Preface
A small boy whose name is not Ptolemy stares solemnly into the sky, supine. His skinny arms pretzel behind his head to prop his neck, now exposed to the growing hum of mosquitos as they stir from slumber. They swarm to greet a darkening dusk. Three suns have set since the pillage, all different suns. He knows now why the sun always leaves. It hates what it sees. A new sun always comes, but never stays. What would happen if two suns came at the same time, he wonders. But this does not make a difference. They too, would leave.
The boy saw himself leave. He saw himself outside of himself. He saw men with unruly beards and crude swords and blood. Lots of blood. Then the world went black. That would have been the end of the story, but that small boy woke up. He woke up in a different world. A world without his parents, a world without a village, a world where he was all alone.
That steady hum of winged creatures is all that soothes him as the sky continues to change into an ever blacker canvas. It is the only thing that feels familiar. Even his body feels different, weakened from its death and rebirth.
He opens his mouth to speak, peering desperately for an audience, glaring into that abysmal darkness.
“Mother Universe, why?”
He waits for an answer. Ten thousand gold stars pop through the blackness, punctuating the night but providing no real answer, each the ending to some profound message. Who could translate such a mess? What arrogant man of earth would dare attempt such an undertaking?
The hero was born a small boy,
but boys grow up to be men.
