A new storybook series for kindred spirits of all ages.
Chapter Four of a ten-part illustrated tale written for readers young and old—for anyone who believes peace isn’t just the absence of conflict, but the presence of compassion, creativity, and community.
Tales From Republic Of Peace: Table Of Contents
At the very heart of the Republic, nestled between the low hum of wind chimes and the swaying silver birches, lay a lake so still that it mirrored dreams more clearly than it mirrored clouds. Lake Luma, they called it.
Old Bendo the Turtle had once claimed it wasn’t a lake at all but a sleeping question. No one knew quite what he meant by that—except, perhaps, for the otters, who always seemed to understand things without needing an explanation.
But today, the lake was restless.
It began with a sound—a low thrum, like a heartbeat deep underwater. Then, the surface shimmered as if stirred by a memory rather than wind. Birds paused mid-song. Trees leaned just slightly as if listening.
And somewhere beneath the ripples, a bridge began to glow.
It was not built but revealed.
It was Ori, the fox cub, who saw it first. She had wandered down to the water’s edge after a dream left her unsettled. In the dream, her voice had vanished, but her thoughts rang out like bells. Wisp had touched her shoulder and whispered, “Follow the quiet path.”
When she looked into the lake, she didn’t see her reflection. She saw footsteps.
Soft, animal footsteps—hundreds of them—leading across a path beneath the water. And at the far edge of the lake, barely visible through the mist, stood a gate woven from willow branches, gently swinging open.
She ran back to the village, breathless.
“They’re calling us,” she told Zoya the owl, who was halfway through a raspberry tart. “Without words—but… you’ll see!”
Zoya finished the tart anyway (one must be nourished before metaphysical journeys), and soon she, Ori, Bendo, and a band of curious creatures—raccoons, deer, a porcupine, and even the skeptical goat brothers—gathered at the water’s edge.
The bridge was invisible now. “I don’t see a thing,” muttered one goat.
“You never do,” said the other. But Ori just closed her eyes, placed a paw over her heart, stepped forward, and the bridge appeared.
Ori took a deep breath. She thought of Lumo—how his voice had returned only after he’d spoken a hard truth. Maybe trust was like that, too—invisible until you stepped into it. Each step shimmered beneath their feet, revealed by trust and not by sight. It was not a test. It was a lesson.
Halfway across, the wind shifted. Voices began to echo from within, and each traveler heard something different.
Zoya heard the voice of her grandmother, whispering lullabies in a language with no words. Bendo heard the silence between all things—the noiseless space that holds meaning. Ori heard her voice returning to her, strong and sure.
Even the goat brothers heard something they’d never heard before: each other.
When they reached the other side, the gate made of willow bowed slightly as if in greeting. And there, beyond it, was a clearing they had never known existed. In the center, a smooth stone table with nothing on it—except a single feather, resting gently in a small dish of water.
“A sign,” said Bendo, though of what, he wasn’t sure.
That night, they sat by a fire in the clearing, sharing the stories they’d heard in their hearts. Wren poked at the coals and whispered, “I wonder what Nim would’ve heard.”
No one asked, “Was it real?” because there was no need to.
Some truths are too profound to be questioned. Like the bridge beneath the lake—unseen until you’re ready to walk it.
To be continued…
Chapter Five: The Council At the Waterclock
Beneath the dripping eaves of the Great Waterclock—a towering relic carved from river stone and copper, ticking from falling droplets with no gears in sight—elders and oddballs alike gathered for the Council of Listening. It was not a council of speaking, as most are. No. This one required silence, patience, and a great deal of tea.
Tales From Republic Of Peace: Table Of Contents
