by Ian Newton
Chapter 10
Consequences
In the late spring, just before sunset eighteen years ago, a little girl was born in the village. Her grandmother said she was small, but with time and love, none of that would matter. One of her aunts said she looked just like her mother. As was the custom, her father attended to his newly born daughter.
He quickly tied and cut the cord, then cleaned the tiny child with a warm wet cloth. Marco held up his daughter for all to see, especially his wife. She smiled broadly, saying, “Quickly Marco, name her before the sun sets.”
The back bedroom door was quickly opened and Marco was unceremoniously pushed from the room with his daughter in his arms. The door closed behind him, and he took a purposeful step into the large open room that was the heart of the house. Before he took his second step, Marco’s three sons, his four brothers, his father, and ten of his neighbors all asked the same question, “Is it a boy or a girl?”
Marco smiled. Cradling his tiny daughter, he took his second step toward the front door. “The sun has yet to set my friends, come with me for the naming.”
Excitement and smiles filled the room as everyone stood at once. Marco heard the whispers behind him and could tell how excited everyone was that a daughter had been born. He exited his home and turned west, the last rays of the setting sun shone brightly in his eyes. The proud father wriggled his toes into the soft, warm sand, and he held his daughter high above his head. Everyone poured out of the house and nervously gathered behind him. Marco waited patiently as they settled into place.
He took a deep breath, and began, “I celebrate the gift of this child by giving thanks to the Light. Let it be known to all, today there is another Wanderer!”
The small crowd cheered and clapped and slapped each other on the back.
The celebration was quickly stifled by Marco’s eldest brother, “Quiet everyone, quiet. Let him finish before the sun sets!”
He lowered his daughter and kissed the back of her tiny head, then raised her up again. He took another deep breath as the crowd quieted.
In a loud, proud voice, he said for all to hear, “May our hope be her destiny, may the Promise be fulfilled. We shall call her Kaya!” As his daughter’s name left his mouth, the sun winked below the edge of the world.
Quietly and respectfully every member of the family and everyone who was there to witness the naming ceremony said, “May the Promise be fulfilled.”
Marco lowered his daughter into his arms and turned to face his family and friends. Cradled in his arms, Kaya fell fast asleep.
Finally, when they couldn’t take it anymore, the group exploded with much more cheering, clapping, and celebration.
Marco smiled as his family and friends came closer to inspect the newborn child. His heart was beating fast, his mind racing at the thought of having a daughter and through it all, he smiled and just tried to enjoy the moment.
As the months turned to years, Kaya grew into a beautiful, helpful, and very curious member of her family. She always sat patiently during her lessons, listening attentively, asking good questions, and thanking everyone who took the time to teach.
Kaya was always probing for the next layer of detail, always searching for new stories and consistently trying to discover the answer to the question, “why?” She never requested the same story twice, and her ability to recall specifics was astounding. Her mother and grandmother had even been corrected on several occasions, and they were quickly running out of stories to tell her.
These stories, the ones her family and neighbors consistently shared, were the real gift given to the children of the village. This shared time created unique relationships between the children and the adults, and it was because of this the stories could never be written down.
One of the challenges to learning all the stories of the village was that each family had, over time, become the keeper of specific tales. This happened because not everyone exiled to the village was given the same knowledge by the Light. Since the source of all the teaching stories came from those who had chosen the village over banishment, there were many different stories.
All of them had been kept as true as possible to their original telling, but since they could not be written down there was obviously some embellishment over the thousands of years the village had been populated. Accurate or not, these stories were the collective wisdom of the village. And if you wanted to hear a new story you had to meet new people. If you could make yourself welcome enough to be invited into their homes, ultimately you could learn what their family had known for generations.
