ALASTAIRE'S TABLE

Murden walked purposefully across town to the herbal woman's house. Nothing could stop him now, except...

There were rough footsteps behind him, “Calahan would like to see you. If you would,” a tough looking man said.

Murden entered the dark hut. A small lantern hung over a large table in the middle of the room covered in old maps and the remnants of a meal. Calahan sat upon a great chair. He waved in dismissal to the rough looking men who flanked him. The two men then stood alone in the dark hut.

“I don't know how you do what you do. I know nothing of magic, nor the ways of the mysteries. But I know what you do is magic, and I am grateful for it.”

He reached down beside his chair and brought up two cups, filling them with the decanter.

“I am not a young man. And I have no son, no heir. I see no man among my men who would take my place. But I know that many would try, when I'm gone. And I know this would lead to destruction...

“It is a good king who knows what his people can do, but he must also know what they will do in his absence."

A frigid wind blew through the cracks in the hut, and the lantern sputtered. Its light shimmered on racks of weapons, shields, and armor that were housed against the walls. The two men drew their cups to their beards, drinking in the weight of Calahan's words.

Calahan's eyes looked sadly at the table, “I need a story...” he said at last.

That night, at dinner, Calahan sat at the head of the table. He stood and raised his glass.

“Tonight, I'd like to say some words. Though many a night I have spoken to you as your friend, as your father, tonight, I'd like to speak to you as your king.” Calahan's eyes looked weary as he looked down, collecting his thoughts.

“The best thing you can do is to tend the land, be fruitful, as you have been. But you must not forget your old ways, you must not grow soft and so contented that you lie like sheep for the wolves...

“But neither should you become wolves. We are not sheep nor wolves... we are not animals, we are men. I do not have answers, I leave you only with a question. What is it to be human?”

With a shrug of bewilderment, they all drank.

During dinner, Murden sat absolutely bewildered over what kind of story to tell the people. How do you convince a bunch of men not to fight one another when the chief was gone.

“Psssst!” came from behind him. Murden assumed it was not meant for him until it came again, “Pssssst!!”

Murden turned around and nearly shouted at who he saw. He covered his mouth and ducked out of the clearing discreetly.

“Eliot!! What are you doing here?”

“I jumped in right behind you,” replied the young man standing before him.

“You jumped into that big black pot just after I did? How long have you been living in the woods?” Oscar exclaimed incredulously.

“No, I just now landed right over there,” Eliot pointed to the circle of trees behind him.

Oscar rubbed his head in disbelief.

“How long have you been here? And what's the story? Catch me up.” Eliot schemed.

Oscar briefly updated Eliot on his accomplishments thus far and what was now being asked of him. And Eliot listened intently.

“Hmmm... a story to produce a society of co-operation, a culture wherein everyone felt and acted like a leader... not so impossible.”

That night Murden stood on the standing stones of the bon fire.

“Tonight, we have a rare treat. The greatest bard who ever was has come to visit me and lend his talents to our humble ears.”

There was quite a stir in the crowd, for very rare was it to have visitors. Eliot, dressed in a borrowed robe – more befitting of a traveler than the jeans and t-shirt he came in – set a hush over the crowd upon his ascent

*****

ALASTAIRE'S TABLE

Once, there was a fine kingdom overlooking the sea. The king and all his finest warriors would get in their big ship and sail out over the world. They were great warriors, but alas, one day they sailed out and never returned.

In the kings absence, the people fought over who would be king, and the kingdom sank into ruins. The people lived in poverty, barely surviving amidst the angry feuds over who should take the king's place.

But, a curious thing happened. One day, outside the gates of the king's castle appeared a big stone. And in the stone was the king's sword – the very sword which should have been laying at the bottom of the sea. It was agreed that whosoever could pull the sword from the stone would be the next king.

All the biggest, strongest men came to try to pull it out. But it was no use. The sword was not a sword of strength, and it would not bend to the will of force. And so for years, no one was deemed worthy by the sword to be the next king...

Until, many years later, long after everyone had all but forgotten the magic sword, there was a small boy named Alastaire. He was the youngest son of a simple farmer whose farm lay just beyond the castle. Because he was the smallest and could do less of the farm work, he was sent to market with whatever they had to trade for things they didn't.

Alastaire was walking through the tents which the other farmers had put up to shade from the sun, when a great cart overturned, taking with it some of the tents. There was a great ruckus, and in the middle of it all, an old man was caught up in one of the tent ropes and strung up on a tree branch by his throat. He kicked wildly, his withered face turning red. The whole scene was a tangle of tents, ropes, feathers, and people screaming over their spoiled goods.

Amidst it all, Alastaire saw the old man dangling from the tree and he immediately looked around for something sharp. Spotting a sword glimmering out of the corner of his eye, he ran over, lifted it from where it lay and nimbly climbed the chaos to cut down the old man. The man lay gasping and grateful on the ground, as the dust settled, and Alastaire knelt by him to offer him a drink from his flask.

“You've taken the sword!” the old man said horsely, “Look! Look! Everyone, he's got the great sword, he has taken it from the stone!”

Everyone stared in amazement. And thus Alastaire became king.

This was quite a shock to the young boy, for he did not want to rule over anyone. And yet, he did not want to cause unrest. He didn't see why each person in the kingdom couldn't be their own ruler. After all, the people had survived this long without a king.

So, Alastaire had a great table made for his council. It was round like a wheel. And because it had no head and no tail, all who sat with him at this table were equal to all the others, no matter where he came from or who he had been.

Alastaire invited any who wanted, to join him at his table. Men from all across the countryside came to sit at Alastaire's round table. Whatever weighed heavy on a his heart was shared. All those at the table then came together, as friends and fellows, finding solutions, growing in wisdom and virtue.

Whosoever sat at Alastaire's table were forever changed. From that day on, wherever they rode, whatever they did, their hearts and deeds were noble, for they knew that all are truly their equal and treated them as such.

All those who were touched by the kindness of King Alastaire's knights, sought in turn to help their fellow countrymen in whatever way his neighbor could benefit, and all grew prosperous and happy.