John Harken

 

Harken entered the hall as a new man. He felt desert-clean, inside and out. Flesh and soul. His pursuit of communion with Mana had been an experience filled with many rewards. It was by no means the first time Harken had reached out for something greater than him. The uniqueness of this occasion had been that something had finally responded.

I prayed upon the promise of Purpose. Guided by my hope... and Mana listened, he thought with a carefree smile. His normal gauntness was forgotten in the radiance.

A lifelong quest had ended the day he awoke in The Pit. Harken hadn't known the journey was over until he laid eyes upon the Commandments. A promise of Purpose, there was nothing more beautiful to the gaunt man. This quest was as old as any memory of his. Harken’s burning aspiration had been to find out the many whys of life. The other Sixty were asking why because of the sudden change in their lives. For him, crying why to the sky was simply the nature of his relationship with the world. The change to the Pit hadn’t shifted that part of his nature at all.

Every faith and philosophy had turned out to be dross. Stripped of their flowers and pretty words, they were simply petty power plays. Even when a faith espoused the golden rule, it was just to hide their evils behind pleasant words. He spent years studying each shade of faith. Every variation for truth. Always, in that great pursuit of Purpose. The effort earned him the title of a scholar and worldwide respect. None of it meant much to him. Validation had never been the reason, only the truth. Despite all that, the elusive Purpose stayed beyond sight or sensation. Harken felt alone in the dark.

The faithful man no longer felt that he walked alone. Now he was blessed and charged with a purpose. Coming here was a miracle in Harken’s eyes. They were chosen. Truly blessed to find themselves in a world so full of wonders. Mana had only just begun to reveal to them the mysteries it held.

 He understood the fear that some felt. It was a terror to awaken somewhere new. Not unexpected at all that the SIxty would be uneasy before what the Commandments promised. They had been forewarned that the trials ahead would bring about a great tribulation. And yet, there was much to celebrate. A great force had brought them here and the Sixty should rejoice to be among a selected few. A new world had been granted to them and a Purpose promised. Harken knew it would be a worthy one for Mana sang the truth of it in his heart and his ears.

Entering the Great Hall, he felt lively energy that hadn’t been there in the days before. The common area was filled with scattered people reading books and discussing their contents. From the lone hallway to his left came a great deal of noise. All of it was echoed in the Mana. Excited energy danced through the air to bounce off the reactions from every person. Splashes of color and motions to his eyes. 

Harken studied the individuals to see that many were on their way. A full connection with their heartsong within their grasp. Mana was beginning to circulate steadily through every body and mold to the person rather than just an amorphous blob. No longer a shadow, but a light of emphasis.

One person claimed his attention, both for their Mana and where they stood. The faithful man had noticed this woman in the days before. Every time they had been placed under the painted sky. Most of the time standing while staring, but once laid down to stare up.

At the moment, the strange woman was whistling an eerie tune while reading their book. They paced a circle under the painted sky. Following perfectly the outside border from below. Her Mana was a blinding white light that shuddered like a living flame. It was ever in the process of forming where the next step would take the woman. It was mesmerizing enough that Harken leaned on his pale staff to watch. Spending more time doing so than was polite. Lucky for him, she only had eyes for the book or the false sky.

The faithful man felt drawn to the woman. Her calm rhythm was cutting her separate from the rest. From others, there were sensations of eagerness and strain coming through the Mana they released. The white flame was differentiated by an aura of unending patience and a quirk of laughter in her eyes. Framing an ethereal face, were golden locks tumbling carelessly across her shoulders to bounce with each step. John Harken tapped his staff upon the ground as he pondered what about this woman captured his attention. He listened to the chorus of Mana and heard a distant harmony. Tracing that counterpoint of his song led only to the white flames.

Mana guides as an expression of the self and the infinite, prayed Harken.

He decided to talk to her. Striding forward to stand under the painted sky. Unaffected by his proximity, she continued the circular path. There was tension in the air. A hush seemed to fall around the two of them as neither spoke. Silently Harken watched her pass several times feeling as if taking part in a ritual he did not know. 

Without breaking stride she broke the silence first, “Isn’t it beautiful?”

A beat passed as the faithful man looked for what the woman spoke of. He could not see where she looked with the long lashes that hid the eyes. Unsure what she spoke of, Harken said, “Which? For there are many things that are beautiful here.”

She grinned and looked up at him with eyes like the moon. For an instant, he thought she was blind, but realized that it was a trick of her pale blue eyes. “Ahh, a charmer,” laughed the woman. “Silly. I was talking about that sky above. It’s the only one left to us now. So sad and proud, do you not see?”

Harken gave into the woman’s entreaty of her eyes, flickering his own upwards. He took in the windy clouds and refreshing blue of a good sky. He stood in two places. Seeing. Dreaming. For a moment, the dream was the Pit and reality was an open space in the foliage of a forest. Mana revealed the breathing of the painting. That new sense revealed colors mixing in ways beyond mortal eyes. “Hope,” he whispered as the word escaped through the lips.