Kaya’s mother Erynn kept a watchful eye on her, but knowing that it takes the village to raise a child, she frequently traveled to distant neighbors to collect her daughter for meals or even bath time. Inevitably, Erynn would get pulled into conversations, or the story telling friends and relatives were having with Kaya. But this was the way things were supposed to be. This time spent with friends and family, face-to-face, smiling, laughing, teaching, and learning was all part of life in the village. It’s what builds strong, confident, knowledgeable children. Children who could keep the hope of fulfilling the Wanderer’s Promise alive.
One night, shortly after her seventh birthday, Kaya asked something most children didn’t ask until they were at least nine or ten. It happened in the evening as she was sitting in her grandmother’s lap in front of a small fire in the main room of her house.
The family was gathered in the large room with its high ceiling, and they were talking, working on a myriad of crafts and snacking on fruits harvested earlier in the week. Kaya’s grandmother was combing her long brown hair while she affectionately complained about the amount of sand she had in it.
Kaya turned, facing her grandmother with a tear in her eye. Her grandmother was shocked to see the tear and quickly apologized for complaining about the sand. Wiping the tear from Kaya’s tiny cheek, she asked, “Why are you crying, little one?”
Kaya reached up and took her grandmother’s hand in hers as another tear ran down her cheek. She drew their gathered hands to her heart and looked at her grandmother with a deeply reflective wisdom beyond her years.
Kaya had never been quick to cry, and her grandmother asked in a pleading tone, “What is it my Kaya? Did I upset you?”
“The Kingdom is gone, isn’t it?” Kaya asked sounding terribly sad and hopeless. “Nobody lives there anymore do they? We’ll never get to live there will we?” she asked desperately. “That’s why we live here isn’t it?” Another tear ran down her little cheek and Grandmother teared up, too.
It wasn’t the barrage of questions that flustered her grandmother, she was used to that. It was the questions themselves and the way they were asked.
Kaya’s mother held her hand to her mouth, whispering, “Oh my!” to Marco, who had been talking with her and holding her hand. The whole family had stopped talking, and everyone looked at Kaya with surprise.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” she insisted to her mother. She looked around the room and could tell she was right. The tears dripped off her chin.
Kaya’s mother opened her arms to her daughter, and said, “Come here my darling.”
In her mother’s soft embrace, the sobs of sorrow came rolling out of the tiny girl.
After Kaya had calmed down, her mother continued holding her, and said, “I thought you were a little too young for the story you need to hear next, but perhaps it is time.” She turned to Marco and, asked, “Do you think she is old enough?”
He nodded, then asked his daughter to stand in front of him; where he could see her properly and speak to her as he would an older child.
Marco took Kaya’s tiny hands into his and kissed them. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. He lifted his eyes and looked around the room, meeting each family member’s eyes and receiving their confirmation.
Marco return
ed his eyes and his smile to his daughter, and said, “Little one, there are many stories about the Kingdom you have not heard yet. As you know, some stories can only be told when they are asked for. I think everyone would agree you ask many good questions, but you have never asked these questions before. Why do you ask them now my wonderful daughter?”
Kaya let go of her father’s hands and hugged him around the neck. Whispering loudly enough to be heard by everyone, she said, “Because Papa, this is not where we’re supposed to be. The village is not home, we must go to the Kingdom. When Grandmother was combing my hair, I was wondering why we don’t live in the Kingdom, and I could only come up with one answer, then I got sad.”
“Why did you get sad?” he asked, continuing to hold her tightly.
“Because Papa, I’ve always wanted to go to the Kingdom ever since I was little, and I know you and Mama would have taken us all there if it was possible; that means it must not be possible. The Kingdom must not be there anymore, or that’s where we would be.”
Marco asked Kaya to take his hands, and he looked into his daughter’s deep brown eyes. He smiled, and said, “You make me proud, little one, and I love you. The story you have asked for is not a happy one, are you sure you want to hear what happened to the Kingdom? Do you want to hear why we cannot live there now?”
She nodded, saying, “Yes Papa. Please tell me the story that answers my questions.”
Marco lifted his eyes and looking at his mother, he said, “If your grandmother would do us all the honor of telling you the story you just requested, I’m sure she would have a very attentive audience.”
