True Education

Once upon a time there lived twin sisters, Folashade and Zafnet. On the day of their birth, The Midwife declared that one of them would be a great queen and bring peace to their land while the other would live in the shadows and die unknown to the world. The sisters' parents saw Folashade as a bright, outgoing child while Zafnet was never able to keep up with her sister. Because of this, the parents gave all of their attention to Folashade, educating her on all subjects regarding politics, science, math and philosophy. To Zafnet they taught home-bound skills; sewing, weaving, cooking, cleaning.

Folashade knew this was unfair to her sister, so at night, when they were alone, she shared with Zafnet all that she had been taught. As they grew, many complimented Folashade's beauty and wisdom. They knew that she would be the one chosen to be the queen. To Zafnet they gave encouraging talks about how she would make a wonderful wife and mother some day. Folashade and Zafnet had discussed the prophecy of The Midwife several times, they had no doubts Folashade would be the future queen. Zafnet would often say to her sister, "When you are queen, I will disappear to another land and you will never have to worry about me." To which Folashade would respond "Fie upon prophecy. When I am queen, I shall keep you at my side as my head adviser. You are as smart as anyone, especially me. Why should you fade into the background?" Zafnet would always thank her sister.

When she was old enough, Folashade was sent to the best school the family could afford. She studies politics, philosophy, economics and foreign languages with the greatest of minds. Many times her professors were surprised at her insight and did not always have immediate answers to her questions.

Meanwhile, Zafnet was trained in the marketplace. She learned to haggling, foreign relations, folklore, traditions and how to defend herself from unwanted advances. She was able to earn her family a profit every day she went to the markets to sell their wares. Zafnet wanted to make sure her sister was able to stay in school and become queen.

When the college had a holiday, Folashade came home for a time and tried to join her sister in the markets, believing that her knowledge of economics and foreign languages would help her profitable sister become more profitable. The parents believed this was an excellent opportunity to show the world their daughter's skills and told Zafnet to take Folashade with her. Zafnet was hesitant, but accepted.

Before they got to the market, Zafnet stopped Folashade and told her "there are many ways in which someone new to the market can be taken advantage of. Do not take the first price you hear. Do not trust Virilius. Do not tell the Ajalan that you are Aadideven. These three rules are imperative for you to survive here."

Folashade scoffed at her sister and said, "do you think me so ill educated that I cannot converse with common people? I can blindside them with my intelligence. Just watch." And she walked into the middle of the market, disregarding her sister's yells.

Around this time, a young man came into the market, looking to sell silver from a far off land. Folashade saw the silver jewelry and wanted some so she approached the man, "how much for this necklace?"

"30 fedhas," he replied.

"You must think me an idiot to buy the necklace for that much. The cost of the silver alone is only worth 10."

"Ah, but you are forgetting about the craftsmanship that went into it. That is where the real expense is. This necklace alone took me five days to properly smelt and forge. Then it took another week to design!"

Folashade was at a loss, she had no idea if this man was telling the truth or not because she had never seen jewelry created before. Her face betrayed her lack of insight and the man knew he would not be talked down any more, "either pay the 30 fedhas or be gone. I have too much to sell to waste my time on one person." Folshade walked away in shame.

She ended up at a local tavern and thought that she would get herself a small drink while she thought about where she went wrong. While she was there, a group of people began a heated discussion about the true story of Hero of Canton. Once side said that he was a hero of the highest caliber, the other said that he was nothing more than an unlucky thief. Folashade, thinking that she could put her education to use interjected by saying that he was both, according to the official records.

Both sides glared at Folashade and each yelled at her for bringing up official records "which could be doctored by anyone" and "were irrelevant to the conversation" and "said nothing about the meaning behind the actions". Folshade paid her tab and walked out in shame. But she was followed.

A older man named Virilius had seen her and taken a liking to her. He followed her out of the tavern, maintaining a distance of a few feet, waiting for his opportunity to grab at her. Folashade was oblivious to him and just went looking for her sister to take her home. She wandered in between a couple of kiosks and Virilius followed after. When she saw she was at a dead end, Folashade turned around and was face to face with Virilius. He grabbed at her and forced his mouth onto hers. She tried to push him away, but he was much stronger. She tried to scream, but his mouth covered hers.

Folashade had had enough. She had been shamed for the last time. She grabbed Virilius' throat and roughly pushed his neck back until he couldn't breathe and he had to let her go. Folashade was beyond enraged and grabbed the knife that he had at his side and slit his throat.

She stood there, frozen from shock, for what seemed like hours. She woke up out of her trance to a scream from the owner of one of the kiosks. Folashade looked at the woman, looked at the knife and dropped it. Then she ran. She forced her way through the market square, towards her home, ran into her sister's room and locked the door. She collapsed and began crying.

After the sun had set, Zafnet knocked on the door. Folashade let her in and then collapsed again on the bed. Zafnet hugged her sister and held her tight.

