Lightblessed
Chapter 23

One of the Illuminari’s most closely guarded secrets was kept by one person at a time, to be passed down to their successor when the need arose. Through years of betrayal, strife, and corruption, the secret holder perished and took this secret with them. Their lore revealed scattered hints of it, but it belonged to the Lightblessed alone.

***

Trynneia approached the wooden wagon in the firelight. The angle it had been parked this night allowed the flickering oranges and yellows to cast shadows of relief, alternately hiding and revealing runed etchings. Passing up over the rear door, these runes faded into the darkness beyond what flames could reveal, but on the near side they trailed along every edge. She wondered at them, written with a curving style of elegance at odds with the rough construction of the wagon itself.

Wherever she looked, the runes were carved deep, even traced lightly into the spokes of the wheels, and the hub itself. While graceful, she thought of her own runes that glowed more as she approached, their own beauty now marred by a gray darkness she’d never seen before. She shut her eyes to the sight, trying to find courage in her purpose. Modius’ gentle nudging of her back pushed her forward.

“We mustn’t keep him waiting, Trynneia. Did you know that just a few times, he actually begged for his punishment? The boy is frightened of his own powers. It will come as a relief if he sees you there.”

She nodded silently, but dragged her feet, leaving light contrails in the sand behind each step. Trynneia couldn’t believe she had agreed to this, even as she grabbed the door. Her runes turned black, and the ones near the handle burned red. She yanked her hand away, staring at her hand in disbelief.

“Odd, that’s never happened before,” Modius acknowledged, opening the door for her with mirth in the corners of his eyes. Leaving the door ajar, he examined her hand with her. Small welts that matched the workmanship of the knob slowly rose, blisters of white pus against red burns on her ashen skin. He kissed her hand, meeting her gaze, but showing no emotion in the gesture.

Pulling the door open, Modius waved inside, indicating she should climb up. The inside of the door showed evidence of the burns from her earlier encounter with Ditan, though that fire had burnt itself out rather quickly. She hypothesized that the runes provided some form of protection against his shaman abilities.

“What are the runes for?” she asked Modius, probing to see if her guess was accurate. He climbed up beside her, and the two of them looked at Ditan. His arms were lashed to the ceiling, and dried blood stuck to the lacerations cut into his wrists by the leather thongs that shackled him. Both his feet were tied together, and bound by a singular thong that passed through a loop screwed into the floor. His body had been pulled taut in both directions, and his joints appeared to have been dislocated in several locations by the restraints.

“Sometimes it’s necessary to take additional precautions around beings with power such as his,” he offered. “It turned out to be a prudent decision on my part.” He pushed her closer to her friend. Ditan remained unconscious.

“I see,” she replied, still uncertain she needed to do this.

Modius rummaged through a box and withdrew a dagger, its heavy steel flecked with rust where blood had stained its finely crafted surface. Gouges and chips ruined its edge, and the cracks proved to be more serrated than sharp. A tearing implement now, not a cutting one. Beside it he placed the blunt club Eilic had grown so fond of using, and she shuddered.

“I don’t think I can do this after all, Modius,” she vacillated, looking at the door and taking a step toward it. Modius smoothly maintained his position between her and escape, pulling the door shut and sealing them in. Blue light surged around the door’s perimeter runes, then fell dark. That had not happened the last time she’d been here.

“This is just as much your punishment as his, Trynneia,” he growled. He looked at the tools he’d begun setting out. “I’m more than willing to take care of this myself,” he continued, looking her up and down. Trynneia had no doubts about his implication.

Her eyes dropped, her reluctance cowed. “I don’t even know how to begin,” she replied sheepishly. Stop this! Find a way to back out!

“I came along to help you this time.” Modius somehow exuded sensuality despite his grim facade. “Trust me, it gets easier with practice,” he explained. He came up behind her and reached his arms under hers, each hovering over one of the two weapons.

“The lesson you must learn is to hold back, keeping him just at the edge. But to reach that, I need you to first let go of other, more moral restraints.” Touching the dagger with the left, he continued. “Bloodletting weakens the body and the mind at the same time. The heart tries to compensate, but the captive’s strength quite literally flows out. It’s quite messy. The loss of blood impairs cognitive function in a more tactile way, depriving the brain of the fluids it needs. After a time the pain becomes a memory, but they remain compliant.”

Picking up the club with his right, he swung a few flourishes in Ditan’s direction. “Bludgeoning, on the other hand. Ah… With your abilities I honestly prefer this one. Bloodletting stays internal, mostly. Except where the flesh is torn. But the damage is excruciating. You render the body incapable of movement, and so terrible is the pain that the captive can think only about how much it hurts. They cannot control anything, and are crippled in actuality, dependent on others, based on severity. The mental and emotional pain is just as devastating.” Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Findɴovel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Trynneia shuddered as he put the club down and clasped his hands below her breasts and whispered into her ear. “I’ve always decided on the punishment before. Tonight, I leave it to you.” The hair on her arms prickled. I can’t do this, I won’t do this! Every feeling, every thought in her head sought to rebel. She stiffened.

