Fairy Tales

“The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished.”

At least it was supposed to. That’s what they promised, the prophecy guaranteed. It didn’t, of course, though they kept claiming it truly happened at his command.

She was blind & fragile, had been for as long as anyone could remember. Too weak ever to be considered a proper leader. She might have been at the forefront of every battle, but all knew that a single blow would have felled her. Even so, she was good, kind, merciful & gentle, regarding the least among us with compassion & love. And we loved her.

Until we didn’t.

It all began with a lie told by the Ancestor decades ago: if we would simply allow more of our resources to flow downstream to the most fertile lands & prosperous cities, all would flow back upstream to us many times over & everyone would be better off for it.

It didn’t make much sense, but it was a pleasant fiction. Those who lived downstream took our resources anyway. We had to fight for every little bit we could hold. To prosper rather than simply survive—& without a struggle, just giving them what they wanted—sounded good to many of us.

Not to the Queen, however. She railed against the lie, exposing it for what it was. The Ancestor didn’t mind. He kept repeating it until others began to believe. He also had an advocate—the Fox—who amplified the lie, broadcasting it nonstop across the land. And day by day, week by week, year after year, more & more moved to the Ancestor’s side, encouraged by the Fox.

For a long while the Queen & Ancestor coexisted somewhat peaceably. At times they even worked together, though usually they were at cross-purposes. While both aged, only he declined. She waxed & waned, evanescing & reappearing according to the whims of the time. But he had Descendants, & he passed the power of the lie on to them.

Both the Ancestor & Descendants told other lies—for example, that she was fake, that she never was truly their Queen, & that everything that spewed forth from her mouth was false. They claimed she simply wanted everyone to follow her will even though it never did them any good. He said these things calmly, seductively. The Fox did not.

The Fox had a booming voice that could be heard everywhere. No one could escape it. He propagated the lies with such vehemence as to make them ubiquitous in the mind—amplifying them to the point where it seemed the only way to quiet the voice was to accept it.

Ridicule became a favorite tool against the Queen & any who might defend her. “Do not listen to them!” the Fox would cry out. “Rather drown them out, for they are sorcerers & demons who would bewitch you with their enchantments & lead you not only to ruin but through the very gates of Hell itself!”

Whenever the Fox spoke, it was with an exclamation point, using auditory volume to drown out dissent. Unless he was faced with someone whose truth he could not deny. On those occasions, when he was forced to accede, it was with a whisper.

You had to be paying close attention to hear that whispered surrender. Otherwise, all you ever caught was the shouting. And you believed.

By the time of the third Descendant’s ascension, civil discourse had pretty much disappeared. The truth of the Queen had all but been forgotten by the disinformed host, any dissent inanely mocked, dismissed & shouted down. The masses from the highlands began heeding the call to send their resources downstream, often compelling others less willing to do the same. For their efforts, they sometimes received a pittance in return, anecdotal evidence to support the truth of the lie. The number of believers continued to grow.

And then it collapsed.

There had been trouble before: a deadly attack killing thousands from a dismissed enemy; an economic collapse; times when people would wake from their slumber & understand the truth.

This was different. A plague whelmed the whole of the land. Cries of “Bring out your dead,” whelmed the lie such that no repetition by either Fox or Descendant could silence it.

People rejected the lie.

And then they believed another lie—that having finally a-woke, the first lie was finished.

It was not. It lay low for a time, though the passion of those who embraced it never waned. And after but a few years, the people forgot how dangerous it was.

Now he has vanquished the Queen once again. He repeats the promise—the prophecy of scripture—to his devotees:

“The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished.”

“Today this saying has been fulfilled in your hearing,” the Descendant proclaims as the Fox revels in their victory. “Today is the day when the Queen is no more. The waters shall flow backward, & all fortunes shall be restored for those who believe! But for those who do not bend the knee—vengeance!”

He thought she was dead. She wasn’t. I guess that is one of the risks you face when no one reads bedtime stories to you. Never trust a huntsman to do a job you should be doing yourself. He might have a conscience.

Or a heart.

And so, our story begins….