"There was talk of a murder in the market place today," Zafnet began. "They say Virilius was killed by a woman who looked much like me, much like you. My whereabouts can be vouched for by all those I sold to today. My time line is set in stone. Yours, however, is a mystery. I will not ask you if you did it, and I pray you do not tell me if you did. I'd rather be ignorant of the subject."

"I was useless," Folashade began. "I should have just been by your side all day. I couldn't do anything right and I finally got fed up with it and now a man is dead. I cannot go back to the college. I cannot stay here. What can I do?"

"There is a group," Zafnet began hesitantly, "they take in refugees and people of unknown origins. All they ask is that you put in your share of the food at the end of the day."

"Is this my only choice," Folashade cried. "I am no thief. I only killed out of self-defense, a moment of weakness."

"The law of the land says you are to be put to death. I wish I had better news for you, better opportunities, but it is not safe for you to stay here."

"Dear sister," Folashade whispered, "there is another way. There is a group, the Ah Puch. It is said that after your first kill, they will hunt you down and offer to let you join them. They will train you in the arts of death and you will never want for another family."

"Folashade!" Zafnet cried. "How could you think of joining the Ah Puch? They are servants of the darkness! They kill for money, some for fun!"

"They are what I want," Folashade whispered. "They will train me, and I will use that training to protect you, be your informant and complete those tasks that no one needs know of."

"What are you saying?"

"You are to be the queen. Not me. Queens relate to their people, I don't. Queens are intelligent in the ways of the people, are able to sooth discord where it arises. That is not me. Zafnet, you will become the queen of these people and they will love you. I will stay in the shadows and protect you."

"Since that is your decision," whispered a voice from the window, "we gladly accept you into our ranks."

"You are from the Ah Puch?" Folashade asked.

"Yes."

"Then take me to where I am to go."

"Follow closely." And with that, the voice was gone.

Folashade made for the window but Zafnet grabbed her and begged, "please don't go! You are my sister! You are to be queen!"

"Zafnet," Folashade whispered, "I am of no use to you in the eyes of the public. I have shamed my parents and made their investments in me worthless. I will no longer be a waste to them or to you. I don't know how it will happen, but one day you will be queen." With that, Folashade slipped from her sister's grasp and fled out the window.

As the years passed, Zafnet grew more beautiful and more knowledgeable about the people in the market. It seemed that every day she was being proposed to. All of them she declined.

Soon, the king of the land heard about a beautiful girl in the marketplace whose kind words could bring the most ill-tempered drunk to a stop. Curious, he dressed in the clothes of a commoner and went to investigate. Sure enough, there she was, a woman of beauty, intelligence and courage. He fell for her instantly.

The King walked up to Zafnet and asked, "could I talk with you for a while? I am a lost man and need a friendly face to converse with."

"I'm sorry sir," Zafnet replied, "but I just opened shop and I need to make sure to sell everything here if I am to go back to my parents with my head held high."

The King dropped 500 fedhas on her kiosk and asked, "will this be enough to buy everything?"

Rather than being impressed, Zafnet was suspicious, "how did you get this money?"

"It is money that I have earned, not stolen, if that's what you are wondering."

"Then tell me how you earned it."

The King smiled and said, "I am a person of influence in The Council."

"My sister warned me about people like you. I'm sorry sir, but I cannot take money that was used for a bribe."

The King was unable to speak for some time. When he was finally able to collect himself he asked, "how can I prove my intentions are good?"

"My sister will let me know," Zafnet replied. "At the end of three days, you will either be someone I can trust, or a dead man."

The King was shocked again. He had never been addressed in such a fashion. All of the women of the courts and councils were only out to marry him for his crown. They were always so agreeable and disgustingly flirty. Never before had a woman made a threat on his life. The King walked back to the palace and waited the three days.

As the fourth day began to rise, the King was awakened by a servant, "My Lord, there is a woman at the gates waiting to speak with you. She says that you have passed her sister's test."

The King smiled and ran out to greet Zafnet, "may I talk with you now?"

Zafnet smiled, "you may, but keep it short, I have a shop to run and parents to support."

"Never mind that. I will take good care of you and your family, including this mysterious sister of yours."

"You will never meet my sister. But she assures me that when you were questioned in your sleep, your answers were those of a good man."

"May you never cease to shock me," the King smiled.

Soon after, the two were married and Queen Zafnet was praised by all who met her. She counseled her husband regarding who was being honest with him and who was not. She bartered with other countries for the goods that her land needed. She was arbitrator of arguments that arose that the King could not handle.

All the while, Folashade, true to her word, kept her sister safe. No kidnappers, no assassins, no threats were brought to Queen Zafnet. Rumor spread that the Queen was protected by the gods themselves. When presented with these rumors, Queen Zafnet would smile and simply respond "I am protected by love."

The Phoenix Legend

Ev'ry five hundred years or so
There is a gathering.
Birds from ev'rywhere congregate
To discuss their new king.

I was invited to attend
To see who runs the world.
By watching and listening,
Secrets would be unfurled.

The three phoenixes dictate all,
They choose who shall be king.
Through a battle bloody as war
One says what the birds sing.

