Phoenix Destiny

Three

“What do you want? Who are you?” one of the men said. He was tall, blonde and carried a broadsword.

The eager gleam in his eyes was not lost on Jaron. He kept his voice light as he answered, “I am but a humble traveling jester from the Southern Continent.”

“You are far from home,” the soldier sneered.

“I decided to explore other lands, see what Nuwa offered and, perhaps, learn new songs.”

“That is a fine animal you have,” the soldier turned his keen gaze to Gambler.

“A faithful friend and traveling companion,” Jaron remained calm though Gambler tensed under the soldier’s scrutiny. He soothed the beast with a pat.

“You don’t look like a jester.”

“I do not wear my costume all the time, good sir. I find it chafes if worn while riding.”

“Well, you’re certainly annoying like a jester,” a second soldier commented.

“This is a secret gathering, jester,” the first said. He didn’t take his eyes off Jaron. “Only we know the location of this meadow.”

“I suggest you change location since I found it with such ease. But, if that is all, I shall be on my way.”

“Hold it! We can’t allow you to leave. The punishment for intruding on our training grounds is death. But don’t worry. I’ll take good care of your horse. He will make a fine war steed.”

Gambler’s ears flicked backward, flattening against his neck. The stallion shied from the soldier as he reached for it. Jaron easily kept his seat as the equine shifted under him.

“You know better than that, Dorrall. We have to take him to the General, those are our orders,” another soldier spoke.

“Fool General, curse his orders,” Dorrall muttered.

“If he hears that from you, he will consider it treason,” the soldier warned, motioning for Jaron to dismount. “You’ll follow me to the General, jester.”

“And I’ll take your horse.” Dorrall reached for Gambler’s reins.

Grunting, the stallion bared its teeth and gnashed at the man’s hands. The blonde soldier jumped back in surprise as the stallion pawed the ground.

“I think I will take my horse,” Jaron said, swinging down from his perch.

Gambler settled the moment he gripped the reins. The gray stallion calmly walked alongside Jaron as his guide led him into the camp. Others looked up from their chores to watch. Stray dogs barked, and the stallion flattened its ears. At the center of the encampment, a large, circular pavilion stood. Without a word, the soldier led him to the guarded entrance.

“Tell the General we have an intruder,” Jaron’s guide said to the guards.

One disappeared inside. A moment later, the General stepped out of the pavilion, followed by his captains. The General was tall, and his armor was elaborately etched. His dark hair was unbound. Each captain carried a helmet with a different colored plume, but the General‘s helmet did not bear such a distinguishing feature.

Different divisions, Jaron silently guessed.

“This is the intruder?” the General asked.

“Yes sir,” Jaron’s guide saluted.

“Who are you stranger?” The General looked Jaron and Gambler over.

“Jaron.”

“Is that all?”

“It is enough.”

The General grunted. A smile teased the corners of his mouth as he asked, “And your profession?”

“Traveling performer,” Jaron bowed with a flourish. “A jester, if you will. I travel from village to village, entertaining people with songs, tricks and games.”

“Is that a well-paying profession?”

“Not at all, but it is a labor of love,” Jaron answered. It was easy to slip into the act of the fun-loving fool, an act Guyon Samir taught him long ago.[1]

“And your packs?”

“The supplies of my trade and all that I own in this world.”

“Should we believe him?” one of the captains asked.

“He could be a spy,” another said.

The General quietly listened to their suggestions and studied Jaron. There was a strangely amused expression on his face. It took a moment for Jaron to recognize the gleam in his eyes.

“Perhaps a demonstration is in order,” Jaron suggested. “A performance for your enjoyment and scrutiny? That is what the General has in mind, is it not?”

“Indeed,” the General smiled. “It has been a long time since we had decent entertainment. Very well, Jaron the jester, you perform tonight. If you perform well, I will credit your story. If you perform badly, I will order your execution. Either way, it will be most interesting.”

“Indeed,” Jaron answered, narrowing his eyes. Higher stakes could not be made. It was a dangerous game he was playing but, for some reason, he was calm.

“Dak, see him to a tent to prepare. Guard him well. I would hate for him to miss his performance,” the General returned to his tent and the captains followed.

Jaron’s guide motioned for him to follow and turned away from the pavilion. Clutching Gambler’s reins, he followed the soldier through the camp to another, much smaller tent. Like all those around it, it had been patched several times. Stained with travel, its hems were frayed and worn. The soldier pulled back the hide flap.

“This is my tent, jester. You may change and prepare here. I will guard it and your horse.”

Jaron nodded, gathering the proper packs from Gambler’s load. He paused at the stallion’s head and gave the equine a comforting pat before disappearing into the tent, briefly wondering whose comfort it was for.

Inside, the tent was surprisingly roomy. It was large enough for a man to stand, though crowded with weapons and armor. Jaron changed into his jester costume, wondering what he was going to do. He could not run.

Why did Gambler bring me here? Is this a test?

The possible connection to his strange dreams sent a chill down his spine. He had the sense of being out of control and wished he had been more decisive in choosing his own path. Silently, he pulled off his tunic and jerkin, exchanging them for his performance clothes. He slipped on his striped pants and belted his belled skirt. Then he pulled on his boots and adjusted his coxcomb.

Maybe the sprite is playing one of its tricks. Perhaps this is all a dream, or a nightmare.

“You ready, jester? It’s time,” the impatient soldier asked.

Jaron stuffed his traveling clothes in his pack, leaving the tent. Looking around, he decided that it was too real to be a dream. He secured his things to Gambler’s saddle, then took out his juggling balls and drum. The juggling props he hid in his costume, as he had been taught. The drum he carried and led Gambler after his guide.

A large fire blazed though the last of the three suns had not yet set. The soldiers gathered around it, telling lies about their exploits. They stopped as Jaron approached and laughed at his costume. He ignored them as he positioned Gambler on the edge of the firelight.

In front of the stallion, Jaron placed a wooden cradle with a paddle and a spring-triggered mallet. Pulling open the collapsible drum, he set it in the cradle. Guyon Samir taught him many years ago the value of swallowing one’s pride.

Jaron remembered the day he first arrived at the band. He was a solemn boy, carrying a heavy burden he could not remember. The last place he wanted to be was with the band. He felt he was supposed to be elsewhere. Jaron had no desire to be a jester. The idea of debasing himself for the amusement of others was heinous.

‘Survival my boy. Life demands sacrifice. The life we lead is determined by what we are willing to sacrifice. Pride should be kept in the heart and left there,’ that was what Guyon Samir taught him, that, and how to juggle and play the lute.

Jaron recalled the old one’s words as he pulled out his jester’s staff from Gambler’s packs. The staff was covered in two-tone violet silk with a wooden jester’s face wearing a cloth coxcomb complete with bells. The face was hand carved.

Guyon Samir presented it to Jaron on his deathbed, along with his other possessions. Even Jaron’s costume was a present from the old performer. It was made of silk and satin, quite expensive material, and Jaron wondered where the old jester had procured it.

The costume fit perfectly, as if it had been made for him. It must have cost his mentor every coin in his possession. Spinning around, he capered around the fire. His movements were exaggerated and slightly erratic to make the bells jingle more.

“Come one, come all, for I am here to entertain, befuddle and amuse,” Jaron declared, spinning and shaking the staff. “Songs I know and poems too. An amusing story or trick for you? I aim to please, so sit and take your ease. I promise each and every one, you’ll be rolling before I’m done.”

Jaron bowed. The bells fell silent.

“Tell us a scary story, jester, if you know any!”

“Make us laugh!”

“Let’s see some tricks!”

“Dance! Dance!”