A half an hour later Ill was climbing up, her husband right behind her. The rankers had been very busy in the branches, but it wasn’t until she was near the top of the line that she saw what they had been doing. They had stretched an enormous tarp… no, they had connected several smaller tarps to form an enormous tarp, and had stretched it out and tied it amongst several branches to form one flat sheet.
And they were each connected with a higher branch by a line, too. She felt a lot better about being so high after she saw that, and after they had connected her, too. And then she felt even better when she saw them putting up barriers around the edges of the tent, and then around one corner. “Our room,” Tom said, but he didn’t lead her there, instead taking something out of his pack and setting it up in the corner farthest from their ‘room’. It sat there a minute, and then started giving off a glow and… she felt… heat. A few seconds later the rankers, clad only in their undersuits, were sitting around the ‘fire’ and passing out food. She took a food bar from the ranker next to her.
Her husband, interrupting his continual humming, quietly said, “Well, let’s get to know each other a bit, here. Let’s not forget to switch sentries in about half an hour, so everyone can eat and listen.
Ill looked and, sure enough, three of the rankers were laying in branches nearby, looking out at the jungle over their weapons.
“Let’s see… we pretty much know where we all come from and all. Let’s each tell a folk tale from our own world, or area, shall we? Mbala, perhaps you can start?”
“Sir?” the ranker named squeaked out. “A folk tale? I, umm, well, yes sir…”
He paused a minute in thought and then, nervously, began. “Our planet does not yet use flitters in ‘the bush’… the isolated rural communities. And we do not have much in the way of transportation. So we still travel from village to village in wheeled vehicles, which are adapted to take many people. When these vehicles travel from village to village, they take on and drop off passengers at each stop. And when they are on the roads, they frequently come up to animals, domestic animals, on the roads, animals which have escaped their fencing or who are allowed to roam free.”
“These animals behave differently according to type, and our father’s tell us that there is a reason, in the depths of history, for these differences. This is the story they tell us, around the fire…”
“When the World was young the animals could talk, and walk, and had villages, just as we did. And like us, they had taxi vans to take them from one village to another. One day a taxi-van came to a village and found three animals waiting for a ride to the next village.”
“’How much is the ride to the next village,’ the sheep asked the driver.”
“’Five coppers,” the driver told him. The sheep fished into its purse and pulled out a five copper coin, and got on the taxi.”
The next animal in line was a dog. “All I have is a silver,” he said. “Should I go to the market to make change?”
“No, let us be going,” the taxi driver said, holding out his hand, “We will make change in the next village.” And so the dog gave him the silver and got on the taxi.”
“I have no money for the fare,” the next animal said, a goat. “But I have a cousin in the next village, and he will pay for me.”
“Very well,” said the driver, who was used to such arrangements. “Get in the taxi.”
“And so the goat got in and the driver, seeing no other animals that wished a ride, got into his seat and, amidst a cloud of dust the taxi took off. The ride was long and dusty and once the taxi stopped that all might drink at a stream and water the nearby bushes. But eventually the taxi arrived at the destination, and the sheep opened the door and descended, followed by the dog. But the goat rudely pushed past them and disappeared into the distance. And when the dog turned back to the taxi to complain of this rude behavior, he saw the taxi, too, was disappearing. He ran after it, but the taxi was too fast and he had to come back, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.”
“And that is why, our fathers explain to us, when a taxi drives near a farm any dog that is laying in the dust will immediately chase after it. It remembers the taxi driver who took the silver from it, and did not give change. And that is why, if a goat sees a taxi, it immediately runs, runs into the bushes to hide. But when a sheep sees a taxi, even if the taxi is coming up right behind it on a road, it does not move hastily, or even turn around. For it knows it paid its fair.”
Everyone laughed and the lad looked embarrassed.
“Who’s next?” Tom asked. “Ill?”
Ill started. A folk tale? She tell a folk tale to these lads?
Courage is contagious. When a brave man takes a stand, the spines of others are often stiffened.
Billy Graham
But Tomirosh just kept looking at her so, thinking frantically, she began,
“Once upon a time there was a naughtily little lamb who strayed from his home, despite his parents stern warnings.”
A couple of the rankers giggled a bit at that, no doubt reminded of their own parent’s ‘stern warnings’.
“He was just beginning to think he should be going home when, out from the bushes by the side of the path, a lion leapt and, pinning him the ground, opened his mouth to eat him.”
“No, no, Mr. Lion,” the lamb said, knowing that respect could not hurt him in the circumstances. “Don’t eat me!”
“They all say that!” roared the lion. “Now be quiet or you will spoil my appetite!”
(Several of the rankers giggled at that. And Illoia grinned at them.)
“The lamb thought that a very good reason to keep talking, and so he said, ‘If you will let me go, I will show you where my family all are, and they are much bigger than I am.”
“Well, you are very small…” the lion said, doubtfully.
