Chapter 6: Emrick's Gambit
The air in Harrowhill crackled with tension, as though the village itself sensed the brewing storm. Tara spent the morning wandering the cobblestone streets, greeted by cautious smiles and wary glances. The laughter she had sparked lingered, but fear had not been banished.
Elder Emrick's absence from the public eye was unnerving. Tara knew the elder well enough to suspect he wasn't retreating—he was planning.
The jester's mask felt heavier in her satchel than ever before, as if it, too, could sense the weight of the decision Tara would soon have to make.
By midday, the elder's bell tolled, its deep chime reverberating through the village. A summons.
Tara joined the growing crowd in the square, her heart pounding.
Elder Emrick emerged from the hall, flanked by Merrick the blacksmith and several other loyal villagers. His face was grim, and his piercing gaze swept over the gathering.
"People of Harrowhill," he began, his voice steady and authoritative. "For years, we have survived against the odds. We endured the storms and rebuilt our lives. But now, we are at a crossroads."
He gestured toward Tara, his eyes narrowing. "This... child has brought chaos into our midst. Her so-called laughter has divided us, distracted us from the discipline that has kept us alive."
The crowd murmured, some nodding in agreement, others shaking their heads.
Tara stepped forward, her voice clear. "You're wrong, Elder. The laughter hasn't divided us—it's brought us closer together. Look around you. People are talking, connecting. That's what we've lost, and that's what we need to survive."
Emrick's jaw tightened. "You think laughter will save us? It's a fool's gambit. But I'll tell you what, Tara—I'll give you one chance to prove me wrong."
The crowd fell silent, their eyes darting between Emrick and Tara.
"What do you mean?" Tara asked cautiously.
Emrick crossed his arms. "Tomorrow at dusk, we will gather here. You claim that laughter has the power to unite us, to heal us. So show us. Perform your so-called perfect jest for all to see."
Tara's stomach twisted. She could feel the weight of the villagers' gazes, their hopes and doubts pressing down on her.
"And if I succeed?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Emrick's expression hardened. "If you succeed, I will stand down, and you may lead Harrowhill into your chaos. But if you fail, the mask will be destroyed, and we will return to the order that has kept us safe."
The crowd erupted in murmurs, some in protest, others in agreement.
Tara clenched her fists. She didn't need Ludicar's laughter in her mind to know this was a trap. Emrick was betting on her failure, and the stakes couldn't be higher.
But what choice did she have?
"I'll do it," she said, her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her.
---
That night, Tara returned to the Silent Woods, the mask heavy in her hands. She sat beneath the ancient oak, staring at the iridescent surface as it shifted and shimmered in the moonlight.
"Ludicar," she whispered.
The mask glowed faintly, and the god's voice filled her mind. "Well, well. The stakes have been raised, haven't they? How delightful."
"This isn't a game," Tara snapped. "If I fail, everything I've worked for will be destroyed."
"Ah, but that's what makes it interesting," Ludicar said, his tone playful. "A perfect jest isn't born in comfort, my dear—it's forged in the fire of risk."
Tara sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I don't even know where to start. How can I make them all see the truth?"
"Start with yourself," Ludicar said, his voice softening. "The best jokes are honest. They come from a place of vulnerability. Show them who you are, what you've seen. Let them laugh with you, not at you."
Tara frowned, turning the words over in her mind. Vulnerability. Honesty. Could she really do that?
The mask pulsed warmly, as though urging her on.
"Fine," she muttered. "But if this goes wrong, it's on you."
Ludicar's laughter echoed in her mind as the mask grew dim once more.
---
The next day passed in a blur. Tara spent hours pacing the woods, rehearsing, discarding, and rewriting her performance. She thought about the storms, the silence that followed, and the way fear had gripped the village like a vice.
By the time dusk arrived, she was trembling with a mixture of fear and determination.
The village square was packed, every villager present. A wooden platform had been erected, and torches cast flickering light over the crowd.
Emrick stood at the front, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.
Tara climbed onto the platform, the jester's mask in her hand. She turned to face the crowd, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear the murmurs around her.
"I'm not a comedian," she began, her voice shaky. "I'm not a bard or a performer. I'm just someone who's tired of being afraid."
She put on the mask, and the world shifted. Colors brightened, sounds sharpened, and a strange calm settled over her.
She began her act, weaving together stories of the storms and the absurdity of their reactions to them. She mimicked their exaggerated fears, their futile attempts to control the uncontrollable. She made herself the fool, tripping over imaginary obstacles and poking fun at her own mistakes.
But she didn't stop there. She shared her own fears, her doubts, her longing for connection. She showed them the truth of who she was—and who they were.
The laughter started small, hesitant, but it grew with each passing moment. By the time she reached the end of her performance, the square was filled with the sound of joy.
Even Emrick's lips twitched, though he quickly pressed them into a thin line.
Tara removed the mask, her chest heaving. "We've let fear rule us for too long," she said, her voice raw. "But we don't have to anymore. We can laugh. We can live."
The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers echoing through the square.
Emrick stepped forward, his face unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, finally, he sighed. "You've made your point, Tara. The mask is yours to keep. For now."
Tara felt a surge of relief, but she knew this was only the beginning.
The village wasn't fully healed. Fear still lingered, and Emrick's doubt remained. But for the first time in years, Harrowhill was alive.
And Tara was ready to lead them into the light.