“Hope,” repeated the woman as if tasting the word. “I suppose... that is what sadness and pride make when you mix them.”

“Perhaps, but that’s what I feel when looking at it,” stated Harken distantly. “How many brushstrokes does it take to finish a painting? To make a masterpiece with every stroke hidden? Then, there is this vision of a sky. How many did it take to give it life? It is mournful. Those that painted it... did so to fill an emptiness. But, it is also inspiring. There is a message in every stroke, movements of pride, self-assurance that they would see the sky again. Yes, it is hope... The hope that a dream shall be realized... A feeling, I am very familiar with.”

The white flame woman closed the book. It swung in her arms before coming to a rest at the small of the back. Those blue moon eyes locked on his as her smile waxed. There was a faux childishness to her posture, but cynicism colored the expression. “You are John Harken, and I am Roseline Jones. Tell me a story and I will tell you a story. Ask me a question and, besides a gracious answer, I shall ask you a question. Then you must answer, cause it will be mine to hear.”

“Why?” asked Harken with a frown. “What are you after?... or should I say what are you trying to offer?”

“Because Mana makes you more of what you are,” answered Roseline, eyes gleaming. “After... psshah, nothing! Nothing, but a way forward. I’m acting as my heartsong sings… So many questions, hmmm… What’s that dream you mentioned? This place, what does it mean to you? Why do you think they are all working so hard despite being left here?”

“I think your questions might be better than mine,” grumbled Harken.

The moon-eyed girl shrugged and waved it away. “Should have watched your words. Now, I’m owed some answers.”

“Alright...” began the faithful man. “The dream... it was to find a purpose worthy of my devotion. The Commandments’ promise instills the same hope I feel when I look upon that painted sky. For that reason, this place means everything to me. It is a true chance at a higher purpose than... to guess my own. That last one, I don’t know why. Learning Mana was an emotional experience that rocked me… it became… what others must mean by a religious experience. It was exciting at the very least.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” grimaced Roseline. “Try again. Not you, them.” The white flame woman looked antsy or half-mad. As if desperately waiting for something to happen.

The tension that had brought him over in the first place was back. The Mana between them was sparking and half forming a non-euclidean structure, ghostly and indistinct. Almost a magic circle with the two of them at the center. He took a step back inside himself and thought about the question. Taking the time to consider how the Sixty were reacting. Ignoring his personal revelry. 

“They want the power,” answered John Harken. “For them, this is living out a dream too. Born of books and games… The Sixty think this is a game.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” cried the moon-eyed girl. “That is correct!”

“Why did you want that answer?” asked Harken, curious enough to continue.

“I’m worried about the future fraying,” replied Roseline. “I’m the best at guessing, and we both know what happens when a dream breaks. The reality of a thing is never quite right… What happens when the Sixty face what’s out there? I know you heard what happened to the first attempt.” After she spoke, the white flame woman grinned sickly like it was a bad joke.

Harken didn’t respond quickly to be sure of his answer this time. He was not a man who enjoyed muddling through things. “There are some that will endure the backlash of a “broken dream,” as you put it. Though, many will flinch or flee. The illusion of this being a game or like one, shall end soon. Nor can I forget that facing real monsters will have its effect. We’ll need something, someone to rally them again… Why are you bringing this up to me? Malachi would be the better choice.”

“He’s playing his part, but someone else needs to play this one,” explained Roseline. “The Sixty are going to need someone to tell them why they gotta get right back up. Give ‘em more than that there are no better option, something flowery with good feelings. Otherwise, well, we’re doomed to some unpleasant stuff.”

Taking a deep breath, Harken looked upwards at the painted sky. He could see what the moon-eyed woman was suggesting. The Sixty racing into the tunnels with grins of excitement over playing out a fantasy. It wouldn’t last long, not in the carefree way it was now.

Either when the first monster appeared, at the first wound, or even after a battle when the adrenaline runs out… the panic and the fear will swell, thought Harken as he played it out in his head. Then many will refuse to leave the safety of the hall. It will become that much more dangerous for those still willing to go out. A reduction in our numbers would lead to unnecessary harm. Something does need to be done.

The false sky was beautiful to Harken’s eyes. Even the cracks of age more often enhanced the vision rather than took away. The faithful man let himself be energized by the illusionary sunlight and readied for the path revealed to him. His life of seeking higher truths had instilled in him the desire to be a priest, but no faith ever lived up to his scrutiny. This wasn’t a faith to preach, but instead, an ideal to see the Sixty guided. To encourage them to rise. This faithful man had the confidence to see that through.

