The mist of the early morning departed under the weak eye of the winter sun and the horse and rider both looked upon a looming dank castle perched on a hill. As one they slowed to a walk and in this manner passed through the mostly deserted village huddled at the base of the castle wall. The jester only looked half interest in his new-found target, and in no hurry he dismounted and walked with heavy steps to the great gate. No answer was sounded in the stronghold as his knocks echoed into the far distance. Nodding his foolish head to himself the jester walked away from the building and re-mounted his horse. Turning away and back into the dark and cold world he trotted, looking now with raised head at the road ahead, and the destination far away in the mountains. He pulled a bell from his pouch as if on an after-thought and looked at it’s shiny surface. His dark face was reflected long in its silvered sphere and he shook his head it made the sound of joy in the world where the weather ruled the hearts of men. Looking back over his shoulder he put the bell away in his pouch once more, and nodded to himself as he spurred his horse into a canter. From atop the high battlement of the silent castle a man watched them go, bowed under a weight no one could see. As the sounds of the bells faded into the distance he sat on the roof of his father’s castle, cradling his head in his hands as his body shook in the cold morning mist.

Unaware of this, the jester sat tall in his saddle. He rode quickly and without rest or stop to the tail of the travelling town. The slow crawl of the townspeople contrasted with his light and speedy arrival, and he looked neither left nor right as he trotted up the train to the head and to the side of Michael. The mercenary turned mayor was, as always, leading his charges onward thought the treacherous passes of the high mountains with all the assurance he could muster when he knew not the destination of the trip. Glancing at his horse from beneath his hood the jester saw a woman sitting in the saddle behind the large figure of Michael. His dark eyes quickly flicked back to the road before them, as Michael spoke to him.

‘Unlooked for and from the rear of life you come, dark fool. Yet I am pleased to see you, and wish that mayhap more of our proposed direction will be given as no knowledge is not in this case good knowledge.’

The jester pulled himself taller in his saddle, drawing a breath of the chill air.

‘I will speak of your destination later, good Michael, when we have only four ears to account for.’

Michael looked at him frowningly, and then to the woman gripping his waist from the back of his great horse. Smiling to her and to himself, he spoke softly to the jester, who presented nothing but the side of his coxcomb in acceptance.

‘I wish you to say all you may now, good sir, for I have no need to secrete things from this lady. Say on, and tell of our destination.’

The fool looked at him darkly, and was on the very breath of saying what he wanted to hear when from far back in the ranks of the town came a cry which tugged all to a halt with it’s rebellious air.

‘I shall go no further up these hellish mountains! If it is to death you wish to follow then go on I say, for these paths lead no man to heaven though ascendance they may profess! Here I sit and any man with me. Rest is needed and it is not upon our self-styled leader to grant it. I say sit, and in time we shall travel to a warm place to live out our lives in pace and not in journey.’

Michael drew deep sigh and pulled his horse around, riding back to the site of the disturbance. The jester was close on his horse tail, and to any man watching it would seem as if his place fitted his dress and that Michael was his monarch. The two horsemen stood on their steeds in front of the sitting group, which was considerably larger than one man. The speaker was the priest of the old town, sitting amidst the group and shouting to the sky without so much as a look at Michael. It was clear to the jester that this was not a state that was acceptable. Michael spoke loudly to the people gathered round, and the air was heavy with expectance.

‘Good townsfolk! Let not this evil-tongued viper stain your resolve to travel to a better place. He is saying nothing you have no dismissed before many times, and yet again he tries. These mountains he holds in such disgrace are the sole barrier to the wars I have led you through to reach them, and should we not cross into the land beyond surly we will die here or on the field of war far below. His fear for the journey is a fungal growth buried in the filth of his own desire. We will find a better place beyond these protective hills, and when we do there will be no need for him any longer in any capacity than a man, something which it seems he is not prepared to undertake. And this, people, this is the reason for his protests. It will do no one any good to stand still on this hill, going neither for nor aft, when all around the world travels on and our refuge is always in danger of filling with the countless other homeless of this land. I ask you to think hard on what you do, and this not on what he says, for his speech is as dead and burnt as his religion. He offers nothing, and in exchange he will take your liberty. I ask, is this a fair price for life?’

The people looked on Michael, who had risen in his saddle to address the whole assembly paying no special heed to the gathering at his horse’s hooves. At his back the woman was sitting looked in aware at him, and close behind her the jester sat nonchalantly in his saddle. He was trying to watch the proceedings closely, but always his eyes wandered to the horse ahead of him. As the priest spoke once more he pulled his mind back to the situation in hand.

