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...