The Fool

“Only when it is taken with the hand of the Fool will the medallion gleam, thus heralding the Chosen One and the beginning of the end of the Dark One’s reign.”

That was the supposed prophecy that has been passed down for generations. For some, it was a promise, a hope for a better future. For you, however, they were just pretty words that quickly lost their appeal when your stomach twisted itself into hungry knots, vying for a morsel of something to eat. The so called chosen one wasn’t going to be you or anyone else that you knew. The chosen one was special after all.

Growing up as a child, you weren’t anything close to special. It came with the territory of being a street urchin living in the shadows of the rich and heartless. You’ve never known anything other than the struggle to survive. Thankfully the kicking and screaming that came with, you know, just trying to live kept you afloat in all that life tried to drown you with.

Despite the harshness of it all, it wasn’t all gloom and starvation. You had found a semblance of peace in the camaraderie of all the other children cut from the same cloth. One of your earliest memories was one of the street orphans sitting you on top of a shabby roof, covering you up in thread bare linens as they told you to sit, wait, and watch them on the street below. It was cold and you would’ve rather done anything other than sit still, but you listened and watched as he clambered down and proceeded to fool around with the adults. Your heart inched itself up your throat with every beat as you watched him irritate them, their fat cheeks growing red with anger. Even as young as you were you knew not to mess with the adults in your town. Some will hunt you down and beat you and even then, that was a blessing compared to what some of the others did.

(You thought of big sis who used to work at the bakery. She was caught handing out loafs of bread despite them being week old and hard. Sister went missing and while you tried to hide your tears as that of hunger, you knew better.)

Some of the things the street kids got into were minor and rather stupid to get up and arms about but living under the rule of tyranny and poverty can harden the heart.

Thankfully, your fears were unfounded as he (none of the orphans had names other than the profanities thrown at them) returned, nose red and snotty and grin wide and snaggle-toothed as he holds up a handful of coin that you know for certain he didn’t have before. His smile turned impish at your wide eyes as he pressed a coin into your small, dirty hands.

That was your introduction to your way of living: pickpocketing.

As you grew and honed your skills, life went on as it usually does. The old tyrant of your land grew more and more powerful, but you never really understood the sheer scope of his power until-

“So, there were no survivors of the rebel army? At all?” you heard the man you were walking behind say to his partner.

You were gaining on them to “bump” into one of them, but you slowed your steps at the gossip. You knew that the siege was unsuccessful, but you were curious as to the details. These wealthy out-of-town folks always had more reliable information. (You mean, you hoped that the old king wasn’t a fire breathing dragon with an army of undead skeletons.)

“It was bloody. I saw the aftermath,” his partner replied, nodding at the surprised gasp he got. “There was no feasible way that the king and his men were supposed to survive. The rebel’s army was huge. Yet they all lay dead and cold while he’s still sitting on his throne.”

The man sighed and shook his head.

“Dumb of the peasants to dare challenge him and his demon spawn.”

“Now, now. They have, excuse me, had heart, but it was doomed to fail anyway. There wasn’t any word of one of them holding the meda-“

You bumped into them, acting as if you had tripped on the mud. They scowled at you, but after a couple of cheery interjections on your part, the harsh lines of their face were smoothed. When they left, they were laughing, commenting on “the hospitality of the poor folk” and completely none the wiser to what your hospitality did to their now lighter coin pouches.

While your sticky fingers had brought you a considerable haul, their words brought a damper to your mood. You told yourself that it was because of the narrowminded bigotness of the rich that made you upset, not the failure of the rebels. You didn’t care. You couldn’t afford to care. Never concern yourself with something that your hands can’t reach.

You were older now. Wiser. Big enough to where the villagers couldn’t try and beat you without leaving with limps and bruises themselves. Eventually they all stopped trying to get back at you for the things that you did in your youth, finding that continued beatings were actually detrimental to their health. That and you can’t fight what’s not there: you left your hometown on the coin that they gave you (most of it unbiddenly).

There was no reason to your departure other than needing a change of pace, a change of space. When you arrived at the new city it felt as if you were changing shoes, trading the ill-fitting ones for something that suited you completely. There was the thrill of being somewhere new, of course, but there was also something else stirring in your chest. It was the same feeling that you would get at the thought of seeing your late older brother, the same orphan who taught you all that you knew. The anticipation of seeing someone you had said goodbye so many years ago. You shrugged off the feeling with difficulty and set to “bump” into the first person with an expensive fur-lined coat you saw.

Thankfully (and sadly), the conditions in this city were more or less the same as it was back home, with the rich flaunting in front of the starving and homeless. At least they didn’t know you well enough to immediately turn tail at the sight of you in fear of their belongings. (That and you found out that good hygiene and a clean-shaven face did you better in getting people to lower their guard. Go figure.)

You grinned inwardly to yourself as you set your sights on your first target, a weather-beaten man whose leathers and furs spoke of quality. As you bumped and picked the man, your eyes were drawn to his sword hanging from his waist and the insignia inscribed on the scabbard. Your blood ran cold, but you continued on your way with a hurried apology. You ventured deep into the city, turning onto this path and that one until you found a cheap inn. Only then did you allow yourself to collapse onto yourself, pressing your face into the scratchy fabric of the bedsheets.

