The Fool's Story
'Tis a marvel, 'tis a wonder:
a great serpent I have seen
caved above that hill high yonder,
covered with scales of blue 'n' green!
Oft-times tears drip from her eyes;
she cries out a great wail!
And when you take her by surprise,
she breathes fire and whips her tail!
It was another of the girl's half-mad songs. She sang them so often that no one paid her much attention anymore. To its inhabitants, her nonsense rhymes were as much a part of the village's scenery as the grain silo or the arc of trees near the churchyard, one of those facets of life so familiar that you never think to question it. In the village lived a tailor, a butcher, a bone-setter, and a girl who sang gobbledygook. That was simply the way of things.
On the day our story begins, the air was thick with late-summer heat, and the village buzzed with its usual activity. But the girl seemed impervious to the beating sun as she skipped her way through the village's dirt paths, a little white dog nipping at her heels and kicking up patches of dust behind her.
She sang her new song as she passed the chicken lady chasing a rooster about its pen, clucking as she cornered the animal for slaughter. She sang as she passed the smithy's shop, her song wafting over him as he looked up from his work and wiped a rough hand over his sweat-coated brow. She sang as she passed the baker tending her brick oven, not pausing in her song even as she inhaled the thick mounds of dough she knew would soon be sculpted into crusty loaves. She sang as she passed the washer woman bent over her wood buckets, wringing the dripping fabric with her strong hands.
She sang as she passed the farmers, resting at the edge of the fields as they pulled lunches from their pails. They chattered and chortled and seemed to take as little notice of her song as anyone else. But then one farm hand glanced up for a moment, a thoughtful look crossing his face as the girl's words floated by. Then he turned back to the group, rejoined their boisterous gaiety, and did not look up again.
The girl did not notice him. She continued on to her family's cottage at the edge of the village, singing and skipping all the while, and her little dog followed obediently.
*
She had found the beast in one of her rambles through the countryside surrounding the village. A dragon can be difficult to miss, to be honest. The girl had clambered over the crest of a hill and seen the creature unfold its vast wings in the valley beneath her, its head bent over a pond that seemed as small as a water dish beneath its great crown. Her eyes grew large at the sight, her mouth opening in a small intake of breath before her face lit with marvel and delight. Under the sun's gleaming rays, the dragon's scales glistened, the blues and greens dancing with the glimmer of reflected light. It was a beautiful sight to behold. Even the white pup at her feet seemed spellbound, content to sit and stare at the beast before it.
It was as the girl took her first step forward, her hand lifted as if it possessed its own sense of curiosity and wanted to know the caress of a dragon's scales, that the creature released its first wail. The sound it emitted seemed a cross between thunder and a plaintive moan, and all at once the girl was sure that she could not feel quite so happy. Beside her, her dog's tail seemed to droop too, its scrawny shoulders stooping just a little. She stepped nearer.
Now she could see the dragon's face, and she was sure she had never seen a creature so sad. Enormous tears pooled from its eyes and beaded down its scaly snout, splashing ripples into the pond below. More wails followed, each one as wretched as the first, and the girl knew now that she must somehow help this beast. She could not withstand such sorrow.
"Shhh," she said softly, then quickly scurried several paces back as the dragon startled. "Tell me what's wrong. I'll help you."
It craned its thick neck toward her voice and trained its enormous eyes on her. The girl felt as though she were being scrutinized by ten thousand heavenly judges, her soul laid open to be examined. Finally, the dragon nodded.
"It is my egg," she said (for now it became clear that the dragon was a she). "It has been stolen." Here, her voice fell as the melancholy crept back into it. "My child has been taken from me, and I must have her back to hatch her."
The girl nodded. "I'll find it for you."
"Then go to my cave yonder" -- here the dragon gestured with the mammoth tip of a glowing wing -- "and take the cards you find there. I feel sure that you will find a use for them. I will meet you near your village at nightfall." Then a small smile slipped onto the dragon's face, she turned her face to the sky and released a fiery breath, and the girl felt happy again. Beside her, her puppy's tail waggled joyfully.
*
As the sun dipped toward the horizon that evening, the girl left her family's cottage and wended her way to the grain silo near the edge of the village, her white pup trailing after her. The village was calmer than it had been at midday; most of the villagers were in their cottages now, resting with their families over supper. The air felt cooler too, and occasionally a breeze threaded its way between the churchyard trees. The girl still hummed and sang under her breath, but no one was around to hear her.
