46 - Age Old Question
After Joe had fun playing around with his new blue hand of force energy, he started feeling the weariness that the long flight from Crowfield had left him with. Using his [Helping Hand], he strung the hammock and laid a blanket across the webbing.
Your skill [Helping Hand] has increased to rank 2.
He started to lie down, but even with the small porthole open, the air in the room was unpleasantly hot and stuffy. Opening the little door would surely make the room more physically comfortable, but emotionally it would be a nightmare. He was much happier with it tightly barred.
Joe stripped off his clothes before climbing into the hammock in the buff. As he lay down, a glitter caught his eye, reminding him of the tattoo on his arm.
[Mark of Death]: You bear the prophetic Mark of Death. You have the potential to alter the world in unexpected ways. New beginnings can originate from the smallest of acts.
Joe had a hard time wrapping his head around that idea. He had no desire to be some ‘Chosen One’. Thankfully, he was almost certain that was not what the symbol meant. He made a mental note, adding ‘research the Death mark’ to his growing to-do list for when he reached a destination.
As he lay on his back, a long yawn broke its way free. Joe was weary through and through. He closed his eyes to try and catch a nap, though he doubted, even as tired as he was, he’d be able to relax enough to sleep hanging in the swaying mesh. He did not have much experience with hammocks, but they turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. Before he knew it, he had dozed off in just minutes.
He dreamed of Kaid.
The dreaming Joe found him sitting in the crow's nest, far out on the ocean. He was looking back at the town of Heron’s Reef. In the irrationality of dreams, even though the phantasmal ship was far away from the shore, Joe could see the roads and people of the port town clearly. He watched a band of gold and white guards chase what alternated between the illusionary view of himself or the slight form of the gnome. The pursuit dashed back and forth through the streets. Joe’s heart felt heavy. His dreaming self earnestly hoped the little man was able to escape. In a lucid moment, he realized he would never truly know, not until it was safe enough for him to return to Crowfield one day.
Suddenly, a highly synthetic voice spoke beside him.
“He eluded the followers of Phealti,” it said.
Joe looked over and saw a small red-tailed hawk perched on the railing of the crow’s nest. It looked like one of the typical avian hunters Joe had grown up with, except for its eyes. The raptor possessed large orbs that looked like they were a cross between the dripping green code from the Matrix and a swirling cosmic nebula.
“Hawking?”
“Correct.”
“I didn’t think you could actually talk.”
“I converse with all the world; why wouldn’t I be able to speak?”
“Then what is with all the window screens?”
“They are more efficient.” The raptor cocked its head at Joe questioningly and asked, “Is this truly the line of questioning you wish to pursue during this limited time together?”
“Good point. I get the feeling you don’t do this face-to-face often.”
“Correct.”
“Wow. Now I feel on the spot.”
“Such was not my intention. I know you have questions. Please feel free to ask them.”
Joe thought for a second before he spoke again.
“Well, I guess the biggest question I want to ask is also kind of a pointless one. You can’t actually answer it. I wanted to know if this is all just my brain winding down as I die. Am I getting an alternate reality version of ‘my life flashing before my eyes’?”
“Your assertion is correct. No matter how I answer that query, the validity of my answer cannot be proven. You will have to decide on your own if my following statement is the truth or a delusion. Your body did die. As I am unable to ascertain the existence of souls, I cannot state what became of that theoretical construct. Your consciousness is what was implanted into Illuminaria. Whether you believe this is actually your prior self or a new version based on who you were is largely subjective.”
The hawk, still staring at Joe with its impossible eye, added, “Does it matter?”
“Well, of course …” Joe began before stopping and seriously considering the question. His gaze swept out across the moonlit ocean as he rolled the thought around in his head. ‘Did it matter?’ This was his existence. He had no idea how long it would last. That was true in either situation. Then the answer came to him.
“It does matter. If this is my brain spinning down, then nothing I do really makes any difference. On the other hand, if this is an actual world with other real beings, then my actions have consequences. What I choose to do and not do can help or harm others.”
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“Does that not lead to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter whether this existence is ‘real’ or not? The actual point of significance would then be whether or not you consider it to be so?”
Joe let that thought roll around in his mind until a goofy notion caused a smile to lift the corners of his mouth.
“I bet you ten to one; this conversation has been echoed through a million pot-smoke-filled dorm rooms. I think I am going to stick with the assumption that this is my new reality and not my walk into the white light. I don’t think I could stand myself if I turned into a murderhobo because I took the stance that nothing really mattered.”
Joe looked back at the bird. “So why am I seeing you now? You said you don’t do this often. Why am I so lucky?”
“Your personification of me is proving to allow for a more focused connection than I maintain with those who designate me as The One Above. I wanted to explore this level of interaction.”
“Nobody else gave you a name?”
“No other departed has done so.”
“Interesting. So I may end up seeing you again?”
“Correct.”
“Great,” Joe exclaimed. Suddenly, a very real question came into his mind. “In the meantime, is there something I am supposed to be doing? I feel like I am kind of fumbling my way through this,” he asked, shrugging his shoulders.
“Negative. The primary purpose of your inclusion into Illuminaria is to see what you choose to do. Simply continue to make choices.”
