CHAPTER 1

PARCHMENT I

"The world was once a single Continent ..."

THE PARABLE BEGINS with a bird and a boy ...

"You're only a stupid songbird," said the boy.

"Warbler. I am an O-l-i-v-e W-a-r-b-l-e-r," spelled out the bird.

"Olive Whatever," said the boy with disrespect.

The warbler had perched on the sill of a barred earthen jail windowsome ten feet above the thirteen-year-old boy who sat cross-legged on thedirt floor of the cell. The boy wore a brown woven sack with holes rippedopen for neck and hands. The garment hung on him like a dreary dressrevealing pale, sickly, skinny legs and knobby knees.

"You are imprisoned," said the bird looking at the boy.

"Well, isn't that stating the obvious? For a talking songbird, you're notvery bright, of course I'm imprisoned!" The boy glared. His purple, sunkeneye sockets revealed years of malnutrition and poor rest.

"It is not so obvious. It is possible to be imprisoned and free, or free andimprisoned," said the bird. "Regardless, you should be grateful. Normally,only first-born nobles receive an Airborne Counselor on their thirteenthbirthday, and you are far less than a Noble. You are an imprisonedcommoner, a lowly slave."

"Counselor? What kind of Counselor are you? You are the tiniest birdon the Continent! What can you do for me besides harass me?" The boyshook his head and turned a vacant gaze toward the iron bars that kepthim from a torch lit hall.

"Well. I assure you. I may be small, but I am eminently capable ofsetting you free."

The boy jerked his head up and raised a hand to brush light browndreadlocks from his eyes to better study the bird. The moon shiningthrough the cell window made it possible to discern the creature. Hewondered if the bird were teasing him: a stupid songbird landing to tauntme with false hope. The bird appeared too feeble to accomplish anythingmeaningful. Counselors were supposed to be Airborne Reptiles. Songbirdsdon't speak. This simple bird was not more than five inches long from beakto tail, and had a grayish body with black and white striped wings. Hisvivid burnt orange head gave the impression someone had dipped himhead first into a vat of honey. The black color of his tiny beak reached upand encircled his eyes like a mask.

"Set me free? What are you going to do, peck out the eye of theguard?"

"As you are so ungrateful, I'm not going to do anything. A commonlandling being sent an Airborne Counselor like myself and you don't evenappreciate it!"

"Appreciate it? I don't even believe you. You're not a Counselor. OnlyAirborne Reptiles have the gift of speech. You must be a mutation of somesort to have developed the spoken word. And you come here no biggerthan my fist and tell me you are able to set me free, all the while wearinga mask. I'll bet you're hiding something!"

"Everyone has something to hide," said the bird.

"See!"

"The question is am I hiding something good or hiding somethingbad?"

"No one has to hide good things," said the boy.

"Wrong," said Bird.

"No, not wrong!"

"Why are you in this cell then?"

"What's it to you?" the boy snapped.

"I simply wish to make my point."

The boy hesitated. Who is this pesky winged thing? The boy hated toadmit it, but it pleased him to have conversation, even if it was unpleasantand antagonistic. It was, after all, his thirteenth birthday. "I'm in here forstealing."

"What did you steal?" asked Bird.

"Food."

"Why?"

"To feed my sister."

"And did you try to hide the fact that you were stealing?"

"Yes, of course."

"But you were stealing for what you felt was a good reason, correct?"

"Yes, of course."

"So, you were hiding something good because you were doingsomething bad, but you were doing something bad, because you weredoing something good. Bad and good, black and white have shades ofgray." Bird lifted his black and white wings and pointed his beak at hisgray chest as if to drive home his point.

"Bird, you're giving me a headache. I'm already tired and strained froma day of scribing, so free me, or leave."

"I am not going to free you—"

"I knew it!"

"—yet."

"Why not yet? I've been in here for five years!"

"You're not ready."

"Not ready! I get only a fist of bread in the morning, a slice of cheeseat midday, and a fist of bread for evening! And the only reason I get cheeseis because they noticed the scribes die off less and get more done if givena piece of cheese every day! I'm whipped if I don't get enough work done,and I'm whipped if I do get enough work done! I almost died once from abeating, and I've not stepped outside this dungeon for five years! I never seethe sunlight because I work during the day by candlelight in the scriber'scavern, and at night, I see only the moon lighting the night sky. I try tosleep, but am greeted by nightmares. What on earth would make me readyto escape if not these things?"

Bird looked at him, tilted his head right, and then tilted his head left."Definitely not ready," he asserted. With a nod of his head, Bird flew off.

"Come back!" Boy screamed.

A passing night guard banged a club on the boy's cell door. "Silencein there!"

Boy rolled into a ball and began to cry quietly.

