Once Upon a Time…
A Strange Sort of Prologue

With a start, Derik woke up, rubbing his eyes with the back of a hand and, after taking a look at it, utterly confused as to why he had a quill pen shape imprinted on the back of his hand. Suddenly it dawned on him that he had again dozed off over his homework again. Leaning back in the chair he was in, he was able to glance out a window down the hall and see the sun just starting to hide its glow behind the rooftop of the Academy. Rolling his eyes and stretching a little, he looked back at the problem he was attempting to solve before he fell asleep.

“Aye, it will be a bad day for anyone who dares to set out today.” The scruffy seaman squinted out to sea, looking at the bright sunrise.
Moira stopped by the edge of the footpath, tilting her head to one side in puzzlement. Then she realized what the sailor meant...the sun was rising red, coloring the waves the color of blood. She remembered the poem she’d been taught since the cradle.
Red sky at night
Sailor’s delight
Red sky in morning
Sailors take warning

Throughout history, humans have been fascinated by the fantastic. Miracles, heroes, and tales of magic all draw crowds of people, clamoring for an escape from the mundane reality of their everyday existences. Prior to this current age of technology in which distracting entertainment is available at the flick of a switch or the click of a button, these unsatisfied hearts turned to books to take them outside of themselves, to catch them up in a world outside their own.

What is a poem? Is it something to hear?
Is it something to laugh at, something to fear?
Can it have angry thoughts, or even sad?
Can it have scary thoughts, and even glad?
What is a poem? Is it something to eat?
Something that talks? Something with feet?
Does it describe the happiest things?
Fun-filled weeks? Or an Angel with wings?
Does it take you off and fly you some place –
Where you never want to leave its side again?
Can it take you off on a far away land –
Where pirates live upon the sand?

I’m afraid this will take forever
As I try to explain it all
But one thing I can say
And the world will shatter
If you do not answer your call;
You were called to a place
Filled with magic and despair
You were called to a place
Where even the trees aren’t fair;
But no matter what you do
He’s breathing there with you
So don’t give up just yet
We need you now.

It’s life is on its own pages
It is full of love, and sometimes hatred
It whispers into my ears whenever I sleep
It calms my fears whenever I weep.

I call it a friend, because it can be so dear to me.
But sometimes not, sometimes it is to free.
It can hurt me deeply, or love me true
It can tell me things of old or new.

It can be so light, but so heavy at times
It can rust like an old fence, or it can shine.
It can tell me the truth, or lie in my face
It can spit me out or it can embrace.

Beneath the blue skies, green trees and white clouds
Stands a young man, called, The Prince Of Stone,
With his hands stretched out towards the crowds
Upon that silver throne;
His head is slightly bent
His face is smiling kind
But the feeling of kingship soon went
And no joy will you find
When you see him smile upon you…
Smiling upon you like a ghost.
He is looked at with terror
For his face and hands are as shiny as a lake with the gleaming sun
But he is looked at wit horrid thoughts

Once upon a time--indeed upon the beginning of time as we know it--there lived a wizard.

Not the sort of wizard that wears a blue robe with bright yellow stars on it, and sits and stirs a cauldron all day. No, he was a real wizard.”

“What did he look like?” Rannon interrupted.

The old man laughed, at the old familiar question. “You know,” he said, “I think that question has become every bit as much a part of the story as the story itself!”