Lightblessed
Chapter 32

Beware the fury of the night

And the darkness that covers all,

For the Light cannot help you

When shielded from your sight.

In time you will learn

That some things you shouldn’t seek,

’Ere you unleash repercussions

Whose full price you’ll never earn.

Many times you will doubt,

And often seek what you shall never find.

Dread knowledge can be unlocked

But when you learn, do not shout.

Is it worth the price you’ve paid?

Do you enjoy the grave you’ve made?

If you would’ve known, you would’ve stayed.

Suffer the hatred of the betrayed.

***

Somewhere nearby, a door slammed shut, and Trynneia woke with a shriek. Since when have I become so jumpy? Lord Elanreu snored next to her, caring nothing for the waking world. Their room was still cloaked in the shadows of night, and even the large window let nothing in since Elanreu had drawn the thick curtains shut. Barely able to see, she slipped out of the bed and crept to the door. Her companion never moved.

Her breaths came shallow and quick, trying to match her fluttering heart and not quite catching up. Thuds pounded in her chest, and the flush of adrenaline caused the scarring on her chest to sting and burn again, even as the softness of her nightclothes draped around them. Ever so slowly, she twisted the heavy bolt and undid the lock. In the absence of light, everything seemed flecked with colored hues. For her it seemed to be a handy form of night vision, a use she’d not considered before.

All three hinges squeaked, but not loud enough to wake the Lord as she slipped out barefoot, pulling it shut behind her. What am I doing? She thought, no real plan in mind. Get away if I can. Flee before I get to Praxoenn. “And go where?” she muttered to herself. “There’s two month’s desert between you and an abandoned home.” Some pep talk, Tryn. She wandered the hall, passing several doors on either side where other patrons may or may not have been sleeping. A few were certainly lively, from the noises within. How late is it? Or how early?

Innmaster Wend entered the hallway further down and called to her. “Hello there, missus! Your ‘uncle’ must be worn out, I gather,” he winked at her. “Grab you a drink?”

“Sure I’ll take something, I guess. Mind you, he’s paying for it,” she answered.

“Of course, of course. Usually part of the deal hereabouts anyway,” he smiled at her, a large gap showing between his top teeth. “Got beer, wine, ale, and more beer. What’ll ya have?”

“I’d honestly be fine with just some water if you have some, Master Wend.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Lasses like you tend to ask for something stiffer but ‘the customer is always right,’ my Pop-pop used to say. How long have you known yer ‘uncle’? It’s been a while since his last visit.”

“You know he’s not really my uncle,” she explained. “Only known him for a few days.” The two wandered into the kitchen, its cooking fires banked for the late evening.

“Again, usually part of the deal here as well,” he nodded knowingly. “But you be careful about him, missus. More often as not, he leaves and forgets parts of his nieces. If you take my meaning.”

Trynneia smiled. “Something tells me I’m safe in his hands,” her sarcasm plainly going over Wend’s head.

“Kinda thought you might be thinkin that, so I figgered I should warn you. Nice lass and all.” Fumbling through some cupboards, the innmaster demonstrated how unfamiliar he was in his own kitchen. Picking a cup from the third cupboard he rummaged in, he admitted “We don’t really keep much water around here. Mostly for the horses. You sure you don’t want a beer or somethin’?”

She rolled her eyes and accepted a small beer. Trynneia had no idea what it would do to her and felt it best to keep safe. Little yellow colors popped above her glass, fizzing in an adorable dance with the foaming bubbles. She took a small sip, and coughed at its potency.

“Har! That’ll put hair on your chest, won’t it!” Wend roared, slapping his hand on the counter. She spit half of her mouthful back in the cup.

“I guess I’ll just stay thirsty then,” she sighed. Still, she swirled her finger in the amber liquid, wondering in the dim candle light if its color matched that of her eyes, or if all of it was just tricks of the flame.

“Nah, you’ll get used to it, just take smaller sips,” he advised. She nodded back uncertainly, not intending to do anything of the sort. “So where’re the two of ya headed? Won’t ask where ya came from, ’cause I’m sure I don’t care.”

“Praxoenn,” she said, giving him an ‘are you stupid’ look. “Not like there’s anywhere else to go from here.”

“Ha! Suppose yer right. If you leave in one piece that is. That man… Now I know I shouldn’t tell ya this either, but the Regent’s got him in his pocket. And no one crosses the Regent. If you cross Lord Elanreu, you’ve as good as done that. Fer yer sake, stay in his good graces.”

“Who is he to the Regent, anyway??” Anything I can uncover could be of aid, she surmised.

“Well ta be honest I don’t rightly know enough to be sure. Comes through here often enough with all his ‘nieces’ and ‘nephews’, most headed to Praxoenn. Some go the other way. Not sure which is better for them. It’s all good for him though, I’m sure.”