One phoenix is of flames and power,
He longs for the cries of war.
He will lead the world to ashes,
Only to rise once more.

The second bird is of lightning,
And craves to understand.
He'll lead the world to discov'ry
With skills of mind and hand.

The third phoenix is of beauty
She longs to heal the world.
She will lead all mankind to peace
With grace and healing swirled.

Each phoenix would fight the other,
Flames, lightning and sunlight.
Their blood would pour onto the ground
As each displayed their might.

The winner would choose the world's fate,
Or so the birds told me.
Every five hundred years they fought,
Only one saw vict'ry.

They could not live at the same time,
Earth couldn't handle it.
And so they fought for survival
Killing each, bit by bit.

But there was a surprise this year,
The birds sang together.
The birds of beauty and lightning
Seemed to like each other.

The birds' human incarnations
Had become as family.
They didn't want to fight or rule
They just wanted to be.

But the Phoenix of Fire was true
And kept to his nature.
He grew up in the midst of war
His pain his sole feature.

He vowed to destroy all makind
When he was crowned king.
He would obliterate all humans
And then peace, he could bring.

Lightining would not stand for this war
And knew he had to fight.
His sister phoenix was too gentle,
And would not survive the plight.

Lightning challenged Fire to a duel
To buy his sister time.
She would flee while the two battled
And one heard their death chime.

But Beauty was no chicken bird
And stayed by her brother.
He protested loudly at her.
She paid him no bother.

Fire attacked with all his power.
Lightning shield Beauty.
H would die before she saw harm
He knew 'twas his duty.

While war can lead to discov'ries
And new queries of though,
It was done so on the shoulders
Of the ones who had fought.

Peace would lead to less advancement,
But progress would be pure.
No blood would taint science's hands.
Peace, Lightning would assure.

It seemed the fight would never cease,
Neither could land a blow.
Lightning kept his cool, but Fire raged,
Vowing the blood would flow.

Then he made good upon his vow
And struck a viscous blow.
Lightning then fell upon the ground,
Fire had bested his foe.

The Phoenix of Fire dove downward,
Sure of his victory,
He would kill Lightning and Beauty
And rewrite history.

But for the love of her brother,
Beauty would not stand by.
She dove between Fire and Lightning,
All sure that she would die.

But she deflected fire's power
Through her own silent strength
And drove him back with sunlight pure,
That threw him back at length.

Beauty used her powers of peace,
To look into Fire's heart
And dismayed at all of his pain
And understood her part.

She looked at Lightning with a smile,
"Don't worry about me,"
She said to her precious brother.
"This is so we can all be free."

She dove headfirst into his heart
And drove his pain away.
She used her healing powers to
Make his heart bright as day.

In doing so she lost her life,
For it took all her might.
But the pay off had been worth while
For Fire had seen the light.

He'd found a force so pure and good
That it healed his old scars.
He'd never felt so free before
No more trapped behind bars.

But with this revelation came
A new feeling of pain.
He could feel a great well of guilt
'Twas driving him insane.

He looked to Lightning and begged him,
"Please take away this pain,"
And raised his neck up to Lightning
In hopes 'twould be his bane.

But Lightning could not bring himself
To end his sister's work.
She gave her life to end the reign
Of this self-serving jerk.

He glared at Fire with teary eyes
And asked why he should care.
The only one he loved was dead
'Twas Fire's burden to bear.

Fire begged with him to be put down,
And end this pain of guilt.
For of all the pains he'd endured,
This was the greatest built.

Lightning refused to take his life
Saying he deserved it.
Why should Fire get the peace of death?
Why should Lightning submit?

Then Fire got mad, for the last time
And built up his fire storm.
Then he threw himself at Lightning
In perfect fighting form.

But instead he did as Beauty,
And gave Lightning himself.
Lightning, Fire and Beauty fused
Making a higher self.

Then the birds from around the world
Began singing their songs
And gave praise to the Higher Form,
Saying goodbye to wrongs.

I marveled at this Higher Form,
Eager to hear it speak,
Wanting it to share great wisdom
With my kind that was weak.

The Higher Form stood in silence
While the birds sang its praise.
And then it turned and looked at me
And it said with voice raised;

"You humans could become like me
If only you would learn.
I am the balance of all life,
Beyond what you discern."

"This shall be the fate of your kind;
Following in my stead.
I will guide you to balanced lives,
And put behind your dread."

"To you I will pass some great truths
And you will take them out.
Some people will listen to them,
Others will have their doubt."

"You must only concern yourself
With those who will listen.
For those who don't, it is their choice.
And they shall not wisen."

And so the form told me its truths;
It talked of life balance,
Bringing peace to the world at large,
And how man can advance.

But let me ask my fellow man,
Whom I know, oh so well,
Would you take the advice I bring,
And on its wisdom dwell?

Or would you tear these words apart,
And destroy their meaning?
Causing more arguments and pain,
Purposely misleading.

These words shall only be shared with
Those who hear the calling;
Those who seek to be changed by them,
Who know that they're falling.

