Preface

If this is a universe of infinite possibilities — a race like ours must have arisen on another planet, most likely on the green and blue planet Kazeltu. Tilted less on its axis than Earth, it enjoys a more stable climate, but its two moons cast double shadows and draw huge tides. Its diverse races and kindreds are massed along the shores of the Long Sea, where the cultured city-state of Ayanalor and the corrupted megalopolis of Xhrámdalu are hostile strangers. Masters of hypocrisy and deception thrive on Kazeltu, where conquests are as likely to be made by persuasion as by force. In such a setting, deeds of virtue and courage stand out, and will help prepare the planet for a crisis no other planet has yet faced — crisis that the Papermaker’s teachings can mitigate but will not prevent.

The hope of Kazeltu lies in a new generation:

Roylant, insecure and arrogant prince whom disaster forces to find the best in himself.
Talsi, a rough-hewn lad whose talent is seeing the best in people and whose genius is waiting to teach him many tongues.
Princess Charnou, Roylant's wife, guardian, and questioner.
Galeht, a tiny girl who taught Roylant what no one else could.
Melcín, a tragic poet whose love for Talsi could not overcome her own weakness.
And above all, the Papermaker, who writes - on paper he makes himself - words that will slowly transform the world.

This novel is the child of a poem. About ten years ago, I wrote 2,690 lines in a sort of ballad-stanza heptameter that carried the narrative into the Forest of Hiloum, but never left it. Poetry is highly susceptible to the seduction of words. When I read the wonderful homily by John Jay Chapman (cited by James Atchity in his book A Writer's Time) these words flashed out at me. Beauty is not the aim of the writer. His aim must be truth. This story is an attempt to relate the essential truths of a crucial time in the history of the planet Kazeltu. It is a serious epic written in the "young adult" style. It contains no coarse language or sexual scenes.