Fauldon's Dream and the Karier of the Task
Chapter 18: Scene XIII

When he came to, he was standing alone atop a large ridge of the Shadow Bean Hills that overlooked the small town at the base of the Lighthouse.

Though he knew himself not to be alone.

He felt the stone’s warmth even within the sash beneath his coat. He’d nearly forgotten how red it was—the skin of Korgath that many a hunter sought after. It had kept him safe and bore many memories through the plethora of adventures he’d experienced as of late. Mr Fauldon could hardly believe he’d once lived anywhere else. That he’d once been a tramp amidst bustling streets where no one knew his face.

Mr Fauldon crouched until he came to sit upon the slope overlooking the valley of the Lighthouse. The hills before, those behind, and the vast terrains beyond and about—all meant something new to him. It was almost as though part of his task was simply becoming acquainted with it all so that he knew the extent of the stone’s purpose. Though, had it not been for those he’d met along the way, he knew himself incapable of making it as far as he had.

Or as close as he was.

With a sweaty palm did he hold out the familiar card he’d so long taken for granted. Three times would he have been in peril of death’s shadow if not for the saving light of that gift. He recalled the time he’d been given it and the unawareness he’d had of its significance.

How he’d asked for a man’s true name, but instead was shown his own heart.

The feeling he’d felt when first seeing her face….

Mr Fauldon’s eyes lit up as the card began to unfold even more largely in his hand. As the folds stretched, so did the essence wrapped about, between, within them until a light mist came about him. It was soothing and calm and as pure as the dew that gathers in the morning. He wondered as to the meaning of what sir Knowington had said to him pertaining to the Hensers. Thinking back, he treated them less as cards or tools and more so as something surreal.

Reaching out his hand, he let go of the card in admiration of the face it bore. Lifting and drifting upward, the card begin to glow a deep blue as shimmers of light began gathering in its center.

There appeared a girl in blue robes bearing extravagant yellow designs across her coat and blue markings on her bright face. Long, fine-lined hair hung down her back, and she folded her hands behind her. The most innocent of smile crossed her face as her feet came to touch the ground upon which Mr Fauldon struggled to stand amidst her presence (for he felt caught off guard by her beauty).

“And who might you be?” he asked her.

“This is wonderful!” said the girl all caught up in excitement from that which surrounded her. She seemed to admire everything as though seeing for the first time. In youthful joy, she grabbed hold of Mr Fauldon’s hand before he had a chance to realize it—blue rings lit about them as they passed through a vortex of vibrant hue. It felt nothing like flying or falling, yet their forms fluttered swiftly and reappeared upon a cliff’s edge.

“It’s so much prettier from here!” she remarked, just as overwhelmed as Mr Fauldon (though for entirely different reasons). Somehow they’d appeared at the ridge of Mt. Skyward—the sight being that of the entire region spanning out to the river Floweth and then to Waterryse Mountain and all that was in-between.

“You see that?” She pointed to a small, barely visible village just swen of the great river. “I do wonder! Let’s see it for ourselves!”

And they were through the vortex of hue once more, reemerging at the edge of the village, previously only being a speckle to the eye. Mr Fauldon had hardly any time to take in the peculiar residents bearing yellow markings and clockwork insects upon their backs. “Aren’t they lovely?” exclaimed she. “I admire the Beezleton folk oh so much! They are so committed and inventful, truly they are.”

“My dear—” Mr Fauldon dared to speak but already had the vortex surrounded them again, and he found himself near a pond.

“Look!” she said to him, rushing down to the shallow water as though to feel its coolness upon her skin (for her senses were still becoming much alive to all that entertained her).

“My dear,” Mr Fauldon spoke again, “what is your name?”

She looked up to him, the look of innocence and purity infiltrating his eyes.

“I am Pamela,” she replied. “I am the one you summoned to serve.”

Mr Fauldon’s expression hardened, for he knew her to be more than such. “I did not summon you,” he said.

Her feet became still in the waters of New Pond as did the ripples she’d brought.

“I mean to say,” he explained, “that you came free from my will and are free to roam for yourself.”

Pamela’s gaze was endless into her reflection mirrored in New Pond. Mr Fauldon hadn’t recognized the place at first, but now he did. He saw exactly where once had been the table of Serve Per Card at their first meeting. He saw the very trail sir Knowington had first led him down.

And he saw it wind back up the slope to the hill that began it all.

In reminiscent steps did he then see the very cloud tree that had befallen the place—almost as though a dream being relived in his mind.

“So I am free?” came the tender voice from behind.

He turned to see Pamela now beside him. “Yes. And though I would like to spend eternity admiring every crevice of this spectacular realm with you, it is imperative that I return to the task at hand. I must return to Threshold, if you do not mind.”

She smiled at him—even swifter was her embrace about him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I shall always seek to serve those in need as I did you before you set me free of that state.”

And for the last time their figures escaped into the vortex of hues, and he soon stood in the fragile presence of the Lighthouse. He knew not what had become of Grevious, but the Overlap had seemed to be temporarily lifted in light of the man’s absence. Surely it was as sir Knowington had said, and the man had been returned to whence he came, thus bringing the slightest bit of balance to the realm.

Though now it was up to Mr Fauldon to fully restore it. He’d first arrived in Threshold empty-handed, but now he stood as the true Karier of the Task.

He saw Kish running toward him and knelt to her level. “I knew you would!” she said, more excited to see Mr Fauldon than from realizing the significance of him actually returning, and this time in possession of the stone.

“Now, now,” he said to the child, “if only now I may place the stone.”

