A new storybook series for kindred spirits of all ages.
Chapter Five (about Listening) 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
Beneath the dripping eaves of the Great Waterclock—a towering relic carved from river stone and copper, ticking with falling droplets and not gears—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.
Bendo the Turtle arrived last, as tradition demanded, though he lived closest. Yana, the owl, followed, carrying scrolls no one had asked for, and Tavi, the honey badger, brought a tray of lavender cakes dusted in sea salt. One by one, creatures and kinfolk settled onto cushions and stones, forming a circle around the moss-lined basin that caught the water clock’s steady rhythm. That was where the community offered listening stones— for echoing, not for answers.
The first to place his listening stone in the basin was a young water buffalo, whose hooves shook as he stepped forward.
“How do we prepare for what’s coming if we don’t know what it is?”
The group said nothing, as expected. The only reply came from the Waterclock:
drip… drip… drip.
It was a small bird who answered in a whisper not meant to be heard.
“You listen,” it chirped.
The next listening stone belonged to a weaver from the western edge.
“Why do the ones who destroy always seem louder than the ones who plant?”
Tavi grunted, unwrapped another cake, and slid it toward her in solidarity.
Then, from the shadows, an unexpected figure stepped forward. A stranger. Human, but with the quiet tread of someone who’d been listening a long time. His cloak bore the mark of the Hollow of Echoes.
He did not speak, but his eyes locked with Yana’s. Whatever passed between them made the owl tremble.
She leaned forward, placed both wings over her heart, and said,
“The Peace Map is awakening.”
A murmur shivered through the gathering.
Not everyone believed the Peace Map still existed. Legend said it had been scattered across ten pieces, each one buried or disguised, waiting to be claimed not by warriors but by those who could hear what wasn’t said.
“The next piece of the map,” Yana announced, “will only reveal itself to one who can carry sorrow without dropping joy.”
Everyone turned toward the buffalo youth.
He swallowed hard and stepped back, almost stumbling.
He hadn’t come expecting answers. He had come with a question and a heart that didn’t know what to do with how much it ached.
But the Waterclock chose that moment to spit a fat drop of water directly onto his forehead.
Drip.
A decision was made.
As the meeting slowly dissolved into whispers and thoughtful silence, Wren turned to Bendo.
“Do you think Lumo and Wisp found their map piece already?”
Bendo didn’t answer right away. He just smiled faintly and said,
“If they did, they won’t call it that.
They’ll call it listening.”
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To be continued…
Chapter Six: The River That Remembered Their Names
There was a river that flowed in both directions. Not always—only when it was listening.
It wound through the heart of the Republic with patience and without pride. The locals called it the Ribbon of Remembering, and it moved as though time itself had softened, curling in loops where children once played, and elders came to sit in silence.
Tales From Republic Of Peace: Table Of Contents
