Trillian Left: Chapter 1

by Oakwood

Epilogue

The Song of The Sacred
Oh call upon the Eastern Wind,
Upon the Western Fire,
Blaze bright with North Water’s light,
And Earthly Southern’s spires.

And call upon the sun and moon,
The God and Goddess high,
The Dark and Light of Day and Night,
And the powers of their sky.

For when the land is black and lost,
And the moon has fled her house,
Six up will stand, to spare the land,
Like lion borne of mouse.

To begin at the beginning, which arguably is the best spot to start, would require one to take into account eight by-gone centuries of history, politics, geography, legend, magik, and religion. So instead, I start here:

Once, before my great-grandmother's great-grandmother, my land sang. The moon gave her sky to the sun, and the sun fell into her darkness again at night, or so the legends say. Those days have faded. The balance was lost 800 years ago, with the death of the Six Heroes, when we were dropped into a bleakness that has never lifted. The ways of the Bard and Mage are dead. The sun fears to rise, and I have never seen the moon.

If titles and names truly meant anything in my reality, then my name would be Tattoum Parkerson Evenstar, Keeper of the Sacred, first son of the Third Family of Estate, born in Eastern Starstern. But titles mean as little as forks to wolves, and I'm called Tattoum because that's what I suppose my mother called me. Tattoum the Keeper, one of the last.

Coming Soon . . . Chapter One: A Knock on the Door

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