“Do you know,” said Xus to Torelc, “how I can stop this ache?”
“I do,” said Torelc. “It is simple. If some people stayed with you then you would no longer ache. It would only require the balance to be off by the smallest, smallest amount.”
“Torelc,” said Xus, “how can I change the balance by the smallest, smallest amount?”
Torelc smiled a secret smile to himself and whispered a plan into the ear of Xus, the god of death.
Torelc told Xus to gather together his creatures who flew. So he did.
“I ache,” said Xus. “Take your kind and fly up to the scales of balance and perch upon the dark arm of the scales. Make it move, just a little, so that I may no longer ache.”
And Xus’s creatures, who loved him, were happy to help. As they left Xus’s dark palace they met Torelc, the god of time, who was waiting for them.
“Where are you going?” said Torelc.
“Xus aches,” they said, “and we shall perch upon the dark arm of the scales and move them just a little so he may no longer ache.”
“Oh,” said Torelc. “Why should you move it only a little? What will you do if that is not enough?”
Xus’s creatures said, “We do not know.”
“I know,” said Torelc, and he smiled a secret smile to himself and whispered a plan into the ear of Xus’s flying creatures.
And Xus’s flying creatures heard Torelc’s plan and gathered together all of the animals who relied upon Xus for their lives. They gathered all the beasts that brought death and all the beasts that fed on corpses and said, “This is what we must do to stop Xus aching.” Then the gathered creatures flew or crawled or ran or climbed onto the scales, and each found a place to sit or perch or squat or lie on the dark arm of scales.
The scales did not move a little bit.
The scales did not bend a little bit.
The scales snapped.
The Queen of the Gods saw her consort’s scales break and she lifted her hands from the land to cover her face. Without her hands to contain it the magic became free and wild. No longer would each deed be repaid strike for strike, and no longer would men and women be free of hunger and disease. Torelc clapped with happiness as he felt himself change from a shadowy, willowy thing to something muscular, powerful and creative.
This will serve me well, he thought.
But of all the gods only Xus was to be well served by Torelc’s actions.
With the scales broken, the land soured. People warred, and war spread like fire until even the gods took sides.
Only Xus did not fight—war gave him no time—but he saw.
Xus saw the Consort Dallad slay his son, Torelc. Xus saw the queen, Adallada, slay her Consort, Dallad. Xus saw the queen, mad with grief, take her own life, and he watched the bodies of the gods sink deep down to the bottom of the sea where Xus could not go. Xus was shamed by his part and ashamed of surviving when all the other gods had not.
And that is why Xus, the god of death, no longer shows his face.
Though his creatures still love him.
She finished frozen in the position of Xus’s black bird and a susurrus of conversation filled the room. Three of the priests at the high table stood and walked out. There is little that priests like less than to be reminded their gods are dead and just as foolish and fallable as any human. Only the priest of Xus remained, stood behind the king, and when my master turned to bow to the high table he gave her a small nod.
Queen Adran stood. “I am sure you are all as thankful as I am to have seen something as rare as a performance by Death’s Jester.” She looked as if saying those words was as pleasurable to her as chewing on rocks. “And it is always good to be reminded of the folly of the past which has led us to the position we find ourselves in. Now, let us look to the present and be thankful of the peace we have. I ask you to raise your pots and drink to our king, Doran ap Mennix, who has given us so many years of peace.” With a shout of, “Aye!” the room toasted the king.
“And raise your pots again to his heir, Aydor ap Mennix, who will give us many more years of peace.” Another cheer, though this one I felt was a little less enthusiastic and I noticed quite a few who looked around, as if noting who was most fervent for the heir.
The queen continued to talk of all the wonderful things her husband had done and the wonderful things her son would do for the people when I felt a tug on my kilt. Gusteffa, the jester, stood by me.
“Blessed ap Gwynr, the queen wants you to follow me,” he rasped. I wondered how he knew as the queen was currently waxing lyrical from the stage. “You should come now.” He tugged at my kilt again, making me worry he might accidentally undo all my earlier hard work and leave me naked. “Come,” he said again, “before the uproar.”
“Uproar?” I stood and followed Gusteffa as he pushed his way along the benches. “What uproar?”
“Come,” he said again. As we reached the exit from the sweaty smoky room I heard the queen’s voice.
“… and as I know you are all as appalled as King Doran and I at the threat to the heir, I am sure you will take the news I have with good grace. Once the full Festival is here, the keep and the gates to the keepyard will be shut. No one will leave or come in through them without the king’s say-so.”
The room erupted into shouts of dismay.
Ah, I thought, that uproar.
Gusteffa led me to the highest floor of the castle where the king, queen and Aydor lived, then opened a door and motioned me in. As I walked through I felt a gentle tug on my kilt and turned.
“Death’s Jester,” he said, “She came with you?”
“Yes,” I said. “My father sent her to keep me company.”
“And she leaves with you?”
“Yes.” I nodded, suddenly realising how he must feel and how worried he must be that he was about to lose his livelihood.
“You are sure?”
“Yes, no matter what she was offered she would not stay, Gusteffa. She would not see another jester lose their place.”
“She is an artist,” he mumbled. “I have never seen the like.”
“Gusteffa, I watched you perform tonight, though many didn’t. You are an artist yourself. Even if you were to be pushed from your place here many would be glad to have you.”
“Thank you, Blessed,” he said with a small bow. I watched him hobble away and thought how perilous life was for most people. I had commented in the past to my master on how worn out everyone looked in the Tired Lands but had never really understood why.
“Girton?” I turned to find my master, motleyed and painted, standing by my shoulder. “You are a million miles away.”
“Sorry, Master. Life is hard for people, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Girton, it is.”