by Enoch Enns
It was the loudest and longest of croaks Mr Fauldon had ever heard (and it smelled like the innards of a stomach trapped for half a century at least).
Mr Fauldon knew not where Aerold had gone off to, only that the rumored Croak King had indeed awoken from slumber. The ground trembled again as though to a leap of ten tons. A second tremble and he found himself quivering in the gloominous shadow of a ten-ton pixie bullfrog (being as it had the features and enormous scale of the pixie but the muscle and unmeasurable croak of a bullfrog, for it was the king of croaks after all).
In but one lash had the Croak King whipped out its tongue so as to quake the whole pit, which Mr Fauldon now saw to be a dormant venus fly trap (though, in their case, not for flies). Grevious was desperately seeking a means to climb the steep and escape. Mr Fauldon had just gotten his first solid footing before the muck began drawing near the Croak King’s feet.
But one left foot was all he needed. In a single push did his mechanical boot spring him a good twelve feet and to the ledge from which he could climb (after which it burst, for the power within its spring brought end to its mechanicalness). But, for Mr Fauldon, the ledge’s top was met by a devious rival. They both reached the top with little breath left. Grevious bent low, his back arched in soreness; Mr Fauldon took up the opportunity to grab hold of the cloth and stone. The two struggled between its rays—a collage of purple and deep red—until finally Mr Fauldon broke loose sir Grevious’ hold upon the cloth, the act caused him to stumble down the opposing slope.
Grevious took the fall as well, only landing slightly more off in the distance—a smile on his face and a shimmer in his eyes.
It was then Mr Fauldon noticed the cloth was empty within his hands.
“Finally!” Grevious triumphed, holding the stone out and above him (much as a child would do after pulling the sword in the stone). The atmosphere itself shuddered and rippled as a line in time and space lifted and pulled both Grevious and the stone within and out of sight and realm.
The stone was gone!
Dumbfounded, Mr Fauldon could only gasp momentarily as the ground trembled once more to the giant leap of the Croak King now poised upon the hill’s ledge from whence Mr Fauldon had fallen.
It seemed to be looking straight at him, even though its eyes were partially crooked and solid black. Without his mechanical boot, Mr Fauldon knew he would not be able to escape any tongue lashing. He was a stranded fly to a half-century-old, starved pixie bullfrog.
The hills shook to the deep and powerful sound of the waking Croak King. Tilting its head, it became still as if for Mr Fauldon to make the first move.
As though daring him to move.
Mr Fauldon was petrified, but he felt a tingle reaching up his leg nonetheless. His nerves were jittery, and he could tell he wouldn’t be able to maintain his position much longer. How was it that Grevious was not the one left to face this beast? Or Aerold who had deceived him all along? And where was this ‘sir Knowington’ who was supposed to protect him?
His ankle twitched.
Never had he seen through the eyes of a terrified fly before—but it felt as such as he looked inescapably at the long, twisting tongue that whipped out in less than a blink of an eye. It cared not for the skip of the heartbeat, for in that moment it sought to end Mr Fauldon.
It was the most peculiar of things to just barely see as one’s eyes are in the process of closing. I mean seriously: imagine your eyes caught on their way to blink, and just in that moment something appears before you—only it was before Mr Fauldon.
Between him and the Croak.
A knight in hardened armor like those from fairy tales of heroic protectors. The knight, with sword wielded skillfully in both hands, clashed with the beast’s great tongue, sending it back from whence it came. In a second leap, the knight had dashed to the left and up the hill to where the Croak King resided—slicing with his sword like a razor knife through butter.
And through thin air.
For the Croak King had also leapt, only it rose a good twice its height into the air and crashed atop the hill opposing the knight’s. Outraged, it lashed out its tongue toward the knight who squatted low, rolled, and dashed in a blinding ray across the distance between them. In a flash, the knight reappeared just above the Croak’s head, sword emanating a firery red—Mr Fauldon instantly recognizing the familiarity.
It was the knight from Shrewg’s tale that time before! From all the way back then, the knight was real!
Mr Fauldon could not help the smile of relief and awe as the great knight slew the Croak King even before its last croak. Landing on bended knee, the knight heaved heavily upon his blade as it dug into the terrain.
“You truly are careless,” the knight’s voice came to him.
Not to Mr Fauldon, rather to the man standing just behind him.
“Sir Knowington!?” Mr Fauldon exclaimed as he turned to see the Calnorian. “WHERE ON EARTH HAVE YOU BEEN?!”
“I must admit,” sir Knowington said, “I was not expecting Aerold to do you this way. I apologize for leaving you in her hands. Especially since she led you to the one danger that could have ended you in these hills.”
Mr Fauldon felt a wave of shame cross over him. Not in the sense that he had just escaped death by being saved again, rather he spoke: “Well, you see…”
Sir Knowington’s eyes widened for the first time to disbelief as Mr Fauldon held out the empty cloth. “Just before the beast awoke, I was ambushed by Grevious. He took the stone.”
The knight stood from his position, looking on up to the horizon. “You know what this means, great guide of time and my friend,” he spoke again to sir Knowington (almost as though completely disregarding Mr Fauldon was even present). “You cannot avoid it much longer. Its use is inevitable. You will have to awaken it if you wish to regain what was lost.”
“Enough nonsense,” said sir Knowington. “I know what must be done, though it is out of place to do.”
“That is entirely up to you,” said the knight, glancing over his shoulder and through the slits in his helmet. Withdrawing the great sword, the knight swirled it about him until he was overtaken by its currents and was swept from sight.
It was rare to see sir Knowington so troubled as he looked at the slain Croak King. “Well, Mr Fauldon, it seems we have no other choice than to do as the knight said. We must journey to the Gate.”
“But wait,” Mr Fauldon interjected. “did you not hear me? Grevious took the stone and vanished. How am I to be the Karier of the Task that is lost to me?”
“Not lost,” sir Knowington answered, “but out of this realm.”
Mr Fauldon’s puzzled expression hid nothing of his utter confusion. Here he was trying to state his total failure and yet the ‘know-it-all’ seemed not to care.
The man raised his hand toward the Lighthouse just beyond the turn of a few more hills. “That is where we are headed.”
“Is that where the Gate is?” asked Mr Faulon.
“No, but it is in the path to the Gate. I will explain more about that when we draw near. As for now, just know that by the same realms the stone protects, so has Grevious used.”
“Realms? You mean to tell me of realms now? What do you mean?” It was too many questions even for Mr Fauldon to understand the answers to (not that sir Knowington was going to answer them yet anyway, for Mr Fauldon was still all too overwhelmed to grasp it all).
“That means we are to pass through Threshold, the small town into which you were to be accepted—only now you have not the stone,” the guide spoke.
“Is there no other way around that place?”
“You once said honesty was your forte,” sir Knowington remarked. “It is best to have them know you are in pursuit of fixing the loss rather than simply getting lost in its absence.”
SCENE IX:
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 Lighth
ouse 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!”