Reflected on the back of your eyelids was that insignia. The insignia of the cruel tyrant’s men: a half lidden eye that said, “You’re beneath me, but I’m always watching you.”

And you stole from them. What an utter fool you are.

You laid on the bed, belittling yourself for being so rash and so foolish as well as praising yourself for surviving an encounter with the demon spawn. You had fell asleep, worn down from your thoughts and your travels.

You dreamt.

You were a child again, chewing on the tough bread that your older sister gave to you. She was looking at you with an amused grin as you made a mess of your meal.

“Slow down there, honey-fingers! The bread isn’t going anywhere,” she said with a snort, ruffling your hair.

You swallowed and looked up at her as you took another bite of your bread. Something felt slightly off to you, but you ignored it as you spoke to your sister with a mouth full of bread.

“What if someone try to take it from me?” your muffled, bread-filled voice asked, and your sister gave a hearty laugh that made your heart twist.

You blinked and a tear fell down your cheek. As Sister wiped it away with a soft smile, you remembered what it was that felt off.

You weren’t a child anymore.

Big Sis was now looking up at you, looking entirely too young as she did, and you all but fell to your knees to hug her.

“Look at how big you are,” she told you, wrapping her arms around your neck, “No one’s gonna dare try and take anything away from you, silly.”

She pulled away to look at you with an impish grin that all the orphans seemed to have.

“That and I would love to see someone steal something from the master pickpocket himself.”

A wet laugh escaped your lips before your eyebrows furrow as you remembered something.

“You… You weren’t a-around when I…”

“I know,” she said, “But I was still watching over you all the same.”

You crumple into your sister once more, hugging her as tightly as you dared as you wet her little shoulder with your tears. It was rather pathetic how you were breaking down like this. You were all but grown and yet here you are weeping on the shoulder of your big sister who never had the chance to grow up.

“I don’t think its pathetic,” an achingly familiar voice responded firmly as a pair of arms encircled you both.

You didn’t have to look up to know that it was your older brother.

“I’m just glad I got to see you again,” she said when you all drew away from one another.

You were silent as you looked at the two most important people in your life: your sister, tinier than what you remember and your brother tall as you were, but completely too frail. Your lips pursed at the impossible sight.

“Why are you both here?” you blurted. “You were never before.”

Though your question wasn’t filled with any anger or animosity, just confusion, both seemed sadden by it all the same.

“We wanted to, but the time wasn’t right,” Brother replied from his spot beside you.

“Even now, we can’t stay for too long,” your sister continued, quickly dashing any budding hopes and bringing another wave of tears.

“Then why come at all?” you inquired brokenly as you clench your fists in your lap.

You frown, looking at your hands. You could’ve sworn that you were still holding the loaf that Sister gave you but in your open palm laid…

Brother’s bony hands encased yours and closed your fingers around the medallion, its light still gleaming through them.

“The hope of the people gave us enough power to come before you… And beseech you to help them,” Sister whispered softly, the faint light in front of her making her eyes glitter like a winking star in the night.

Your face twisted into an angry scowl.

“The people who have done nothing but hurt us? The people who took the both of you away from me?” you snarled as the memories of the hurt you endured flash by you in a kaleidoscope of heart ache and pain that would never fade away.

Brother slapped your forehead. The sting of it brought your surprised gaze to him.

“It was the king who took us away, you dip,” he said not unkindly. “Are you too dumb too see that everything around you is the result of his reign?”

Floundering, you wanted to reject his words, but slumped down as the anger left you against your wishes. He was right, but…

“You were the one who told me ‘Never concern yourself with something your hands can’t reach.’” you murmured defiantly, and both of your siblings laughed.

Sister rested her hand on top of Brother’s and yours and the light encased hers too.

“It’s seems like the future isn’t too out of reach anymore isn’t it, huh?” she inquired with a dimpling grin.

“Leave it to you to steal our hope back,” your brother teased.

As you woke, you still felt the warmth of their hands on yours and still held within your grasp was the medallion, bright and shining.

You felt no different than how you were when you went to sleep, other than feeling a bit more refreshed. You didn’t suddenly feel like a shining knight in armor. Without a doubt, there isn’t anything “chosen” about you – there must be a plethora of better qualified people out there. sBut as you stared into the shining metal, you thought of the children who you grew up with, how some grew with you while many others never had the chance. As you thought of all the heartache and all the pain you endured, the surer you became.

You took to the streets with the medallion shining around your neck. For a split second you were worried, terrified that no one would know what this meant, but as you walked excited whispers followed you. As you walked, others fell in step behind you. As you walked, an army followed.

You didn’t know what you were doing. You were just a pickpocket and by all means, none of this should work out. But you had the faith that your siblings entrusted in you and the hope of a better future fueling your steps, leaving a blazing trail for all to follow.