Fauldon's Dream and the Karier of the Task

Across the remaining hills they went, for sir Knowington seemed to know them better than he let on, though who would doubt his direction being as the Lighthouse was viewable in the nearing horizon. Over, between, and around they went until reaching the last overlook. Mr Fauldon could see the small town before the towering Lighthouse.

“Why did you leave me to Aerold’s deception?” he thought to ask as they gazed. “It wasn’t as though you honestly didn’t know that I would be tricked, right?”

Sir Knowington did the sort of nod that one might say a teacher does to a student, having intentionally put them through harm’s way that something important may be learned. In this case, Mr Fauldon’s lesson was twofold: he learned of the extent to which he must protect the Task from those who seek to deviate it and also that he must recover from his shortcoming and make amends. He did not like the latter, nor was he a fan of the first. Altogether, he felt misled and underprepared for such an obligation as the responsibility of a whole realm.

“Why would Grevious seek after the stone?” inquired Mr Fauldon. “What purpose has he with it, and why such a change in character if indeed he once was a Karier?”

In light of all his questions and in their descent of the last hillside, sir Knowington finally answered: “Grevious carried many Tasks. Like you, he bore a promising beginning and enduring second task. But upon his third stone, it was realized that he was realizing too much. Not that we desire a Karier to be naïve, rather when the knowledge did sink into a further understanding, the interpretation he took was against the very reason a Karier is chosen—to use the stone instead of care for it.

“The stone, as you know by now, is a balance said to be birthed from part of Nim. With enough patience and understanding of it, one might learn the means of its veins by which it gives strength to this realm. That being said, the stone, once its Karier is acquainted enough with it, gives glimpses of things never before seen. It was in these glimpses that Grevious turned mad in the pursuit as he tasted and lusted after other realms. The end of his third Task assured that madness, and he demanded a fourth, but Keyno refused him the Task, finding, instead, a temporary Karier whilst I sought after his replacement.”

“And that is when you found me,” Mr Fauldon mumbled to himself, drifting into his own mind of thoughtfulness. Grevious must have also been from another realm and taken here. “Then, if I may ask without being thought mad, how many realms are out there? Or is it just two? For I imagine you found Grevious elsewhere less he be from whence you found me.”

The questions were ignored entirely as they entered the small town of Threshold. Noticing it closely for the first time, Mr Fauldon took in the city and its entirety. The entire collection of structures and monuments were built upon planks all being about a foot off the ground (they once formed the scaffolding used to build the Lighthouse). By monuments, one would mean the remnants of wooden anchors and mechanical cranes that once lifted many stone slabs. Old frames, beams, and shelves clustered about the multitude of small, wooden houses in which the people dwelt. At least a good twenty homes poised upon those planks, each nearly as old as the Lighthouse itself. The first building, however, was to their left and stood a proud two floors high. A sign hang upon the side bearing the symbol of a lantern atop a sheep. Innless Sheep were its words etched above.

Only in a moment’s time had some of the townsfolk gathered in front of Mr Fauldon with pattered expressions as though they already knew he had not the stone. Mr Fauldon tried hiding the shame he felt as he followed behind the great guide. It happened that he saw, from the corner of his eye, a little girl running up to him. Her face bore smudges of dirt and a polka-dotted dress of red and blue fluttered to her childish movements. She was no more than five and rushed towards him as though already knowing him.

Seeing her arms outstretched, Mr Fauldon braced himself as she dug a deep embrace to his legs. Her face buried into his Korgath skin and she looked up to him with a smile. “Don’t worry, Mr Mister,” she spoke in a child’s fumble for pronunciation, “I you’ll find it.”

A wave of unease swept over him as his own dirty hands ran gently through her soft, blond hair (well, as blond as blond can be with stains of dirt all about). “And what makes you so certain?” he asked her, kneeling down so as to look her eye to eye.

The smile was infatuating.

“Cause I like you!” she exclaimed, suddenly shy and running back to the mother who stood amidst the crowd, blushes of red upon both their cheeks.

And Mr Fauldon smiled greatly with a new appreciation. Standing, he browsed over the faces surrounding him. They townspeople did not seem as disappointed as he’d first thought. Though missing the stone, they still welcomed him.

“Come, Mr Fauldon,” said sir Knowington, “the light has reached its turn and you should rest before we journey on.”

At that, sir Knowington made his way across the gathered people and into an opposing structure known as the Dyghner’s Table. Mr Fauldon found himself admiring the plethora of arrangements in a diner so unique. Tables of wood, some of stone and some of vine, spanned the floor. At the far end there was a large counter that wound as a half-pipe circling inward.

“So the Karier has arrived,” said the brewer as he strode from behind his counter to greet Mr Fauldon and the guide. “And where is this stone?”

“An obstacle has arisen before us,” sir Knowington interjected, “and we do not yet it. But Mr Fauldon here is weary and hungry, so if you would kindly fill our cups, that would be much appreciated.”

The man laughed as his massive hands propped upon the sides of his waist. A gray silked apron clang to his chest and lower torso. It was hard for Mr Fauldon to tell if the man was a smith or brewer (or a bouncer, for the matter of his sheer size).

“Well then, welcome to my table!” the man exclaimed with hands abroad. He knew sir Knowington’s intent on not speaking too fondly of the stone while it still lie out of reach. “I am Brewer, the greatest brewer this realm has to offer! At least in fact, that is—ha ha ha!”

Despite the many ears listening in, Mr Fauldon and the “know-it-all” guide sat at the bar as Brewer placed two large pints before them. The pints made a loud thud to the hardwood as foam tipped and turved over the rim. “Have you a Bee’s Brew, Karier!” said the overly anxious Brewer, just waiting for Mr Fauldon to try the drink. For they had spoken their fill and it was now time to feast.