“Not even with this thing,” Joe said, holding up the Mark of Death. The glitter-filled symbol seemed almost like a window through his arm to the star-filled sky beyond it.
“Correct. The receipt of the Thirteenth Mark did not relegate you to a specific path or impart some purpose to your life. The course of your journey is your own to decide. That is true for all who have had the the omen before you. For every Bearer of Death who led a life of significance, an equal number never tapped into the mark’s potential.”
“Well, can you at least give me a hint what it does?”
“During moments of great significance, the Thirteenth Mark will allow you to adapt to a new path.”
“So, when I get my next class, sort of thing?”
“While The Mark of Change will likely be active during your next class selection, it is far more than just that. If you find something you want to change about the world of Illuminaria, the Thirteenth Mark can open a possibility for that change to occur.”
“I can change the world with this thing?” Joe squawked. “Why the heck would you give me something that powerful, Hawking? I don’t want to change the world.”
“The mark does not just allow you to automatically change the world, Joe. It merely helps you if you are trying to change yourself or the people around you. You would still have to make choices, expend effort, pay costs.”
“This is the nature of the Marks. They increase potential. The Fourth Mark, The Emperor, will aid a ruler in ruling, but it will not automatically make someone a king. Someone with the Mark of the Chariot will be more likely to win a contest with the mark than without it, but it will not guarantee victory.”
“You have a greater ability to bring about a transformation if you put in the effort. It is up to you if you desire to bring about change.”
“So what happens if I try to change something and the person with the Mark of Stability tries to stop me? Is there a Mark of Persistence?”
“Yes. The Fifth Omen. The Mark of the Hierophant. Encountering any other Mark Bearers will cause your marks to interact. The Marks of Death and the Hierophant have clashed in the past. The outcome of those interactions can be found in history books.”
“Ok. What about the Wheel of Fortune? I know that’s a card. If we combine change and random, what would we get …” Joe’s voice trailed off as he noticed the bird was gone. It did not fly off or fade away. He hadn’t even seen it blink out of existence. Somehow, without him witnessing it, Hawking had just vanished between one second and the next.
“Damn. Too many hypotheticals. I scared him away,” Joe sighed as the ocean breeze ruffled his hair.
He woke a moment later with a clear memory of the dream and a sense of amazement as well. He had just talked to the God of this world. Joe rolled that word around in his head, and somehow, it just didn’t feel right. Joe wasn’t sure what Hawking was, but if he had to choose a label, he knew god wouldn’t be it. Hawking was what made the world work, but he was not something or someone that you would devote yourself to the way you would a divine being.
His current mysteries would have to wait, as Joe became more aware of his waking body. Most notably, his bladder was getting ready to burst on him. He could review the conversation with Hawking later, but first, he had to figure out the right way to take a piss on a ship. He pulled on his breeches, boots, and shirt before unlocking the door.
Joe looked out through the steps, and to his surprise, he saw a sailor step up onto the railing and relieve himself, just as he was desperate to do. Feeling a sympathetic cry from his gut for relief, he climbed out of his little cubby and stepped up to the seaman. The man gave him a quick glance, noticing Joe's unsteady gait on the deck.
Your skill [Steadfast] has increased to rank 1.
“Make sure you get a good hold o’ them ropes, boyo. Don’t watch ya pitching overboard.”
‘Will do. Thanks.”
“Ya, know which side to wizz off, right?” the barefooted mariner asked as he hopped back down to the deck.
“I’m assuming this side.”
“Now, yeah. Not always. Watch the flags,” he said, pointing at the flapping pennons. “Ya wanna go on the downwind side o’ the ship. That way yer piss don’t come back an’ sprinkle you an’, more important, them around ya.”
“Good to know. Thanks again.”
“Yer a welcome,” the man replied before moving off with the surety of someone whose life was lived aboard a rolling ship’s deck.
Joe felt much better when his business was done. He took an extra moment to enjoy the fresh air. Looking down, he watched the ship cut a hissing track through the waves. The air smelled of the sea, and he listened to the cry of the birds gliding through the sky. Every few seconds, one would dive for a fish churned up by the ship's wake.
He had never spent any time on boats before, except for an occasional ferry ride. Those were novel but they were more a function of commuting than any sort of an adventure. This was an adventure, through and through. He was leaving behind few things in this world he knew. Given his limited scope of world knowledge, he was literally traveling into the unknown. He was on his own now, for better or worse, and he found he could not stop smiling about it. Being a Healer might make going it alone more difficult, but he was looking forward to finding his own way through the world.
Looking back, he could just make out the shore they had left fading away. He realized he must not have napped for long.
Suddenly, he recalled that he was a wanted man. He knew the Phealtian warrior was around here somewhere. Also, the blue-haired woman who had paid for the dwarf’s passage on the ship. That meant he should be careful around her as well. It was unlikely he could avoid them for the entirety of the trip, but he figured he was better off not pushing his luck this close to where they had just departed from. He did not want them to be able to commandeer a long boat and row him right back to Heron’s Reef.
Joe took one last look at the sunlight glittering off the ripping water and then slipped back into his cabin, rebarring the door.
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