by J M Hamm
“Jonathan,” Pastor Belk said once we had entered the building. “Please go ahead, I need to talk to our new friend.”
“Sure,” Tiller hesitated, before giving me a pat on the shoulder and walking towards his office. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”
“You wanted to talk to me alone?”
“Finn,” The Pastor placed his hands on my shoulders. “You’re little more than a child, I wanted to let you know that you are not alone.”
“Thank you, I—”
“Please, let me finish. I will be here if you need guidance, but if you want my help with this you have to promise to keep it away from my family and from my flock. These people need faith and compassion, not heroes to lead them into battle.”
“Pastor, Thank you. I really do appreciate it, and I will do my best to keep it away from your family – but you have to understand. This will find them eventually, and if we don’t meet it head on … you might not have a flock to tend to.”
“You are not a soldier, Finn, though I suppose my Jonathan is,” He leaned against the wall and sighed. Pastor Belk had seemed to have an air of strength about him. At that moment, he seemed tired. Broken.
“Just be a friend to him? He isolates himself, and I fear for what it will mean for his soul if he feels he must stand alone.”
“I’ll stand by him when the time comes, and I’ll do my best to keep this away from you … and Tish. I need your help though.”
“And you’ll have it.”
I expected pomp and ceremony, a consequence of growing up Catholic, and yet the actual blessing was a simple process. The pastor led me into the center of the room and placed his hands on my temples and began to recite from scripture. A warm feeling spread through my limbs. I felt rested as the small aches and pains I had accumulated gradually faded away.
You have been blessed! This status effect will increase your resistance to all negative ailments and effects. If a citizen is already under the effects of an ailment, being blessed will reduce the effects and duration of said ailment. Additionally, a priest can use Bless ® to drive out evil spirits, curses, and corrupting forces.
The pastor continued to recite verses as he dabbled water on my forehead. I knew that the ceremony was not needed to use the skill, but I didn’t interrupt him as he spoke, “Do not become overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”
The Pastor stood in front of me not moving.
“Did it work? Can you feel it?” He asked.
“I can feel it,” I said. “Can you do it again without all the scripture? Try just focusing on the skill and saying the name.”
“Alright, I can try,” he said while placing his hand on my forehead. “May God bless you and protect you from evil.”
I felt it hit me again, stronger this time. I stumbled back as I felt a burning behind my eyes. My skin tightened, and I felt a numbing tingle make its way down my limbs.
I focused on the altered memory of Liv and Troy as the soothing energy washed through my mind, seeking out the corruption. I could feel the two energies opposing each other, one a gentle, warm light and the other an icy black that carried the taste of rot.
The energy from the blessing was passive, seeking to surround and protect my memories. It sought to drive out the corruption, not by destroying, but by denying it access. It shielded me from the darkness that was slowly awakening. Yet the dark spread and began to absorb the warm light. In a battle of attrition, it was clear what the results would be.
I immediately knew how foolish this decision had been. I was playing with forces beyond my control. I hadn’t expected such a violent reaction. in hindsight, it was probably unavoidable. I might just be making things worse, I thought.
I had no choice but to continue.
The Peacekeepers would kill me, imprison me, or perhaps worse if they discovered the corruption. Letting the degradation of my mind continue was not an option, either. My only choice was to find a solution on my own, and risking my life was an acceptable cost if it meant I could be free.
I began to shake uncontrollably, my legs buckled, and my jaw clamped shut. I sank to my knees and looked up at the pastor. “Again,” I said.
Pastor Belk stepped backward, “I’m sorry," he said. "I don’t think this is working.”
“Please,” I said. I opened my eyes and tried to hide the pain by loosening the tension in my face. “It’s working, this isn’t dangerous. Just a little unpleasant.”
He must have trusted me because I soon felt a hand pressed against my forehead and the low murmur of a prayer. A flood of warmth flowed into me.
The two powers swirled around each other. I saw images of a bright white energy forming around a pitch-black ooze. Scenes of distant memory flashed briefly before my eyes, but I was unable to keep them in my mind for longer than a moment.
I could see the competing energies fighting over my mind. The darkness would invade like a virus, stabbing into uncorrupted memories. It would spread and feed, as the warm light sought to insulate and protect.
I was beginning to understand the shape of these two powers. I had theorized that my ability to learn skills relied on my own understanding. For instance, I didn’t learn System created skills from watching Catayla scouting and sneaking because I hadn’t understood the principles behind what she was doing.
If I was going to harness this energy, I would need to understand the basics of how it functioned. How it was shaped.
I could feel the flavor of Pastor Belk’s faith upon the energy of the blessing, it was gentle and didn’t confront its opposition head-on. Instead, it shielded and renewed. It gave strength as it defended, never going on the offensive.
The power of corruption sought only to consume and replace, trying to strengthen itself by gaining a foothold in my mind and by absorbing the power of the blessing.