She reached the appointed place and settled on the dry earth to await the dragon. Her dog scampered around her, and absently she tossed small twigs for it to retrieve. The air hummed with the quiet buzz of mosquitos. She leaned her back idly against the wall of the silo and fell into thinking about the strange and wonderful turns her day had taken: meeting the dragon, accepting its quest, retrieving the beautiful cards from its cave before coming back to the village. She had never seen cards like these: gold foiled backs and filled with pictures of girls who all looked a little bit like her. There was even one who had a little white dog nipping at her heels. How mysterious! How fascinating!
Suddenly a clamor erupted, and she leapt out of her stupor. From one direction, she could see the dragon gliding toward her; from the other, farm hands had appeared out of nowhere, waving their hoes and pitchforks. The seconds slowed until the girl felt like she was experiencing every moment with a blinding clarity. She saw the dragon notice the men in the same moment she did. She saw it flap its great wings in quick, jerky motions. She heard its bellowing roar, the words reverberating long after they ended. "Men! You have betrayed me!"
She saw the men charging forward with the farm tools. She heard their shouts, one angry voice blending with the next in a cacophony of noise from which escaped only the occasional distinct words: "dragon," "attack," "fight," "fool." Then time sped back to its hurtling pace. The dragon exhaled a giant breath of fire in the direction of the grain silo. The stores exploded in flames. The girl darted away and found herself facing the mob of farmers, their rakes and shovels still clutched tightly in their hands. The dragon lifted off into the sky, circled, emitted a roaring wail, and disappeared in the distance. The men descended on the girl, spitting their words at her. "You traitor! You led a dragon to us! You set our grain on fire! You are going to kill us all!"
She turned. She ran, her dog trotting beside her. She could not understand what had happened. As she raced through the village, neighbors stepped out of their cottages, in an uproar over the spectacle. In the distance, she could hear the shouts of villagers near the grain tower as they poured buckets of water over the raging fire. Finally she reached her own front door. Before she could enter, her mother stepped out and proclaimed, in a cold snarl that was angrier than any the girl could remember, "You are a fool!"
*
Afterward the Fool (for that is the name she took) could never quite tell you what had happened that night when the dragon set fire to the grain silo and she had run away from her village. But she slowly puzzled out the details, turning them over and over in her memory until they became as intricate as the fine tines a clockmaker fashions into the patterns of time. She understood that each side -- the dragon, the villagers -- believed that she had betrayed it to the other; she understood that though she had neither intended nor foreseen it, she had caused great harm. And so, as she trekked far and wide out into the world beyond her village, she vowed to herself that she would repair the damage she had sown. She would find the dragon's egg. She would replenish the village grain stores. She would redeem herself.
She did not know how she would accomplish this, but the Fool was a cheery girl who was seldom discouraged by even the most uncertain of circumstances. She journeyed from village to village, her faithful white dog beside her and the dragon's cards in hand, and kept her spirits up. Often she could be seen passing these cards from hand to hand, delighting in the magic of their gleaming patterns and the dance of their shuffle. And soon, she began to learn the stories she could tell with them and that a little foresight is not, after all, so impossible.
One day, as she frolicked through a market in a town very far from her village, the Fool heard a clear voice calling over the din. "A fool!" the herald shouted, a bugle at his mouth. "Her Majesty the Queen is seeking a new fool for her Royal Court! All fools, this way! Inquire here! Her Majesty the Queen is looking for you!"
For one instant the Fool froze in her tracks. Then she turned and dashed toward the Queen's herald, filled with the certainty of the path before her and a deep sense of knowing. An important door had finally opened at her feet.
"You will only be granted one audience with the Queen," the nobleman who accompanied the herald explained to her once she reached them. "During this time, you must entertain the Queen. If you succeed, you will become the Court Fool. If you fail... well, that is for the Queen to decide."
The Fool smiled. "I won't fail," she said.
*
The first thing the Fool noticed when she entered the throne room was the curtains. Rich burgundy drapes covered the walls and surrounded the Queen's dais, filling the room with a regal air. But she quickly set aside this observation aside, because the second thing she noticed was the gleaming silver sword the Queen held in her hand in place of a scepter.
"Ah, you are another who seeks to be my Fool." The Queen gave a satisfied smile as the Fool entered the room.
"No, Your Majesty," the Fool said, holding the Queen's gaze and tilting her chin, "though I mean to entertain you."
The Queen looked surprised, suspicious but intrigued. "This audience is only granted for those who wish to become my Fool!" she declared sternly. Then she paused, clearly warring with her own curiosity. "But tell me, what is it you seek?"
"I seek a dragon's egg that was stolen from her," the Fool replied, "and I seek grain for my village whose stores were burned and help building a new grain silo."
