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Author's Notes: Written for Imoto Lehcar's writing competition, 'Top of Your Game' in Gaiaonline.
Un s o l v e dRi d d l e
-Mystery of a Riddler's Existence-
Username: Rino-chan
Story inspired by:
The trump card set (Joker card), and 'Corrupt a Wish'.
Word
count: 4715 Words (approx.)
Title:
Unsolved Riddle
Story:
After dedicating my life in trying to solve an unsolved yet fantastic mystery, I have come upon many but unconfirmed conclusions which may or may not be true about the Court Jester, the Joker. The study of his life is mine, and I wanted to find him, wanted to question him and understand how his mind works. Joker is, quite literally, one of the very few who comes in a game set, but does not belong in it. And because of that, he does not need to follow the rules of our land. Of Gameland.
Life without rules… Life without existence. I wondered what Joker felt when he knew this. I knew that he knew. Everyone knew that he was aware of what he is. And yet… he lives. He’s a legend far too great to be fictional, yet too brilliant to be common.
He is the Joker.
And I, Ludus, wanted to understand him.
“Psst…! Khastelle!” Despite his own words, Jake was shouting.
“What?” Khastelle snapped as he turned to glare at his classmate, annoyed that his vague thoughts were broken.
“What’s with the long face? Ever know what happened to the cat who got stuck in the mouse’s trap?” Jake asked, grinning still. He twirled his pen between his fingers in the most distracting way possible, taunting his friend with a loud voice – he would whisper when he needed to be loud.
“No, what?” The other asked. He was curious now. Usually, Jake’s little words hold a double meaning, but Khastelle couldn’t see one here which was quite unusual.
The teacher cleared his throat loudly and Jake winked knowingly. “Guess!” He said, turning his green eyes towards the teacher, eyes shining with too much delight and concentration for the teacher to fully appreciate. Khastelle frowned and shook his head, wondering what Jake meant with his little joke. He wasn’t that reserved, was he? Khastelle was a naturally-quiet person, so there was no reason for Jake to suddenly pipe up like that. But Jake wasn’t a very straightforward person – in fact, he would claim that being straightforward was being against nature itself… whatever that would mean.
“Attention, please.” The teacher said sharply. The rest of the class straightened somewhat, still in their chairs. He nodded approvingly. “Thank you. Now unfortunately, Mrs. Black had to take the day off. She’s ill, so I need to cover the class for today, but only for this lesson. As you know, I’m Mr. Ebony, and I wouldn’t like it if you make a joke about it, Jake,” he eyed him angrily, “but I hope you’ll enjoy this little tale. It’s one of my favourite legends of the past where our land is. You’ll have a test on this on Friday – so pay attention.
“Our land wasn’t usually called the Gameland as it is now. It was a battlefield. Fights occurred between the games and what you are would be what you’re playing as. The dices had it easy, only assisting those who needed help battling, though their help, as you know, depends on luck and randomness. Sometimes you’re healed, sometimes you’re tortured – it’s the way the dices used to be many years ago. The Trumps and the Tarots, both major families, had major wars against each other, accompanied by the Blacks and Reds from the Checkers city. Destruction came everywhere, and yet, no battle was as fierce as the one which went between the Blacks and the Whites of the Chess family.”
He pronounced ‘Chess’ as if it was the most beautiful thing ever and that made Khastelle wince. They all did it. Chess was a title. Those who hold the title holds fame. The title of the families of Kings and Queens of the lands, dominating every other piece, every other being. But this was what he wanted to hear, what he wanted to know. Khastelle leaned forward and gazed at the teacher, aware that Jake’s eyes flickered to look at him momentarily. He could sense it.
“The battle went on for centuries between the Blacks and the Whites. Usually, it’s a single-hand game, but sometimes, multiple games were played simultaneously. Nobody knew what sparked the tempers of the Whites and the Blacks, but war happened and it stretched on for centuries – in the Masterworld, that was the time of slavery. Of war, prejudice and discrimination between the blacks and whites there as well as here.”
“Peace be upon the Masters.” The class chorused quietly.
“Peace be upon the Masters.” The teacher nodded with a small smile. “Anyway. As battle went on between these, nobody knew that they were doing what they shouldn’t be doing. Nobody except one.” He paused with a frown, eyes turning to look at Jake who was still fiddling with the pen between his fingers. “We exist in a world where playing games isn’t acceptable. A chesspiece cannot play Chess and a card cannot play Poker. It’s the law of the world … and only one knew. But even when he knew, it wasn’t against the law for him to be quiet about it. Why? – Because that’s his personality. Not his duty.”
“The Joker of the Trumps.” Jake whispered.