This confirmed a theory of mine. If the eldritch energy, the dark power that was corrupting my mind, could absorb and be reinforced by the power of the blessing – then they must be connected. Perhaps they were different sides of the same coin, alternate forms of the same energy.
It was like the difference between alternating and direct current. The same thing really, just in a different shape and used in different ways.
I reached out for the dark energy in the same way I had tried to manipulate my mana during my imprisonment by the spider. I hadn’t been successful then, but I was counting on my Reactive Adaptability to recognize the life or death nature of my current situation. It seemed to be most effective when I was on the verge of death.
I was only alive because I had spontaneously developed a resistance to venom. It was time for an encore.
The energy fought me and whenever I thought I had a grip on it I would lose control. It felt like water slipping through my fingers. I slowed only the smallest fraction of the energy. It was enough. The power of the blessing started to surround the eldritch energy.
Congratulations! You have learned a new skill(s). Mana Manipulation Ⓤ (0/10)
Congratulations! You have learned a new skill(s). Eldritch Manipulation Ⓐ (0/10)
This is what I was waiting for. I threw all my will into containing the eldritch energy, forming it into the simplest form I could imagine – a sphere. I compressed the ball of corruption as much as I could, allowing the golden light of the blessing to coat it. I almost immediately gained two levels of eldritch manipulation, and containing the globe of darkness became the smallest bit easier.
I poured every ounce of my being into containing the dark energy. I imagined my mind as a vice holding the sphere tightly and gradually squeezing - making the ball smaller and denser.
I tried to sever the darkness from my mind completely, but the energy had nowhere to go. I tried to push it out of my mind, but it resisted. It fought, clawing itself further into my consciousness.
I looked around, reaching out for Pastor Belk. I yelled form him to use the skill again, but he was gone. Instead, I was in a grey void. My memories
swirled around me like stars, a twirling constellation that represented every moment of my life. A sphere of shadow and golden light hung over my head.
I could feel myself slowly losing control, gradually losing the battle to stay awake. In a moment of desperation, I grabbed the sphere of light and shadow and cast it into a dark corner of the constellation.
In this state, I could see the barriers and connections between my memories, and I used those connections to wall off that section of my mind. It slowly began to break away, drifting into the dark space around the constellation of memory like an iceberg falling into a cold, dark ocean.
The severed island of lost memory drifted into the void. My eyes closed.
Chapter Fifteen: Homecoming
“Hello, Gus,” said a familiar baritone.
My eyes opened to blue skies. Beneath me where the hard planks of a wooden rowboat. White froth crested over the hull, spilling into the boat and creating a misty spray that wet my face. The noontime sun cast its reflection upon shimmering waves that stretched out far as I could see.
“Hello? Where am I?”
I shaded my eyes, as I tried to make out the man who sat across from me. He was facing me with his back to the sun. He rowed with a strong and steady pace. His face was mostly shadow, but as he smiled, I could make out deep laugh lines and crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. He twirled a blade of grass before shoving it between his teeth.
The man turned to grab something at his feet and his face became visible for the first time. His jaw was square and dusted with stubble, and his dark hair was quickly fading into silver. He held my gaze with deep green eyes.
A quick hiss and the clink of metal on glass woke me from my shock and the man handed me an opaque green bottle.
“Here you go, son.” He winked as I accepted the beer by reflex. “Let’s not tell your mom about this one, all right?”
“Dad?” I said. “How are you here? Where are we?”
“So many questions. Why don’t we just fish?”
He picked up a bamboo rod with a cork handle. His movement drew my eyes to an old tackle box. It was grey and dented, still bearing the scars of two generations of father-son fishing trips. On the front, just below the clasp, was an old sticker, peeling and faded. I couldn't recall what cartoon it depicted, but I remembered putting it there as a child.
Those memories didn’t feel real, as if they had happened to someone else. I just couldn’t reconcile those peaceful childhood days spent fishing with my dad with the way the world was now. Such experiences belonged to another place.
“This isn’t real,” I said.
I stood, steadying myself as the small boat rocked. I threw the bottle against the bow, but it merely rolled into the waves. The action seemed as futile as my anger, and yet I couldn’t keep the rage from boiling up. I yelled, kicking at the side of the boat and causing it to tip further before steadying itself.
“I saw you die! This can’t really be you ...”
“Isn’t it, though?” said the thing wearing my father’s face.
“No,” I said. “You can’t be real. This is an illusion, a fantasy.”
“Oh, that.” He waved his hand in dismissal. His smile now crossed his face from one ear to the other. “This place is as real as any other. The fact that it doesn’t exist hardly matters.”
“My father would never say anything so pointless. If this isn’t real, then neither are you.”
“We can feel, interact with, and even change it.” He cast a line into the water and I could hear a small splash as a red and white bobber gently rolled on the surface of the water. “It’s real enough, and so am I. And do not believe, even for a moment, that what happens here doesn’t have consequences out there.”
