On the plain of Harik-Tal-Kub, around the triple altars, ninety mages of perfected skill caused to be what never otherwise would, and upon each altar, one supreme among his brethren performed miracles. A master of magic mightier still climbed the tower built in the center by hurried hands aided by profound arts and standing on it said, "You sorcerers thirty, you enchanters, you warlocks, make them rise! The Sorcery Moon, the Enchanter's Moon, the Warlockry Moon never share the night sky but once every seven thousand years by nature, but make them tonight! Then we perform the triple magic."
Called by their arts, the three moons appeared on the horizon. From there they moved, drawn upward unwillingly to their places above the altars. The ceremony was near its culmination, the triple magic within reach.
The moons continued to the point of conjunction, bonked into one another, and shattered into a thousand times a thousand chunks, times three. The chanting and the hissing of half-living instruments ceased as the mages watched the strange rain in heaven in increasing anxiety.
"You sorcerers, you enchanters, you warlocks!" the great master at last pronounced. "If anyone asks, we were having a trade convention! Nothing strange about it! Thuoskilnak there won 'Mage of the Year!' Now let's cheese it!" The ninety and the three and the one scattered and hoped nobody would notice.
Finis
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