I will not give these words to those
Who would change their meaning,
Those who seek justification
Of their acts, demeaning.

The words are meant to be as is
And not torn into parts.
You cannot pick and choose the words,
All shall be ta'en to heart.

Listen for them in the birds' songs.

No Smoking, Please!

***This is not an original by me. This is a traditional poem recited by my Great-Grandfather, Papa B, the original Storyteller in my life. ***

One of my bygone recollections,
As I recall the days of yore
Is the little house, behind the house,
With the crescent over the door.

'Twas a place to sit and ponder
With your bowed down low;
Knowing that you wouldn't be there,
If you didn't have to go.

Ours was a three-holer,
With a size for every one
You left there feeling better,
After your usual job was done.

You had to make these frequent trips
Whether snow, rain, sleet, or fog--
To the little house where you usually 
Found the Sears-Roebuck catalog.

Oft times in dead of winter,
The seat was covered with snow.
'Twas then with much reluctance,
To the little house you'd go.

With a swish you'd clear the seat,
Bend low, with dreadful fear.
You'd blink your eyes and grit your teeth
As you settled on your rear.

I recall the day Granddad,
Who stayed with us one summer,
Made a trip to the shanty
Which proved to be a hummer.

'Twas the same day my Dad
Finished painting the kitchen green.
He'd just cleaned up the mess he's made
With rags and gasoline.

He tossed the rags in the shanty hole
And went on his usual way
Not knowing that by doing so
He would eventually rue the day.

Now Granddad had an urgent call,
I never will forget!
This trip he made to the little house
Lingers in my memory yet.

He sat down on the shanty seat,
With both feet on the floor
Then filled his pipe with tobacco
And struck a match on the outhouse door.

After the tobacco began to glow,
He slowly raised his rear;
Tossed the flaming match in the open hole,
With no sign of fear.

The blast that followed, I am sure,
Was heard for miles around;
And there was poor ol' Granddad
Just sitting on the ground.

The smoldering pipe was still in his mouth,
His suspenders he held tight;
The celebrated three-holer
Was blown clear out of sight.

When we asked him what had happened,
His answer I'll never forget,
He thought it must be something
That he had recently et!

Next way we had a new one
Which my Dad built with ease,
With a sign on the entrance door
Which reads: No Smoking, Please!

Now that's the end of the story,
With memories of long ago,
Of the little house, behind the house,
Where we went 'cause we had to go!

Belief and Doubt

Once upon a time there was a young man named Vadik. Vadik had gone to all of the best schools growing up and ended up attending the highest accredited university. He received the highest grades and was a great source of pride for his parents. The problem was, Vadik knew nothing.

In his early years he found out that what he thought was true, was false; justice is not always fair and balanced, people are not always nice, sometimes it is okay to steal, the sky isn't actually blue it's just how it looks, etc. This began Vadik on a journey of doubt. He read the works of Descartes and Plato as well as the Tao Te Ching. He began to wonder if there was anything in his perception of the world that was as it seemed to be. Since he could find nothing that survived his own trials of reality, he ultimately decided that there was nothing real, therefore he truly knew nothing because there was nothing to know.

One day he discussed his observations with his colleagues Esprit, Manota and and Tanuja. Each had their own take on what was real and decided to try to convince Vadik to their line of thinking. For Esprit, one had to start with the axiom that God exists. Manota believed that whatever existed, did so only in her mind and that life was just the perception of the brain. Tanuja argued that if you can see it, touch it, sense it, it was real to him. Not wanting to create an argument, Vadik agreed to listen to them one at a time and whoever had the floor was not to be interrupted except by Vadik's questions. The group agreed to the terms.

Vadik turned to Esprit and said, "prove to me that God exists and I will follow the rest of your logic."

Esprit took a drink, looked at his friend and said, "Do you believe in chance?"

Vadik replied, "I believe in nothing."

Esprit sighed, "that's a start, I suppose."

Esprit argued that only those who believe in chance could believe that there is no god. Only those people could look at the astronomical odds that life on Earth, or even the big bang could have happened, and think "wow, lucky us!" He claimed that if you truly took a look at the odds, and how often things have happened in our favor that never should have happened, you could not believe in chance. Thus, you have the idea that maybe someone or something is tweaking things to make the laws of nature work in our favor. Whatever or whoever it is, must be god. The problem comes in trying to define this god entity.

"Your explanation still leaves room for doubt," replied Vadik. "After all, there is still the possibility that it is all chance. I am sorry, but I cannot accept your belief that there is something real."

Next he turned to Manota who talked of her belief that really we are just minds. There is nothing physical or spiritual, it is just mental. Everything we think of as physical is a result of stimulus of the brain. Even pain we think we feel in other parts of our body, we actually feel in our mind. And don't pay attention to the idea that the mind is physical, she added, these are just our minds' way of reconciling all of the stimulus it receives. We can't know beyond a doubt that we are just minds because we have been programmed for so long to believe that we are physical beings. However, with enough practice and disbelief, you can start to treat your life as if it is just a dream, and your responding to stimuli.

