M any ages ago there lived two kings—rulers of two
neighboring nations. Once they were friends,
but after a dispute they became enemies.
Their hatred for one another was so intense they devoted
all of their time and all of their energy in preparation for war.
And because each king was so convinced of his righteousness—
or his rightness—there was no backing down.
There was no room for negotiation.
These two kings were so strong, so fierce, so unyielding,
they soon became known as King Hammer and King Spear.
In their eyes, the only path to peace was through war.
The only acceptable outcome for both kings was the complete
and total destruction of the other.
Every man, woman, and child—so convinced by the
rightness of their cause—took up arms to fight, bleed,
and die for their kingdom.
And so began a great and terrible battle that lasted for many days.
Not until the land was covered in bodies did the armies pull back
to rest. When they did, the warriors of King Hammer discovered
an old woman standing in the midst of the battlefield who had
been untouched, unruffled, and uninjured by the violence.
She stood like stone—peaceful and serene.
Fearful, the warriors brought her before their king.
Sitting on a throne of gold, King Hammer looked upon
the old woman with mild amusement. He asked her who
she was and why she was not injured from the fighting.
“I do not fight against WE,” answered the woman.
“Therefore I do not have the kind of injuries that you have.”
“I do not have any injuries,” replied the king.
The woman looked into the king’s eyes.
“Are you sure about that?” she asked.
The king blinked in surprise. “Who are you?”
“I am you,” said the woman,
“but you cannot see—for your heart is past seeing.”
“See with my heart?” scoffed the king.
He turned to his warriors. “What is this I am hearing?”
“You cannot hear,” said the woman,
“for your heart is past hearing.”
At this the king forced a laugh. “What are these? Riddles?
What is the meaning of your words?”
“The war in your heart has poisoned your eyes and ears,”
said the woman. “You cannot see that your light reaches for
others. You blind yourself to goodness and choose to see what
leads you to war. If you do not turn your heart toward your enemy,
then your quest for everything will cost you everything.
“But if you drop your weapons of war,” she continued, “and see
your enemies truthfully, then you will save not only the lives of
your people but also the lives of your supposed enemies.”
“I care nothing for their lives!” declared King Hammer.
He was standing now, shaking with rage. “And if we drop our
weapons, then we will be defenseless. They will kill us!”
“No,” said the old woman. “You have it backward.
In fighting against each other, you are killing yourselves.
If you continue to fight, you may indeed win the war,
but at what cost? For in the process of fighting, you will
have destroyed everything that makes life worth living.”
The king hesitated. He sensed the truth in her words.
So much of his life had been taken by war: his time, his energy,
and his riches. His health had declined, his friends had been
killed, and he was a stranger to his own family. All of these
things he had willingly sacrificed to perpetuate his war.
But why?
An icy chill ran up his spine, for in his mind’s eye
he saw an image of himself.
He had sacrificed all of those things—
his riches, his friends, his health, and his family—
for himself—to separate and elevate his own self.
King Hammer staggered back and fell onto his throne.
In that moment, he could have changed his fate. He could have
accepted responsibility, ended the war, and made peace. But
instead he closed his heart and pointed at the old woman.
“You know nothing!” he declared.
“It is King Spear! He is the one who must change!”
He then signaled to his warriors. They stepped forward,
grabbed the old woman by her arms, and dragged her away.
Her eyes lingered on the King who lowered his head in shame.
The war continued and for many days the armies of King
Hammer and King Spear fought without ceasing. Their armies
dwindled and the rivers ran red with blood. Soon all that
remained were King Hammer and King Spear.
Consumed by hatred, they battled against each other
for what seemed like hours. Then, with one mighty swing
of his weapon, King Hammer slew his rival.
King Hammer suddenly remembered the words of the old woman.
Casting his eyes roundabout, he finally saw
the awful reality of his war: the lost lives, the devastation,
and the destruction of two nations.
There, standing alone—stripped of everything—
King Hammer finally had the “peace” for which he had fought.
And he fell to his knees and wept.