The next morning, the guard came to fetch Boy. This same guard hadfetched him every day for the past five years. The guard was huge, some sixand a half feet tall. He wore a leather vest and pleated skirt and sandals,and always held a very thick club with pointed iron spikes. An iron helmetthat fastened in front of the mouth allowed only his dark eyes to peer fromthe cold metal. A large, dark raven's feather plumed the helmets crown.

The only words Guard ever spoke to Boy were, "Time to scribe." Thewords sounded muffled given the impersonal clasp that hid the man'smouth. The guard would then unlatch the iron door and lead Boy to thescriber's room, a clay walled area with a large wooden table and stools.Guard then attached Boy's ankle to the table with a chain. Torches andcandlelight lit the dark table boards.

Day after day, Boy dipped his iron-tipped wooden pen into ink andcopied the Sixteen Absolute Laws, referred to only as `The Absolutes.' TheHigh Ruler of the Iron Hall had authored `The Absolutes.' and had orderedcopies posted on every commoner's door in each of the seven cities.

Boy glanced down at the master copy of `The Absolutes' placed on thetable before him. It was his duty to make copy after copy, day after day,week after week.

THE ABSOLUTES

The Teachings are to be administered by the Councilof Twelve in each of the seven cities.

Three hundred first-born of nobility will elect eachCouncil of Twelve. One of the twelve will be appointedLord or Lordess as Proconsul, and these said electedofficials would in turn elect two representatives ofnobility to sit on the High Council of Twenty-fouracting as pleators for their respective cities. Allofficials are elected for life.

The High Ruler of the Iron Hall must be of nobilityand be elected for life by the Council of Twenty-fourand will remain unwed.

Each of the Councils of Twelve will have supremepowers of government in interpreting the Teachings,or Six Sacred Scrolls, and the order of Law descendsfrom the High Ruler of the Iron Hall to the sevencouncils of the Seven Cities.

Each Council of Twelve will hold trials to condemn oracquit an accused of civil matters and lesser offensesare punishable by imprisonment and the more seriousby the severing of a finger and treason by death on across.

All trials will take place in the Judgment Hall for theCity in which the offense took place. An unresolvedtrial will move an accused to the Fourth City where theHigh Ruler of the Iron Hall will determine judgment.The same applies for crimes against the Continent.

Commoners are not to discuss, read, write, interpret,or possess the Teachings.

The High Seraph is a myth and must not be spokenof.

Airborne Counselors will instruct only first-borns ofnobility for it is an abomination for an Airborne tocounsel a commoner, and each council member willpass judgment under guidance of her or his respectiveAirborne.

Each of the Seven Cities will erect and maintain thefour mandated structures according to the prescribedstructural design, which includes the Judgment Hall,Prison, Quarry, and Mind Sculpting Center orMSC.

Lords and Nobles will adhere to the covenant of theneck rings.

All Landlings will tithe ten percent to the High Rulerof the Iron Hall on the biannual trek of the Feast ofAdoration. Half of the nobility will send tithes at thesummer feast and the remaining half at the winterfeast as directed by the city Law-ers.

Give of the first fruits as prescribed in subsectionXIII to the Council of Twelve in your respective citieson the twenty-fourth day of each month in order tosubsidize both the Council and required structures.

All four-legged creatures are cursed to be Servants ofBurden to the Landlings who care for the Continent.

Gunners are warriors of Noble descent trained tomaintain the peace and as such are to be obeyed andpermitted to enforce order and are trained for war. Nocommoner can participate in the trainings.

Honor the High Ruler of the Iron Hall.

Boy had watched many scribes die off from hunger or beatings untilthere were only a few scribes left. Sometimes there would be a new scribeor two also making copies, each one chained to a table leg like him.Boy thought these new scribes were new to the art as indicated by theirunskilled scribbling.

The scribes were not permitted to speak to each other. For if one scribeso much as glanced in the eye of another, both scribes would be whippedby Guard.

Today, Boy sat at the table and thought about the strange visit fromthe songbird. It was the first conversation he'd had in five long years. It hadbeen a cruel joke to promise to free him, and then just fly off. Boy triednot to let his tears run onto the cypress page. If he were to smear a word,the beating would be horrible.

Twelve hours later, after a two-minute break that permitted Boy toswallow a piece of cheese, Guard led him back to his cell and tossed a fistof bread onto the dirt floor.

Boy grabbed the bread and bit it ravenously.

"Hello again," said Bird.

Boy looked up gulping the bread down his dry throat. "What do youwant, to make me more miserable?" His stomach churned from sadness,but Boy attributed this agitation to hunger.

"No. I have come to cheer you up."

"Then free me as you promised!"

"No. You must first share your bread with me."

Boy dropped his jaw. "You're a sick bird! I'm starving to death, and youhave free range of the earth! You should share your food with me!"

"I will share food with you," replied Bird.

"Where is it then?"

"There are many types of food. I have food to eat that you knownothing about."

"Where is it?" Boy demanded.

"You'll see."

"You're a liar!"