“I see,” she muttered, sipping lightly from the beer. Taking it a bit easier, the taste improved. The amber hues jittered across the top of the foam as she slurped. She almost thought they were tickling her nose. “What time is it anyway?”

“A little past midnight, I reckon. Was about to turn in when I saw you.”

Trynneia started coughing, deep phlegmy gobs of sputum and blood passing her lips. She hadn’t felt ill, but her chest constricted as she coughed, searching for relief. Innmaster Wend handed her a rag that rapidly turned red while she continued. Gasping, she struggled to breathe.

Red flecks surrounded the air all about her, swirling in hues of maroon and putrid green. “Hold here missus, I’ll go get your uncle,” Wend said, rushing down the hall. It was all she could do to just sit there, coughing and heaving and trying to tamp down the blood leaking from her lips. Trynneia’s brow grew covered in sweat, her pale gray face turning red from exertion. Covering her mouth against another cough, she gripped the counter until her knuckles grew white. What is happening to me?

Wheezing, she laid her head on the counter as colors zoomed past her vision. Warm browns, sickly greens, blood reds, and amber yellows mixed and shook about like a chaotic maelstrom visible only to her. Her ears rang with a high pitched whine that wasn’t noise at all. She reached out for the inspiration that would summon the Light but it eluded her.

Innmaster Wend returned with a bleary eyed Elanreu, and together they took her back to their room. Trynneia couldn’t resist, and only heard snippets of conversation as the fit overwhelmed her with coughing and wheezing. She welcomed the warmth of the bed, and Wend placed something cold upon her brow while she struggled to keep her eyelids open.

“I told ya she looked ill, Lord Elanreu. I’ll see if I can fetch the apothecary-”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Elanreu replied. Master Wend gulped. “This is to be…expected.” She felt his hand grasping at her wrists, and felt her pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips. Her coughs continued, but weaker as her strength waned. Darkness overtook her, and she slept.

***

A fever curdled her dreams, inventing a twisting nightmare so vivid she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t actually awake. Well-cultivated trees surrounded her in a square, their upper branches intertwined but leaving a gap in the center. The Chapel of Light, she recognized. Eternal Light glowed around her, an eerie illumination that allowed no shadows to be cast within the confines of the Chapel. Everything stood in stark relief.

Trynneia was not alone. Driver sat cross-legged in the center, his eyes searching the sky, his head following where they led. White robes draped his shoulders, fringed with gilt edges laden with blood runes just like the ones upon her chest. A wooden staff or walking stick laid upon his lap, and he sat upon a coarse throne of vine-wrapped earth and rock, glistening with moisture.

“Why am I here?” she whispered.

“Why shouldn’t you be here? This is home,” he replied. Driver opened his arms wide, gesturing around the Chapel. “We are glad you made it back.”

“We?” Trynneia looked around, but saw no one else. To the south where the gap remained open to let the sunlight in, mist obscured the landscape beyond. “It’s just the two of us.”

“Who else were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. No one. Someone. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“And yet here I am.” Already the man annoyed her. Even her dreams couldn’t avoid his base nature. “Come closer.”

She approached, feeling the Light’s warmth bathing her. With each step she took, the dreamscape shivered, the naked hues of each color becoming slivers of light, like she saw everything through a prism. With each step, she watched as blood began to leak out of the runes on Driver’s robe, staining it red.

Faces shimmered in those colors around her, revealing the people of her village, their heads locked in crates just a few days ago. “You’re on a precipice now, Trynneia. Your actions drive the fates of the many, and the one.” She looked at his face and saw craggy lines warping his skin as he withered before her, becoming corpse-like and old, weathered and wrinkled before his time.

Trynneia’s feet squelched into bloody mud, and his smile pulled back into a rictus grin as wind began to whistle, then howl about her. Flames licked at the bases of every tree as the Chapel began to burn around her.

“What are you trying to tell me, Driver?”

“No, no, no, Trynneia. You’re asking the wrong question.” Driver’s grin widened, the skin of his cheeks tearing apart like tissue paper, revealing muscle, sinew, and blood beneath. “What are you trying to tell yourself?”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” she yelled, flummoxed and frustrated. Driver’s aura flooded her vision, and she only had a vague sense that it twinkled like a rainbow as well.

“Everything shall fade, then,” he replied, slumping back into his throne. Decay claimed him, rotting him from the inside out as black and green foam frothed from his lips, dissolving him. It became an ooze that spread, consuming the throne and leaving behind only a bubbling ichor wreathed with darkness.

Trynneia backed up to the open entrance to the Chapel of Light, but the mist barred her exit. Flames ripped upwards, destroying the trees as burning branches plummeted from the canopy above. Wind ripped at her clothing pushing her to the center, yet she refused, reaching behind into the mist instead, trying to escape. All around her, shadowless Light grew dim. The ichor skimmed across the earth. Just as it touched her feet, she screamed, and as her voice filled the Chapel of Light, the chorus of a hundred lost souls joined her with their agony.

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