The drumming ceased, and the crackle of the great pyres became the only sound in the courtyard. Alpheo sat motionless while Merelao leaned forward, his chin resting on a knuckles-white hand, his blue eyes reflecting the orange tongues of fire.
On the stage, the light of the torches seemed to dim, and a single flute began a melody so high and pure it sounded like the first breath of a new world.
"A long time ago," a voice began, which seemed to rise from the very earth beneath the wooden planks, "there was a silence that was not empty, but full of the breath of the Divine. This was the era before the first stone was hewn for a castle wall, long before the first iron was pulled from the soil to be hammered into the shape of a scream-maker.
Before men grew domeneering enough to set themselves as the ultimate rulers of all that moved in creation, and long before they found their vocation in the art of war, there was a profound and holy peace.
