The Storyteller

By Kathryn S. White

Over the years, a myriad of authors have used fiction as a vehicle through which they seek to illuminate major biblical events and deepen the understanding of the role of pivotal individuals within the Bible. However, never before have we seen events and characters portrayed as such through the eyes, ears and commentary of the Chosen Creatures of the Renewing who serve as witnesses to all that transpires. Part fantasy, part allegory, this imaginative tale will draw you into a world that will captivate and intrigue you. The Storyteller takes the reader through the purity and innocence of those days in the Garden, to the Fall of Man with its devastating effects, not only upon Adam and Eve, but upon all of creation, to the conflicts and struggles that engulf humanity as all find that they can no longer readily hear the voice of the Storyteller.

Come join the majestic Lion, Judah, as he leads the others to the hidden valley that stands outside the ruined Garden. There under the Great Tree, guarded by the Beautiful and Terrible Creature with the flaming sword, you will meet the delightful Honeybee, the gentle Lamb, the wise Ram, and the stubborn Donkey along with the others. See a world you had no idea existed come alive before your very eyes.

In opening this book, expect not simply to read, but instead to embark upon a journey that will take you into the heart, mind, and soul of the men, women, and creatures of the Storytellers hand. You will meet the Storytellers enemy, the Dark One, in the form of the beast who enters into a horrific battle with David. You will watch Noah and his wife and family share an experience never before documented in the annals of men. And you will fall in love with the animals and the understanding that they bring to life as it was and will be. Take a journey of hope that will lead you with certainty to your own place of Renewal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491851456

Kathryn S. White

As a young girl growing up in the Panhandle of Northwest Florida, Kathy White developed an appreciation and understanding of both the beauty and power of words. She counts her mother, Barbara Rushing Scofield Wilson, a library/media specialist, and her grandmother, Louise Brooks Rushing, an English teacher from a small town in Alabama, with fostering in her a love of literature along with a sophisticated understanding of the finer points of grammar, rhetoric, and syntax. From the time that she was a little girl, Kathy was immersed in a family culture rich with fiction, poetry, and creative thinking. Even as a young girl, she had her own thesaurus and a dictionary that she kept close at hand. In fact, there was nothing better in Kathy’s mind than a summer day at the Big House on Cinco Bayou accompanied by a lengthy good book. After graduating from high school in DeFuniak Springs, Florida, Kathy attended Vanderbilt University where she graduated in three years with a B.A. in History and English. Temporarily pushing aside her dream of becoming a published author, Kathy became the mother of four children who now range in age from 35 to 27; has been married to her husband for 39 years; and is now the very proud grandmother of four grandchildren with a fifth on the way. While “The Storyteller” is her first published work, Kathy is excited about bringing her next book, including a sequel to “The Storyteller” to print. Website: kathrynswhite.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/thestorytellerbykathrynswhite  

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© 2014 Kathryn S. White. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/01/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5146-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5145-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014900237

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter One The Whisper of the Storyteller

Chapter Two The Renewing Begins

Chapter Three Taking Leave of the Garden

Chapter Four And What of the Man and the Woman?

Chapter Five Life Outside the Garden

Chapter Six Abraham… Abraham The Joy of His Name

Chapter Seven The Deer’s Secret Valley

Chapter Eight The Man Called Moses

Chapter Nine The Promises of the Storyteller

Chapter Ten An Anointed Uncrowned King

Chapter Eleven Arise, You are Chosen. You are Beloved

Chapter Twelve A Dark Mist Rising

Chapter Thirteen Fear Spreads Like Wildfire

Chapter Fourteen The Shepherd’s Bag with Five Smooth Stones

Chapter Fifteen One Who Loves As a Brother

Chapter Sixteen The Songs of David

Chapter Seventeen The Message of the Arrows

About The Author

This book would never have been possible without my husband, Ed. Written over a decade ago, multiple copies and revisions of this novel had been tucked away in nooks and crannies all over our home. He took the initiative as a special birthday of mine approached, to contact a publisher and begin the process of making my dream come true. One can imagine my reaction, when at my surprise birthday party I opened a box containing copies of The Storyteller. I do not know that I have ever felt so loved and cherished in my life. To be married to someone who understands the desires of your heart is a rare thing, a very rare thing indeed, and it is a gift I do not take lightly or for granted. I can never thank him enough. From that first moment we met on the beaches of Northwest Florida, to our college days at Vanderbilt, to the home we have made with our four children in Nashville, you have always been the one for me.