Turn Your Heart
“That’s an awful story,” I admitted.
“It is,” agreed the Trailwalker. “Yet it is your story.”
I was taken aback by this response.
“No it isn’t. Our people aren’t at war.”
“They war in their hearts,” said the Trailwalker.
“They are marching down the same path as the people
of King Hammer. In fact,” he added, “I would not be
surprised if Strong Wolf’s people are making preparations
to go to battle right now.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What makes you say that?”
“Because when Strong Wolf’s people saw him last, he was
fighting against the leader of their enemies.” The Trailwalker
placed another log on the fire. “And then Strong Wolf went
missing. They must assume you killed him.”
“But I didn’t kill him,” I protested.
“They do not know that,” said the Trailwalker.
“And with their eyes blinded by hatred they will
undoubtedly prepare for war.”
I rose to my feet, my heart pounding in my chest.
“I have to go back to my people. I have to stop this war!”
“The only way to end war is to see your enemy truthfully,”
said the Trailwalker.
“But how?” I asked.
“Turn toward them,” came the reply. “If you turn your heart
toward your enemy, you give them someone different to
respond to. If you turn your heart toward them, you give
them someone who sees them, perhaps even someone who
loves them. And that, by itself, can change everything.”
I cast my eyes downward. “I don’t know how to turn my
heart to my enemy. He’s caused my people—my family—
so much pain and anguish.”
“Consider his walking,” said the old man.
I stared at the fire, lost in thought,
watching until the flames burned low.
Under the Stars
Later that night I wrapped myself in a blanket
and laid down for the night. Soon after, I heard
Strong Wolf hobble back into camp. He had
probably been waiting for me to go to sleep.
There came a soft flapping sound as he wrapped the blanket
around himself. The sound was immediately followed by a
loud crunch of leaves and a sigh of relief. Silence fell over
the camp as we stared up at the night sky—a dark blue
blanket speckled with countless stars. I was about to fall
asleep when something startled me awake.
“Thunder Bear,” Strong Wolf whispered, his voice urgent.
“Get over here!”
“Can’t it wait until morning?” I grumbled.
“No, it can’t wait until morning!” he hissed.
“Why not?”
“Because there’s a snake on my leg!”
I sat bolt upright and threw my blanket off.
“What kind of snake?”
“What difference does that make?!”
“It makes a big difference if it’s poisonous!”
“Just get over here and help me!” he seethed.
“All right, all right!”
I rushed over to Strong Wolf. Still wrapped in his blanket, he
lay as motionless as a fallen tree, his face the color of ashes.
“It’s on my left leg,” he whispered. “Under the blanket.”
“Is it moving?” I asked.
“No,” he breathed. “It hasn’t moved for a while.”
I picked up a large stick with a heavy, blunt end.
Strong Wolf looked alarmed.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to kill it.”
“Wait! Wait! Wait!” he whispered, hurriedly. “Don’t be a
fool! You’ll hit me! First, pull the blanket back.”
Bracing myself, I reached out and took one corner of the
blanket. Gripping the heavy stick, my heartbeat quickened.
Strong Wolf closed his eyes tight. Then, in one swift motion,
I yanked away the blanket, and let out a cry of surprise.
Then I fell back—laughing.
Strong Wolf opened his eyes. “What?” he demanded.
“What’s so funny? Is it dead?”
“No, it’s not dead,” I replied, still laughing.
“Problem is, it was never alive.”
I leaned forward and picked up Strong Wolf’s
walking stick. For a moment Strong Wolf just stared
at the stick, completely dumbfounded.
“Well,” he added. “Definitely not poisonous!”
The two of us roared with laughter, intermittently
repeating things we had said during the scare:
“Can it wait until morning?” “It hasn’t moved for a while,”
and “I’m going to kill it!”
When the laughter died down, both of us wiped
tears from our eyes. Strong Wolf sat up and
hugged his knees to his chest.
“You know, that reminds me of the time when our father
took us on our first hunt. Do you remember that?”
