|
The
Village
By E.
Max Hyatt
There once was a Village, located high in the Mountains. It was a
beautiful Village and anyone who visited there could tell that the citizens
cared, and took pride in their Mountain home. There were Farmers, Warriors,
Craftsmen, Teachers, and everyone else it takes to make a Village or Tribe.
Every year the residents of the Village would observe the various passings
of the Seasons, with exceptional celebrations. They would gather around
the sacred
Bonfire and sing the praises of their deceased Ancestors, who had
founded the Village long ago. On occasion they would celebrate the marriage
of two young Village Residents, with religious ceremonies and a gigantic
Feast.
During quieter times they taught their young in the skills of the
Warrior, the Farmer, the Hunter, the Craftsman, the Teacher, etc., so
that the Village would live in the Future. The Elders of the Village understood
the importance of Heritage and they taught the young to be loyal to the
past, true to the present, and optimistic about the future. On occasion,
the residents of another tribe, located in the lowlands, would attempt
to sack the Village. But because of the Villagers' devotion to developing
the proper
skills and knowledge in their Young, the Village was always well protected,
and the Warriors were able to rebuff every attack. The Village and its
residents continued on like this for many decades, content in their lives.
Generation after generation was born, lived, and died in their beautiful
Mountain home.
Then one day a stranger arrived in the Village. Immediately, several
of the Elders approached the stranger, as they always did when this happened,
to discover the purpose of his visit. They were not so much concerned
about the stranger, but more concerned about the Village and its residents.
Before answering their questions, the stranger reached into his bag and
pulled out
a beautiful necklace. Next he pulled out a jewel-encrusted dagger...
then a large loaf of unusual smelling bread... then a fine silk shirt,
and other items as well. The Elders were stunned and speechless at the
site of these very fine items. They picked them up, one by one and examined
them. They were very exquisite, and appeared to be well made. Nothing
in the Village was as fancy or novel as these, that was for certain, and
the Elders became
captivated by the stranger and his wares. Although it was true that
one of the jewels fell out of the dagger, when it was handled roughly,
the stranger assured them that it was the exception, rather than the rule.
The stranger was invited to stay for awhile in the Village, even though
many felt uneasy in his presence. Soon the Villagers were placing orders
with the stranger, 50 silk shirts, 100 jewel encrusted daggers, 200 necklaces,
500 loaves of
bread, etc. A few days later the stranger left, promising to deliver
the goods by the next Spring.
When Spring arrived, all waited in anticipation of the stranger's
arrival. Many forgot about their own chores and duties to the Village.
The Young of the Village, the hope of the Future, were allowed to take
several days off from study, to watch for the stranger's arrival. Suddenly
they spotted him, but he was not alone. Many more strangers accompanied
him, and there were
horses, mules, and other strange pack-animals, laden with goods, far
more than the Villagers had ordered. Soon the parade of strangers, animals
and goods was within the Village Square. Before long they had set up tents
and stalls, filling the Village Square to capacity. It looked like a religious
Festival, with all the coloured banners flying and the brightly coloured
goods
on display. This time no one stopped the strangers to discover what
the purpose of their visit was in the Village. Everyone knew what the
purpose was. They were selling the most marvellous and novel items, from
around the Globe. Spices from India, silk from China, weapons from Japan,
bread from Egypt, etc. Thousands of items were being offered, from every
corner of the Earth. The Elders of the Village declared it a special Holiday,
and said
that everyone should quit what it was that they were doing and come
and see all the marvellous things. And so they did.
The so-called Festival of Products lasted for several weeks, and when
the strangers had finally sold the very last item that they had brought,
they unceremoniously packed their animals, and left. Suddenly the Village
Square seemed dead and depressing. Where are all the bright colors, the
Villagers cried. Where is the strange, alluring music, the Villagers asked.
Where are the curious and enticing smells, they wailed? Suddenly their
own lives seemed drab and unimportant. The once proud and prosperous Village
of
Northern Mountain Folk was now in chaos. The next day many of the
Young, the hope for the Village's Future, packed and left the Village,
in search of the strangers with the marvellous goods. Soon, many of the
Craftsmen stopped making their goods, as there was no longer a need for
them. Because of the bread from Egypt, sold by the strangers, some of
the farmers had to let their crops rot in the ground. No one wanted their
kind of bread now. Before
long the once proud and beautiful Village was only a shadow of its
former self. The Villagers started skipping the Seasonal celebrations.
The Young that were left, avoided their teachers, and hung out together
in the caves around the Village, discussing how one day they would escape
and find the strangers and their marvellous goods.
