She gathered the children together. “I have a story to tell you, children. One that was written long ago, when I was a child.” The story always began this way, all of us gathered ‘round her feet as she sat and rocked before the fire. “Listen carefully…

Once there was a tall mountain. On this mountain lived prosperous folk, who kept their greatest treasure buried beneath a stone. Now, below this happy mountain was a valley. The valley was inhabited by not-so-happy folk. They were poor farmers, but they had heard rumors about the great treasure of the mountain folk. One day, the men gathered together and decided to demand the treasure from the mountain folk. If they refused, the valley folk would attack and take the treasure by force. The mountain folk, of course, decided to share their treasure with their valley neighbors (they were very generous, loving people). The valley messenger had disappeared as soon as his message was delivered (the valley folk didn’t trust the mountain folk in the slightest), so a messenger had to be chosen. A young girl, we’ll call her Elisabet, stepped forward. “I will go deliver our response,” she said. The elders of the folk, despite Elisabet’s mother’s protests, decided to let her go. “She is the perfect person to share our message,” they said. So Elisabet wrapped herself in her cloak and held the words of her people in her heart. When she reached the valley, she called out “With our brothers we will share all the secrets of our mountain, all the riches buried there.” The valley folk began to murmur to each other “We want it all, we don’t want to share.” The leader of the valley folk cried, “Mount your horses! Draw your swords!” The valley folk were quick to respond. Elisabet realized that she would not be able to stop them, and began to run back up the mountain. She was quickly overtaken and knocked to the side as the valley folk rode past. Elisabet lay by the path, wondering if her people would survive, knowing that the chances were slim. The valley folk quickly overcame the mountain folk, and when Elisabet looked up at the stone where her people had buried their treasure, she could see figures surrounding it as the sun sank behind the mountain, turning the world blood-red. She cried for her people and their treasure, then turned away, knowing that as she walked away, the valley folk were turning the stone to look beneath it. “Peace on earth is all it says,” she whispered. “But they do not know peace.” Elisabet walked and walked until she found a new home among more peaceful folk, where she could share the great treasure of her people.”

“Now children, know this: hate your neighbor, cheat your friend—do it in the name of Heaven, I’m sure you can justify it in the end. But I know that there won’t be any trumpets a-blowin’ on the Judgment Day, on the bloody morning after one tin soldier rides away.” The children stirred, knowing that the story was over.

“Elisabet! Why do you keep the young ones up so late!” their mother would cry. “And why do you always tell such a sad story? It isn’t even true!”

Oh, but it was true—truer than anything else in the world, that tale of hers…