The Old Storyteller

This is an in-setting written work. It is written from a particular perspective and may or may not be factually accurate.

The Old Storyteller

By unknown

A traditional Langkhan parable

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An old storyteller visited the garden-fort one day. All who spare the time set down their tools and gathered around him in the shape of the trees near the fields. They awaited the entertainment he was sure to provide. They awaited the wisdom he was sure to share.

The old storyteller began. He told of places he had perhaps been, and of people he had perhaps met, but time had worn on the memories and of none of these could he be sure. Perhaps they were tales from past lives or from the lives of others. Or perhaps they truly were his own. Those gathered pressed the old storytellers for something more pleasing.

"At the top of the mountains live the spirits of the sky and the clouds. They are a capricious sort, prone to decisions in the moment and actions on a whim. They told me their ways in a language known to me, which I nevertheless understood. This story I cannot repeat, for I know the meaning yet not the words."

The crowd around the old storyteller muttered their discontent. For what purpose had they come here, other than to hear his tales? For what purpose had they come here, other than to learn from him?

"Much the same were my interactions with the rivers. They murmured their histories as I sat by their banks, in sounds more ancient than the sun. These too I could comprehend yet not relay to you."

Disappointed, the crowd thinned. There were tasks to be done in the village, if nothing was to be gained here.

"And the moon, it too speaks, if one stops to listen. The ringing of the pale light carries meaning through the night. What you perceive as stillness in the dark is laden with truth. It can only be heard at such times, and not from a figure such as I."

The people who had come to see the old storyteller were nearly all gone now. Only a few still remained.

"In the heat of the southern volcanoes are legends borne by the the magma. Tales of heroic battles beneath the earth, hidden from the sky. Deeds of heroes of whom I was made acquainted, but you already know what I shall say next."

By now a single figure sat in front of the old storyteller. A child, not yet old enough to help in the fields, sat in rapt attention. The storyteller rested for a time, gazing at the child through his half-blind eyes.

"You, child, you alone shall know the truth for which the others have no patience. The truth is this: I cannot share any conclusion to my stories, for there are no conclusions to be had. It is the experience that teaches. It is the struggle that imparts wisdom. It is the questions from which one learns, even if no answers exist. I know no answers. I know no conclusions."

The child, not yet old enough to help in the fields, sat in rapt attention.