In the days long before the heavy feet of the black robes came, the White Raven walked among the people. Many had followed the way of the warlords who were without law and order. Most parents had been killed during the many moons of the Battle of Fire Arrows. They had left their children before they could pass on any guidance from their wisdom. The children were left to learn how to care for themselves, by themselves.They now knew only how to kill so as not to be killed.
It is to those in the heat of battle, that he came. As he approached they stopped their fighting and stared. He was different from the other bearded men they had known. Through his red hair the dawn light shone on pale white skin. They were curious. He carried no weapon yet he had no fear. Cautiously, almost in unison they began to form a circle around him. They had momentarily forgotten the fear and hostility they felt for each other. Now their attention was focused entirely on the lone, silent figure.
Then he spoke. His voice was calm yet firm, soft yet clear in the frosty air. “My children, why do you fight? Why are your hearts so heavy? Are you not weary from what you do?”
Children? No one had call them children since the days of their parents. Were they weary from what they were doing? Could he not see the dead and hear the cry of the wounded? They were sick of it. They were devoured by it every thinking moment of their miserable lives. It was either this or perish at the hands of their enemies. Did he not know that?
The question caught them off guard causing them to pause. Slowly now they once more became aware of those among them and felt a tremble of fear, like the cut of a cold dagger blade on their throat. Yet they moved even closer to the Prophet, intent on hearing him.
He stood motionless, his white garment reflecting the rays of the golden morning sun, as did his red hair and beard. A scent like burning cedar bark enveloped them as they watched his blue-green eyes slowly search the crowd and then rest on a tall man whose arm hung uselessly by his side. He moved slowly towards him. No one spoke but they moved back to allow him through.
Sensing he was the target of unwanted attention, the tall man stiffened, looked uncomfortable, but remained where he was. All eyes were now on the two. As the Prophet came almost face-to-face, he reached forward and touched the useless limb. His eyes still locked with the eyes of the tall man. An audible gasp from the crowd broke the silence. The arm moved of its own accord, upward until the hand of the man and the hand of the Prophet met and intertwined into a clasp.
Pulling the man forward, the Prophet, still holding the hand, turned his face to the crowd. “Should I let this arm become once more a weapon of war and destruction, or shall I leave it as a certain invitation to his enemy that he is an easy target, a sure kill? What say you?”
No one spoke. How were they expected to reply to this strange, two-sided question? Then a female voice shouted, “Give him his full strength, that I and his child in my arms may be protected from these.” She pointed with her extended hand to her sworn enemies in the crowd. Then she continued “Nor can he provide us food as you see. We hunger and will soon die if we do not eat.”
Another voice screamed and interrupted the first in anger. “Yes, and with that strength he will surely take more lives and leave yet many more children to die. Are there not enough who suffer already? Do not give him another weapon of fear when there is fear enough among us.”
Now many other angry voices began to shout, some for action while others pleaded for compassion.
Threats filled their throats and weapons their hands. The Prophet raised his hand and his powerful voice cut them to silence. “Perhaps all should have but one arm,” he suggested.
Instantly the right arm of every person dropped awkwardly, uselessly and paralyzed at their side. As each realized what had happened, they felt the vulnerability that they had despised in the eyes of the tall man. Their heads low, they stood silent, afraid to move or speak. Who was this stranger with power to heal or curse them at will.? A few moments ago he was a curiosity they had tolerated. Now they trembled before him. They had no doubt he had the power to destroy them as well if he wished it.
“My children, think. Do you not yearn for another way? Would you accept one if it were shown to you?”
There was no anger in his voice, no threat. Instead, it was with the calmness of a loving parent that he pleaded. They longed for him to say more. A voice from the crown said, “We do not know of any other way Please, please show us”.
He motioned to the crown to sit down. He himself sat on a large rock, his head higher than those who sat on the ground. Anxiously they listened, waiting for him to speak.
At last he began. “There are many trails through the forests. Some lead to bright meadows and good hunting. Others lead to ambush, wars and death. Does one need to continue to walk down the trails that bring only pain and sorrow when there are others that do not?”