The teacher nodded gravely. “The Joker is always discarded in the trump card. He’s seen as unneeded. Just another card, but one that shouldn’t be played. And still, from that day, no treatment of justice was done for this card. During the war, Joker observed the battles and he played to ruin it. But Joker never had any games to play, never had any games he couldn’t play. The Joker created chaos… then peace. He started with a string of riddles which nobody could solve – either the Blacks could answer the Whites’ or the Whites could answer the Blacks’ – or neither. He played cunningly, avoiding everything which might pull him down until the ridiculousness of the scene captured everyone’s breath. Peace was made there and then, and Joker disappeared, now only a legend, a memory.”
“Question, sir.” A hand rose and Clover smiled slightly. “If the Joker does not exist, then why does he still appear in the deck in the Masterworld?” She asked.
“Good question. The Masterworld and our world run parallel, though they are not aware of that. Their lives are too important, too occupied, to be able to believe of our existence. Games were taken for granted in their lives, so they played naturally, fairly. You tend to find those who cheat in a game but that’s rare among the best of the best. Those who cheat are usually those who cannot play – they wish they could play as well which led them to the monstrous act.
“The Joker was created as part of the deck, but its uses are very limited. Usually, the Masters discard the Joker from the game, but of course, there are times when the Joker is used. It all depends, but as time goes by, the Joker’s uses fades out in the years until it’s almost non-existent. But because the time in our world and the time of the Masterworld doesn’t correspond to each other, the Joker remains in the deck of cards. There is no way for us to change that unless if we’re willing to fight for its destruction for the next billion years. Perhaps even more. It’s better to leave the Joker where he is – after all, he can do no harm to the Masters by just existing with the other cards.”
Khastelle nodded slowly, finding the subject very interesting. He was enough of a bookworm to know that a century in their world might mean a day in the Masterworld – or an hour. Nobody could determine how slow the Masterworld was. It was also the reason why the Legendary Battle never affected the Masters. Though the great war occurred between gamepieces, the Masters wouldn’t notice – not with how slow the time went anyway. They fought for a few centuries, but in the Masterworld, that would be no more than a few days or hours. And also, back then, games weren’t as popular as they were now.
After the Legendary Battle, peace fell upon the Gameland and the gamepieces began to unite with one another. Pawns were allowed to make life with dices and since then more unusual pieces appeared until eventually, the Masterworld caught up with the changes and new games appeared in the lands. Personally, Khastelle found it quite odd that such things happened – that the Masters never realised of their existence and exactly how the games they played were created… but many said that the Masters had enough to worry about without needing to be aware of their existence. The Gameland’s duty, as a community, was to let the peace remain and allow the Masters to play and enjoy. Just seeing their delighted faces in a game was enough to make a gamepiece devote their lives in creating as much harmony as possible.
It was honourable.
A duty.
A life.
Straight as he was, Khastelle never realised that his thoughts were read, that they were being watched. He never heard the low chuckle, never heard the harsh whisper of the melodic-voiced figure. Gracefully, it disappeared and no sound accompanied its departure save for the small twinkle of a pair of bells.
As gamepieces, it’s their duty to be gamepieces. But if Joker, never an official participant, cannot be a gamepiece and had to wander around free… then why shouldn’t he exist in a world where the other gamepieces were now just like him?
It didn’t make any sense.
Apparently not.
“What are you doing, Schellen?” He asked softly. Her eyes, though watery, were still fixed on him. A hard, impenetrable gaze like hard diamonds. She blinked and smiled.
“Nein, Opa.” She answered. “What are you doing?” Schellen replied.
The grandfather smirked and turned his gaze back onto the hard parchment. With full concentration, he began to colour the faded lines with the delicate brush, making soft strokes. He was putting his heart and soul for this card, Schellen realised. The way he used the brush… he was paying more attention than when he concentrated on the Ace. She leaned forward ever so slightly, curious now. She could see the picture now. The faint outline. It looked like the figure of someone graceful, playing his flute in the middle of the night. He was winking at her and as she focused her eyes on his merry face, his eyes moved slightly.
She gasped.
“Do you like him?” Opa asked. Breathless and surprised, Schellen looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. It took her a minute before she could nod, still dazed. She was starting to imagine things, but Opa merely laughed at her perplexed expression. “This is an odd card, Schellen. His name is Joker, so pay your respects. Like the rest, he has his story. Do you remember the story of the others? Or shall I refresh your memory, Schellen?” The man asked, a faint smile between his lips. Suddenly, he looked exhausted.
Schellen shook her head. “I remember the stories well, Opa.” She answered. “Gras and Eichel’s battle in the war and how Gras had to kill Eichel but they’re still united. How he had to be noble and kill his best friend when he realised that Eichel was the one who started the war. And then Schellen, the rich – the purpose of the fight. And finally, Herz… the symbol of love between Gras and Eichel.” Schellen answered. As she spoke, her grandfather nodded approvingly. Schellen recognised the look in her grandfather’s eyes and she straightened, ready to hear the story again. “What of Joker?” She asked.