"To trust, or not to trust," Bird mused.

Boy took another hungry bite, noting he had only one bite left.

"I'm waiting," said the bird.

Boy chewed slowly as he thought about Bird's request. He lookedup at Bird, down at his bread and glanced up warily again at Bird. It issad to admit, he thought, but if I don't give this bird a piece of bread, hemight not come back. Whether or not the ornery bird freed him, this cruelvisitation was the only interaction with outsiders he could recall since hisimprisonment.

"Fine." Boy pinched a small piece of bread from his last bite, and threwit up to the clay sill.

Bird took the piece of bread and flew off.

"I hate you!" screamed the boy. He curled into a ball trying not to cry,but cried himself to sleep anyway.

In the middle of the night, Boy was awoken by a sound. He sat up.The sound was the loveliest he had ever heard, and it was coming from thewindowsill. The light from the moon showed the warbler sitting on theledge, the bird's orange-gray breast heaving in and out, as he sang fromlow to high, chirp, chirping quick patterned sweet notes to long drawnout full tones. Boy stared in silence. Moisture rolled from the corners ofhis eyes. He scarcely breathed for fear the song would stop, but the singingcontinued on and on, finally lulling the boy back to sleep. It was his firstsleep without nightmares in the five years of his imprisonment.

The next evening, Boy waited, bread in hand. He stared at thewindowsill. His heart fluttered when the flap of wings arrived.

Boy pinched a piece of bread, threw it up onto the sill, and watchedto see what would happen next.

"Why, thank you," said Bird.

"What are you going to do tonight?" Boy asked in a hushed voice.

"Last night, a song, tonight a story."

Boy was silent. The silence filled the air with expectation.

"Heh, hem," Bird cleared his throat. "Tonight, I will tell you of theHigh Seraph—"

"No! Shush! You must not!"

"No, really, I must."

"No, you mustn't!"

"Why mustn't I?"

"It's a crime to speak of such things!"

"I am an Airborne. They can't do anything to me."

"But they'll punish me if I listen!"

"What can they do? Throw you in prison?" Bird chuckled.

"They might cut off one of my fingers!"

"You'll have nine left then. Now let's see, where shall I begin."

Boy crept close to the wall beneath the sill, and then glanced wide-eyedat the bars to see if the night guard was approaching.

"The High Seraph, Eloam, is a giant white bird with a wingspan offorty feet. His eyes are crystal blue and his sharp beak, golden. He speaksthings into being. He says a word, and it is so."

"The High Seraph is a myth! I write this each day in the High Ruler'slaw."

"Of what you write you know not. I myself have seen the Seraph atthe top of the Scrimshaw Tower, and don't interrupt me, or I won't finishthe story."

Boy half thought it might be better not to finish the story. He glancedagain at the bars, but seeing no guard, remained silent.

"Now, where was I ... ah, yes. The High Seraph speaks things intobeing. His greatest creation on the Continent was Lord Gargoyle, amost incredible creature, for he was an Airborne with a beautiful brownwingspan of some twenty feet, and he was given a face, legs, and a torsojust like you Landlings.

"But the High Seraph made a mistake—a regrettable, unrepeatablemistake. He wanted Lord Gargoyle to be able to create and in wishingthis gift for him he gave him hands. Seeing that this combination was veryeffective, High Seraph created thousands upon thousands of gargoyles.

"But giving Lord Gargoyle hands and the ability to fly turnedout terrible. It made the gargoyles powerful—far more powerful thanAirborne's with beaks and wings. And Lord Gargoyle led the gargoyles todo dreadful things. Eloam, the High Seraph, to this day, has never againallowed for this combination on the Continent. That is why Airbornesdon't have hands, and Landlings don't have wings. Only in the After-skyis this permitted for it is the Land of Hands and Wings."

"I don't believe in the After-sky," said Boy. "But what did Lord Gargoyledo that was so dreadful?"

"Lord Gargoyle decided that if he could create like the Seraph, heshould possess the Emerald Scepter to rule the Landlings, and a battle waswaged in the air for control of the Continent.

"The High Seraph did not want war, and offered to appease LordGargoyle. He told him he could have dominion over all the Airbornes,that he could feast freely on the sea creatures, and coast on air currentsthrough silver-lined clouds, and even assist the Landlings as the Seraphdirected, but that Lord Gargoyle could not possess the Emerald Scepter,for the Landlings must learn to govern themselves."

"And Lord Gargoyle didn't agree?" asked the boy.

"No," said Bird. "Lord Gargoyle insisted upon receiving the scepter."

"But why not let him rule the Landlings? What difference could itmake? If Lord Gargoyle was good enough to govern the Airbornes—if hewas the Seraph's `greatest creation,' as you say—why not let him rule theLandlings?"

"A self-righteous rule is merciless," said Bird.

Boy squinted at him while trying to process this information. "So whathappened? Did the battle end?"