Bally the Fool: The Cliffside

The sour scent of rancid meat and decaying flowers was faint in the air, this evening. Bally thanked the heavens for small mercies, before catching himself. Any thanks that made their way through the thick clouds would certainly echo in empty halls of marble and gold.

Who had said the halls of the heavens were marble and gold? Bally scratched his nose in thought. It hadn’t been Old Grunby, the dottering hag-priestess, whose joints cracked like crumbling cliffs every time she moved, and spoke of the gods with the passionate furvor of an ancient shaman dancing around a bonfire. It hadn’t been the dottering monk…what was his name…Teek? Yes, that was it. The perpetually grinning old soak spun tales of the heavens like a father lulling his children to sleep, slurring his littanies with both ale and wandering tangents. No. It hadn’t been him…

Who had it been?

Bally’s heels gently tapped the stones beneath his rump. His fingers scraped against the crumbling grass as he plucked blade after blade and aimlessly ground each one to dust beneath his fingertips. How much of what he knew was like that? Not taught by his parents or his betters, not acquried through study or observation like Good Sage Ranquin kept urging…just…just there.

Well, most of it, probably. It was the purview of the fool.

Bally looked up at the Spot. It had gotten larger. It was always getting larger. The Good Sage had used string and straight sticks to measure it, even from so far away — so he said — and proclaimed it was growing at the rate of ten paces a year. The court had given a good laugh at that. Even Ranquin had grinned a little, sheepishly, as he sorted through his packet of parchments, looking for his next great discovery.

Ten paces a year. Slow as dirt, that was. Toddlers could roll faster. Snails could outrun such a speed. Bally had felt — had felt — the entire courtroom relax at Ranquin’s declaration. Ten paces a year? They had plenty of time.

Bally, however, was a fool. So it terrified him.

It might take centuries, but eventually the Spot would cover the entire sky, from horizon to horizon. And even at its current more relatively modest size, did not the ground weep? Was the sea not approaching the hills of Lothvor? Did not the scent of death leak from its gaping maw, descending on the land like a deadly flower’s pollon, sucking the life from the earth and water?

“Bally!”

The sound of a siren’s wail scraped against Bally’s ears. Without turning, he knew his Mistress Illowen was approaching. He grimaced only slightly. He did not dispise the girl, but he certainly would not have kept her company had he not been required to do so under pain of decapitation. Such punishments tended to make small the irritations of nobility.

“There you are,” the girl’s voice was next to him, now. “Come away from there. You’ll fall.”

“Nay, dear daughter,” Bally couldn’t help but fall into his patter. “I’ll never fall. You may rise, however.”

“Stop it,” the girl snorted, flopping down on the grass next to him, her legs carefully folded under her dress. “I’m not your daughter. You’re three years younger than me.”

“My daughter, nay,” Bally heaved a sigh, looking down into the distant waters of the turgid ocean. “But daughter you are, and daughter you always will be. Your father will never let you be otherwise.”

“Stop it,” Illowen huffed, “Or I’ll tell the guard you’re advocating regicide.”

Bally knew that word, and he knew where he had learned it. Illowen had taught it to him. She’d said the word at least seven times more often than he ever had.

Besides. Regicide wouldn’t prevent the kingdom from seeing Illowen as the Duke’s daughter. She had been too public. Too aggressive. Too showboaty. Like a fool, she’d tried to catch everyone’s attention, and succeeded quite well, inspite of her father’s disapproval.

Had Bally had some influence in that? He couldn’t remember. He pattered about everything. Half the time, he didn’t recognize what he was saying.

He sighed. His heart wasn’t in it today. “What do you want, mistress?”

“It’s not safe here, you know,” Illowen gave a gentle nudge to Bally’s shoulder. “The cliff could crumble at any moment. You’d slide down the rocks into the sea and drown. Or be eaten by sharp teeth.”

“Sharp teeth or blunt teeth or no teeth at all,” Bally plucked another blade of grass and blew its dust into the wind. “So long as I provide a good meal to something, I’ll have no right to complain.”

“What’s that?” Illowen nudged him again. “What fool thing are you saying now?”

“I don’t know,” Bally admitted. He didn’t hate her, not really, but he did want to be alone.

“Come on, fool,” Another nudge. “It stinks out here. Come back with me. Father’s out with his army and I am ever so bored. Entertain me.”

“Bored?” Bally smiled inspite of himself. “Bored? My dearest, how on earth can you be bored? Why, if the cliff could collapse at any moment, doesn’t that get the blood pumping through your veins? When you do not know what new rancid smell might puff from the skies, is not each breath a marvelous new discovery? Your father has gone to war. War! Dear daughter, if that does not set you laughing loud enough to shatter the eastern tower’s windows from here, I promise you, I have nothing more mirthful to share. My jokes and japes are…” he swated a puff of grass into the air, “…are as dust.”

“You are a fool,” Illowen tossed her hair, but she didn’t move. Neither did Bally.

The waves continued to crash against the rocks, casting a foul breeze up from far below. Sulphur and rotting flesh, Bally thought. The whole place stank.

“The wind is milder today,” Illowen said, at last.

Bally rolled onto his back. His legs tucked themselves to his chest, away from the cliffside, in some instinctual attempt to keep himself from falling forward. He rolled back and forth on the crumbling grass, gasping for breath.

“What’s so funny?” Illowen demanded, hitting Bally on the shoulder with a balled-up fist. “Oh, you are a fool. I hate you so much. At least I’m trying, you oaf! Look at you! You’re supposed to be a fool, and all you’re doing is sitting here looking glum. What right do you have to be sad? Out of all of us?”

Bally caught his breath at last, coughing through the dust his rolling had scared into the air. Illowen waved her dainty hand to disperse the cloud as he wiped tears from his eyes.

“Dear daughter,” he giggled, “I thank you. I have never felt better in my life, and that is no lie. Come now, we simply must go and find ourselves something to eat.”

“It’s not even an hour past lunch,” Illowen frowned.

“The perfect time to feast for a fool,” Bally kicked his legs out, sending his body backwards into a handstand before spinning once more into an upright bow.

Illowen held out her hand for Bally to help her rise. Her face was carefully held in its usual disinterested pout, but Bally could see the twinkle of delight in her eyes that her toy had started to work again.

Poor fool, Bally thought.