Finally, several months later, the tribe from the lowlands attacked
the Village, but this time the few Warriors that remained could not fend
them off. Their weapons, purchased from the strangers in the Village Square,
broke on contact with those of their attackers. The jewel-encrusted hilts
now seemed almost comical, as the Warriors, one by one, laid down and
were hacked to death by their attackers. Presently the once Proud and
Valiant
Village lay in ruins. The Warriors - all dead, and most of the Elders
gone, the Young, having seen the ferocity of the battle, deserted their
Village like rats leaving a burning building. The women and children who
were left were sold into slavery... and the once beautiful Village, in
the Mountains, was no more...
----------
----------
Hundreds of years
passed. It was a very dark time for the former residents and descendants
of the Village. They were dispersed across the land in varying degrees
of hardship - as wanderers, travelling merchants, soldiers in foreign
armies, and as slaves. They were a discontented lot, and soon they and
their descendants became known for this trait. They were never quite satisfied
with the status quo, and were always attempting to change or improve it.
They became great inventors of gadgets, in an attempt to make
right, what they felt was wrong. Most could not quite put their finger
on the problem, but knew, deep inside themselves, that something was drastically
amiss in their lives. Many of them begin following strange, foreign religions
from the East, in an attempt to resolve this internal conflict. Although
these cults were rather bizarre and inappropriate for a proud and courageous
people, most of the descendants of the Village could no
longer remember their past, or their own true heritage. Some actually
adopted a foreign heritage and history, as their own, fooling themselves
into thinking that they were descended from this people, or that people.
Soon, the younger ones amongst the descendants of the Village, took these
lies to be absolute truths, and would challenge anyone who said otherwise.
They were no longer interested in hearing about the mythical Village of
the Ancestors, that the Elders often spoke of. They were no longer interested
in discovering who they might really be. They had become hardened with
the dissatisfaction of life. And so it remained for many generations.
Meanwhile, during
this time, the village itself lay in ruins, with only a few, hidden residents
lingering on. It was mostly generations of rats who now occupied the buildings.
The birds in the surrounding trees were the only ones who now paid homage
to the passing of the seasons. And only the ghosts of Ancestors now danced
around an invisible, other-world bonfire, and wondered at the lost of
their descendants. Wondered at the silence that had
descended on their once proud Village. Their spirits, disconnected from
their offspring, aimlessly wandered through the burnt out ruins of the
once proud Folk. Sometimes they sat and wept the tears of ghosts, in the
now decaying rooms of their descendant's deserted homes. They roamed across
the fields, now overgrown with brambles, that they had once tilled. They
tried to taste the essence of the water from the sweet mountain well,
but could
not find the opening in the ground, as it was overgrown and filled with
the dust of ages. And so it was for countless centuries for the generations
of rats, and birds, and ancient ghosts.
Then one evening,
by chance or by decree, a distant descendant of the Village, happened
upon its ruins. He had been wounded in battle, and had become separated
from his troop. His sword broken and a gash in his side, he had been left
for dead on the battle field. Dazed and in pain he stumbled into the village,
seeking shelter from the rain, and food for his empty stomach. He was
amazed to find such a place. Although overgrown with bushes and brambles,
he could see that a once great Village had thrived there. Even though
in pain, he wondered as to the fate of the Villagers, not realizing that
his own fate was tied to this ancient place. He continued to stumble around
in the ruins looking for a bit of food, and a sheltered place to rest.
Neither seemed obtainable, as the state of disrepair and rot in the village
implied that his desires would likely remain unfulfilled. Finally,
and in despair, he laid down to sleep in the corner of a ruined building,
not realizing that his ancestors had once lived and thrived in that same
spot.
That night the wounded
Warrior had an fantastic dream. In the dream he suddenly found himself
standing on a beautiful green, grass covered hill. In all directions he
could see that the rolling green hills continued, without interruption.
Here and there individual trees or stands of trees dotted the horizon.
The Sun was shinning, but with a different hue and brightness, to
what he was used to in the waking world. Suddenly he became aware that
he was standing in the middle of a circle of men. They were clothed with
ancient garb, had long hair and full beards. They, each and everyone,
wore a sword in a scabbard on their belts. They carried other weapons
as well, including daggers, spears, axes, and the like. All of the men
in the circle were standing and facing the Warrior. He couldn't count
them, but it seemed
there might be 30 or more men standing there. He looked down at his own
body and found that he too was now dressed in ancient garb, and there
at his side was a sword and scabbard, on his belt. He thought - If I am
armed, then these men are no threat to me. He looked up at the men, and
they continued to stare at him in silence. They appeared very serious
in their demeanour, but not aggressive or angry. He felt that they were
examining him, trying to discover his true mettle - what he was really
made of. He and the circle of men continued to stand there in silence
for some time.
