Intro (Part 1)

The day was a clear, blue-skied autumn day. The trees were just beginning to turn the beautiful yellows and browns, and a soft wind whispered through the fading leaves with a hint of worse to come. The wind awoke beautiful sounds from the drying leaves, and magical scenes, as it pulled more leaves from their perches to join the others already gathering upon the earth. The wind left; reluctantly it seemed, traveling through the dwindling trees towards the great city of Nicanor. It passed over small grassy plains, persuading the tall grasses to flow as water, and finally, over a vast expanse of protecting stone, to enter the grand and wonderful Nicanor. Through glorious buildings it blew, passing shining white marble, unblemished stone, and smoothly painted wood. It wove its way through private gardens, with exotic plants and prize flowers, only slightly swaying the manicured grass. Southward it went, and a little west, through impressive and magnificent scenes. Yet the further south it blew, the shabbier the scenes became. Chipped and unpainted wood, tufts of wild grass and weeds, squeezing out from the small spaces between homes. Still blowing, it found the small, dirty stream running along the homes that were nearest the docks, where a child ruled his muddy domain with imagination.

Tuathew rummaged through the pile of shells and small rocks in front of him. It was his great treasury, full of rare and precious things. Picking out the one he sought, he examined the slender and coiled blue-stripped shell. Smiling with satisfaction, he stuck it in the mud, pointing up, to complete his sketchy palisade. Everywhere, there were small stones, resembling soldiers, placed in neat lines or scattered wildly from previous battles. Most of his time was spent collecting the rocks and shells, but when he had it all set up, as he did now, Tuathew like to leave it for a while, and proudly look at his battlefield. Countless times he had done this, but never did it get tiring. Tuathew loved battle, and soldiers, and their shiny armor and weapons. He would go and watch the soldiers march down the streets whenever he could, and look at their proud postures and confident faces. He would practice walking like them, pretending that he was a mighty soldier, serving the king, bringing good and justice to the world. Hoping that one day he could march with them, and wear their armor and weapons, like swords. He liked swords the best. When he was old enough to join the forces, he would wear a sword. And he would practice every night, so he was the best, and then he could go to war and use his sword to kill the enemy. That was his plan. And he would do it, too.

A distant rhythmic marching sound seized his attention and brought him out of his daydreaming. Maybe it was the soldiers, routinely checking the docks again. Passing one last proud look over his battleground, he turned and hurried towards the docks in hope of seeing the almighty soldiers. Stopping at his house, he pulled open the rickety, peeling door, and slipped on his shoes. They were his older brother's castoffs and much to big, but they did the job. You should never go walking in the streets without shoes, his mom said, you might step on something sharp and hurt yourself. Rushing, he flip-flopped down the small avenue they shared with a dozen other families, and onto the main road. There was the Dock. It was an awe-inspiring sight, a huge stretch of wooden docks filled with hundreds of boats, big and small. There were the small rowboats of the local fisherman, probably coming in from their early morning outing. Then there were the big merchant ships, all painted different colors, and named different names, the crew and merchants would still be out enjoying the mainland if they weren't leaving today, then they would already be gone. There were a few bigger than the rest, tall, proud things, with three sails, not two, and a lot longer from front to back.