‘You blind fools! He speaks nothing of sense but of dreams which may never come and of practises only proved for a man to whom life is war and whose spirit will writhe in flame for his murdering. He stands in fear and wishes to damn everyone here to an eternity with him in those burning folds of doom. I say this not to scare you, but to save you. I wish to save you all, as was my duty in our old town. Notice I do this still, even though through long trials you have shunned me and those who follow me for the misplaced novelty of this upstart. He is all and nothing, a great shape but little substance, a light without warmth and more importantly without direction. See how always he must take the council of a fool who does not have the presence of mind or expertise of wit to allow himself gainful employ. A man who has failed at being less than a man leads us, his words placed carefully in the mouth of a man who is good at what he does, but is not good at anything else. This son of war, this bastard offspring of mans darkest habit leads you all, and you believe his words that he leads you into the light and not, as his life has mirrored, further and deeper into the wrath of men who no you not. I speak only the truth and trust you as I have always trusted you that you will make the choice which will ultimately save you all. The choice you have laid before you is simple and the time has come to make it swiftly before you travel further into folly. Go with him and die, or travel with me back to whence we came to live once more where we know life works.’

Michael glared around the assembled people, and far away thunder growled it’s displeasure at the sky. He looked at the priest, ensconced in his ring of supporters, which had grown during his speech.

‘You say life, but do you know what life is like in imprisonment? That is what will happen should you choose to leave and retrace the steps which were forged, do not forget, with the blood of many of our friends. Do them the justice of striving forth, do not sully their memories by skulking back down the mountain because of the words of a man scared of the weather. Always onward, this I have learnt in my journeys. Rarely does the reason for fleeing depart in time. If you return to your burnt town, and I say this in the hope that you will not all die on the trip, if you do, what will have changed for you? Nothing more than the static lack of rooftops and the need to obey this snake in lieu of any true leader. I do not envy the chances of any man who follows him, and should you make it back I urge you to think hard on what life will be like under the boot of this leech of the soul. No man deserves to die, but the death-wish placed upon you by acceptance of immortality is unshakeable. Death will be swift and retribution slow should you think more of his mumbo than of the chance of freedom from it.’

‘What do you know of our beliefs? You ruffian to whom life is but a gallery for death. You speak hard of that which is beyond you small mind to know, and these people have had longer to understand that life without it is no life at all. Your retribution will be slow and unforgiving, for never is murder of men justified. Your days in the sun are numbered, and after this there will be no time for regret. Follow an empty jar in the hope it will one day fill with wine and you will chase the hope forever. Come now, and together we will drink deeply in the spirit and enjoy life and afterlife while this man knows nothing but pain and sufferance. Prove me false and I will bow, but as we have seen no man can make it so. He says life, but I say that it is nothing like life when the grass is all you have.’

The gathering murmurs in the crowd shifted tempo once more and the circle grew once again. The crowd not in that ring looked thin, and men and woman alike were swapping longing glances with friends already convinced. The jester looked on, silent on his horse. Ahead of him the woman looked back and in her eyes he saw real fear, and it was not fear for Michael but fear for herself. The darkness shifted and the jester was sitting beside Michael, toying with the pendant on the tail of his coxcomb. All eyes turned to him, and he raised his hooded face to the priest.

‘You speak of that which you have no place to stand in judgement over. These people consider you an authority on the very thing which defies authority and grants equality to all irrespective of position or placement. You, sir, are as the undertaker, selling coffins to make death more comfortable and in doing so darkening life in the making of coffins. It matters not what people believe, just that they believe.’

‘And you, fool, what do you believe that makes you so sure of your eternal soul?’

‘That I am sure f my soul is all the belief I need. For with certainly comes contentment and you prey on the weak by filling their lives with uncertainty. If you would die here on this mountaintop, would you feel worse that if you died nearer the level of the sea? There is no need to reinforce your belief with placement, therefore it follows that your beliefs not the reason for your attempted desertion. I care not for the real reason, but these people whom you have convinced to follow you on the promise of that which now is irrelevant may wish you to explain yourself. I hold no opinion other than that the guidance of Michael has as yet kept more of you alive than not, so it would seem sensible to follow him to the end of your journey. This is but me, and as it has been said my soul is safe and my feet go wherever I wish them to, so your fates are in your own hands. They are not heavy and you should try to carry your own, because the weight of many is greater than the weight of few. Believe what you will, good sir, I am no man to stop you, but let all people make their own choice in the matter and do not dazzle them with promises of fresher air.’

The silence that followed was total. Everyone was thinking on what the jester had said, and as one by one they edged on down the road the jester turned to Michael and smiled. Michael was bowed under the weight of the debate but he smiled also, wearily. At his back the woman’s eyes were sparkling with the energy of the moment and she held all the tighter onto Michael. His duty done and his mind remaid, the jester turned and slowly rode away, deflating with each heartbeat.