The Three Pipers

Long, long ago, there was once a green land where the breezes breathed strange magic. Jealous shadows lurked on its borders, but the land was protected by a mysterious Pipe, which played notes of such exquisite beauty that no evil could take root within sound of its voice.
The Pipe was played morning, noon and evening by the people's chief, the Piper, who was the finest musician in the land.
One dark winter's night, the Piper of those days passed away in her sleep. The next day, three great musicians offered themselves as her replacement. They were called Plume the Brave, Auron the Fair and Keras the Unknown.
The three played in turn before the people, as was the custom. Plume's playing was so stirring that the crowd cheered. Auron's music was so beautiful that her audience wept. And Keras created sounds so haunting that all who heard them were rapt in wonder.
When the people voted to choose their favorite, each player received an equal number of votes. The three played again, and again, and again. But each time the result was the same.
Night fell, but the testing went on. The people, who by now had separated into three groups according to their favourite, were growing tired and angry. But they each wanted their own choice to become Piper, and refused to vote for another.
At last, long after midnight, when the vote was called equal for the thirteenth time, the three groups turned furiously upon one another, using their strange magic to insult and injure.
A stallion in a hooded cloak stepped forward. He was tall, but bent with weakness, as though the long day and night of music had been almost beyond his endurance. Each section of the crowd thought that he was one of their own, for he had spent time with all three, urging their members to hold firm.
"I have a solution, my friends!" he cried. "Let the contestants SHARE the honour of being Piper. The Pipe is made from three parts which fit together. Let Plume, Auron and Keras each take one part of the whole."
And so tired, so angry had the people become that they agreed. They gave Plume the mouthpiece of the Pipe, Auron the middle stem, and Keras the end piece. Then, because they still wished terrible ill on one another, the three groups went their separate ways, each group following its own favourite.
The hooded stallion rubbed his hooves, well satisfied, and slipped away like a shadow before the rising of the sun.
The dawn broke with no sound of music and the long day passed in silence, for the three rival groups were far apart, and no one piece of the Pipe could play alone.
Shadows crept into the land. Trees withered in their shade and flowers wilted. Little by little the shadows swallowed up the green fields, the pleasant villages, while every moment the dread power cloaked within them grew stronger.
Too late, the three groups realised their danger. Shadows now rolled dark between them. They could not reach one another to make the magic Pipe whole. And at last, seeing that their land was lost, they were forced to use the last of their strange magic to escape, and save themselves.
So it was that the green land was lost forever. Its people, still blaming one another for their ancient loss, dwell to this day on three separate islands in a secret sea in places unknown.
And the Pipe, forever divided, is heard no more.