“I have five brothers and a sister,” the lamb said, quickly. “All of whom are bigger than I am. Not to count my mother, and father, and all of my aunts and uncles, and cousins.”
“Well, I can’t say you are the most loyal of creatures, but I will take you up on your offer, for you ARE very small. But no funny business. I can run much faster than you.”
“No, no funny business,” the lamb assured him. “I will lead you right to them. How about I tell you a story on the way?”
“I hate stories!” the lion roared.
“Oh, you’ll like this one,” the lamb assured him. “It’s about a lion.”
“A lion?”
“Yes, a lion and a mouse.”
“Oh, I’ve heard that one!” the lion said. “My mother told it to me. I didn’t like the ending. A lion, helped by a small mouse. Impossible.”
“Well, I’ll tell you another one about a lion. This one from the Bible.”
“Oh, no,” the lion said, shaking his head. “I know that one, too. The silly lion lays down with the lamb. What an odd thing to do.”
“Well, I know another one, from Alice in Wonderland.”
“Hmmm,” the lion said. “I don’t think I know that one. How does it go…?”
And so the lamb kept on telling lion stories for hour after hour, until the two reached the base of a large cliff, leading up into the mountains. “Where are you taking me?” the lion asked, accusingly.
“To my family, as I promised,” the lamb said, springing lightly up the cliff face. “Can’t you see them? There is my father, and my mother, and all my brothers, and my sisters and my cousins…”
The lion looked up and there, all along the cliff face, were sheep of all colors and sizes, nibbling on the grass which grew out of the cliff.
“But how am I to eat them?” the lion roared, jumping up the cliff and falling back down in a scree of pebbles.
“I just promised you I would bring you to them, I didn’t say I would let you eat them,” the lamb replied, climbing over to its mother, who began to lecture it on the follies of leaving home.
“The lion roared, and leapt and leapt, but it couldn’t reach the even the first ledge.”
“The end,” Illoia said, looking around the circle.
“That was a very good story,” Tomirosh said, an hour later, leading Aleshia off to one corner of the ‘floor’, one which was curtained off from the rest by a couple of blankets thrown up. “It contained a valuable lesson.”
“I think most of those ‘folk’ tales tend to,” she said, removing her outer uniform and laying down awkwardly. She had been told, in the sims, that this undersuit would serve as a ‘blanket’ and regulate my temperature, but it still felt very odd to be laying down without a blanket. Her pack served as a pillow. And it was slightly odd to be sleeping out of doors, at her age. They had done it frequently as children. “It was a tiring walk today, but tonight almost seemed like a vacation.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad you think so. We’ll be doing it a lot.”
“Sleeping out like this?”
“Walking and sleeping out like this,” he corrected. “This forms an important part of my training regime.”
“Don’t most leaders train their troops like this?”
“Nay. All do some of this, for it is needed even for their plans. But my plans are different than most.”
“What are your plans?”
“To become a general!” he laughed.
“Yes, but here and now, and with this training?”
He propped himself up on one elbow. “Do you truly wish to know, then?”
“Yes, of course.”
“There is naught ‘of course’ about it. Many wives merely wish to know their role, and do their duty. You do your duty well, but you also wish to know what I am about. Very well, I will tell you.”
He lay back and was silent for so long she thought he had forgotten. “Much of it is hard to describe. I wish my troops to be trained differently, because I want them to see the world differently. Not ‘the world’. That is the wrong word. The planet. The ground. Their role. I want them to not think of the barracks as a ‘home’ that is their real world. While they are soldiers I want them to think of this as their real world.”
“That is one reason why I want them to bring their wives and children here. The other reason is because they are too much in danger in the barracks. I want each man to have his wife and children right here, where he can hold them.”
He said this while he was, quite forcefully, holding her, which added emphasis to his words. “Why?” I asked.
“I have watched them fight, over the years, and they seem lost. You must not be ‘lost’ in the place where you are fighting. It gives the enemy an advantage over you.”
Illoia struggled to understand, and then it came to her. When she ‘fought’ back at home, for position, power, or advantage, she did indeed fight better when she was ‘at home’ in the situation: when she knew the people. If this was where the soldiers were to be fighting…
“Remember your own story. Where was the lamb strong? On his home ground.”
Thank you for reading Von’s Substack. I would love it if you commented! I love hearing from readers, especially critical comments. I would love to start more letter exchanges, so if there’s a subject you’re interested in, get writing and tag me!
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Von also writes as ‘Arthur Yeomans’. Under that name he writes children’s, YA, and adult fiction from a Christian perspective. His books are published by Wise Path Books and include the children’s/YA books:
The Bobtails meet the Preacher’s Kid
and
As well as GK Chesterton’s wonderful book, “What’s Wrong with the World”, for which ‘Arthur’ wrote most of the annotations.
Arthur also has a substack, and a website.
Thanks again, God Bless, Soli Deo gloria,
Von
Great lesson about fighting for home. Lose that sense, lose the war; any war.