Vadik shook his head, "your explanation still leaves room for doubt because we do not know where the stimuli come from that create our perception of the world. Is it internal? External? If it is internal, how did our brain come up with the composite that it did without a source or original sense to base it off of? If it is external, how can a mind interact with another mind? We have no proof of this ever happening, I have no proof that you are another mind and we are interacting mind to mind, so I still have doubts about your theory."

Tanuja gave Vadik a smile and said, "I guess it's my turn then?" Vadik nodded in agreement and Tanuja began his explanation of what was real. For Tanuja, whatever could be sensed was real. We don't live in the Matrix, he explained, there is no giant computer controlling us. Even if it was, the computer would have to be physical and thus, be real. It is true that our senses can get out of control at times, our brains unable to comprehend what we have sensed. But the brain is a physical entity responds to the same rules of nature that apply to everything else. We can mathematically prove plenty of things that seem contrary to nature; the world revolves around the sun, there are billions of stars that are billions of light years away from us, all from observing the physical world on our own level. The physical world has to be real because it can be explained through math and science while the others cannot.

"But not everything has a physical explanation, despite your obvious belief that it does," Vadik disagreed. "If everything were in accordance with math and science then, as Esprit pointed out, we probably would not be here because the laws of nature were not on our side."

"I say the trouble lies with you," Manota responded bitterly. "You just can't commit to one view or another, so you're staying a wish-washy coward."

"Agreed," Esprit sighed, shaking his head. "You lack the ability to believe anything without solid proof, but that is not how the world works."

"There are some things," Tanuja continued, "that don't need proof, they need belief."

"And how am I supposed to believe in something that there is no proof for?"

"That would be my field of expertise," replied a stranger from the next table. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation and I hope you don't mind if I put in my two cents' worth." The group agreed to hear out the stranger.

"My name is Tumelo and I have been on a similar journey as you, sir. I too doubted until there was nothing left but doubt. Then I realized a great truth that only those who doubt everything can find, experience and know to be true; everything requires a bit of faith and/or belief to be real."

"Ah," Esprit chimed in, "I see you are among the believers in God."

"Only insofar as even the idea of any god requires faith and belief."

"Then you are of my kind," Manota interjected, "for to know that everything is in one's head requires the belief that it is so."

"I acknowledge that your belief requires belief, but I do not feel the truth of what you say."

"Then what are you trying to say," asked Tanuja, growing frustrated with the stranger.

"What I am trying to say," Tumelo smiled, "is that the only truth we can be sure of is that faith and belief run the world. It is the faith that there is a god. It is the belief that everything is in our heads. It is the belief, hope and faith that an experiment performed precisely the same way 100 times will return the same results every time. So I ascribe to the one truth of faith and belief, two words that have become somewhat tainted over the years because of their correlations with religions, but are, nevertheless, all powerful words that create our world, or worlds as the case may be."

Vadik's friends tried to argue with the stranger, but Vadik remained lost in thought. He asked the stranger "how did you come to this truth?"

"As I told you before, through doubting everything for so long and looking for something that was true."

"So your logic is tainted as well," Vadik replied. "You were looking for the truth, so you picked up on the first possible one you came across and stuck with it because you needed something to believe. So, you believe in belief."

"As do you," Tumelo nodded. "Otherwise you would have never had this conversation with your friends asking what was real. You too are looking for something real to believe in. Whatever that is, be it my truth or your friends', you too will believe it, have faith in it, and know it to be real."

The Quest for the Truth

There once was an Old Man who was raised in a world at war with itself. There were many factions in this war, but it ultimately came down to two groups, those who believed The Stories were true and those who did not. Many had died in this war who had forgotten what it was about. After centuries of fighting, there were no great debates anymore. The Council of each group no longer studies The Stories themselves or consulted with others about them. No one even read The Stories anymore.

Those that did not believe The Stories to be true never read The Stories, yet they believed with all of their being that The Stories were falsehoods created to mold the minds of the populous into mindless slaves of those more able to manipulate The Stories to serve their own purposes. They avoided reading The Stories out of fear that they would become subject to those who ruled the believers.

Those that did believe The Stories to be true no longer read them because an edict long ago outlawed the translation of The Stories into languages that everyone spoke. Unfortunately, this resulted in the separation of the truth of The Stories from those that believed them. Eventually, even those that taught of The Stories were in the dark regarding what they were truly about.

The Old Man asked what The Stories were. He asked The Council of both sides and the councils of the smaller factions that made up the two sides. As it was, no one knew The Stories anymore, and yet their accuracy was still fought over. So the man started to search for any existing copies of the stories. He demanded of The Council of believers to be granted access to them. Each time he presented his case, he was turned down. The Council told him, "Things are fine as they are. There is no need for change." When he inquired of the non-believers, he was presented with the same frame of mind. Things had been the way they were for too long. No one even knew how to change them anymore.

There were those who heard the story of The Old Man. Some took pity on his apparent lack of knowledge about the books. Some were angered that he questioned The Council. But there was one group that found his search refreshing and a sign of hope.

