Story 6 - Found Meaning

(Music fades in)

Welcome. Cassandra’s Tales and Truths is an anthology series that utilizes the wisdom of the Delphic Maxims. In this episode, the sixth episode, Cassandra spins what might feel like a familiar tale. The echoes of it remain in our popular consciousness, though we hardly ever recognize it for what it is. Perhaps it is merely because we don’t want to accept this aspect of ourselves. It is a tendency that no generation has ever fully tamed, but in avoiding this lesson… well, in running from what we think the fatal storm is, we may just find a worse one.

So, trickster, as hard as it is, embrace your actual fate.

(Beep. Music starts)

Auron’s heart pounded in his chest as he crept through the darkened palace hallway. If this were any ordinary heist, the hard part would have been over. Fortifications are simple, predictable--be it for a city or a home. All thought is given to the outer shell while planning within the inner walls is more carefree focused on feelings of joy and relative simplicity. The logic was that no malicious force would be able to make it this far. The outer wall is the deterrent, and so it has to be strong and impenetrable. Meanwhile, the inner corridors are safe and meant for living. It is flawed wisdom, but it speaks to the desire of the heart for restfulness and a belief that peace can be manufactured. 

However, a thief knows better. A thief sees can see the illusion for what it is. Namely, an opportunity. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Now Auron did not consider himself a thief, though the accusation had been tossed towards him on more than one occasion. Rather, he saw himself as a man who loved opportunity and welcomed it into his life freely and without the burden of a moral assessment. And so, if he needed to steal and could manage it, he would do so. If he needed to work honestly, he could manage that as well. There was no true cloak he wore consistently. Why should he bother with one when they all fit so well? In fact, Auron was not one for decisions in the same way that he was not one for morality. Those matters did not disgust him, but they were passing fancies, small fascinations that only entertained him when he was resting from his main pursuit. 

This pursuit could be divided into two parts. On one hand, he had to survive. And on the other, he had to do it well. And there were times when philosophical endeavors would contend with that main pursuit, which was plenty of reason to set them aside. Whether or not he should. 

On most days, this all meant very little. It meant a couple card tricks, a small flick of the wrist, or a carefully selected word or two: all of it in the open air of the town beneath the palace where an escape could come easily and was always a solution to whatever consequences Auron had fallen into. 

(Music fades out) 

But on that day, there would be none of that. And yet, his ultimate pursuit had demanded this of him, even if ease of way was gone. 

(New music starts

His heart was pounding, and he thought he could hear it echoing through the tall, thick castle walls. If that were true then certainly he would be detected. What better irony than this: that such a critical function to his very survival would be the thing that gave him away. But he did have much of an interest in irony. He never gave much thought to. It just wasn’t important, and there was never much time for it.

Once again, time was not on his side. Auron slipped into a small alcove to catch his breath. There was no guard around, no threat to be wary of. But he needed to steady his breath before one came. He shut his eyes, finding it easier to regain his composure without the looming sight of the old castle and all of its stone work in his vision. Whether or not he was inclined to admit it, the visuals around him were having their intended effect. They spoke to him of the strength of this palace, of the resources at the disposal of the royal family, and even of the royal family themselves and the touch of divinity that rested in their bloodline. The artwork told him of the futility in this effort as if its designers knew that someday there would be a young man named Auron who would try to slay the prince, believing that doing so would save his own life. The premise of this accusation was much the same as that which was utilized by the old beggar woman who flung this prophecy at him: that futures were set, tightly bound in a way that no mortal could pull apart and capable of being read like any other book.

Auron could not accept that. In that one matter, this belief was incompatible with his main pursuit. After all, this supposed prophecy that he was so eager to avoid was that the prince would bring Auron’s life to an end with a simple gesture. How could someone whose only concern was survival allow that to come to pass? Passivity was inconceivable. But the problem with having a prince as this ultimate foe was how impossible any action was, particularly for a street orphan.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Auron knew the odds were against him, though he could say it. Not even to himself. 

The earliest memory Auron had of the royal family was not of them per say but of their guards: those fierce men draped head to toe in armor marching through Auron’s world, a world he understood to be rough, unforgiving, and immovable. Those men could crush it beneath their heels, and they were owned men. They had been tamed by the royal family. So what did that say about them? 

It was a simplistic and childlike view of the world, but it had stuck with Auron as he grew. Even if he had never heard that prophecy, a fear of the royal family would have remained with him all of his days. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

With his breath steadier, Auron opened his eyes again. He was relieved to find himself still alone despite how vulnerable he had just been. Auron knew better than to be vulnerable. The mere thought of such a state frayed his nerves. To steady himself, he reached for the hilt of the dagger in his pocket. Sharpening it had cost more than he expected, but it would be worth it. A quick death would be the best, he knew, though it was not about ethics, of course. Perhaps there was something kind and compassionate about a quick passing, but as far as Auron was concerned, a quick death was the most irreversible one.

Auron continued pursuit through the palace, aware of every movement he made from the lightest step to the most shallow breath. Every inch of palace floor or air that his body requested was a demand that might give his location away. Being caught was something that Auron had thought a great deal about. And though he had tried to take  precautions against it, those measures were not as comforting as they could have been.

(Music fades out and new music fades in) 

A few careful bribes had told him where to enter the palace and how to navigate it, but guards and servants who can be bought can really be bought by any one. And though Auron had paid a hefty sum for momentary loyalty, it would not take much to be out bid. He had paid what he could afford, but when one thinks of the royal family and all the noble families desperate for a bit of royal favor, that was hardly anything at all. If no one thought about it, though, if no one thought to contend against some imaginary force on that very night, then Auron had a chance, he thought. Besides, he had made those bribes with high quality gold, gold that came from the prince himself. 

