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.
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.
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