A Storyteller’s Tale

by Tanara McCauley

There once was a teller of magnificent tales.

He traveled vast lands and orated to diverse peoples, regaling them with stories of war and tragic love, of villains who could be mistaken for heroes, of whole nations ruled by lions or destroyed with song.

Renowned for his audacity and for recitals that never failed to surprise and enthrall, the storyteller knew no rest. He was as eager to share his tales as the people were to hear them.

“Tell us of the memory-stealing tree!” he heard often.

“We want the legend of the venomous elk!” was another frequent request.

What the people liked best, however, was to hear original stories about themselves, for the storyteller always depicted his hearers as he saw them—with the undaunted eyes of an artist who painted with words.

Sometimes the storyteller rendered an authentic tale; other times he took license and imagined what could be. He did not fear offending, nor did he consider himself infallible. He simply told his stories, and the people loved him for it.

“If art is to nourish the roots of our culture, society must set the artist free to follow his vision

wherever it takes him.” ~ John F. Kennedy

The time came when the storyteller could no longer travel. Aged and ailing, he grieved the loss of these narrative pilgrimages. He lived only to tell his magnificent tales.

When someone suggested he write his accounts for the Keeper of Stories to save, this idea pleased the storyteller to no end. Not only could he continue to share his gift, but his stories could now outlive him and potentially reach people he’d yet to meet or imagine. He set to penning his words right away.

The task filled him with renewed vigor. Day into night the storyteller wrote. His famous tales, his beloved chronicles, his favorite adventures—one by one they filled parchment and scroll. When the attendants of the Keeper came to collect his work, the storyteller had written every story he’d ever told.

Overjoyed with this new method of sharing, the storyteller wrote to the Keeper expressing his desire to continue penning new stories.

When the Keeper responded, the aged storyteller was taken aback. The Keeper explained the previous stories had needed significant changes, which the Keeper had taken the liberty to complete. Some stories had been too controversial, others too unconventional. These were too
unrelatable, those too questionable. New stories were welcomed as long as the storyteller wrote in accordance with the Keeper’s prescriptions.

The storyteller, confused by the message, journeyed one last time against the advice of his healers. He went to see the Keeper and the changes made to his beloved stories.

He recognized his titles. The places were the same, so, too, the names of his characters and elements of their adventures. Apart from these familiar elements, the stories were mere shadows of their original forms. Shadows muddied by influences far from his own. He saw elements of
the safe stories told by Dradge, of the ridiculous but wildly popular stories told by Banal. He saw everything but his stories that had so moved his hearers.

Bereaved, the storyteller gathered every scroll containing his works and, ignoring the astonished cry of the Keeper, tossed them into the flames. He watched as the words over which he’d labored burned to ash, then he turned, journeyed home, and breathed his last.

All that survives of the storyteller is the tragic story preceding his death, which serves as his final message to his successors: dare to tell authentic, magnificent tales, or let them blaze to cinders in the hands of those who would smother them.

“…the highest duty of the writer, the composer, the artist is to remain true to himself and to let the chips fall where they may.”

~John F. Kennedy

Tanara McCauley is a writer of stories inspired by the adventure she lives in Christ. That adventure includes one husband, three children, and a fearful little dog named Charlie. And books. Lots and lots of books. Visit her website at tanaramccauley.com or Facebook.