Marco’s mother smiled, and said, “Yes. I will tell the story, but I’ve never told it to one so young.”
Marco was still smiling and holding Kaya’s hands.
“Just tell it to her the same way you first told it to me and we’ll see if our little Wanderer understands.”
“Very well. Kaya would you like me to tell you a story?”
Kaya took two quick steps and hugged her grandmother.
“Yes, please Grandmother. Tell me the story about what happened to the Kingdom.”
She patted her legs, and said, “Very well my little Wanderer. Sit in my lap while I finish combing your hair and I will tell you a story.”
Kaya gently sat on her grandmother’s lap. Grandmother picked up the comb and started gently working it through her hair.
“Kaya, There are rules in the Kingdom that are taught to every citizen. Simple things really, things like how to treat each other and what not to do. These rules are called “the Way of the Light” and anyone who enters the Kingdom must agree to follow “the way” or they will be made to leave the Kingdom. As you know, this is how people first came to the village.
This doesn’t mean the people who came to the village were bad people, it just means they had forgotten their promise to the Light. Their promise to be respectful, to be unselfish, to be fair and helpful and trustworthy. Sometimes people forget.
When you make a promise whether it’s to the Light of the Kingdom or to another person, you are expected to keep your promise. If you break a promise, there are consequences. The story I’m going to tell you is about consequences, and I think you will understand what I mean by the time I am done.”
Grandmother paused and asked Kaya if she knew what consequence meant. Kaya said she didn’t understand, so Grandmother gave an example.
“Kaya, what happens if you don’t pick up your room before you go to bed?”
“I always pick up my room before I go to bed, Grandmother.”
“I know you do sweetheart, but what would happen if you didn’t?”
“I don’t know Grandmother because I always pick up my room at night.”
Her grandmother smiled and decided to ask another question. “Kaya, what would happen if a Wanderer forgot to take water into the desert when she left the village?”
Kaya thought as the comb worked through her long, dark hair. “I think she would be sorry she didn’t have any water.”
“Wonderful, my little love, but consequences don’t care if you’re sorry. What would happen to the Wanderer after several days in the desert without water?”
“They would die, and that would be sad.”
“Very good, little one. The consequence for forgetting your water is that you might die of thirst. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Grandmother. And don’t worry, I won’t forget my water when I go wander.”
Her brothers laughed a little only because the comment was so cute.
“Wonderful, because I would hate to think of you forgetting an important rule like that.”
“I would never forget the rules, Grandmother.”
Grandmother waited for the questions to percolate out of her granddaughter.
“Grandmother?”
“Yes, my love.”
“Do other people forget the rules?”
“That’s a wonderful question. What do you think?”
“I think they do. I think that’s how the first people came to the village.”
Grandmother stopped combing, kissed the top of Kaya’s head, and said, “That’s right. You are very smart. The people that came to the village from the Kingdom either forgot the rules or decided to break them. Either way, the consequence was the same.”
“Is that why we can’t live there anymore because we broke the rules?”
“I don’t think you’ve broken any rules, have you dear?”
“No.”
“Then let’s continue with the story and maybe we’ll find the answers to your question.”
“Yes, please.”
Grandmother continued combing and started where she had left off. “Living in the Kingdom is a glorious thing. It’s the only place, other than our village, where people are free to learn and discuss anything they want. It’s also the only place where everyone works together to help each other.
The people who live in the Kingdom don’t do this for a reward or for any reason other than it’s the right thing to do. The people who live there are one big family. Just like the village is a big family and everyone who can contribute does so willingly. That means everyone is helping, and everyone is trying.
If you stop trying or helping, you will become unwelcome. Especially if you don’t change. Nobody has ever been banished from the Kingdom for taking a well-deserved rest. But if you rest for too long, and refuse to help your family, or expect your family to serve you, or to wait on you, or to do things just for you when you aren’t helping them...well, then you have to face the consequence. Does this make sense?”