“The stories are tied in, Schellen. I’ve never told you about Joker, however. He is an odd one. But he was there during the battle between Ace and Club. Gras and Eichel.” He smiled. Funny that they were speaking German in Rouen. But they were in an isolated place.
Schellen smiled. “Do tell.” She prompted.
“Ace and Club were close, as you know, but from different families. They’re both wealthy people, and they were very, very kind. But unfortunately, they mixed with a bad lot.” He started, placing his brush down. He was nearly finished with the Joker, but he decided to pause first before continuing, worried that if his attention was broken, the Joker might be ruined. He stared at the card for a while and turned his gaze back to Schellen. “Wealth is everything during those days. Love meant nothing, love didn’t exist. People only cherished the wealth they had, but wealth itself isn’t evil. Nothing is evil between Love, Wealth, Club and Ace. Even when Ace killed Club in the end.” He smiled.
“We associate Club with war and Ace with death for a reason, Schellen. Club did something very wrong and Ace had to kill him. It couldn’t be avoided. But they loved each other more than anything else. More than the wealth they owned.” He paused.
Schellen nodded. “You’ve told me this tale before. But what does Joker have to do with it?” She asked.
“Ah… Joker. You see, Joker is a jester. But he was also poor. Nobody knew where he came from, but he met Ace and Club and sensed their love in the land of wealth. Because he became associated with them, he appears in the deck of Trumps which I am creating now. Nobody should forget Ace’s story. Or… actually, I better say Joker’s story. He’s the key.” When he paused, Schellen had to shake her head. Opa wasn’t making any sense. “Joker was poor, but he wanted some of the wealth to help those who needed it – like himself. He walked over to Club and asked a string of questions which symbolises something else.”
“Riddles?”
“Yes, riddles. Joker wanted to know what Club thought of wealth. Club was honest. He cared not about wealth, but he needed to care for it for his King and his Queen. Joker nodded and vanished from sight. He asked what everyone else thought of the wealth, and they all said they loved wealth. He did not want to believe it. Joker stood high on the pillar and shouted at the top of his voice;
“‘You all do not know what love is! Or what the feeling of being wealthy has!’”
“People panicked. Jesters were unwelcome. But Joker made no notice and he pointed to Club, announcing that Club was the one who did not cherish the wealth – that Club knew the real meaning of love. Club did not deny it. It was just unfortunate that Joker never encountered Ace before. Not really. War happened there and then, between the followers of the others and the followers of Club. Club was a very powerful family, a very powerful man. The fight was fierce. They wanted to kill Club. As that happened, destruction occurred. Some of the wealth, knowledge and the rest, disappeared. Unbeknownst to those who cherished their wealth, it disappeared slowly, damaged and ruined, in the middle of the battle.
“Ace stepped forward then and aimed his spear at Club. His eyes held all the regret, the sorrow. But he could see that Club did not want to win the fight over wealth. He wanted to fight for what was right, but Ace needed to set the peace. He killed his friend who he loved more than the wealth. He’s now seen as Death. A symbol of Death. Club represents War, Diamond represents the Wealth, and Heart, of course… represents Love.”
“What happened to Joker?”
“The people around realised the damage they have done. Homes ruined, citizens killed. It was a time of mourning. A time when they realised what they loved most, though some still mourned over their lost wealth. Joker disappeared afterwards, never to be seen again. Though it was because of him that Ace had to kill Club, he created peace.”
“Peace… where?”
Opa smiled. “It’s not here in Rouen. This happened in Gameland.”
Schellen’s jaw dropped. “This is only a story?” She blinked. How she wanted the story to be true…
Opa shook his head. “That is for you to decide, Schellen. But for myself, I believe Gameland exists. Such pain and sorrow must be experienced in real for it to be appreciated fully. The Trump cards symbolises the story of the Joker, but most said it’s the Ace. I gave up trying to change their views – after all, it’s only a game set. If you believe such a land exists, then it might exist. It will exist. In your eyes.”
Schellen didn’t know what to say. Her eyes fixed on the Joker card and she stared at him. The jester. Creator of peace and war. As she stared at the figure, wondering if he really did exist or not, he winked again.
And she knew.
As far as my research goes, nobody ever encountered Joker twice in the course of their long, meaningful lives. And because he doesn’t exist literally in a game… Joker cannot die.
A woman spotted him standing there and her eyes widened with fear. She clutched her son and pointed a shaking finger at him as she shrank back fearfully. “J-J-Joker! It’s Joker!” She screamed.