The Piedad sent a message to The Old Man saying that they had the answers he was looking for. He only had to meet them at the seventh hour of the seventh day of the seventh month, for that was the only time they could appear and have the blessing of The Storyteller and her ilk. The Old Man waited for months for the approved time, trying to stave off bringing war into his own home; Trying to keep his children and grandchildren from fighting in the wars. He begged them to let him get to the truth of the matter and then they could decide for themselves if they wanted to join the fights. Only his grandson, Hidetaka, listened and stayed out of the fighting, though it brought much pain and teasing from his former comrades.

Two months later, the Piedad approached The Old Man and led him to an abandoned city that seemed as old as time itself.

"There is no way these were built by our kind," The Old Man marveled. "They are far too grand for our current technology, let alone ancient."

"Shh," one of the Piedad responded. "We are entering the sacred place of knowledge. The resting place for the tomes of the ancients."

They led the Old Man to a building that was covered in a writing he could not understand. The doors were guarded by stone animals he did not know, but would not like to meet in the flesh. They climbed the stairs into the building and opened the twenty foot doors.

Inside of the building were the Piedad, taking care of the tomes by keeping them clean, transferring the knowledge of the tattered tomes to newer, fresher pieces of paper, using long lost technologies to preserve the tomes as best they could.

The Old Man was led to a woman who seemed to be ageless. She seemed forever stuck in her forties. She was dressed in royal garbs and had a circle of bodyguards around her at all times. She motioned to her men that The Old Man was safe.

"I understand," she began in a soft, grandmotherly voice, "that you are looking for The Stories that started the never ending war. Why are you looking for them?"

"I wish to make sense of my world," replied The Old Man. "If people are to die over a bunch of stories, should we not at least know what the stories are about?"

"At last," she replied with a smile. "At last someone has the initiative to question. We have been the Keepers of Knowledge for ages. We were to encourage thought, discussions, new ideas, questioning of the status quo. Unfortunately we were banished and forgotten centuries ago. I am a direct descendant of The Storyteller of old. To her children and grandchildren, she bequeathed the original copies of The Stories. We have worked for a long time, developing new technologies, preserving techniques that worked, in our attempts to preserve them. The Storyteller warned us that the day would come when these works would save the world."

"May I see them," asked The Old Man.

The woman smiled, "of course you may. We encourage the seeking of knowledge here."

The Old Man followed her and her guards deep into the building's underground area. There was no light here, but the Piedad had no problems finding their way around. They had traversed this path many times. The Old Man, however, kept stubbing his toes, tripping and eventually had to grab onto one of the Piedad guards to lead him.

Finally they stopped. The woman made some motions with her hands and a door opened to a room, softly lighted by what The Old Man assumed to be magic. The woman motioned for him to step forward and he did so. When he stepped into the room, the lights brightened so suddenly and so fully that it hurt his eyes. He trembled in fear at this unknown technology.

"Go forth," the woman encouraged. "The truth you seek is just ahead of you."

The Old Man looked and saw a tiny object made from paper that he had never seen before, but had heard of. It was a book, which were usually reserved for the members of The Council, but he doubted that theirs had as much detail work put into them as this book, no bigger than a deck of cards, held. He reached out to touch the book but withdrew his hand, fearing he was in violation of some rule.

"Go on," the woman told him. "The book has been waiting for someone like you to read it."

With her blessing, The Old Man picked up the book and gently pulled open the cover. Inside of it, written in the language of his ancestors, were The Stories, in their original form.

"But," he protested, "I cannot read this. I do not recognize the language. And I am far too old and too close to my days to learn this ancient writing."

"Then we shall have to send you forth with the means for someone younger than you to learn and to translate," the woman smiled. "To be honest, we all thought you would be younger, but I trust there is someone to whom you can entrust the task of being the Revealer of Truth for your world."

"Yes," he replied. "My grandson will be happy to engage in this work. He is the only one who would listen to my requests to stay out of the fighting, now he shall be rewarded with the knowing of the truth."

"Be careful Old Man," the woman said, "The Revealer of Truth is a position of great responsibility. If you give this task to your grandson, he will hated, hunted, and quite likely tortured for bringing the truth to the people. Would you truly want him to go through this?"

The Old Man considered, "No. But I also cannot let him live in a placid state of emotionless acceptance. I want my grandson to grow to challenge The Council when they are wrong, to bring peace to those who war over what they do not know. May he forgive me for charging him with this responsibility."

The Old Man was escorted to his home where he found his grandson waiting for him. "Hidetaka, the burden has been passed to you. Translate The Stories using the books the Piedad have given us, and tell the world the truth about them as best as you see fit. Whether you think they are true or not, whether you interpret them one way or another, just make sure people are allowed to know what they are fighting about and can choose whether they truly want to fight for it or not."

With that, The Old Man passed out from exhaustion and died. Hidetaka buried his grandfather and spent his life wandering, knowing that the books would get him in trouble with any council that found them. Even before he was finished translating, he was already spreading the word to the people about the importance of knowing what you are fighting for, the importance of questioning the status quo, and, most importantly, the importance of thinking for yourself. The people who heard of his works gave him a new name, Dankward.

