There was a time, generations in the past, when there were fourteen children born of Divine parentage, whose souls were torn by a civil war that had nothing to do with civil and everything to do with war. A Father battled a Stepfather, leaving a Mother helplessly crushed between them and unable to halt the tide of enmity.

The threat to their combined children was great, for each was Gifted, given Divinity in a small measure from the two men. For every ten drops of blood these children bore, four were Immortal. And as Divinity clashed with Itself, the Gift within each child began to twist them from inside.

So, they cried for help, loud enough to rattle the foundations of the lands in which they lived. And the only one to hear them was the one who gave them life.

Each child was placed in their own safe haven, protected for the barrage without, able to strengthen their Gift within.

She gave them Sanctuary.

Had she failed to do so, this story would never have taken place. The Sundering would have been complete.

When I was 13 I read this book. While I was reading, a wicked little gremlin whispered in my ear "You could write something like that." Since I was young and impressionable, I borrowed (read: stole) my mother's manual typewriter and started.

The Great American Science Fiction Novel was completed 3 months later... and was 53 pages long. Maybe one day I'll publish it.

However, now that I'm 29 years older, I can't use the gremlin excuse any more. Can I?