This book is lovingly dedicated to my husband, James Edward White.

He made my dream of becoming a published author come true.

I have found the one whom my soul loves . . .

Song of Solomon

"But ask the animals, and they will teach you;

And the birds of the air, and they will tell you;

Or speak to the earth, and it will teach you;

And the fish of the sea will inform you . . ."

The Book of Job

CHAPTER ONE

The Whisper of the Storyteller

The Storyteller whispered the words so long ago that sometimes we think it is only a dream. The words and the music that once roared with the sea, flew with the wind, vaulted over the canyons, and hung upon the stars with such abandon are still there, though the echo and even the remembrance of them at times has grown faint. If it were not for the Renewing, I fear that the words and the music would one day be lost. But as I age, I must confess that I fear that my faith will grow weak. Yet I know, deep within me, that the Storyteller would never let that happen. If we ceased to echo His story, tell His tale, sing His music, and speak His name with both authority and gentleness, handing down the words as we have done from one generation to the next, He would simply choose another vessel. His voice would not go out like a candle in the wind. His power is too strong. His might is too great.

This may well be my last season for the gathering. When we come to the place of Renewing, when we come to drink deeply from the secret fountain that never runs dry, I will tell the story one more time and then I will rest. I will say my farewells. I will look at that moment upon the faces of my friends and remember not that we have lived our lifetimes away from the secret place as enemies. I will remember not the days upon days of anguish. The days of hearing the music of the spheres, crying out with a groaning too deep even for the words of men. I will remember instead the times of Renewing. The times of blessing. The times when heaven has bent her heart to touch the earth, and has drawn upon our heartstrings as if she were playing upon a great harp. I will remember the story that still echoes throughout the universe. A story so powerful, set to a music so sweet that if I could cry the tears of men, I would surely weep. I will go to my rest in peace. I am sad that I have not come to see the Promise of the New Beginning fulfilled in my lifetime, but I have been blessed to know the joy of the Renewing over and over again. I will be thankful for the one time each year for each of the years since we left the Garden, that we, the chosen creatures, have been at peace with ourselves and with one another.

Coming to the Renewing each year gives us strength and hope as we wait for the Storyteller to restore and renew the earth He loves so well. It happened so long ago that I hardly know where to begin. I was not present at the beginning, but my ancestors have handed the story down for centuries to one chosen in each generation. And so it is with all of the others who come each year to the gathering. We are the guardians of the story as it was given to us by the Storyteller Himself. We tell the story as if we were there ourselves, and in the telling it becomes the way of truth. And in the Renewing, we are somehow joined together as members of a family with those who have gone before. While each of those who come to the gathering has a piece of the great story to tell, from the beginning those of my kind have been charged with keeping the order of the telling. It is I who must ensure that each creature comes to the Renewing with proper reverence and respect. To my kind is given the charge of speaking of the great longing we all have for the New Beginning. I am honored to serve the Storyteller as the overseer of the Renewing.

I am the Lion. In the garden the first man, Adam, beckoned my forefather to him and gave to him that name. We have always liked the name and thought that Adam chose well for us on that day. It is a name that speaks of strength and power. It is a fitting name for the king of the beasts. But I have yet another name, a secret name, given to me by the Storyteller Himself. I speak of this now because the Storyteller has said that the time has come for us to speak of the hidden things. Let him who has ears to hear, hear the deep secrets that hide in the earth. Let him who can see, see the secrets that have been carved in the mountains, written in the stars, and whispered on the wind. Secrets hidden from the eyes of ordinary men but not from those who pass through the mystery to become forever like the children of men. These are the Children of the Promise and whether they are old or young in years, to them is given the gift of sharing in the secrets and partaking of the deep mystery of things. Such is the wisdom of the Storyteller.