Suddenly a voice
boomed in his head, and he instinctively knew that the man standing directly
in front of him had placed this thought into his brain. "Come with
us, there is much that we must show you." The circle of men silently
broke apart and turned North, and the Warrior joined them, feeling no
sense of threat from the group. Soon they arrived at what appeared to
be a fortress, made out of wood and surrounded by a moat. The group crossed
the small bridge and presently the Warrior was being introduced to other
men, women folk, and children. There was a seriousness of purpose to all
of them, except the children who laughed and played like all children
do. They directed the Warrior to a large wooden table, and much food and
drink were laid before him. He ate and drank and filled the hollow spot
in his belly.
Many voices spoke to him, but not once did the residents of this fortress
open their mouths. All voices appeared in his head, bypassing his ears,
and he found that he was able to answer them in the same way, by just
thinking the thought. They begin to tell him stories, sagas and poems.
They filled his mind with the most wondrous tales. This went on until
late in the evening, until finally he passed out, on the bench, with a
drinking horn in his hand.
The days spent in
and around the fortress soon became a week. And then a month. He begin
to forget who he had been. Even though aware that he was dreaming, in
the beginning, he now had a hard time recollecting this fact. He thought
- was that other life just a dream, and this is reality? Not only did
the Warrior hear many sagas and tales of heroes past, but he was also
instructed in the arts of divination and magic. Many wondrous things were
told and shown to him by these mysterious folk, and he became aware that
he
was being schooled in some ancient art and knowledge, long forgotten by
his own people. One day, after several months living in the fortress,
the same men who had been in the original circle, called to the Warrior
and bade him to follow them. They walked in silence for some time, until
coming upon the crest of a hill, and looked across to see a magnificent
tree. The Warrior was overwhelmed with the beauty and nobility of the
tree. It glowed from within, and it seemed that every leaf, every branch,
was filled with a glowing life of its own. It was a tree like he had never
seen before. It was not only beautiful to gaze at, but was also large
in stature. The men from the circle began to tell the Warrior about the
tree. They told him how all life emanated from it. But for the Warrior,
no explanation was needed, for the tree began to communicate directly
with him. Instantly it all made
sense. Finally he understood all that was happening. Now he knew what
he must do. The men moved slowly, and soon they were all surrounding him
again, in a circle. He looked down at his sword and clothes, and when
he looked up again, they were gone. As the images of the green land faded
from his sight, as the great tree dissolved from his vision, he suddenly
realized that he was back, in the ruined Village, huddled in the corner
where he had fallen
asleep. It had all been just a dream.
But the dream had
changed the Warrior, and he now knew who he was and what he must do. He
stood, although still in pain from his wound and lack of food, and proceeded
to make his way out of the village. However, he did not return to his
troop. Instead he made for an encampment of his blood folk - relatives
of his who lived on the edge of a large city. There he was welcomed with
much enthusiasm, healing herbs for his wound, and much bread and meat
for his belly. Slowly and deliberately he began to tell the tale of his
dream. He told of the lost Village and its location in the Mountains.
He slowly and precisely recounted the tales and sagas that had been lost,
but were the true inheritance of his people. Soon the word began to spread
about the Warrior's tale. Many cousins from across the land began to migrate
to the encampment. And when the time was right, with his wounds healed,
the Warrior said - "It is time that we reclaim our heritage. We have
been a
wandering, frustrated, and impatient people. A people who were cut off
from their past, cut off from their birthright. This is not the way we
were meant to live. Leave this life to those whom it was designed for,
and let us rebuild our Village, and thereby our souls. Today I leave to
reclaim what is ours to claim... join me if you will."
And with those words
the Warrior picked up his few possessions and headed out to find the Village
once more. Several, who had been waiting in anticipation for this day,
left with him. Before long, others packed their belongings and headed
towards the Mountains in the North. Soon it was as a river of humans marching
to reclaim their true selves.
When the Warrior
arrived in the Village, much to his surprise, others were already there
and had begun to clear the brush and brambles from the ruins. Some were
already planting in the fertile soil. The Warrior raced forward to confront
one of the workers - who were these people, how did they know of the village?
He asked! "A man came to our camp" said one bright young woman,
"and he told us of his marvellous dream... he told us of our heritage,
and
where the Village was hidden in the Mountains." Soon the Warrior
found that others had been called into the circle of men, and instructed
in the ways of their ancestors. Others had experienced a similar dream
as his. Before long they were all working shoulder to shoulder, side by
side, rebuilding their long forgotten Village. Within a few months, with
new buildings built and fields planted, the old Village came alive again,
like it had always been
there, without ruin. Within a few years, it had again become a true home
in the Mountains, with a reputation for having the most contented and
cheerful citizens in the land.
Then one day a stranger
arrived in the Village...
The End?
|