“I shall take care of this,” said Harken as he looked back down, but Roseline was gone. The faithful man looked all around him, but couldn’t catch sight of her. The moon-eyed woman had disappeared leaving him perplexed. He stood still, blanked in thought but found it changed nothing. I already made the choice, stated Harken to himself. No reason to divert now. Someone still needs to bolster the Sixty.

Before heading to the common area, he took one last glance at the painted sky. It reassured him and invoked again the desire to see the real sky. Harken held that feeling close. He decided this would be his message for the Sixty. There would be hardship, but together they would confront them to see the sky again. I can’t just come in preaching, planned Harken. No one likes the street corner priest. Personal. That is the way to start.”

The faithful man strode amongst those studying in the open or simply talking with each other. He didn’t make any grand statements. Only smiled and chatted back. If the subject came up, Harken spoke of his own experience with Mana. Mostly he spoke of escaping to see the sky and the caution suggested by the Commandments. Some were receptive to his words, but many laughed it off. It didn’t bother the man, as it still left an impression. He believed their remembrance of his confidence would see the words make an impression.

After a while, his rounds bore fruit in which a woman with ash brown hair introduced herself as Vivian. An eagerness broke through her stern exterior to ask, “I can feel that your Mana is different. Have you learned to listen to your heartsong?”

“Yes, and I was gifted with spells as the book promised,” answered Harken serenely.

Frowning, Vivian’s lip twitched as she seemed to wrestle with something. “Do you think you could help me hear mine? I want… so badly to use healing magic. I have dreamed of it for so long, and yet I can’t seem to get past this last step. I have tried so hard to grasp it...”

“I would be happy to help,” assured the faithful man. “Do you have faith?”

“What?” uttered a startled Vivian. 

Kindly he explained, “Faith. It is how I connected with my Mana and heartsong. My faith and elation at being promised a purpose. The book on external Mana tells us that the path to connection has two ways, will and faith. I don’t believe it would be hard to guess that you have tried to will it to happen.”

The Asian man to her side offered his opinion. “I would say he hit the nail on the head, my love. You went red in the face several times trying to force it. Try it his way.”

“But, I’m agnostic at best,” argued Vivan. “There isn’t a religion I believe in.”

Looking poised in thought, the man beside her added, “Not to mention we’re on another world, so if any faith was real back on Earth, would it matter now?” Both gave him a dry look while he returned a shark-toothed smile.

“You two miss the point,” soothed Harken. “I am not saying you should pray. I mean have faith in yourself. In your dream of healing. Believe that you have the power to restore the body and remove harm. Gods need have nothing to do with this.”

Vivan looked uncertain but was willing to try. Harken watched as she collected herself and felt the shift of the Mana in the air. Time passed as emotions roiled across the face of the woman who desired to heal. No one seemed to speak while the air grew tense. Eventually, tears began to stream down her face and Vivan opened her eyes with an ecstatic grin. Before either man could ask, she began to cast.

 

“By My Desire

Banish All Wounds

Restore Thy Flesh

Healer’s Touch”

 

A white, glowing fog collected around her outstretched hand. The shark-toothed man lifted her up in an embrace as he roared a cheer. She laughed gleefully and kissed him passionately. Harken grinned at the excitement, but left them to celebrate alone. He moved to the next person. There were still people to talk with, and hopefully, help. The warm feeling in his chest was worth every ounce of effort. The faithful man hoped this would help stop the coming dysphoria, but for now he was content to help by playing the part of a priest. Another dream fulfilled in this strange place.

Roseline Jones

 

Under her veil, the moon eyed woman watched Harken walk away. Roseline felt the crazed impulse and intuition fade into the background. In moments she was able to breathe smoothly again. The need to alter the faithful man’s path had been overwhelming. She believed that it had gone well as it could have. Through great effort she had been able to keep from ranting wildly, or worse jabbering gibberish. Things changed for her when she connected with Mana. In fact, her whole view of the world had been modified.

Before then, Roseline could just say she had a knack for guessing the right thing. Now that ability had grown enough she could do more than guess. She knew. Not everything, but the more certain something was, the easier it was to know. The dysphoria had been an event that was weighing on her as it became more and more an unavoidable doom. It was a storm in her mental vision of the future. All the strands of possibility became entangled by it. Many even ended, going no further into the future.

 Then, like a light breaking the clouds, Harken had shown up. Suddenly the thousands upon thousands of colored strands, the substance of possibility, made sense to her. A part, at least. Enough sense, that Roseline was sure she could mitigate or even fully erase the chance of it. A furor had come over her to say the right things. The need to make sure that the right words and actions would take place. When she needed to remove herself from altering Harken’s path any further, Mana had answered with the veil.

Roseline had not gotten any spells yet, but this mantle of foresight was enough for now. It was a burden enough. Spells would after all come with their own obligations. She watched the Sixty and considered the tapestry of fate. The moon eyed woman wanted to be ready to make the next move.