The Free Radical

(Peace of Mind by The Grapes of Wrath from their 1987 album Treehouse)

Rodney’s pending oration was the talk of RavenTown… amidst snickers and whispers, for Rodney had hardly been able to string two coherent sentences together his whole life.

He sat now perched high in a tree away from the judging eyes of the Brethren. He was composing himself along with the ancient story he had to tell. As a collection of threads intertwining it could get confusing– this composing, but finally, Rodney had something resembling a finely crafted spider’s web pulling together the long fragmentation of his mind.

Rodney cleared his throat and the Brethren settled down to listen… and if it wasn’t for the rigidity of their beaks, Rodney would’ve faced more than a few smirks among his skeptical audience.

“There is a great deal of potential mischief in opposable thumbs,” began Rodney, “especially among amnesiacs.” Well, that shut them up straight away! Rodney’s words deftly flew into the ensuing silence as he promptly continued.

“The humans have forgotten their origins. Some like to pretend that they are monkeys wearing God’s pilfered clothes, while others pretend they are mud come to life by the whims of a divine wind– flawed and dirty. But in truth, in the days of the LongAgo, their minds were fractured when their stories were broken and the pieces taken from them. They became trauma-induced mind-controlled slaves to their own amnesia. They became like children left in the darkness surrounded by matches and kindling, fumbling inexorably toward a terminal conflagration.”

All of the Brethren were listening intently now; indeed, the entire Raven Nation was tuned in via their soul connection. Rodney’s audience was suddenly global. No Raven had spoken with such eloquence since… since… well, since the times of the LongAgo!

“The last of the StoryKeepers resided here among these mountain slopes, trying to preserve the last threads of a dignified continuity. But the amnesiacs were too many, and they could no longer discern the value of the old oral traditions. To them it was nonsense! The power of myth escapes the rational mind.

“Earth Mother understood what was transpiring; and though it would entail great hardship, it was allowed to unfold for the expansion and correction of the entire universe. There were hard lessons in pain and suffering that could steer a new course through subtle mistakes made… even in the sacred LongAgo.

“The StoryKeepers were hunted to extinction… or so it appeared.”

“Abandoned, their homes fell in upon themselves. But the StoryKeepers knew that words, in the right circumstances, are more enduring than even bones.”

“Their stories were given to the Raven Nation, to the Clan of Rodderick. And we have kept them safe to return them to the humans when the clear need arises. That time is nigh.” There were no snickers, or the desire for smirking. Beaks stood agape at Rodney’s revelation. The looks of the Brethren begged a singular question: Is there anything more? Rodney continued.

“The StoryKeepers did not vanish.” Rodney’s eyes roamed the distant hills. “No. Out of necessity, the Ancient Sorcerers were born… the descendants of these living tales.” Rodney paused for dramatic effect and allowed his eyes to rest upon the hoodoos across the river…

“And in that regard, there’s still so much more to tell… and do…”