It was plain to see that this was not the answer the Queen had expected. "A dragon's egg!" she exclaimed, "And a grain silo! How came you to seek these things?"
"I will tell you," the Fool answered, "if you will help me."
A thoughtful expression flashed over the Queen's face. Finally she spoke, "Very well then. It is to be a wager. If you entertain me, I will help your village and make you my Fool. But if you fail," -- here she brandished her silver sword for effect -- "then it's off with your head!"
The Fool nodded. She pulled the deck from her pocket, laid out the cards, and began to tell the story they contained.
*
"Birth," the Queen mused as the Fool gathered her cards. She thought about all the things the Fool had told her: about the heroine who had run away in the face of insurmountable cataclysm; about ill fortune and the mother who could not have her child; about balance and injustice. About acting with her heart and helping to solve the heroine's problems. About stories. And about birth. And the Queen knew what she had to do.
As the Fool watched, she lifted her silver sword and used it to pull a thick gold cord hanging on one of her burgundy curtains. Soon a page appeared to answer the Queen's summons.
"Find ten strong workmen, and fill two wagons with grain," the Queen ordered. "Prepare my carriages. We shall leave at dawn to visit my new Fool's village."
She paused. "And ask my maid to fetch the jeweled box from my chambers.
When they arrived at the Fool's village the next afternoon (for the Queen's horses journey more swiftly than any Fool's legs), the villagers were amazed at the procession they beheld. The Queen's own men set to work rebuilding their burnt silo, and Her Majesty had provided two wagons filled with grain to replenish their stores. But most astonishing of all was when they saw their own gobbledygook song girl riding in the Queen's own carriage, crowned her new Court Fool.
The Fool only laughed and waved, happy to have earned her villagers' forgiveness. But the Queen stood tall, sliced her silver sword into the ground, and proclaimed for all to hear: "My new Fool is the wisest Fool I know, for she knows the magic of stories. She knows the magic of compassion."
Then the Queen turned to the Fool, opened her jeweled box, and lifted out an enormous gleaming egg. Handing it gently to the Fool, she added, "And she knows the magic of birth."
This entry is my submission for therealljidol Season 6, Topic 33: Fool Me Once.
My partner for this Intersection round is zia_narratora, who wrote about Going All In.
If you liked our entries this week, please vote for us in this week's poll.
a great serpent I have seen
caved above that hill high yonder,
covered with scales of blue 'n' green!
Oft-times tears drip from her eyes;
she cries out a great wail!
And when you take her by surprise,
she breathes fire and whips her tail!
It was another of the girl's half-mad songs. She sang them so often that no one paid her much attention anymore. To its inhabitants, her nonsense rhymes were as much a part of the village's scenery as the grain silo or the arc of trees near the churchyard, one of those facets of life so familiar that you never think to question it. In the village lived a tailor, a butcher, a bone-setter, and a girl who sang gobbledygook. That was simply the way of things.
On the day our story begins, the air was thick with late-summer heat, and the village buzzed with its usual activity. But the girl seemed impervious to the beating sun as she skipped her way through the village's dirt paths, a little white dog nipping at her heels and kicking up patches of dust behind her.
She sang her new song as she passed the chicken lady chasing a rooster about its pen, clucking as she cornered the animal for slaughter. She sang as she passed the smithy's shop, her song wafting over him as he looked up from his work and wiped a rough hand over his sweat-coated brow. She sang as she passed the baker tending her brick oven, not pausing in her song even as she inhaled the thick mounds of dough she knew would soon be sculpted into crusty loaves. She sang as she passed the washer woman bent over her wood buckets, wringing the dripping fabric with her strong hands.
She sang as she passed the farmers, resting at the edge of the fields as they pulled lunches from their pails. They chattered and chortled and seemed to take as little notice of her song as anyone else. But then one farm hand glanced up for a moment, a thoughtful look crossing his face as the girl's words floated by. Then he turned back to the group, rejoined their boisterous gaiety, and did not look up again.
The girl did not notice him. She continued on to her family's cottage at the edge of the village, singing and skipping all the while, and her little dog followed obediently.
*
She had found the beast in one of her rambles through the countryside surrounding the village. A dragon can be difficult to miss, to be honest. The girl had clambered over the crest of a hill and seen the creature unfold its vast wings in the valley beneath her, its head bent over a pond that seemed as small as a water dish beneath its great crown. Her eyes grew large at the sight, her mouth opening in a small intake of breath before her face lit with marvel and delight. Under the sun's gleaming rays, the dragon's scales glistened, the blues and greens dancing with the glimmer of reflected light. It was a beautiful sight to behold. Even the white pup at her feet seemed spellbound, content to sit and stare at the beast before it.
