Lightblessed
Chapter 21

No set of runes was ever the same. Lightblessed children came into the world without them, and it wasn’t until their anointment that each appeared. Light carved itself into their flesh, creating sacred, indecipherable inscriptions to mark purpose and servitude in the Light. The honor of being anointed by the Light came rarely, and never twice in the same family.

***

Tossing and turning, Trynneia’s dreams tormented her sleep. Over and over she replayed the scene she’d witnessed, and only details changed. At first, Rendrys accompanied her through the dunes to find Ditan, then another time it was Trynneia herself who flayed him alive under the lusty gaze of Eilic. Following that, she held Ditan’s body as his shaky hand sliced off his own flesh, laughing all the while. Only once did she scream, and it was when he turned the blade on her.

She saw hatred in those eyes, and the pain of betrayal. Given the chance, he would retaliate against her. Trynneia faced a slowly growing truth: he mocked her with his repartee, diverting her from his plans against her. Ditan resented the pain she left him in, day after tormented day. Now, she’d not only brought him to life, but brought him new health. His cycle would continue, and she would shoulder the blame.

Trynneia jerked awake, clothed only in ragged smallclothes with her hands and feet bound together tightly behind her back. At some point she’d pissed herself, but only the dampness of her undergarments and the wet stain of the floorboards beneath her told her so. And the stench, of course. She couldn’t avoid that.

“I had to remove your blanket when you pissed yourself. I didn’t want it ruined,” Modius said. He sat on the crates, watching her like a crow, or viper poised to strike. Around him was her blanket. “He hates you, for what you’ve done to him,” he suggested, returning her thoughts to her dream.

“His death was to be my crowning victory over you, and you robbed me of it,” he coughed several times, each one hoarser than the last. “Yet somehow you turned it into some form of victory.” Something in that statement fell very off, but she couldn’t pin it down.

She glared at him, finding his aura weak as Ditan’s had been, yet still shades of darkness even in the halflight of the swaying wagon. Trynneia questioned whether she’d done the right thing after all. “I couldn’t leave him like that.”

“What, food for the birds? This far out they’d be thankful!” Modius coughed again. “He’s a gob, Trynneia. They are green like poison, and the Light made them short to prove they are beneath us. He does not deserve your love.”

“I do not love him,” she replied. “But he’s my friend.”

“Friend,” he scoffed. “What are friends, but crutches to drag you down? You can only rely on yourself, Trynneia. What does he provide you, really? Be honest with yourself.”

She sat in silence, pondering. Ditan had been her friend, for as long as she could remember. They had their jokes, and their secret places. They’d cut school if it suited them, and she’d cover for his...indiscretions. Of the two, he was the troublemaker, and the competitor. She’d been the logical one, and if trouble surrounded them, more often than not Ditan instigated it. Over the years she’d become his defender, his protector.

All it had cost was everything. These thoughts didn’t feel right to her, yet they made a certain sense. Appraising their friendship, stripped of suppositions, more often than not, she paid the price for it, either at the cost of money, or morality, or secrecy.

“How can you walk in the Light, and justify your friendship with him?” Modius suggested.

Do no harm. Care for others. Serve yourself. “It is not wrong of me to care for him, Modius. He’s still a person.” And yet. Part of her questioned it now. By stealing, Ditan caused harm either directly or indirectly to others. He cared mostly for himself, not others. Of the three tenets, he served himself only, instead of last.

“He does not walk in the Light, Trynneia. You see this to be true. I know you do. Just admit it to yourself,” pressed those slate eyes, as Modius sidled down next to her. He leaned close enough for her to smell his breath, full of rot and spice, covered by mint. “You’ll see, you’ll see,” he whispered, licking her jaw as she cringed, revolted. Then he left, coughing.

The shade of his aura did not depart with him as she had expected. Trynneia trembled in the half-light. Part of it was fear, part of it was uncertainty. A lot of it indeed was doubt, creeping into her mind as she thought about the past few months.

Some of what Modius said made a sadistic sort of impression that enticed her. Trynneia knew the stark differences in the way she and Ditan had been treated, the gap being closed only when she strayed out of line. Out of the Light. She’d been shown favor for healing, not impudence. Every time she’d disobeyed orders, punishment fell on her like a torrent, equal or exceeding anything Ditan received.

Yet how was it walking in the Light to watch harm be done to others? Why was it disobedient to aid her only friend? What had she wrought by resurrecting him? Could she forgive herself?

Each time the wagon wheels thumped against a sand-covered rock, it jostled her, rubbing her side raw with soreness. Trynneia kept her head to the floor, where it clacked against the wood in response. The crates knocked about, their rhythmic thumping its own sort of lullaby in the dimness.

How could such evil exist in the world, under the Light?

Eilic joined her after a time, hopping into the back of the wagon with a dagger at his side. No club, at least. Trynneia couldn’t decide which she feared more, or if it even mattered. He had a bundle with him which he set atop some of the crates. For several minutes, he leered at her. She couldn’t even feel uncomfortable around him anymore.