A wave lifted the boat as a shadow passed under us. I leaned over the edge, the shadow moved quickly but was massive enough that it still took almost a minute for it to pass. I heard the twang of a broken line as the shadow disappeared, dragging the bobber down behind it.
“Things exist here, churning beneath the water. Things best left alone.” His smile was not my fathers. It was twisted and exaggerated in ways no human face could ever be.
“Are you one of those things?” I asked. “What do you want with me?”
“Gus, my boy.” His voice became deeper, and his lips peeled back around his grin. “I thought I taught you better than that. Think it through.”
“Then who are you?” I said.
“I’m the shadow that hides in the corner of your eye, always watching, never seen.” He disappeared, oars sliding under the waves.
I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck as I heard a faint whisper in my ear. “The scratch just barely out of reach.”
I could only watch as he appeared in random spots, instantly vanishing whenever my eyes fell upon his ephemeral form. His voice began to increase in pitch and tempo. His words grew frantic and disjointed.
“I’m the voice that picks apart and titter tats, that lays bare the sore deep upon your soul. I don’t hide beneath, I ride the wave above and cast my line betwixt the crest and reel.”
He appeared before me, his form finally solidifying. “I am the Fisher Man. The wounded king. I have cast my net at the heart of that which binds you.”
His voice returned to the familiar baritone of my father and he spoke, slowly pausing before each word, “And you, my son. Are bait.”
I panicked and lurched backward, falling into the water. Shadows wound around me and dragged me into the depths.
***
“Finn, my child, are you okay?”
I looked up to find the face of Pastor Belk. I was lying on a hard linoleum floor and the pastor had knelt beside me and had placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Thank God. Are you okay?" his voice grew concerned. "I’ve sent for Jonathan, but I didn’t want to leave you alone.”
I sat up while rubbing my eyes. “I’m fine Father, thank you.”
“Call no man your Father on Earth,” said Pastor Belk.
“What?” I said.
“It’s from scripture,” said the pastor. “You can just call me James, or Pastor Belk if James feels too informal.”
“Ah, okay. Sorry, Pastor Belk. So, what happened?” I asked.
“What happened? You tell me. One moment you’re telling me it’s working and that there was no danger, and the next you’re passed out on the ground screaming and convulsing.”
“Sorry,” I said. “It ended up being more difficult than I believed.”
“I would say so,” he said. “Was it at least worth it? Did it work?”
I looked at him for a moment before answering. The corrupted memories were gone, but so too were my original experiences. I knew that they were missing, but I only had vague impressions of what was lost.
“I really don’t know. Maybe? I think I may have just traded one problem for another. I did at least learn some of what I set out to.”
“That is always the way,” said the pastor with a sigh. “A man without burdens cannot strive to be better. Solve one problem and another is cast before you. Your burdens will make you strong enough to carry the burdens of others.”
“Or they’ll break me,” I said.
I began to stand, but my knees wobbled. The pastor grabbed me under my arms and helped me walk until I could lean against the wall. I was still unsteady, but I could feel my strength quickly returning.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“You know,” he said. “I have some training in secular counseling. I have a feeling you could use someone to share your burdens with. Anything you said to me would stay between us, of course.”
“Thank you, Pastor,” I said. “You’re probably right, but I’m really not ready to talk about it.”
“Just think about it? It doesn’t have to be with me. There must be someone you could confide in?”
I nodded my head, avoiding giving any sort of real answer.
I was saved from the awkward
silence when Tiller and Catayla walked through the door. “Are you all right,” yelled Tiller as he ran over and helped me remain standing. Catayla remained in the doorway, eyeing me with an unreadable expression.
I explained to everyone that I was fine and that I had had success in learning a new skill. This was the only part of the plan that I had confided in the others. Tiller and Pastor Belk probably guessed that there was more, but they never pried.
I had to go over everything again when Pat showed up a few minutes later. In addition to Pat’s normal retinue of surly guards, she had someone else with her.
She was a young woman, probably only a few years older than I was. Her dark brown hair reached down to the shoulders of her blue scrubs. She had a face that was cute but unremarkable and hidden behind bangs and a thick pair of glasses.
“This is Melody,” Pat said. “She was a nurse before everything, and she has some healing skills. The ‘enhanced’ kind of healing Skills, I mean.”
Melody introduced herself and looked me over before declaring that nothing obvious was wrong with me. A glowing recommendation.
She still recommended that I get some rest and told me to send someone to find her if I had any worsening of symptoms. I agreed but had no real intention of following through.
After I was declared fit, people began to file out of the room, so I took the opportunity to talk to Pat. I had the feeling she could be a difficult woman to get ahold of, at least unless there was an emergency.
“Did you find any information on any of the names I gave you?” I asked.
She gave me a look of pity before shaking her head and saying, “No one on that list is here.”
“I…”
“But,” she interjected. “We do have information on two of the names. Liv and Troy Swanson. Friends of yours, yes?”