It was meant to be a gift, from a royal to his subject. Or, rather, it was meant to be part of a barter: a trade for Auron's loyalty as a subject. However, it was not offered with a great deal of intention. Auron was just there, among the crowds that lined the roads as the prince tossed gold purses into the crowd. By the end of the day, Auron had managed to secure two such purses. One he had caught justly. The other came to him from a card game poorly designed but well played. It was easy to cheat at, but Auron could cheat well. He could cheat in a way that often went unnoticed. And so those around him who still also very much lived their lives on the streets never noticed they were swindled and remained somewhat content with the momentary thrill that was the game itself. It helped, of course, that they had no conception of what they lost. No one who lived on the streets knew any differently. But it did not mean they weren’t happy. It was just the sort of happiness that did not seek out more and that was cherished for what it was.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Auron was no different. For all his bravado and creativity, he was no different than the rest of them, the others who shared his lot. He thought only of the day and what pleasures could be brought into it, novelty that aided in this push to live at whatever cost it came. There could have been plenty of that purchased with those coins. It was more money than he had ever seen in his life. There was more that could be done with it, truly, but he had no understanding of those things. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

He had no understanding of the world beyond the city beneath the palace walls. And this was what the royal family had hoped for. After all, their lives depended on the small city beneath the castle foundation. It was those working hands that supplied the labor, that toiled in the fields, and that made the nobility what it was. And it was, in part, the actions of the many kings and queens who had once ruled over that land which had ensured that such a thing would remain true. Fearing change, they had held their kingdom together with this in mind, resisting difference at every turn and giving those on the streets nothing to dream about.

But the prince was different from those who had come before him. He believed that change did not just mean things would get worse, but rather, he saw the potential for things to get better and that this better would not destabilize the royal family but strengthen it. For you see, the prince had a very different set of fears than his father and all the ancestors that came before. The prince was not afraid of the peasantry but of the nobility who were physically closer but whose allegiances were tied strictly to perceptions of themselves and the power they could wield one day. The only major impediment to those fantasies was the royal family, blood kin to so many of them, true, but that seemed like an insignificant detail. 

The prince wanted to change things. He wanted to free his kingdom from the anchor to the past that--as he saw it--could eventually swallow him up. This desire was written clearly for those who knew how to read it. Like the old woman who threw the prophecy at Auron and who believed the prince tossing the coins had been enough to create a life-altering change, a change she could actually imagine. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Once upon a time she had been a merchant’s daughter, and though her fortunes had changed, for the field of prophecy (as other people call her words) is not one that pays well, the old woman could remember what a life could be like, what she had experienced. Perhaps on a better day, when her mind was well-rested and clearer, she could have told the boy about it. She could have spun an entire tapestry, a thing that he could read without seeing and still put his trust in. But instead, she was short, vague, her word choice was poor, and a mistake was made. 

“The prince will end your life,” she had said, “with a simple gesture.”

She meant the prince will end your suffering with a gift. She meant that Auron could take the chance for a rebirth and to live the life she once knew, one that he and many would have called worthwhile. But Auron did not understand that. In a panic he made little attempt to. With that small step forward, he could have traversed a great distance. After all, he was clever enough to make it into the palace--a feat that should have been impossible. What else could he have done had he just turned his head.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

As he saw it, this fate could be avoided and needed to be. So he ran towards something he did not understand. He ran into what he thought was a subversion of his fate, to his credit, it was. Auron did not get the rebirth he could have had. He did not get a second chance or hope. He did not get a dream but a nightmare. Creeping through the hallways of a stone palace with a tightness in his chest, Auron knew he was not an assassin. If he gave it more thought, he could have accepted that about himself. He would know that, for me, running from a perceived threat was much better than taking it on. And that in and of itself would be an end to a way of living, but it still would have been a life, as many would have called it. He would still be breathing. In time, he would laugh and smile again. He would fall in love with a person and many things, many moments. 

But he did not think of any of that. He instead thought of sneaking into a palace, bribing his way through guards, while carrying a dagger in his pocket that he did not know how to use: a moment of foolishness that could have been overlooked, perhaps, if this had been any other hallway and not one where a princess was playing her game of make-believe, carrying a hand-me-down crossbow from her older brother. It was a gift of another sort, one a bit more explicitly illicit. It was something that she was not allowed to have, but she had yearned for, and it fit against her hand perfectly. By day, it had to remain tucked away in a chest, completely out of sight, but at night, it could be swept up in the fantasy games she lost herself where it could rest where it seemed to belong: in her palm with her fingers wrapped around it and one on the trigger where its impulsive ways might lead to a regrettable moment.

Or just a moment that could, in and of itself, not be called regrettable. It was just a part of a series of moments which lead to a sister unknowingly defending her generous brother. Just a moment, drawing meaning from the string of moments it was a part of. You could say that. You could spin quite a different tale with it. It’s not as if Auron will ever give it much thought or understand what could have been, what a prophecy is or what it ought to be.

(Beep. New music starts)

Cassandra’s Tales and Truths is a production of Miscellany Media Studios. It is written, edited, produced, and performed by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. Transcripts can be found at oracleofdusk.online. That’s one word. Oracleofdusk.online. Thanks!