hwango

Long ago, in a distant land, there lived three brothers. Their lives were not easy, for the land in which they lived was a cold, inhospitable place. But they worked hard and made offerings to the local temple, and though their lives were difficult they were not without happiness.

The spirit of that place was selfish, capricious, and even cruel. It delighted in sending foul weather and other misfortunes that kept the people always on the brink of disaster. The people would beseech the spirit to help them, making even more offerings at its temple. The spirit would turn aside the storms and snow, or bring rain when it was needed, or lift whatever sickness afflicted the people, or otherwise undo whatever malady it had wrought.

The three brothers were among the most pious and faithful men of that land. But such was the spirit’s nature that still it was not satisfied by their offerings. It appeared before each of them and demanded that, as a sign of their devotion it, they destroy that thing in their lives that gave them the most joy.

The eldest brother was a farmer, and in the spirit’s name he gave up the farm that he had tended his whole life. He slaughtered his animals, salted his fields, and destroyed all for which he had worked so long. The spirit was delighted.

The middle brother was a musician. He spent his days writing songs and crafting instruments, and his performances brought joy not only to him, but to all of those in the land. In the spirit’s name, he burned his songs, smashed his instruments, and swore never to sing again. This also pleased the spirit.

The youngest brother had never found success in any endeavor. He had no knack for farming, no talent for music. He tried and failed to learn every craft in the land, and he lived only by means of the pity and charity of others, for they could see that he tried so hard, and it broke their hearts always to see him fail. But no matter the hardship and the disappointments, he had always made his offerings at the temple. For how much harder would his life have been, he thought, without the spirit watching over him and all of the land?

So when the spirit came and demanded of him that he destroy that which he loved the most, which brought him the most happiness, the youngest brother wept.

Then he burned the temple to the ground. He toppled the great stones that marked the edges of the spirit’s domain. He smashed every statue, every relic, every sign he could find of the people’s devotion to the spirit of their land.

The blow to the spirit’s power was a lethal one. It had invested so much of itself in those things, bound itself to them as a way of cementing its hold on the land. Without them, it could feel itself dissipating like smoke.

It did not understand. It knew that the youngest brother was perhaps the most faithful, most loyal man in all the land. How could he do such a thing? The spirit, broken and fading, appeared to the man one last time, and asked him why he had done this? Why had he slain his own god?

The man wept as he answered - he had only done what his god had asked of him.