, this was no tale, but a prophesy.  A warning that, if you heed it not, will lead to the desolation of this herd, this green mountain, this towered city—it will take all, even your very life with its poison.”

Paris was speechless at Homer’s change of mood and sudden fervor.

Homer looked at Paris intently and continued, “Three visitors in the guise of women will come to you, I know not how soon.  It may be a month or perhaps is years yet in the future.  But I tell you this, when the time of testing comes, when the riddle within the riddle reaches this place, take care what choice you make.  Repeat not this foretold mistake of choosing another man’s wife as your prize for casting judgment in their riddle.  I cannot tell you how to choose.  I have told your tale an hundred times before and have doubted your true heart every time, although I cannot say I would have chosen with more wisdom.  Having met you, though, I hold out hope for a truer choice, for I see you were not always unwise, if perhaps led by your own desires too much or by a lad’s heart, easily swayed.  If still so led, though, I have hope then, too.  On your own behalf, if for no other, a better decision ought you to make.”

Homer fell into silence, still studying Paris’ face.

“I know not what to say,” Paris fumbled for a response, “Your words have shocked me.  If I had not spent the past hours in your company, I would say you were too steeped in wine and had wandered from your senses, but…”

“…but this seems too great a revelation.  How could I be a part of this tale?  Could the shepherd prince truly be me?”

Paris turned back to Homer, full of questions, but the old man had vanished as mysteriously as he had come.