“Yes, Grandmother. Since they are a family, do they all live in the same house like we do?”
There were chuckles from around the room that quickly died away, and Grandmother answered, “Goodness no, little one. There are far too many people in the Kingdom to live in one house. People lived in the Kingdom as we do. Each family with its own children lives in a different house. Sometimes families share houses, but not everyone lives together. Remember, the Kingdom becomes a big family because everyone is working to make life better for the people around them, not just themselves. That’s what makes a family special. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
“Good. Do you have any questions?”
“No.”
“All right then, where was I…Oh yes, the Kingdom was a splendid place, and to keep it that way, there had to be a few rules. Not the kinds of rules that make somebody in charge, or the kind of rules that let you boss people around. No, those are silly ideas for a Kingdom rule.
If you put all the rules of the Kingdom together, you would have “the Way of the Light”, but if you just looked at the single most important rule, it would be the Sentinel Rule. Can you say that word, Kaya, Sentinel?”
&nb
sp; Kaya said, “Sentinel” three times.
“Excellent. Do you know what Sentinel means, little one?”
“No, Grandmother.”
“Well, since you’re only seven let’s just say sentinel means protector. So, the Sentinel Rule is the protecting rule. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
“Wonderful, little flower, you are such a bright little Wanderer. Let me explain the Sentinel Rule for a minute, then you’ll understand what it is and how it works.”
“Yes, please.”
“The Kingdom has only one Sentinel Rule, and it is very easy to understand. The rule is this: Killing a person is not allowed. This rule leaves no room for excuses and the consequences for breaking it are staggering. Let me explain a little more, then I’ll see if you understand.
In the Kingdom, if another person kills someone, the person responsible for the killing turns to stone. It happens right away, and they have to stay like that forever.
This unfortunate soul will not be dead. They will live within their tomb of stone; never moving, never blinking, but always watching, always aware.”
“Do you have any questions, little one?”
Kaya hesitated, then she said, “No, but I’m already feeling sad again.”
“I know. It’s a sad story.” Grandmother turned to Kaya’s parents and asked them if they would like to add anything. They both smiled, and Marco said, “No Mother. You’re doing an excellent job, as usual.”
“Thank you.” Turning her attention back to Kaya, she asked, “Kaya?”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
“What do you think will happen if enough people break the Sentinel Rule?”
“I think something bad will happen.”
“You’re right, something bad does happen,” she paused for effect.
“How many times do you think this rule can be broken before the bad thing happens?”
“I don’t know Grandmother. I think it should happen right away.”
“Well that’s not quite the way it works, but you’re close. When the Sentinel Rule is broken three times, the Kingdom will fall.”
Kaya let out a long sigh, telling the whole family she knew these events had already come and gone.
“You know about the Fountain of Knowing, don’t you?”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
“Good. Do you remember that everyone who was ever sent to the village knew what the last day of the Kingdom would be like if it happened?”
“Yes, Grandmother. I know the stories.”
“Good, because the price of the ultimate consequence was shared with them when they made the decision to join the village. The Light brought the images to them, and they could see why the village was so important.”
Grandmother looked around the room, saying, “Because of this, the people of the village have always known what it would be like if the walls came falling down. More than anyone else, we’ve always known what the cost would be in lives and suffering.
The burden of our knowledge has always weighed heavily upon us, but in this knowledge, you will come to see why there is hope. I think you know everything you need to know to understand the story.”
She cleared her throat and took a small sip of water from the cup sitting next to her. Taking a deep breath, she began.
“Every citizen of the Kingdom knew more than could be learned in a hundred lifetimes. The Fountain of Knowing did this in just one sip. It also gave them the gift of perspective, because knowledge is valueless without it.
Perspective allows a person to see where they fit into the Kingdom and into the world, but it’s more than that. Perspective allows someone to see how their actions affect the people and the world around them.
