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He hated his name. Anakron. "Against time." What kind of name was that? In a language that didn't even exist yet! His old name was little better. Elempi. It meant nothing! He wanted a new name. No, that wasn't enough. He wanted a new life. But ehre was this gods forsaken staff. And fool hat. And mawkish cloak. He threw the hat across the room, frisbee style. It hit the wall and fell to the floor. How appropriate, he thought. He rose and unclasped the cloak and let it fall to the floor behind him. He grabbed the staff, leaning against the wall by the door, on his way out.
Some time later he stepped out on the Sammath Naur. He walked to the edge and saw the fire below. He held out the staff and let it fall. It was still in his grasp. He willed his fingers to loosen their grip on the staff. They did not obey. His arm shook with the effort to let go the staff. His hand would not open. Finally he drew the staff back and leaned on it in exhaustion. It could not be destroyed in this direct manner.
He walked back to his rooms, disgusted. Panakeia, how am I going to get free of this? Can you tell me? But she was not there. Of course. She and this life he led did not go together. He had to leave one or the other. He did not want to lose her. How, then? He did not know.
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