The Fall of the Archangel Raguel: Interview with a fallen angel

Raguel: It's about time you got to me.

Silelda: I apologize for my rudeness. I'm still trying to figure things out while living my life.

Raguel: [snort] Please. You know nothing. [Drinks a shot]. No one knows anything. Only The Great One, The Rejector, God [shudders] knows everything. And if you try to ask for a little hint, he shuts you out. He never answers your questions before you make the choice you're asking about.

Silelda: Maybe people just need to be more patient.

Raguel: [screams] Patient?! I waited for a thousand years for an answer! A concept you mortals would never grasp.

Silelda: What was the choice?

Raguel: [sighs] You know how every religion has its extremists? [Silelda nods]. They kept saying they were doing the will of whatever god they worshiped. I kept asking God if this was true or not because, if it was, no problem, let them be. But if not, I had to go forth and correct them or silence them.

Silelda: We could sure use verification like that nowadays.

Raguel: It was that sort of thinking that led to my downfall. The people needed true answers and The Great One just kept silent. I begged him for verification and got nothing! Not even Raziel would or could answer me.

Silelda: But you were only to watch that other angels were acing in accordance to the divine will.

Raguel: And they were the ones convincing the zealots that they were right. That they spoke only truth. Bastards.
            There were so many contradictions and problems with all that the people said that I knew something was wrong. Some of these guiding angels had to be demons in disguise. I asked the Great One which stories were true and which false, and never got an answer. Not one fucking sign of acknowledgment of my question. I should have just punished all of them.

Silelda: So you waited for answer before acting.

Raguel: In a sense. I also recorded the stories, the prophecies, I thought I could figure it all out on my own until I got confirmation from the all knowing.

Silelda: What did your research tell you?

Raguel: That everyone was fucked. None of it made sense, even to me, and I can see on higher planes than the mortals that were spouting these things off as facts.

Silelda: So you waited?

Raguel: So I waited.

Silelda: And that was your downfall?

Raguel: Not in the slightest. I looked around at all the damage that was being done by the stories of conflict and differing philosophies. Minds and souls poisoned. Lives lost. Innocents tortured. I grew tired of it and said "That's it! If he won't do anything about it, I will!"

Silelda: And what happened?

Raguel: The Crusades.

Silelda: Ouch.

Raguel: Yeah, I caused even more death and destruction than I had sought to avenge. More minds poisoned with the notion that you could buy or earn your way into Heaven. Laying the groundwork for bad blood to be spilled for the rest of time. I was devastated.

Silelda: Who did you side with in the Crusades?

Raguel: No one. I tried to get them to talk about their differences. Too bad it led to what it did.

Silelda: So you were expelled from Heaven for you rashness?

Raguel: Isn't that why all the angels get exiled? [sighs] I was so angry at the unfairness of it all. But I didn't belong in Hell. The Princes of Hell told me so themselves. They said that if I wanted to join the ranks of demons, I would have to actively turn human hearts away from God. I couldn't do that. These people were more misguided than I. They were mere sheep. So I tried living amongst them. And here we are.

Silelda: I think a lot was skipped between those last two sentences.

Raguel: Such is my right, to have secrets.

Silelda: Do you feel more in touch with human nature than angelic?

Raguel: [chuckles] I'll never be human. But now I am neither angel nor demon. I'm not sure what I am anymore. [drinks a shot] But, in a sense, that is a lot like human nature, to never truly know who or what you are.

Silelda: So humanity lives in a constant state of confusion?

Raguel: Essentially.

Silelda: Did you ever get your answer?

Raguel: [pauses] Yeah. God said, all will know all in the end.

Azazel in Love

How long have I been a demon in love?
How long since I first saw your pale beauty?

I was rejected by God up above
I became a creature of cruelty.

That is when I saw who you would become
While learning the paths of the Divine Will.

Your wit was sharp and your tongue never dumb.
To have your beauty any girl would kill.

Bought you sought to destroy my bretheren
Your blade drew blood for the great rejector.

I was jealous of your place in Heaven
But wanted to become your protector.

The Princes set a bounty on your head
From the time before you were even born.

Ev'ry demon came and was defeated
You even turned some with your lack of scorn.

You were quite the precious and gentle child
It even hurt me to try to hurt you.

As the years passed, you never became wild.
You stayed precious as well as tranquil too.

I sought to bring you over to my side,
Away from The Rejector of Heaven.

You followed my logic as time did bide,
You learned things not allowed by God to men.

Several times I broke your spirit of trust
And I got you to doubt his existence.

I would not let you hurt from a sword's thrust,
But I did hurt you with logic and sense.

And yet you stick to your belief in him
You will never forget that he loves you.

My love for you is not based on whim
I long for when, my bidding, you will do.

Your spark of the divine will never die
You will always be beautiful to me.

We'd be one if not for the One on High
You will always haunt me with your beauty.

The day will come when we will have to fight.
We will try to kill each other that day.

