“Right now, she is still young. Her roots are not deep, and her influence extends only to the borders of the Erietoph. But she will grow. One day, her roots will reach the center of the world, and they will find a seed there, a core of pure Earthpower planted by Father Marcus.”

  “The Sphere of Ohnn!” Dacius shouted.

  “Yes. And when the Sphere and the Tree are united at last, the Foundation will be healed. The Flaw will be closed and the Abyss will vanish. Then, the New Creation will sweep across Infinitera.”

  Dacius’ eyes tracked from Chentelle to A’stoc and back again. “I had thought A’stoc was the true power behind our mission. But now I see that it was you, Chentelle, always you. So gentle, yet without you, none of it would have been possible.”

  “No—” Chentelle demurred. But she saw the others nodding. Even the dendrifauns, in their fashion.

  “And in the New Creation…?” Dacius inquired.

  She turned to face A’stoc. “In the new Creation, love will transcend boundaries. It will not reject us, and our love will not be barren. One day, that will be true throughout the Creation. For now, it holds only within the boundaries of the forest.”

  A’stoc smiled and swept her into his arms. “I love you, Chentelle. And I have sworn never to leave the forest.”

  Tor Books By Piers Anthony

  Alien Plot

  Anthonology

  But What of Earth?

  Demons Don’t Dream

  Faun & Games

  Geis of the Gargoyle

  Ghost

  Harpy Thyme

  Hasan

  Hope of Earth

  Isle of Woman

  Letters to Jenny

  Muse of Art

  Prostho Plus

  Race Against Time

  Roc and a Hard Place

  Shade of the Tree

  Shame of Man

  Steppe

  Triple Detente

  Yon Ill Wind

  With Robert E. Margroff

  Dragon’s Gold

  Serpent’s Silver

  Chimaera’s Copper

  Mouvar’s Magic

  Orc’s Opal

  The E.S.P. Worm

  The Ring

  With Frances Hall

  Pretender

  With Richard Gilliam

  Tales from the Great Turtle (Anthology)

  With Alfred Tella

  The Willing Spirit

  With James Richey And Alan Riggs

  Quest for the Fallen Star

  Authors’ Notes

  JAMES RICHEY

  The quest to complete the novel was indeed a difficult one. It took six years to write and two years of attempts to sell it. But all along I never gave up hope. I knew it would find publication. I believed it adamantly even through the worst of its trials. I didn’t know exactly how it would come together, but I knew it would. For me, it was an utter act of faith to see this work through.

  This story began with a boyhood dream of becoming a novelist. One day, I sat down in front of an ancient manual typewriter and began hammering out a beginning. Quickly, I graduated to the electric typewriter, then to the computer. Struggling all the while, I rewrote the manuscript three times, and in the process taught myself how to write. Eventually, the story was completed to my satisfaction. But I found this was only half the fight.

  A new battle was before me. The battle for publication. I figured a couple of rejections, then I’d get accepted. It was just a matter of playing the odds and finding the right editor. I had a great novel! No one could turn it down! But after thirteen rejections, the light of hope grew dim. They say most writers suffer the fate of not being able to sell their first story. And this work was my very first. Fortunately, despair did not win out. I refused to quit, and kept searching for an opportunity to present itself.

  During its creation and solicitation, I followed other writers and their successful careers. I kept my hope alive by reading of their successes, and pictured myself among them. I read their fantastic novels with a measure of wonder and envy. Would I ever achieve my desire? Then one day, I was at a friend’s house who caught one of our favorite writers on videotape. Piers Anthony! Advertising his Xanth novels and newsletter on the TV! Of course, I had to get the newsletter. And one of the things I ordered was the ninety-minute video interview, Conversation with an Ogre. It was inspiration for a writer-ling such as I! I even braved writing him a letter of praise, which I actually got a curt response to. (I had touched the hand of one of the literary gods!) Eventually, we got a little correspondence going after I had indicated my status of Struggling Writer. I told my woes of trying to get the story published. And something wonderful and unexpected happened.

