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The Book of Saavedro


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The Book of Saavedro:

A Poem:



Impatient, angry

Not to be treated as a man.


Speaks only from feelings

Not scientific.

Unlike his brother.

Angry like his sibling.

They come to Narayan.

They say they have come to

Fix things.


Not rightâ€â€out of order.

Think, Saavedro.





Not angry like his sons.

Tamra carves

The Spirit Mask

From the Lattice Tree wood.

He comes

In the golden chariot

In the sky.

He watches as I play the pipe

The pink spore comesâ€â€

And is caught

In the net.

“That one,â€Â

He says.

“Should support

Your daughter’s room perfectly,

I think.â€Â

I remember.

I will not let the white fog touch me.

Not let myself succumb.

I will not forget.

I say that he will send me

His sons.

And now…

I wonder if that

Was good judgement?

Of course not,


You saw

From behind The Shield.

No survivors.




They come.

I teach them,

But they do not listen.

They say that the Age

Had “instabilitiesâ€Â,

Holes in the world.

Would they lie?

Of course.

Everyone agreed.

Then the civil war began.

I tried to tell them,

Warn them,

Teach them,

That the trees were not being weaved.

But they would not listen.

Without the weaving, the Age shall die.

And so it did.

Chased them,

I did.

Through the J’nanin books.

I fell into the page.

And the poison snakes struck.

I was bound,


And tortured.

Then they burned

The Myst books

So I could not follow.

So I was exiled.

And then I began to die.

Just like the Lattice Trees.

Just like Narayan.

But I found the Book

That led to my torturers’ home.

And I found out about his power.

He could rewrite worlds.

His civilization was alive again,

And then…

I thought.

Perhaps…if D’ni was saved…

Narayan, too, could be revived.

By the weaving, Tamra.

This changes everything.


The End.

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