It was as the girl took her first step forward, her hand lifted as if it possessed its own sense of curiosity and wanted to know the caress of a dragon's scales, that the creature released its first wail. The sound it emitted seemed a cross between thunder and a plaintive moan, and all at once the girl was sure that she could not feel quite so happy. Beside her, her dog's tail seemed to droop too, its scrawny shoulders stooping just a little. She stepped nearer.
Now she could see the dragon's face, and she was sure she had never seen a creature so sad. Enormous tears pooled from its eyes and beaded down its scaly snout, splashing ripples into the pond below. More wails followed, each one as wretched as the first, and the girl knew now that she must somehow help this beast. She could not withstand such sorrow.
"Shhh," she said softly, then quickly scurried several paces back as the dragon startled. "Tell me what's wrong. I'll help you."
It craned its thick neck toward her voice and trained its enormous eyes on her. The girl felt as though she were being scrutinized by ten thousand heavenly judges, her soul laid open to be examined. Finally, the dragon nodded.
"It is my egg," she said (for now it became clear that the dragon was a she). "It has been stolen." Here, her voice fell as the melancholy crept back into it. "My child has been taken from me, and I must have her back to hatch her."
The girl nodded. "I'll find it for you."
"Then go to my cave yonder" -- here the dragon gestured with the mammoth tip of a glowing wing -- "and take the cards you find there. I feel sure that you will find a use for them. I will meet you near your village at nightfall." Then a small smile slipped onto the dragon's face, she turned her face to the sky and released a fiery breath, and the girl felt happy again. Beside her, her puppy's tail waggled joyfully.
*
As the sun dipped toward the horizon that evening, the girl left her family's cottage and wended her way to the grain silo near the edge of the village, her white pup trailing after her. The village was calmer than it had been at midday; most of the villagers were in their cottages now, resting with their families over supper. The air felt cooler too, and occasionally a breeze threaded its way between the churchyard trees. The girl still hummed and sang under her breath, but no one was around to hear her.
She reached the appointed place and settled on the dry earth to await the dragon. Her dog scampered around her, and absently she tossed small twigs for it to retrieve. The air hummed with the quiet buzz of mosquitos. She leaned her back idly against the wall of the silo and fell into thinking about the strange and wonderful turns her day had taken: meeting the dragon, accepting its quest, retrieving the beautiful cards from its cave before coming back to the village. She had never seen cards like these: gold foiled backs and filled with pictures of girls who all looked a little bit like her. There was even one who had a little white dog nipping at her heels. How mysterious! How fascinating!
Suddenly a clamor erupted, and she leapt out of her stupor. From one direction, she could see the dragon gliding toward her; from the other, farm hands had appeared out of nowhere, waving their hoes and pitchforks. The seconds slowed until the girl felt like she was experiencing every moment with a blinding clarity. She saw the dragon notice the men in the same moment she did. She saw it flap its great wings in quick, jerky motions. She heard its bellowing roar, the words reverberating long after they ended. "Men! You have betrayed me!"
She saw the men charging forward with the farm tools. She heard their shouts, one angry voice blending with the next in a cacophony of noise from which escaped only the occasional distinct words: "dragon," "attack," "fight," "fool." Then time sped back to its hurtling pace. The dragon exhaled a giant breath of fire in the direction of the grain silo. The stores exploded in flames. The girl darted away and found herself facing the mob of farmers, their rakes and shovels still clutched tightly in their hands. The dragon lifted off into the sky, circled, emitted a roaring wail, and disappeared in the distance. The men descended on the girl, spitting their words at her. "You traitor! You led a dragon to us! You set our grain on fire! You are going to kill us all!"
She turned. She ran, her dog trotting beside her. She could not understand what had happened. As she raced through the village, neighbors stepped out of their cottages, in an uproar over the spectacle. In the distance, she could hear the shouts of villagers near the grain tower as they poured buckets of water over the raging fire. Finally she reached her own front door. Before she could enter, her mother stepped out and proclaimed, in a cold snarl that was angrier than any the girl could remember, "You are a fool!"
*
Afterward the Fool (for that is the name she took) could never quite tell you what had happened that night when the dragon set fire to the grain silo and she had run away from her village. But she slowly puzzled out the details, turning them over and over in her memory until they became as intricate as the fine tines a clockmaker fashions into the patterns of time. She understood that each side -- the dragon, the villagers -- believed that she had betrayed it to the other; she understood that though she had neither intended nor foreseen it, she had caused great harm. And so, as she trekked far and wide out into the world beyond her village, she vowed to herself that she would repair the damage she had sown. She would find the dragon's egg. She would replenish the village grain stores. She would redeem herself.
