Tales are more than simple stories because they stay with you far beyond the day of their hearing. Long after the name of the teller is lost the tale will remain. To be a tale rather than a story the message of the tale must tap a depth of soul and life A tale must reveal a corner of life yet in darkness or unravel a twisted knot of life itself.
The teller of this tale was a kilted fiddler and priest. I wondered then as I wonder still if his wisdom was discovered more in the fiddles bow than the priests Bible. Perhaps, it was found in equal measure in both.
The tale is of a mighty warrior of the highlands.
Never before in the memory of the highlands was there a warrior as fierce in battle as Maccus the Terrible. It was said the swing of his cudgel could kill a dozen men. The blade in his hand no longer shone but instead had been stained forever by the blood of those who had attempted the hand of Maccus. Taller and broader then any man of the hills his presence, as well as the shadows of the stories that went before him, caused even the bravest man to avert his eyes and to step aside in deference, as well as fear.
Maccus had felt the life of men drain out upon his hands. In the embrace of battle he had seen a certain look so many times. It was the look of a man who knew that his life was ended and was now entering that land of which Maccus knew nothing. Wide and scared, startled and empty, the vision of what lay before them had penetrated the heart of the warrior with a wound which now yearned for healing. With every victory by death there grew deep within the soul of Maccus a terrible hunger. This hunger of his soul was like none before ever encountered. Unlike the hunger that grips a man as he lay still the night before a battle or even the hunger that claws at the heart when a trusted comrade lies lifeless and cold, this hunger could not be satisfied by either fury or revenge.
Finally, as if captured by an evil spell, Maccus could no longer bear the turmoil of his heart, and so dressed barefoot and in rags like a wandering pilgrim he made his way to the village kirk. Unfamiliar and wary he sat and listened to the incantations of the holy man in front of him clothed in the garments of all that was wise. Covered by the shadows he waited in the doorway until the ancient priest stepped from the door.
"Good man," spoke Maccus unfamiliar with such a gentle form of salutation. "I need to know, what is heaven and what is hell?"
Startled and then terrified as the recognition of who stood before him in disguise became clear, the old cleric began to stammer of God's wrath and promise.. but not one of his stammered words did anything to quench the hunger of the warrior who turned and walked away as if for the first time feeling the sting of defeat.
For long hours Maccus wandered the village until the lights of an inn beckoned him inside. Seated in the shadows he sat silently alone. The voices of two travelers suddenly interrupted his despair as he listened to them speak of a hermit who lived high amongst the hills. They said he was a wise man or a monk perhaps, and spoke of their encounter in a cave. The voice and frame of Maccus cowed them into silence as he demanded direction to the cave.
Turning without a word the mighty warrior set foot now for the hills. Prepared as if for battle his cudgel swung comfortably in his hands, for even the mighty Maccus knew of the danger of the hills on such dark and moonless nights. If not the brigand, than the banshee were enough even for Maccus to walk carefully, prepared for anything that may come upon him. After many hours Maccus could feel the burning in his spirit and heart as he yearned more and more for an answer to his question. He continued searching until he spied the faint trickle of smoke from a distant cave. Up he climbed, not feeling the thorns which tore at his legs.
As if stalking a formidable foe, Maccus slowly and carefully approached the cave. Grasping firmly the handle of his mighty cudgel he crept to the cave's mouth and spied the outline of a frail man sitting in front of a small fire with his back to the entrance of the cave. Maccus could not even feel his feet move as he was drawn into the cave. The pounding in his head, the dryness of his throat and the sweat upon his palms were unfamiliar to this man who had never known true fear. He was so close to the frail man that he could see his sunken shoulders slowly rise and fall with every breath .
"Good man," Maccus spoke, his voice echoing uncomfortably down the narrow cave. "I need to know, what is heaven and what is hell."
The words echoed in the silence as the hermit made no reply.
"Good man," Maccus again began, his voice faltering with the dryness that clutched his throat. "I need to know, what is heaven and what is hell."
Never before had Maccus known such impertinence but never had he known this desperation in his soul.
"Good man," he now demanded in a loud and commanding voice. "I need to know, what is heaven and what is hell." his shout echoing not only in the cave but down through the hills as again the hermit made no reply.
Never had Maccus the Terrible known such fury. With the instinct of a warrior and the rage of all that burned within him his mighty arm flexed with familiar strength. The cudgel know was posed high above the hermits frail body. The blood of the warrior pushed each muscle to ready for the blow to come. Eyes flared and teeth clenched in fury as the voice of the Terrible erupted from his heart.
"I need to know, what is heaven and what is hell!" The cry of the tortured warrior hung in the air, and was met with a tender silence. A soft voice, barely heard against the flicker of the flame came forth from the hermit .
"That, my good friend, is hell."
As if felled by a mighty blow the warrior let out a vanquished sigh. The cudgel about to fall in fury dropped harmlessly from his mighty hand. All that burned within was lifted in a crumbling flash as the warrior fell to his knees, with tears and sweat and yearning falling freely from his vanquished frame.
Silence filled the cave again interrupted only by the sobbing of warrior vanquished beyond fury.
"...and that, my friend" Spoke the hermit... "that is heaven."