Seeing that his presence did not provoke any response, he sliced her smallclothes off with the blade, nicking her hips and breastbone with careless abandon. She turned her attention to the auras in the crates, doing her best to ignore his touch at her chest, how his nails tore her flesh, leaving fresh trails of blood.

“The leas’ ya kin do is enjoy it, bitch. ’Cause of ya my ma’s dead.”

“Whatever makes you feel better, Eilic,” she replied indifferently. He smacked her and slashed at her ribs.

“I’d kill ya if it weren’t fer him, he’s one as wots got a plan.” He prodded the dagger under her chin, shifting her head back. “Ya ain’t so special, just a pretty pair o’ tits to him. And me.”

“Light send you to learn your lesson,” she admonished.

“Oi, there’s lotsa lessons I’d like to learn,” he gloated, ogling her. “Lotsa lessons indeed.” He licked her where she bled, her indifference turning to revulsion and disgust.

Modius lifted the flap. “Your task was to dress her, Eilic. Keep your perversions to yourself.”

“Yes, milord,” he smiled back innocently, fresh blood upon his lips. “Of course, milord.”

He severed the bonds on her hands and feet, and she tried rubbing them as he undid the bundle and threw the clothes within them. They hit her body, scattering all over the floor. He spat, a mixture of her blood and his slobber.

“Why’d he send you, and not do this himself,” she asked, not expecting any logical or coherent answer. Chill hatred filled her voice as she pulled away to a corner, weakly dressing in the fresh clothes.

“Part o’ the plan,” he cackled, his eyes never leaving her flesh, even as she covered it. “Figgered ye’d like me attentions more, so ’e did.” He held the dagger before him as if wary of her still. “Ah still intend ta make ya pay for my ma, ya bitch, and ah’ll take every bit of ya ah can.”

More than I needed to know, she thought, noting his arousal. This is all a torment, don’t give in to them. Her clothing wasn’t much, a change of smallclothes and a threadbare piece of canvas worked into a makeshift dress. Once she had it on, he yanked her arm and pulled her out of the wagon to land in the sand. Eilic pressed the dagger to her back, breaking her flesh and forcing her forward to walk at a speed of his choosing. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

They passed two wagons in addition to their own before he led her to the back of a third. No canvas topped one, this, but one of the lead wagons constructed of solid wood, with a door and small windows. Eilic opened the rear door and boosted her inside, then slammed the door behind her.

“No!” Ditan screamed. “I won’t let you kill me!” The young goblin frenzied, eyes darting everywhere. A gust of wind slammed her against a wall, and the wagon rocked with the violence. “I’ll kill you first!” Streaks of multicolored hues gathered in his hand, kindling a flame he sent flying towards her.

Trynneia dropped to the floor, and the wall erupted in flames. More wind picked up, flinging small dishes that had been left here, and writing implements. What is this wagon for, she wondered idly as she scrambled to get closer to her friend.

His powers are as strong as ever, and he’s unhinged, Trynneia observed. Her runes blasted forth, providing a protective shield around her. Despite her own weakness, she scrambled over to him as he recovered from unleashing his own spell. He raged against her grip and knocked her down, grabbing a knife from the floor.

Blocking with her arm, it pierced straight through, and she screamed. Ditan wrenched it free and she kicked him while he was off balance. “They were right! You’re no better! No better!”

“Ditan, calm! I don’t understand you!”

“Fuck you, Trynneia!” he yelled at her. “You’re a perversion of the Light! You murderer!”

“I don’t know what they’ve told you,” she said, trying to remain calm herself. Her arm throbbed, just one more wound on her body. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I won’t let you!” he thrust the dagger at her and it dashed off her ribcage. His eyes were everywhere but on her, his madness seeking for reason but unable to find it. Grabbing a plate, she avoided another wild swing and smashed it against his head, dazing him. Trynneia forced open the smoldering door and jumped out. Eilic grinned and leapt inside. In a moment, all fell silent.

“I told you he would turn on you,” Modius said, riding up.

“You did this!” she yelled. “You turned him on me!”

“You can believe that if you like. If it makes you feel better. His powers are tearing him apart, Trynneia. He can’t decipher reality from fantasy anymore. I tried a more permanent solution, but you took that from me.”

“I don’t want him dead.”

“I don’t care what you want, girl. He is a danger to us. The storm you held off a while back? It was nature’s response to him. The only way to keep him subdued is through forcing his body to repair itself with his powers. As strong as he is, we’ve had to take extreme measures.”

“None of this makes any sense! You kill him to punish me, you torture him to subdue his powers, you keep him alive...for what? Why?” she collapsed in the sand.

Modius dismounted and sat beside her.

“The simple answer is of course money. He’s worth more to me alive than dead. The more complex answer I can’t give you. He will not stop coming for you now. He is not human, Trynneia, he is a beast to be wrangled. Will you help me help your friend?”

Trynneia’s eyes followed the wooden wagon as it drifted further away, and her own wagon caught up to her. Everything was happening fast, and her confusion diminished her resolve.

“It’s either that, or I let Eilic do it,” he whispered. Making her choice, she nodded.

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