The little girl beamed from ear to ear. “It’s up there, Mr Mister!” said she. “You got to go all the way up!”

With a deep breath, he lifted his gaze to the top of the Lighthouse. Truly it towered above the terrain. Its light grew fainter, though still shone enough to see.

“Then let me take you there,” said Pamela, stepping forward once more and grabbing hold of his hand.

Another breath left him now standing within the top chamber of the grand Lighthouse. Yet again was his mind unprepared for what it saw. But instead of questions, it felt to him as though answers were filling his mind. In the center there was a large bowl (only just larger than a bathtub) and from it rose a sort of radiance that gathered in a sphere above it. That was the light’s rays that gleamed over the entire terrain. He then saw the balcony’s outline that wrapped about the chamber and noticed the etchings upon its outer slopes.

“Amazing,” he said as he took it in, for the etchings resembled that of the valleys, hills, and trees he’d seen so closely. Where etchings of a ridge rose, the light would cast a shadow causing a mountain or hill to arise (be it Waterryse or the Variley Hills). Where small prongs rose roughly, so did the light reflect a forest (as the case for Darsel Woods and the like).

Pamela was just as amazed, though for Mr Fauldon, it brought life and intrigue to where he was soon to dwell.

“And to think he would pass this up in pursuit of other realms,” Mr Fauldon said to himself, thinking of how Grevious had once been the Karier he now was. Walking toward the center bowl, he withdrew the stone from his sash. He saw that down the bowl lay another room in which he could make out an object levitating about a desk. Climbing over its edge, he prepared to descend, though a barrier resisted Pamela’s approach.

She smiled at him. “This is where I depart,” she said. “For this is where my task ends and yours continues.”

“I will return, Pamela. But for now, I must set the stone in its place.”

And he pushed off and down to the center room beneath the chamber atop of the Lighthouse.

Wood furnishings filled the room. His feet rattled the table as he landed. The Violstone of old levitated just before him with a radiating light, the essence of which drifted up and became the sphere above. The stone in his hands began to shine brighter as though its life was being restored.

But a chill came over him as he plopped into the chair beside that magnificent wooden table. It was almost as though a weakness were seeking to crack the stone—causing him to pull it back into his embrace.

“That,” a voice came from behind, “is wherein your true task lies.”

Mr Fauldon had not noticed until then that somehow Keyno had appeared in the corner of the room, and it was then he also noticed the Porhtree sprout on one of the beams that held the frame of the room.

“It is Porhwood,” said lord Keyno as he strode forward, “an even more difficult vein of journey to use, so you needn’t worry of unwanted visitors. For indeed this place is not built for intruders as you saw with Pamela being refused entry beyond the upper chamber.”

Mr Fauldon felt humbled in the man’s presence. “I am overwhelmed by this place and the responsibility I now hold. Truly, a home of it I shall make, but of what tribute have I been granted your visitation?” he asked to the Calnorian lord.

Straight to the point did Keyno answer him: “You saw the stone quake just now. I am here to tell you that it needs you more than ever. Though the Overlap seems at bay with the removal of Grevious, it is only momentarily. You must now nurture the stone made weak through Grevious’ abuse. When he used it to tear through the realm, its strength faltered. Should you have used it, it would have cracked. That is why the knight respected you so. I see he has also granted you clarity where once you had only questions—such will do you favor in the task remaining. As Karier, your accomplishment of carrying the stone to its resting place is admirable, but now you must become its caretaker.”

Mr Fauldon was reminded of the words spoken to him by Beelstow as they were echoed in those now said by Keyno. He looked down upon the fragile stone. Truly, it bore its own fragility and personality.

“Care for it, Mr Fauldon, that it may regain its strength when the old stone fades. I leave you now, with my gratitude for accomplishing the first task. It has restored my faith in sir Knowington’s judgement, as well as the people’s confidence in me. I bid thee well.”

And just like that, Keyno no longer was in the room.

Mr Fauldon inhaled deeply, thinking about the responsibility upon his shoulders. Indeed, he had not feats of might nor magic, but he knew the burden he did bear could only be borne by him.

And because of that, he was confident in saying he needed help also. Though bearing the load of Karier, had he not the help of friends, nothing would have turned out as it did.

Thus, his eyes did raise to the light above him. The aroma about him felt like home and brought peace to his once troubled heart. Up and up did his gaze go until everything turned white, and his consciousness did return to that vision at New Pond.

His mind also took him back to when he had first emerged from that cubical. Reminiscing, the view caught him off-guard as though seeing it for the first time, and amidst its splendor, the once familiar booth now turned to earth and crumbled down upon itself. In its stead, a gigantic cloud tree sprang forth from the ground and began raining down upon the rubble—turning it to mud and flowing henceforth down the opposite side.

It was then his eyes opened as though from a dream to the realization. The booth… the crumbling… the cloud tree and the mud—it all meant something.

The clarity to him was like one remembering to take off the camera lens. New Pond… the place Pamela had taken him. It hadn’t been there before.

It hadn’t been there when he’d first come to the place.

It was the remnants of rubble from which he’d once came—the booth in that city into which he wandered with hope of a new task. Which only meant that the Overlap was inevitably still coming, and that a realm was soon to crumble indeed. Also, it was only but a shadow of what was to come. Despite his clarity and insistence, however, he never did convince Keyno of the warning. For all they cared, the “vision” was naught but “Fauldon’s dream”, and he was naught but the Karier of the Task.

And no one thought any more of it (except sir Knowington, for he already knew).

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