“You are as children who have been taught no wisdom. Not all people live to kill or die as you do. They do not treat the wisdom from their ancestors as rain that has fallen on their clothing, to be brushed off, endured or ignored. They do not shun the experiences of others who try to advise, as they would the stings of hornets.”
“The child that has not learned from the wisdom of others remains a child still and will for forever. Even though your bodies have grown to resemble men or women, yet you remain slaves to the ignorance of your child like behaviour.”
“You look upon the weakness and innocence of others with greed. You take the advantage to rob them. They become your enemies and learn how to become stronger than you to take their revenge. If you helped them instead, they would become your friends and provide for you when you have needs and weaknesses suddenly visit you.”
“You destroy the fathers of families whose children will never forget who you are, nor will they trust you again. So you live divided into tribes that kill each other. You are all descendants of those whose Fathers were killed as yours were. You share a common hate, seek a common revenge, but cannot find a common solution. There is no hope when you follow this path.”
“On this path, you will hear the voice of the wolf, but find only the laugh of the jackal. You can kill all those you meet in battle, but your battles will never cease because the war in your heart and in the heart of your enemy cannot be ended with sharp weapons or sharp words.”
“You search for the path of peace, but it lies hidden in the mists and depths of your deceptions. You chase after respect and loyalty but your but your deeds are as poisoned water skins so you cannot offer anything worthy of respect or loyalty to others.”
“The beasts of the forest have mastered the skills of cooperation better than you. Hear how the wolf calls his brothers and together they hunt the deer, the elk and the moose? All of which are much swifter or larger than they.”
“Even the geese of the air together relieve each other from the lead point of their formation. When one tires, he falls back to save energy, but still honks encouragement to his replacement from the flanks. Thus the flock safely remains in the air longer and covers more distance.”
“The cougar of the forest shares its kill with eagles and vultures so they do not have to kill twice to survive. Together with her cubs, she sleeps in peace in her den. In the tree tops above, the big birds do the same.”
“A man child is despised for his foolishness. He finds food for the moment to feed his body and then dies too soon because of neglected hunger to his soul. He runs from the calls of the harmless but wise owl, yet his feet are swift to carry him to the den of the cunning, devious fox.”
The prophet rose and turned to leave but the people called to him: “Do not leave us. We do not wish to live any longer as foolish children. We no longer wish to seek the slippery lies of the fox or the dangerous deadly skills of the wolf. Tell us how we can walk as our Fathers did in peace before us.”
The prophet turned and smiled. He again raised his hand for silence. “Go home to your loved ones and speak of these things. If they feel as you, bring them again to this spot. Bring with you also all your weapons of war. Tell your friends to come with their right arm in the sign of peace, raised in remembrance of your healing. Speak to all you meet on your path about the wisdom of your Fathers. Meet with your tribes in your circles that you might be taught. Invite them to come and hear as you have.”
“There will be messengers waiting here for you. They will bring the wisdom you seek. You will recognize them as they make the sign of peace as do you. Follow the paths they teach you.”
With great joy they threw their arms around each other, realizing only then that both arms were whole. Raising their arms to the square, they turned to the Prophet to seek approval. The rock was empty and silent.
“Why did he leave us? Did he not promise to teach us?” they cried. A great feeling of sadness filled the crowd.
Then the tall man spoke. “Did he not first command us to go to our homes and tell those we love to come also? Come. Who will go with me? We must bring others with us as well and prove that we are ready to hear and obey.”
Slowly they dispersed in singles and small groups along the many trails leading from the woods. Their weapons were on their shoulders, their knives in their shields.
The dawn sun had traveled to the west horizon many times before they came again to the rock. As they gathered they realized how strangely different they felt about the weapons they carried. Someone suggested they dig a hole and bury them so they would never be tempted to use them again. With a loud shout, they all agreed and began digging a hole big enough. It was by the meadow rock. All their weapons of war were thrown in until there were none left to carry. Then the earth was replaced upon them.
For many moons the people came to learn from the messengers. They built permanent buildings of wood and cement to be close to the rock where the Prophet had first instructed them.
Many more people came and their children after them, to learn and to bury their weapons of war. Eventually all the land lived in peace and no man remembered how to make the weapons of war that were buried in the ground beneath their feet. But by then none of them had reason or need to do so.
-Doug Garrett