The rains had not come early
The crops had not done well
The bosk herds were all suffering
And why? No one could tell.
A speedy messenger was sent
To far Sardarian Towers
Initiate augers for to seek
To guide the village Powers.
The Women of the village
Went weeping to their Men
"This drought has been most evil!
When the suls all die, what then?"
The Men, stout Goreans one and all
Kill foes with sword or lance
But ’gainst the Demons of famine and drought
No Man can stand a chance.
The cattle were the first to die,
The grasses all long brown
And fast behind them came the birds
As nests and trees fell down.
The slaves gave up their shares of gruel
And claimed they hungered not
Their bellies ached with hunger’s pangs
Their soft skin dry and hot
Well trained these slaves,
(They knew the Rule)
That when food fails, and crops are bad
That Owners can turn be cruel.
Each little hopusehold hoarded
What victuals they had left
And those with more were all too glad
To leave their peers bereft.
A shadow pall had fallen
And smiles and laughter ceased
The starving slaves crawled in the dust
From steel they’d been released.
Now, grim indeed, appeared the fate
Of all these village folk
’Till seeing someone come from the East
One small child shrilly spoke,
"Look, Pappa, see... a stranger comes!"
And smiled at his own joke.
Stranger and enemy share one word
The people all this knew
So with an air of menace cold
The Men their blades all drew.
A tatter’d begger it was not
But a farmer, a peasant bold
And looking at the flashing blades
The stranger’s eyes grew cold.
"Now, what is this that now I see..
You dare to proffer steel?
When I till land like all you here?
C’mon now! Let’s get real!"
"Your lands are dry, your cattle dead!
The vulos all are gone,
The sulls will be the last to go
Your slaves are sad and drawn.
It seems to me that what I see
Is each cares for his own
And none think of the needs of all
New fields must now be sown."
He looked around at each one there
That in the village stood
And with a slow and nodding smile
Said, " This ending might be good."
One lone voice spoke from out the crowd
In dulcet tones so soft,
The words rang clearly in the air
Like dove song in a loft.
" Now, peasant, if, indeed, you are
Please, tell us what to do.
For from your boots even I can see
That you have wandered far."
Her face was veiled in fashion High
The color soft and Blue,
The peasant nodded, pulled his beard
And thought of Scribes he knew.
"Great Lady, I have little skill
But I can see the tear
That stains your cheek, though never seen
For in your voice I hear
That you are Mistress of this place
And these your people strong,
But Lady, I can tell you now
Exactly what is wrong."
He looked areound at all the folk
This ragged, angry troup
Till in a voice but loud and clear
He said, " You need Stone Soup!"
Stone soup? the whispers ran like urts
Among these village folk:
"... and who has heard of such a thing...?
" ...the fool here does but joke!..."
And from a pouch tied at his waist
The peasant took a stone
And in his palm the smooth round rock
Like the TorTugaGor now shone.
" I need a kettle, wood and fire,
And water for to boil,
Oh yes, and for this soup I need
A teeny bit of oil.
This soup is known both far and wide
In Sardar, in Treve, in Ar...
Tahari tribesmen and Tarnsmen, too
For it will travel far!"
The village shook with fear and Pride
To hear these names of Towns,
The Women of the village smiled,
And smoothed their wrinkled gowns.
"Oh... salt I need, and spices too
To make this Stone Soup fine
When it is done, we ALL will share
And like an Ubar dine!"
So one got sulls, and one brought pottage
She had hidden ’neath her bed,
And spices rare did then appear
From places where? None said.
"Oh verr cheese would add much,"
He said, as from the pot he stirred
The peasant took a little taste
"It lacks a...certain touch."
The Mistress spoke up sweet and clear
" Fetch bowls and spoons and, mind...
Do bring fine linen for a cloth
I’ll be Tatrix at table fine
This Soup sounds grand! Now clear
The center of this village square
Make room to seat us all,
For we will have our finest meal
Before in dirt we fall!"
The children scattered far and wide
And sought for berries dried
Wile boys and men went to the pits
Wherein their wealth did hide.
And forth came many wonderous things
To add into the kettle
While in their searching many found
Again their strength and mettle.
The slaves crept from their rags
Their silks were ragged and tattered
But no one noticed what they wore
Their hearts were all that mattered.
They took up brooms, from where they’d lain
Forgotten and neglected
And dust flew from each little home.
(Not one was then rejected!)
And as they sat and soup was poured
Each person got a share,
"Why, tis a feast fit for a Prince!"
So many did declare.
And no one even noticed
While on Stone Soup they dined
That bosk, and sulls, and cheese and bread
They did on table find.
The peasant stood, and to the folk
He held up the awesome Stone
That in the pot had made this feast
Like none had ever known.
"This is my gift unto this place
For what you all have shared
With a stranger here within your midsts
When against the Fates you dared,
To strand all with each other
To make this meal come true,
And so in thanks for salt and bread
I leave this Stone to you.
When times are bad, and all seems lost
And you hang in a Tarnsma’s loop
Together once again you all
Can make this Magick Soup!"
The townsmen cheered, the Women wept
The children laughed aloud,
The slaves all smiled, and ate their gruel
(Apart from the cheering crowd.)
As darkness fell and torches flared
And laughter once again
Around the village square was heard
The stranger faced the Men.
"I left the Stone, but you all know
That should this happen soon
Stone Soup can’t always save the day
Or recall a forgotten tune.
You let yourselves forget your Creed
That no matter what the weather,
We all are Goreans, first of all
And Damnit, Stick together!"
The Men all nodded slow and firm
Their purpose forged anew
And from the arm of each to each
Their Brotherhood they drew.
The stranger, just a peasant, poor
Then from the village walked
Into the night, with just a staff
His lone figure did stalk.
Till far outside that village,
Again he did lean down
And from the dirt there at his feet
He took another Stone.
And with a shrug of shoulders strong
His powerful form not seen
For hiding under rags of brown
Was a sleeve of purest Green.
For Healers are so many things,
And medicine is not just pills
Sometimes it takes a Stranger
To remind us of our ills.
His cloak he gather ’round his form
And out into the night
Of Gor he strode to once again
Turn darkness into light.
So if you see a Stranger
Come walking into town
Look carefully for a flash of Green
Hidden under all that brown!
For things are not just what they seem
And adversity can often bring
And what you thought would never come
Ends up a precious thing
For wiser ones have told us this:
To look with not just eyes,
The Fate that appears to a curse
Might be a Physician in Disguise.
~FINIS~