“I can’t choose.” Seeing Ditan already weakened, unable to resist, broke her resolve. Just minutes before she’d been willing, but now…

“There are consequences if you refuse to make a choice, and your fate will be the same as his,” his voice became harsh and his grip tightened. “Remember, you are my only healer now,” he emphasized, his words biting and sharp, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “My patience wanes, Trynneia.”

Even as she pondered, his embrace made it difficult to breathe. He coughed near her ear, several deep hacking ones, and expelled phlegm on her ragged canvas dress. With him that close, she felt a leaching of her body heat, cooling her instead of providing warmth.

Ditan looked so helpless, hanging there. “Can I have a moment?” she asked, pointing at her friend. Part of her needed to see him up close, to ensure he still lived. The rest wanted to get away from that appalling embrace. Surprisingly, Modius released her.

“As you wish,” he said, a lightness in his voice that skewed counter to his menace.

Trynneia took a couple furtive steps, trying to see Ditan’s face through the faint light coming through the window. A small candle near the door didn’t reach quite so close, and his battered face was a mixture of bruises and blood as his head rested near his chest. Faint green permeated his aura, darker than the paleness his skin had achieved. She could scarcely hear his breathing, relying on the minimal rise and fall of his chest to verify he lived.

“He’s ill, I think,” she said to Modius, lifting Ditan’s head gently from his chest with her fingertips. She couldn’t help but cry at how they’d ruined his ears, clipping their length, and notching his lobes. Heat radiated from his sallow flesh.

“Such things happen when he lacks attentive care,” Modius replied callously. Trynneia seethed, hating Modius and Eilic, and any of the others who had a hand in this. Including herself. “Would you feel better if you tried healing him first?”

She didn’t know how to feel. Almost it would be better to...inflict the vile acts...upon him while unconscious. But with her analysis, she could feel how close to the edge he was already. Further injury could push him beyond where he could go. She dwelt on that resurrection once again, feeling his body reform itself, and how her spirit broke that day. How he broke that day. Trynneia couldn’t risk him dying once more, or what it would do to the both of them.

Hues shimmered around him as she contemplated what action to take, brown earthy tones and orange fire tones weaving themselves with blue and aquamarine flecks of light. Scintillating wave-like motion shifted around him and she caught herself stifling a gasp. A deep thrum penetrated her chest and she could almost but not quite hear rhythmic harmonies just beneath her conscious level of hearing.

She’d experienced this before and had no idea what it meant. Was she to heal him? Or proceed onward with...the other task? Trying to make sense of his aura and the various hues around him, her intuition revealed sepsis ravaging his organs, killing him even as she deliberated. The way the hues arranged themselves appeared to be a pattern. They overlapped and permeated his body, making an odd kind of sense.

Trynneia closed her eyes, willing the deep warmth to spread backwards from her hands into his chin, following the hues where she could. The rest became sensation, and a path of rightness. Turn here, go there, tug this, push away that, eradicate and excise. Instinct guided her efforts, and Modius watched in amused silence as ashen gray light lit her body, light and darkness both flowing into Ditan. Lost in the rapture of her power, Trynneia remained unaware.

Ditan inhaled a large, shuddering breath and cracked open his eyes. For the briefest of moments, he took in the same sight as Modius, then watched as the incongruent powers vanished into Trynneia’s hands. She opened her eyes at his breath, smiling at the ecstasy of healing him, but his recognition of her turned to immediate hatred as he jerked away from her touch.

“What have you done?” Ditan asked her as he spoke through gritted teeth, his eyes falling on Modius. Trynneia followed his gaze. “You shouldn’t be here, Tryn. You need to go,” he whispered.

“I was just healing you, I-” she paused, confused. There was rage in his voice, but also a calm she hadn’t expected. He didn’t immediately attack her. She looked at Modius, uncertain. If he wasn’t as crazed as the other day...what was going on?

“Remember, Trynneia?” Modius said calmly, uncaring if DItan heard. “He attacked you yesterday. You’ve only helped him. Look close, he’s gathering his strength,” he urged her.

Hues whipped around Ditan, the same colors as before, with light and dark beside. Even as she watched his aura grow around him, the lights danced around with increased intensity. Only a glance, and she believed it proved Modius correct. “He must be punished, or he’ll kill you. Serve yourself.”

“Liar! Murderer! Tryn don’t listen to him, he’s-aaagh!” Ditan screamed, cut off. Trynneia had felt something fly past her head, and Ditan spun to his left slowly. As he rotated back around, she saw the dagger stuck in his shoulder.

“I’ve chosen the dagger, Trynneia. I trust you won’t force me to make any further decisions.” His implications made clear, Modius awaited with a merciless grin.

She wrenched the dagger free, splattering blood across her chest and face. Trembling, she held the weapon before her. The runes on her body shimmered to deep black, and the light in her eyes went out. This is your punishment for misbehaving. You must do this to keep him from killing you. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at her friend. It’s for his own good, she thought, hearing Modius’ voice reassuring her in her mind.

Ditan focused solely on Modius, who had pure hatred written all over his face. “I don’t know what you’re doing, Tryn, but Light bless you,” he said. Modius coughed, blood of his own touching his palms as he concealed a chuckle. His eyes widened in excitement as he raised his head in anticipation.

“I’m so sorry,” Trynneia whispered, her voice barely audible over Ditan’s grunt as she plunged the dagger into his stomach.

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