Chaos everywhere. Those who heard the woman gazed above and as their suspicions were confirmed, they too screamed out loud. In a matter of seconds, the ones nearby were already running for their lives, not wanting to look back. Too frightened, too afraid. They ran and shouted, shielding others from the danger which they thought existed, but which, unknown to them, would never unleash itself. One of them stopped running and looked up, but in a blink of an eye, Joker suddenly disappeared and he gasped loudly.
What was going on?
The jester smiled to himself as people pointed at the air where he was standing. He dropped his cloak and again, another loud gasp could be heard from the crowd down below. Joker arched an eyebrow. Surely, they wouldn’t think that he had disappeared just then? It was only a trick. A mere illusion which he had grown accustomed to and which the rest would expect to see whenever he takes up the scene. Joker learned about these tricks and illusions himself and he was born into the Land with the knowledge of games, riddles and tricks anyway. It’s part of his famed identity.
His silence and remoteness quietened the crowd. They stopped running and gazed up at him, some confused, some still frightened. Joker was truly an intimidating figure. First, a few jagged breaths, and afterwards… complete stillness. All eyes gazed at the elegant figure on top of the large clock tower and Joker managed a small smile. Even when he’s just standing there… he had control. He was respected, he was feared. And all he wanted was to be part of this stupid community. To belong, like everyone else –
No.
He couldn’t think about it. Joker doesn’t exist. He’s non-existent, not known, not welcomed. A Joker like him belonged nowhere else but in his own soul. And he wouldn’t shame himself by trying to blend in the crowd. Definitely not.
A man stepped forward bravely. “What do you want, Joker?” He asked firmly.
Joker’s eyes met his, but only for a second. He smiled… and sang;
“Dearest slaves of the Masters,
What
I want is none too serious,
Only an eclipse of two different
matters,
…But which slaves that have no powers...”
He broke off, but only for a moment. A whish of his cloak and he disappeared – a trick and an illusion, but the rest thought it was magic. Joker jumped off the clock tower, still invisible. And he finished his little joke, riddle and request;
“…Cannot give.”
“Fine. What were you trying to do anyway? If it was impersonating the Joker of the Trumps, then you have failed miserably.” He said, sticking his tongue out.
Khastelle rolled his eyes. “So I’m not the most elegant person in Gameland. Or the smartest, or the feared, or the –”
“Are you ever going to get to the point, Khastelle?” Jake cut him off, an eyebrow raised. “Joker would respect you, I would imagine.” He said quietly, a faraway look in his eyes.
Khastelle laughed. “What are you talking about?”
“You can only be straight, can’t you? You’re never going to consider being bisexual, and you can’t lie or pretend to save your life, Khastelle. Joker would respect that. The ability to do so… at least in his position.” Jake smiled.
“What in the name of Chess are you talking about?” Khastelle blinked. “Jake, you’re talking as if you know this Joker. Nobody knows how his mind works. He talks in riddles too complicated to decipher.”
Jake smiled. “I know that.” He answered, turning to leave.
“Hey, wait, where are you going?”
“Latin class. Don’t want to be late, eh?”
Khastelle frowned. “What’s today’s subject?”
“Ludus.” Games.
I took interest in Joker after that.
His creator.
Himself.
A boy named Jake.
A small laugh escaped his lips and he threw his head back with a grin. He always loved how his masks work. How it could make it look as if he was smiling or frowning. Nobody knew that he wore masks before. Nobody except young Jake who was now cowering from his friends, scared to death after admiring him for so long. Joker wasn’t expecting anything more or less from Jake. After all, he was only a kid.
But he did feel sorry for the poor lad.
How could anyone think of understanding him? It was unthinkable. Unheard of. And it was also pointless. The point was that Joker existed in a world where, technically, he couldn’t exist. And that released him from the law of Physics. He could live forever. He didn’t need to worry about making war, or making peace. He didn’t need to worry about rules. He was free.
Unlike those… gamepieces. Those pieces who could be chained down by love and warmth. They could die. They could fight. They could shine as much as they wanted with their own efforts. They could shine because they wanted to shine and not because they had to. They existed. Both in heart and soul and in everything else. They were played. They were loved. The Masters understood them.
Joker wondered silently to himself about what he thinks about those gamepieces. Was he jealous? Was he sympathetic? What was he feeling? To say that he didn’t enjoy being free was a downright understatement. Yet, to say he enjoyed his life was a wrong thing completely. Nobody knew what he felt about himself, except a child.
Jake.
He guessed something which Joker thought might be the truth. The truth about himself. The boy might be right, and he might be wrong, but he did earn himself a good position of being able to see his face. And that scared him.
Slowly, Joker unclasped the latch to his mask and he pulled it off. At the same time, the clouds moved without his command and shielded the moonlight from shining on his face. In the dark, he smiled, his eyes twinkling slightly. A long nose, high cheekbones… or was that the trick of the light?
How could one tell?
He was Joker after all.