  Piers not only responded kindly, but offered to read the first chapter of my story! Without hesitation I sent it to him. He gave me pointers on tightening it up so that it might not get rejected. He suggested some changes, and I did them, improving the text considerably. He made mention he would ask his agent if any other agents were taking on new writers. Instead, his agent offered to read my story. And after doing so, the agent concluded it was worth soliciting. Suddenly, I realized there was a chance it could actually be sold. Time went by as despair gathered within my soul. The story accumulated more rejections.

  Fortunately, Piers stepped back in. Unable to accept my story’s fate, he offered to collaborate with me on it. I of course jumped at the prospect! But, he explained, present circumstances wouldn’t allow him to get to it for at least another year or two. He gave me a few alternatives, one of which was to bring in a third party to shorten the wait. Piers had a research analyst who could do the major overhaul in short order, and was looking to credit a novel to his name. At first, I was reluctant to bring someone else into this. But once again, I relied on faith. I decided to open the story to them both not only because I was desperate to have it published, but knew I would be given invaluable knowledge and experience. I acceded to the three-way collaboration, and was introduced to Alan Riggs.

  Alan and I became acquainted over the phone, and I instantly found him likable. He made me feel comfortable in his ability to handle the work. Soon we exchanged numerous phone calls hammering out the details of the novel. Slowly, the story took on a new shape. His contribution included modifying the point of view—the major weakness in the novel—and adding flavor to the weaker scenes. But what I consider his greatest accomplishment was turning the Ill-creatures into more heinous, foreboding monsters. He brought their dark forms to life. I am more than grateful for his part in this.

  During Alan’s course in the novel, I had the chance to catch a ride with a group of friends to Florida from Texas. I visited with Alan and Piers, and had a conversation with them in Piers’ study about the manuscript’s future. Alan offered his hospitality for a night before I went back to my mundane existence. For me as an unpublished writer, I felt as though I had stepped into a writer’s Holy Land, then been forced to return to the outside world to continue my quest as Struggling Writer. But my hope to make a writing career was rekindled.

  Now under the name of three collaborators, Quest for the Fallen Star is more than it was when I first wrote it. The story is considerably improved and better written. It has the added imagination of Alan Riggs and the storytelling finesse of Piers Anthony. This collaboration is an example of what happens when we open ourselves to the harmony of mutual cooperation.

  Sometimes I wonder what inspired me to write this story. But there isn’t any definite answer to that. Simply put, I took a journey into writing and into myself, pouring my heart into a tale. I have always believed that life should not be despairing; I believe people can love one another without the need for conflict; and that we can minimize suffering by doing our part to care for one another. As in the Holy Land, we can harmonize with each other, joining our hearts together in the Creation which we are all a part of. Each one of us has a sanctuary of peace within, and we can allow ourselves to share this with others, letting the harmony grow. I truly believe that human beings will eventually achieve a peaceful, loving society. It will encompass everyone. I don’t see it happening a hundred years, or even a thousand years from now. But I know it is in our future. The world is becoming a better place. And all I can encourage anyone to do is embrace life joyfully—no matter what trials are set before you in your quest within our creation.

  James Richey can be reached at: JamesRicheyGoolsby@yahoo.com or http://www.jamesrichey.com/

  ALAN RIGGS

  This is the second collaborative novel that I have been involved with, but it is the first to be completed. The difference lies entirely in the nature of the people involved. (I miss you, Drew. You’re still an asshole.) When Piers brought me into this project, we knew what we could expect from each other. Richey and I were strangers. A two-way collaboration is a delicate beast; try to balance three creative personalities and the words “potential nightmare” spring instantly to mind. Thankfully, in this instance they were just as quickly dispelled.