I nodded. “We were so excited and on the
first night that skunk came into our camp
and started eating all of our food.”
Strong Wolf chuckled. “We woke up our father and asked
him what we should do and he took one look at that skunk
and said, ‘Well, I guess we’re not eating anything tomorrow.’”
I laughed at the memory. We were supposed to hide our
food from the animals, but Strong Wolf and I had both
forgotten. Unable to stop the skunk (lest we get sprayed),
we were forced to watch him eat our tastiest foods.
“The hunt wasn’t as fun after that,” I said with a grin.
Strong Wolf nodded and looked up at the sky.
He was quiet for a long while. “I miss my son,”
he said softly. “I hope he’s all right.”
I felt an unexpected pang of guilt. Indeed, my callousness
shocked me. Up until now I hadn’t given his son—
my nephew—a second thought. All this time I hadn’t
considered the fact that Strong Wolf would be missing his
own family—that he might even be worried about them.
I sat down next to Strong Wolf.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Fire Fish,” he replied.
“Like the salmon that swim upstream to get home.”
“That’s a good name,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“What about you?” he asked. “Do you have any children?”
“Two daughters,” I replied. “Star Song and Whisper Willow.”
“Willow,” he repeated. I could almost hear his thoughts. I
knew what he was about to say. “That must mean
you married . . . Standing Willow?”
My grin served as my reply. He nodded approvingly.
“Congratulations,” he said. “She’s a good woman—
at least from what I can remember. It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has,” I agreed.
The two of us sat there in silence, staring up at the stars.
“We’d better get some rest,” I said finally.
“We have a long journey ahead of us.”
Strong Wolf agreed, and the two of us returned
to our sleeping places and settled in for the night.
After a short while, Strong Wolf chuckled and said,
“What kind of snake?”
Both of us laughed.
A Thankful Heart
I awoke the next morning to the sounds and smells
of campfire cooking. I rubbed my eyes. The morning
sky was a pale blue against the red cliffs. I pulled myself up
into a sitting position, then stretched and groaned.
Every muscle in my body felt sore.
The smell of food wafted on the air. It was a smell
I recognized but couldn’t quite place. I craned my neck
and saw Strong Wolf and the Trailwalker sitting by the fire.
Strong Wolf gestured toward me.
“Behold! Thunder Bear rises from the dead!” said he.
“Welcome back to the land of the living.”
I grumbled, wrapped my blanket around my shoulders,
and made my way toward the fire.
“What’s for breakfast?” I asked.
Strong Wolf cast me a sideways glance, his lips stretched
in a knowing smile. I looked down and saw a row of
skewered fish roasting over the fire.
I scrunched up my nose in disgust. “Fish? Really?”
“You don’t like fish?” asked the old man.
I shook my head. “Our parents loved fish. Growing up,
that’s practically all we ate.” I shuddered. Just thinking about
the taste made me queasy. “Ate one too many, I suppose.
Hard to stomach it now that I’m older.”
“The two of you are picky—for survivors,” said the
Trailwalker, eyes twinkling. “You are free to eat this or
to scrounge around for something more to your liking.
Either way, food is a gift from the Creator and, like any gift,
should be received with a thankful heart.”
“He’s right,” said Strong Wolf, a small smile
tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“You should apologize for being so disrespectful.”
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t mean any disrespect,”
I began. “I’ll eat the fish. I just meant—”
The Trailwalker held up a hand. “I understand.
I found some blackberries last night. You may have
some of those while I finish up here.”
I sat down on a flat, smooth stone and Strong Wolf
gave me a handful of blackberries. The old man skewered
a few more fish, sprinkled them with rosemary, then
placed them near the coals. He brushed his hands,
sat down, and leaned against the trunk of a tree.
“There,” said he. “Perhaps now is a good time
for me to tell you the third legend?”
Glancing over at Strong Wolf, who shrugged,
I replied, “I’ve got nothing else to do.”
The old man took a deep breath. “Good. Because this
one is about food—and it is one of my favorite legends.