I do not know that you could compete with my might,
But by my side, you shall forever stay.

How Spiders Got Eight Legs

Once upon a time there was a woman who was gifted in the crafts of weaving, sewing and writing. No one could tell a story as she could; she would tell her stories in the form of weaves, embroidery, quilting and written word.

As her society dictated, she needed to marry. Many men came calling for her hand but she refused them all. When approached by The Council about why she would not marry, she answered "any man can provide for a good family and look good, but these traits only last a few years at best. Find me a man who can tell a story as well as I, and I shall marry him."

The Council was aghast at her arrogance. All of their sons had been refused. So they devised a plan to punish her and teach her a lesson.

The Council collaborated for weeks crafting the finest story they could think of. When they were done, they gave it to Amleth and told him to tell it to The Storyteller and she would marry him. Amleth had never been able to get a wife for he was mean, cruel and used his fists more often than his words. Excited at the prospect of being allowed to marry, he rushed to The Storyteller's home and proceeded to tell the tale, accompanied by The Council.

"What a story Amleth," she exclaimed when he finished. "But you did not write it and you have no others. Therefore I will not marry you."

"That was never the agreement," The Council retorted. "You only asked for a man who could tell a single story. There was never a requirement that it be his own or that there be more than one."

The Storyteller had been caught in her own trap. She reluctantly agreed to marry Amleth and he was eager to have a wife to do his bidding. Years passed and Amleth became meaner and meaner, especially when their union produced no children. Amleth blamed The Storyteller for not being able to carry a child to term and beat her continuously for it.

In desperation she sought the aid of The Healer. She begged him for the means to carry a child to term, using her storytelling art, she conveyed to The Healer the pain she suffered and the importance of having a child. He was moved by her words and gave her a potion, but warned her to only drink one drop each time she wanted a child. The Storyteller thanked him and ran home.

When she got there, she was so desperate for a child that she drank the entire potion right away. That night she conceived and soon her belly swelled with pregnancy. Amleth was pleased and let her be for a time. Soon, however, she felt that there was something unusual about her pregnancy. She sought the advice of The Midwife who told her that she was in such pain because she was carrying more than one child. How many, she couldn't say, but she knew The Storyteller's womb to be full of life.

Finally The Storyteller gave birth to four children, three boys and one girl. Amleth was please with three sons and let her be, but so did everyone else. The Storyteller had no one to help her care for these four children while still fulfilling her duties as a wife and partaking in her crafts. She grew frustrated and realized she would need more arms than what she had.

Using all of her weaving skills, she wove for herself two sets of arms and attached them to her sides. They were strong enough to hold each of her children, even as the children grew older.

At the age of one, each child was finally given a name. To his sons, Amleth gave the names Gahiji, Andrej and Hariraja. To her daughter, The Storyteller gave the name Ebru, in the hopes that she would take after her mother's talent. The Storyteller was not disappointed.

As the children grew, Amleth's fuse shortened. He demanded more his children and his wife, expecting them to show how great he was by their being perfect. The boys began training with weapons and hunting when they were taking their first steps. They were ripped from their mother's arms and trained to be men before they were boys. Amleth demanded more children from The Storyteller and beat her soundly when she failed to produce more. Ebru he did not acknowledge.

The children developed a hatred for their father that mirrored The Storyteller's. She weaved stories to encourage this hate. It built and built until it was time for Ebru to marry.

Ebru had inherited her mother's talents which made her highly desirable as a bride. The Council brought their male descendants to forward as prospects and gave Amleth bribes to win over his favor. But Ebru's desire was for Tomomi, the son of The Healer. Tomomi had proposed, but Amleth had chased him away and starting breaking his daughter's will so she would marry a child of The Council. The Storyteller refused to have her daughter follow in her path and wove poisonous threads into her arms and legs. Amleth died on contact that night when he tried to lay with her.

The Storyteller was brought before The Council and given one chance to defend her actions. The Council had been against her for years so she would be doomed if she did not tell the greatest story of her life.

She started softly, calling upon all of her skills and began weaving her tail of woe, frustration and anger. She called upon Calliope, Clio and Melpomene. Soon her daughter joined her story, adding Terpsakhore and Euterpes' touch. The Council began to weep at the beauty and tragedy that these women were able to weave.

When their story was finished, The Storyteller and Ebru were silent and awaited The Council's judgement. The Council decreed Amleth to have been a poor man, not worth the talent that he married into. Therefore, The Storyteller would have to be the one whose approval was sought after regarding the hand of her daughter. However, murder could not go unpunished. The Storyteller was condemned to weave extra arms for all of her female descendants that whoever sought to marry into the family would know that she and hers were dangerous.

After Ebru and Tomomi were married, The Storyteller saw the effects of the potion The Healer had given her as her daughter gave birth to several children, many four at a time. Using her extra arms, she was able to help Ebru take care of them, earning herself the nickname Grandmother Spider.

So remember this, those who tangle with Grandmother Spider's kin, do not treat them lightly, or ruin their works, for she has weaved them many arms of poison and power, and they will use them.