Describing the knowledge or the perspective the citizens of the Kingdom had is difficult. All you really need to remember is the citizens of the Kingdom knew right from wrong. They also understood the importance of where they were, how they lived, and the freedom they enjoyed. They did not need laws or money or the countless other petty things people have created to justify their worth in this world.
Because of the gifts received from the Fountain, the citizens of the Kingdom did not debate the value of “the Way of the Light” and they did not question the purpose of the Sentinel Rule. These things were simply a matter of common sense, and since everyone had already agreed to follow these rules, it may be difficult to imagine how the Kingdom could ever be in danger.
After all, if the only way the Kingdom could be destroyed was to break the Sentinel Rule three times, then the only thing that could threaten it was the people within it. Unfortunately, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, that’s exactly what happened.
More than a thousand years ago in the central marketplace of the Kingdom, there was a Fountain. It was magically ornate with its multi-layered waterspouts, its enormous basin, and all the playful scenes cast within its polished stone. It would make you smile every time you saw it, even if you’d seen it every day of your life.
Sitting on the edge of the Fountain was a man, perfectly cast in the same white stone as the Fountain. He was seated with his legs slightly apart, leaning forward with his hands out as if they were holding something. His face was determined looking, even a little scary to the children, and in his eyes, you could see hate.
This is the position he was in when, in a jealous rage, he drove his wagon over his neighbor and killed him. It took five hundred years for the Sentinel Rule to be broken the first time.
When it happened, everyone in the Kingdom and yes, everyone in the village, re-lived the scene. First, everyone experienced the event from the point of view of the man who was killed.
They could feel his heart leap when he first noticed the wagon approaching. They felt his stomach sink when he made eye contact with the driver. And when his body and head were crushed under the wagon, they felt the pain. Then the scene started over, and everyone experienced it from the point of view of the man driving the wagon.
Everyone felt his stomach twist in anger when his neighbor stepped into the street. Everyone felt his heart sink into a cold, black place as he tightened his grip on the reins, urging the wagon team to move faster. They felt the cart bump sickeningly over the man's head and body, then they felt what it was like to be made of stone.
There was no need to discuss what had happened or why. There was no debate over who was right or wrong because everyone already knew.
The bad man’s wooden cart stood in the marketplace for almost sixty years. It was never moved or touched by anyone until one day the wheels finally fell off. When that happened, the man made of stone was sitting on a pile of broken wood, leaning to one side and staring into the sky.
A day or two later, the Lady came and moved him to the edge of the fountain where he sat for another one thousand four hundred years. Sometimes the children would play on him, but they were quickly taught what this man had cost the Kingdom. Then it just wasn’t any fun to be around him.
The citizens didn’t need to be reminded of the consequences they faced should the rule be broken two more times. All they could do was live their lives the best they could and hope someone wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
There was, of course, a second statue in the Kingdom that looked far too real. It was a young woman standing all alone. She was in front of a deep well, miles out in the growing fields.” Grandmother paused, pulling the comb from Kaya’s hair.
“I think your hair has had quite enough combing for the night.”
Kaya turned and hugged her. “Thank you, Grandmother, I love you.”
They both smiled, and Grandmother kissed her forehead.
Kaya turned back around and relaxed as Grandmother took another sip of her water.
“When you wander the desert Kaya, you will be able to see these
things. They’re just piles of sand and rocks of course, but still, if you use your imagination you can see how very real they use to be.”
Kaya nodded, snuggling in and relaxing to enjoy the story.
“The young woman by the well was beautiful. She must have just swept back her long curly hair before she put her hands on her hips or perhaps a slight breeze had come along just before her friend hit the bottom of the well and died. She stood there with her hands on her hips, looking at that well for another six hundred years; waiting to hear the last sound she would never hear.
Just like the first time, the citizens of the Kingdom watched the entire event unfold from two different perspectives. They felt the fear of the young woman who fell to her death, just as they felt the jealousy, anger, and pride of the woman who pushed her.”