My secret name is Judah. There is only one Lion in each generation who bears this name. It is a name of promise, a name that bespeaks of victory. With the name has come both a burden and a responsibility. It is an ancient name and was given to the first of my kind by the Storyteller on that terrible day when the darkness fell upon the land and sorrow entered into the bosom of the earth. Life as we knew it changed forever on that day. As the darkness filled the earth, we were separated one from the other. Everything looked different. We could no longer see clearly. Fear entered into the hearts of all of the creatures of the earth. It was terrible. In our terror we found that we could no longer understand the speech of the man and the woman. We fled from them then and have run from them ever since. We also found that we could no longer understand the speech of our fellow creatures. Those with whom we had slept, played, and eaten together of the fruits of the earth became strangers to us. We began to think of them as enemies. And worst of all, it seemed as if we could no longer hear the Storyteller’s voice. It was the greatest grief imaginable.

With one voice, all the creatures of the earth began to cry out in anguish. The lions roared, the coyotes howled, the eagles screamed, and all trembled as the great cry went up. And we were not alone in our sorrow. The mountains shook their boulders free in pain. The heavens thundered and wept great tears. The sea folded up its arms and flung itself upon the shore. The trees bent down in sadness and the wind pulled out her hair. We began that day to mourn. And except for the day when we come to the Gathering, this mourning has become the song of the universe. A song of sorrow. A song of pain. A song of the deepest anguish. The earth has rent its garments and issued forth from the deepest caverns and from the highest mountain tops its sorrowing song, its song filled with longing. The blood of many creatures has been spilled upon the ground in anger and fear as we have run from man. And since that day we have lived in fear of one another as the darkness has taken root in our hearts.

However when we come to the Gathering and wade through the waters to drink of the fountain that never runs dry, we remember with clarity what otherwise seems to be only an echo inside our heads. We remember the days in the Garden when we could understand the words and laughter of the man and the woman. Days when we were not afraid. Days when the music of the earth rose up in a powerful and loving symphony of delight. Days when the brooks babbled in joy, when the trees shook with laughter as the Storyteller passed, days when the clouds bent low upon the earth in sweet caress. Days when we all walked together. Days when the wolf and the lamb lay side by side. Days when the eagle and the mouse nestled close as they listened to the Storyteller walk with the man and woman in the cool of the garden. Days when we heard the Storyteller weave His stories into our hearts, our dreams, our souls, until it became the very fabric of our lives. Days when we could look into the mystery of the love the Storyteller had for the man and the woman. Days of the sweetest joy.

If I did not believe the Storyteller’s promise spoken in that final hour before we left the Garden forever, I would surely despair. But the words have been spoken and remembered over and over through the generations. Words of hope. Words of promise. He will come again upon the earth. He will make a new heavens and a new earth. He will restore what has forever been separated. He will make a way for us to once again be as we were. The isolation, despair, and darkness will one day disappear. We will be one with the earth and with each other. How my heart yearns within me. It is time now for me to begin my journey for what well may be the last time. But my heart is filled with hope. Even if I do not live long enough to see the New Beginning, somewhere on the earth there is a young Lion who will take my place. One who will wear the secret name so close to the Storyteller’s heart, who will come to oversee the gathering when I have gone. I will look for him as I pass through to the secret place, but like so many of the mysteries of the Storyteller, he may be veiled from my old eyes.

The way to the valley is hidden from man. It is a secret that must be kept until the day of New Beginning. Though I grow weary from the journey, the path is engraved deeply in my soul. My feet do not falter. They can find the way even if my mind drifts into sleep. I will arrive first, as is my custom, and I will welcome the others as they pass through.