  Imagine, if you will, my first conversation with Richey. [Ring. Ring.] “Hello James, this is Alan. I read your novel, and I like it very much. You don’t mind if I change the viewpoint and kill one of your major characters in the second chapter, do you? James? James? Operator, I think there’s something wrong with my phone.”

  Actually, Richey responded to these requests, and many others, with equanimity and aplomb—a statement which should not be confused with “he rolled over and let me do whatever I wanted.” When we disagreed, he listened to my reasoning, expressed his own position, and worked with me to find the solution that best fit the needs of the story. It was an excellent way to begin. In the end, he even got his character back (sort of).

  This was a completed story before I ever laid eyes on it. My part was simply to polish the pieces and smooth the edges. I expected to take about five months to do the job. It took me eleven. As so often happens, concerns of life and family intruded and delays mounted. It was a frustrating and trying period for me, one which was eased considerably by the patience and well wishes of my collaborators. So, if the good reader will indulge me for a moment, I’ll take advantage of this spotlight. Thank you, Richey. Thank you, Piers. It was a long detour, but we seem to have ended up in the right place.

  Richey mentioned the work I did to embellish his Ill-creatures. As I think of the book now, it is other details that stand out for me: an old man, a dream a thread of music. No matter. When I read the story again, the focus will be different. That’s the thing about stories.

  Long ago, I had a debate with a dear friend. We were trying to determine the most hopeful experience a man could have. He argued for the first bloom of love. I believed that it was the beginning of a true friendship. Soon after, he killed himself. And as I write this, I am about to be married. That’s the thing about life.

  I’m not sure what that story has to do with this one. Maybe I’ll read the book again and find out.

  PIERS ANTHONY

  Actually, I first heard from James Richey’s wife, which gave her a kind of priority. I have been averaging 150 letters a month in recent years, and at present I use no secretary, and this really crowds my time, so I try not to waste words. Thus my “curt” response he mentions; sometimes folk think I’m mad at them, when I am merely trying to be efficient. Sometimes they think I’m a personal friend, when I am merely trying to be relevant. So I try to be reasonable and responsive and brief, with imperfect success. It’s not always an easy line to draw. When I mentioned to one young woman that I had a daughter slightly older than she was, she replied that I had just ruined her crush on me. Sigh; so high, then so low. Each letter is a window to the life of another person, and every person is real and feeling and worth knowing. So I thought of Richey as the spouse of a correspondent, which in my twisted awareness is a lesser state.

  Nevertheless, I do pay attention, and when I saw that he was serious about writing, I decided to take a look. Many of my readers—maybe twenty-five percent—are hopeful writers, but most are not really serious. Some are age twelve or younger, and they simply need more time in life, though I once wrote two pages of advice to an eleven-year-old girl whose letter showed that she really might make it as a writer. Some are dedicated, but have little knowledge of the basics, such as paragraphing, syntax, and plotting. Some are truly ambitious, but their prose is impenetrable. There are a thousand ways to fail, and very few ways to succeed. When the other factors check out, I may be able to pinpoint the problem by a look at the text.

  Richey’s text seemed good. He had a very nice protagonist in Chentelle, good pacing, and depth of description and characterization. He seemed to have a good story to tell, and a clear vision of his objectives. In fact, he seemed to be of publishable level. So why wasn’t he getting published?

  Well, there are a number of dirty little secrets (and some dirty big ones) in the realms of writing and publishing and bookselling, and every so often I get in trouble by blabbing one of them. I have been blacklisted in the past for insisting on honest dealings. I’m a slow learner, so here we go again. While you might think that there is an eager market for good new fiction, Parnassus (that is, the formidable literary establishment centered in New York) is largely closed to hopeful writers. Many editors will not even look at unsolicited manuscripts; they return them unopened or throw them away. Editors will, however, consider agented material. But a hopeful writer can’t get a good literary agent unless he has already been published, or has some independent claim to fame. Thus there are bad agents and vanity presses preying on the dreams of innocents, leeching their money as well as their hopes. It’s an ugly business, and I hate the bad aspects while loving the craft of creative writing itself.