She did not know how she would accomplish this, but the Fool was a cheery girl who was seldom discouraged by even the most uncertain of circumstances. She journeyed from village to village, her faithful white dog beside her and the dragon's cards in hand, and kept her spirits up. Often she could be seen passing these cards from hand to hand, delighting in the magic of their gleaming patterns and the dance of their shuffle. And soon, she began to learn the stories she could tell with them and that a little foresight is not, after all, so impossible.
One day, as she frolicked through a market in a town very far from her village, the Fool heard a clear voice calling over the din. "A fool!" the herald shouted, a bugle at his mouth. "Her Majesty the Queen is seeking a new fool for her Royal Court! All fools, this way! Inquire here! Her Majesty the Queen is looking for you!"
For one instant the Fool froze in her tracks. Then she turned and dashed toward the Queen's herald, filled with the certainty of the path before her and a deep sense of knowing. An important door had finally opened at her feet.
"You will only be granted one audience with the Queen," the nobleman who accompanied the herald explained to her once she reached them. "During this time, you must entertain the Queen. If you succeed, you will become the Court Fool. If you fail... well, that is for the Queen to decide."
The Fool smiled. "I won't fail," she said.
*
The first thing the Fool noticed when she entered the throne room was the curtains. Rich burgundy drapes covered the walls and surrounded the Queen's dais, filling the room with a regal air. But she quickly set aside this observation aside, because the second thing she noticed was the gleaming silver sword the Queen held in her hand in place of a scepter.
"Ah, you are another who seeks to be my Fool." The Queen gave a satisfied smile as the Fool entered the room.
"No, Your Majesty," the Fool said, holding the Queen's gaze and tilting her chin, "though I mean to entertain you."
The Queen looked surprised, suspicious but intrigued. "This audience is only granted for those who wish to become my Fool!" she declared sternly. Then she paused, clearly warring with her own curiosity. "But tell me, what is it you seek?"
"I seek a dragon's egg that was stolen from her," the Fool replied, "and I seek grain for my village whose stores were burned and help building a new grain silo."
It was plain to see that this was not the answer the Queen had expected. "A dragon's egg!" she exclaimed, "And a grain silo! How came you to seek these things?"
"I will tell you," the Fool answered, "if you will help me."
A thoughtful expression flashed over the Queen's face. Finally she spoke, "Very well then. It is to be a wager. If you entertain me, I will help your village and make you my Fool. But if you fail," -- here she brandished her silver sword for effect -- "then it's off with your head!"
The Fool nodded. She pulled the deck from her pocket, laid out the cards, and began to tell the story they contained.
*
"Birth," the Queen mused as the Fool gathered her cards. She thought about all the things the Fool had told her: about the heroine who had run away in the face of insurmountable cataclysm; about ill fortune and the mother who could not have her child; about balance and injustice. About acting with her heart and helping to solve the heroine's problems. About stories. And about birth. And the Queen knew what she had to do.
As the Fool watched, she lifted her silver sword and used it to pull a thick gold cord hanging on one of her burgundy curtains. Soon a page appeared to answer the Queen's summons.
"Find ten strong workmen, and fill two wagons with grain," the Queen ordered. "Prepare my carriages. We shall leave at dawn to visit my new Fool's village."
She paused. "And ask my maid to fetch the jeweled box from my chambers.
When they arrived at the Fool's village the next afternoon (for the Queen's horses journey more swiftly than any Fool's legs), the villagers were amazed at the procession they beheld. The Queen's own men set to work rebuilding their burnt silo, and Her Majesty had provided two wagons filled with grain to replenish their stores. But most astonishing of all was when they saw their own gobbledygook song girl riding in the Queen's own carriage, crowned her new Court Fool.
The Fool only laughed and waved, happy to have earned her villagers' forgiveness. But the Queen stood tall, sliced her silver sword into the ground, and proclaimed for all to hear: "My new Fool is the wisest Fool I know, for she knows the magic of stories. She knows the magic of compassion."
Then the Queen turned to the Fool, opened her jeweled box, and lifted out an enormous gleaming egg. Handing it gently to the Fool, she added, "And she knows the magic of birth."
This entry is my submission for therealljidol Season 6, Topic 33: Fool Me Once.
My partner for this Intersection round is zia_narratora, who wrote about Going All In.
If you liked our entries this week, please vote for us in this week's poll.