Reaching out, Mr Fauldon had to use both hands to comfortably lift the weighty mug. Hesitant yet determined, he took a sip—fighting the anticipation just to reach the sweet liquor hidden within the sugary foam. It was like an expresso, mocha, and triple nectar all in one!

“My dear!” Mr Fauldon exclaimed, shaking his head vibrantly as he swallowed. The sweetness was like seeing candy canes instead of stars about one’s head.

Brewer was at it again with the laughter, pounding a large first upon the counter. “Alas! It is some stout stuff, is it not?” he guffawed. “Here, have some water.”

Mr Fauldon was relieved to finally have something not encumbering going down his throat.

“So,” Brewer began, his back to them as he maneuvered the many oven tops and stoves in final preparations of the meal, “I hear you had quite the venture in Hygh Pass, nearly taken by the rhino beetles before deviously overcoming them in a single move!”

The scene of what actually had happened couldn’t help but come back to his mind, as did the card and how it had saved him then as it had again upon the Crookstath Crossing.

He also remembered Nomad and how the traveler had appeared just in the nick of time to thwart off the great insect Rhae.

“Tell me,” Brewer went on, “have you seen it all yet? This realm, that is.”

Mr Fauldon struggled to return to his senses. Thankfully, sir Knowington was first in speaking for him. “He has seen plenty more than he has had time to process, I am sure, and also needs his rest. It is best he focuses upon eating for now, for he will need his strength for the Task ahead.”

Brewer spun around with a large dish in his hand and slid it across the counter towards Mr Fauldon. The steam arose into Mr Fauldon’s dreary eyes.

As did the pleasant smell of meat, vegetables, and herbs.

“Where did such ingredients come from?” Mr Fauldon asked, his taste buds going wild over the flavor and richness of the stir fry cooked up for him.

“It’s the Shadow Beans that do the trick. The Shadow Bean Hills lay just swen of us and make for remarkable blending and enhancing of flavors. It’s almost as if food was never meant to be made without them! I do love me some Shadow Beans.”

“Shadow Bean Hills?” inquired Mr Fauldon, a mouth full making it hard to speak.

“Yes, and we shall see them soon enough,” said sir Knowington. “Eat up, my friend, and then you shall get some rest whilst the Lighthouse casts is shade, for we have not much longer.”

The massive candlelit chandeliers suddenly shook, as did Mr Fauldon’s fork whilst he wiped his face of spice. The tremble silenced everyone as a few ran outside to see.

But not Brewer, nor sir Knowington, for they knew what is was.

“What was that?” Mr Fauldon asked, slightly concerned by the atmosphere left behind.

“That,” Brewer replied, “was the sound of the nearing Overlap, my naïve Karier. We are in need of that stone.”

Mr Fauldon knew the Calnorian to have mentioned it just the same, thus the burden of his Task was thrust back upon him.

“Kish!” Brewer called out. The same little girl from before came running back in and stood before them, her hands bent behind her in sight of Mr Fauldon (about as innocent as affection gets at such an age, for she knew no stranger and loved everyone). Brewer leaned over the counter with a smile and playful tone. “Would you like to lead Mr Fauldon to Sairi’s stead that he might rest?”

“Sairi?” said Mr Fauldon. “Who is that?”

“Yep, yep!” the little Kish answered. “Come with me, Mr Mister!”

They were out the door (a belly too full for Mr Fauldon to keep up), and down the planks until they came to a structure just off center of the town. Kish ran on ahead of him and opened the door without a single knock. “Mommy!” she said disappearing behind it. Mr Fauldon could hear the mumbling of conversation as he drew near himself.

“Hello?” he said while peering about the door’s frame. There stood the same lady to whom the little child had ran when he had first entered the town. “Oh… you’re Sairi.”

“Yes,” she said, “this is my stead, but you may rest here. Brewer said I could stay at the inn.”

Mr Fauldon looked around and saw that there was no bed, for no beds did the people of Threshold have, being as their days were not like those we are used to. Each turn of the Lighthouse was different from those of hours and seconds. It seemed the whole function of life was different in such a place, as people only “rested” when rest was needed. Mr Fauldon was reminded of Beelstow and the people of Obliviouseh and how they but drank Obliquor to stay away.

That was right! He’d almost forgotten he still had some!

“Make yourself at ease. You are welcome to anything here,” Sairi said to him as she stepped by. “I will try to keep Kish from disturbing you, as she is used to doors always being open.” With a smile did they depart and Mr Fauldon eased shut the door to the small dwelling. The wooden chairs and table took up the area immediately behind him. Behind them, shelves and bookcases clang to the wall. Ornaments filled their spaces, as did many plates, bowls, cups, and utensils. It was almost as though one’s dwelling was a place of constant visitation. When Sairi had said “doors always open” she truly meant it, for even the chairs looked worn in from countless guests—a lifestyle quite welcoming and intertwined.

Pulling himself up a chair, he entertained the thought of how enticing a bit was rest would actually be, for it seemed like he hadn’t slept for the longest time. And, gently seating his tattered self, he began to imagine all that was still before him.

How he was still to recover the stolen stone.

How he still had no idea where Grevious had gone, nor how sir Knowington expected to find the man.

He was altogether unsure of what lie ahead, only that for the sake of his own integrity, he was to do all he that could to finish the Task given to him. Even if the only true encouragement he had found was in the admiration of a child.

The encouragement from an innocent and believing embrace.

Yes, he would rest for now and save the Obliquor for when he awoke, that he might regain his strength where the lack of sleep would otherwise hold it captive.