  So I figured that it could simply be the lack of a competent agent that was balking Richey. I tried to find one for him. Fat chance! I could get any agent I want for myself, but I may not even get an answer when I query for others. It seems that most agents, like editors, don’t read amateur manuscripts, and some do bounce them unopened. If I ruled Parnassus, such folk would be expelled for arrogance. But I don’t govern this infernal realm of ignorance and greed. In due course this quest got my own agent involved. He’s not in New York, so his streak of decency has not yet been obliterated. He read the full novel—I had seen only fifty pages—liked it, and marketed it. With no better success. Parnassus remained impervious.

  I am known in some circles as The Ogre. It is true that I don’t just turn the other cheek when wronged, and by similar token, when I feel something is worth doing, and it falls within my compass, I do it regardless of the resistance. Ogres are justly famous for their stupidity; I don’t know when to quit. I had set out to get Quest into print, and Parnassus wasn’t listening. So I considered the next escalation of the effort to get a decent novel published: collaboration.

  Now I have done a fair number of collaborations, more than twenty novels, but I don’t do them lightly. For one thing, I was having trouble placing several prior collaborations. I was also conscious of the potential for abuse. Could an established writer steal the notions of unknowns whose work he sees? Could he make easy money by collaborating, when the other writer might have been able to make it on his own? It is said of the other countries in the American continents that dealing with the United States is like sharing a bed with an elephant; they tend to get pushed around, and may even get squished without the elephant even noticing. An unknown writer collaborating with an established author could feel like that, and I have always tried my best not to be an ogre when it comes to individual rights. I never liked having editors tread all over my fair prose—sometimes I managed later to get my books restored to their original state—and I don’t like doing it to anyone else. Usually I try to change the collaborator’s work as little as possible, not to save my energy, but as a matter of courtesy. I try to make the text as good as it can be, without changing its nature. So my collaborations do not read the same as my individual novels; they are good stories in their own right, true to their original distinctive types. I try to fix their flaws, not to remake them in my own writing image.

  But Quest had been rejected something like twenty-six times. I realized that editors might not even consider it as a collaboration, unless it was substantially revised. Editors occasionally strike me as exotic birds: they all take flight at the same time, sometimes for no apparent reason other than the fact that the first one spooked over a falling leaf. If an editor knows that a piece has been rejected before, he is likely to reject it, too, for no other reason. Ask any writer, if you don’t believe this. So this would require a solid overhaul. So I was cautious, wanting to be sure that Richey understood. This would be heavy treading. I knew this, though I had not yet read more than fifty pages of the novel.

  He agreed, and my agent sent me the manuscript. That was when I discovered that it was about nine hundred manuscript pages long. I judged it would take me two and a half months to rework it, and I had allowed for only about one month. I didn’t have time to do it then. Quest was a good novel, but its problems, though subtle, were not simple to fix. For example, viewpoint; it is best that it be unified, while this had a number of different ones. That meant changing several views. But telling the same story from the perspective of a different character is likely to mean changes in almost every sentence, and some scenes can’t be done at all, while others must be added to cover the material the way the new character sees it. It can be like repairing a house that has suffered structural damage in an earthquake: every part has to be tested and shored up. The casual reader may not notice the difference, but a whole lot of detail work has been done. Chentelle was the strongest character in the story, for all that she saw herself as the weakest, and the novel would stand much enhanced if she had the viewpoint wherever she was present. But all other major characters were male, which meant converting male-perspective adventure to female-perspective adventure. To the Flaw with political correctness; the difference between male and female is qualitative as well as quantitative. In other words, you don’t just give Lord Dacius’ dialogue and thoughts to Chentelle and figure there’s no difference. You have to rethink the whole scene. Much work loomed.