The waters fall from the mighty mountain in such a way that only the chosen creatures know of the passage that exists under the shadow of the great rock. As I pass once more through the waters to stand on the other side in the fountain that never runs dry, I lower my head and begin to drink deeply. I feel the refreshment come. The years and the fears slip away. I feel young. I can hear the whispers of the Storyteller calling to me from the valley beyond. And I can see the Great Tree at the far end and the Beautiful and Terrible Creature with the sword forged from the depths of the earth who guards the tree. Just beyond the Tree is a great gate. The ruined and empty Garden lies inside. Some of the creatures have been tempted through the years to enter the Garden, but it is forbidden for us to enter. Their attempts have always met with failure. But that is a story and a telling for another time.

It is here in the presence of the Beautiful and Terrible Creature who never smiles and under the shade of the Great Tree of Life that we will come together for the Renewing. It is a sacred and holy place for us. It is a place that speaks to us of the Storyteller. It is here that we can hear His voice. It is here that we can see clearly. It is here that we live for one day each year as we once lived. Even though for that time we do not eat, we are never hungry. The words of the Storyteller fill our hearts, our heads, and even our bellies. If only for this short time, we are deeply satisfied. Our thirst and our longing are quenched. I, the Lion, stand to welcome the others as they come through the passage and into the waters. One by one they arrive: the Ram, the Raven, the Lamb, the Honeybee, the Sparrow, the Donkey, the Dove, and the Deer. As each drinks deeply of the water in the fountain that never runs dry, the first mystery makes itself known. Suddenly we can all hear it. The speech of the earth is no longer garbled or confused. We can hear the great fishes that dwell under the waters singing our welcome. We can feel the pulse of the butterfly as he waves his hello. As the soul darkness slips away, the fear runs out of us with a torrent and we greet each other as old friends. The celebration begins. Greetings are exchanged as we nuzzle and caress one another with great love.

When the sun begins its movement across the sky, it illuminates the branches of the Great Tree. We, the Creatures of the Renewing, move under its shade and form our circle. It is here that we will speak and sing and remember through the day and then the night until the first fingers of the dawn creep across the sky. Then we will bid our good-byes and return once again to the world as we know it. But for this season of time, the light of hope burns bright within each breast. And as the Beautiful and Terrible Creature shines his light upon each face, we will gather to remember and to honor the Storyteller with the Renewing.

CHAPTER TWO

The Renewing Begins

As the waning shadows draw us together, I open the Renewing with the ancient words, In the beginning was the word . . . One by one the creatures settle in for the telling and for the remembrance. It is an old, old story that we tell. It is an old, old song that we sing. The melody and the words themselves are older than time and speak of the time before time. The words were given to the creatures of the earth by the Storyteller. But at the same time, they are not for everyone. This, too, is a great mystery. Only those born of man and woman who have entered into the deep secret of becoming the forever children may hear the melody and understand the words of the Storyteller. These men and women are called the Children of the Promise. They have a special place in the heart of the Storyteller. For though we, too, can hear the words of the Storyteller and sing the melody of His songs, we have not been given the right to pass through the mystery to become the forever children of men, for it is beyond our comprehension. Only those who were formed in the image of the Storyteller and bear His mark can know the true wisdom. I cannot tell a man or woman the way to do this. I can only testify that the way exists. The Storyteller calls those unto Himself from time before time with the song and the story of the ages. And so we move to tell of the first days upon the earth.

I was there, said the Lamb, when the Storyteller knelt by the river bank. It was over there, the Lamb gestures behind her, ‘‘near the fountain that never runs dry. I saw Him bending over the clay with such tender care."

From my vantage point in the tree I could see Him shaping the head and the hands and then the form itself, croaked the Raven.

The Honeybee whispered softly, And I saw Him breathe life into the man with what looked almost like a kiss.

It was a moment I shall never forget, intoned the Ram.

Nor I, sang the Dove and the Sparrow in unison.

"And when the man moved and sat up on the bank, I told you all that he reminded me of the Storyteller. He had His mark upon him. The man and his kind are