Lightblessed

Edis Lightblessed broke with the Illuminari as a matter of principle. Their methods were cruel, turning willing believers in the Light into hardened soldiers in their holy war against Darkness. He entrusted the Light with the safekeeping of his people, not its subjugation. When Edis was formally excommunicated, portions of his body were sent throughout the land. Even so, quiet whispers spoke that he was the true guardian of Eternal Light.

***

Hands grabbed her, pulling her forward. She took awkward steps, her runes still blazing. The suns neared their zenith as she placed one foot in front of the other, confronting an unknown fate. The conscripts who gripped her arms were joined by a few other hands, pushing her forward, then stepping aside. Even in this small crowd, she felt the shame of hatred turned upon her.

Trynneia kept her head held high despite her misgivings, keeping the magistrate in view the whole time. Deputy Sule watched with sadness, for he had no idea what to expect either. Exhaustion lined his eyes, and he nodded to her, perhaps in apology. When she stood but a pace from the magistrate, he turned once more to the crowd and silenced those who remained.

When all attention was on him, he said simply, “Trynneia Lightblessed has invoked the Light’s Judgment.” Pausing for effect, whispers grew in the crowd, confusion mixing with recognition of what had just happened with the goblin. The magistrate looked over his shoulder to where Deputy Fant had departed with Ditan. He gestured to Deputy Sule, who drew his knife with uncertainty.

“As her mother’s Light has been dimmed, our village has need of a new Priest or Priestess of the Light.” Another pause, and a subtle intake of breath hushed the crowd. He looked at Trynneia, not with scorn, or pity, but mourning. To her alone, he spoke, lifting her chin to look in her eyes. His voice conveyed sincerity she had not expected. “I believe you are a truly good person, Trynneia. But I cannot overlook what has been done. Your friend awaits you north of town. This is all I can provide that is neither public, nor private proclamation. Please nod if you understand.”

Trynneia searched his face, the glow of her runes slowly dimming but remained bright, less metallic and more yellow. What is going on? This man had spoken so harshly the night before, yet his heart seemed… She perceived his aura shimmering about him, and wished she knew better how to interpret it. Mixed among it were smaller striations of gray and even a few of black, but most of it tended to white and yellow. She took it as a token of faith, and nodded. He nodded back in return, a satisfied half-smile coming to his face.

The magistrate faced the crowd once more. “Trynneia forsook public and private proclamation in favor of the Light’s judgment. She has accepted what I am about to say without question.” Silence hushed the crowd, broken only by the unfortunate banging of a door nearby. He turned to her one last time. “Trynneia Lightblessed, you are ordered to seek the Illuminari of Praxoenn, there to receive the Light’s judgment. You are stripped of protection from the Light.” He motioned to Deputy Sule, who cut free her clothing just as had been done with Ditan, though with more care and a greater amount of embarrassment on Sule’s part. “You are ordered to become a Priestess of the Light. Until such time as this is achieved, you are banished from this village, effective immediately.”

Her runes dimmed to a muted glow on her gray skin, pink tinging her cheeks as Deputy Sule grabbed her arm and walked her down the stairs, heading north. The magistrate turned away from her to face the crowd. She paid no attention to his words, thankful only that he directed gazes elsewhere, that her nakedness not be lingered upon.

When they were far enough away, Deputy Sule said, “Tryn, please understand the magistrate is walking a fine line here. Know in your heart that he’s not a bad man.” The deputy’s words meant little to her at the moment as she contemplated her fate. She walked skyclad through the vacant streets, doing what she could to distract herself, feeling the sunlight streaming down on her.

She was Lightblessed, and anointed in the Light. This punishment actually suited her plans just fine, even if the moment felt uncomfortable. The magistrate’s order practically required her to learn what she sought, and gave her a place to continue her search. For a moment, hope swelled in her, then Trynneia remembered how much harsher Ditan’s tasking would be. They had time to figure things out, and come up with a plan.

Near the edge of town, Old Chet fell in step with them. Deputy Sule showed no surprise, and seemed to expect him. On his back he carried a very large pack, bulging and lumpy. “I figgered it’d be a fine day fer a walk, if ya reckon,” he mentioned casually to Sule, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Indeed, today is a good day for one, judging by the weather,” Sule nodded. Neither paid Trynneia any attention, and the deputy dropped his grip, expecting her to walk along. “Not too hot out yet this spring.”

“And good for plantin’ crops, as well. I wanted to make some rounds, meet up with some outlyin’ farm folk who couldn’t get to town, settle some contracts for my inn.”

Is this some form of rescue attempt? Trynneia wondered. The village passed far behind them, and when she glanced back, she saw no one. After a few hills, the three peeled off onto a side trail that wandered into a small glade. Once the main road fell out of sight, the two men worked in unison.

Old Chet removed the pack, pulling free from it some clothes that fit her well enough, a pair of her boots he’d found somewhere, and a cloak. She took them gratefully and dressed quickly while the men kept chatting, eyeing the trail for anyone else, while shielding her from their own sight. Trynneia recognized they’d not given her more than a passing glance the whole time, and felt thankful, though the shame still burned that they’d waited this long to help.

“Okay, lass, we haven’t got much time, so we need ta get a move on,” Old Chet said. “You’ve played your role well, lad, and I’ll thank ya for it later.” He slapped Deputy Sule on the back.

“Miss Trynneia, Light bless you, and your road never dim,” the deputy offered, giving her a curt salute. He handed her the knife he’d used in the ceremony, along with the small leather sheath he’d worn at his waist. “Safe journey,” he said, then departed swiftly down the trail to the road.

“Where’s Ditan?” she asked the innkeeper. The magistrate had promised her he would be here.

“He’ll meet us soon. Fant took him to a separate location. We go now to meet him.” He set about divvying up what was left in the pack. Amongst its contents were additional changes of clothes for herself and the goblin, some non-perishable food (dried meat sticks), water pouches, and various smaller items, like flint and rope. Trynneia took the pack meant for her, while Chet shouldered Ditan’s. “Now I can’t be gone for long, but I wanted ya both taken care of. And look at ya. Didn’t even speak much in yer defense at that sham. I gave the magistrate a good speakin’ to, and I’m sure he’ll take it out of me in the end, but he didn’t become magistrate without having integrity, and that’s good for us, eh?”

“That’s something,” she admitted, still unsure of this change of events. Trynneia brushed her hair behind her ear. “Wish you could have managed to arrange a bath before you smuggled me out,” she smiled wanly, trying so hard to put a positive spin on her situation. “Please let’s go, so you can get back.”

The small glade occupied a small patch of land north of the village, a respite for travellers on their way south. For whatever reason, it had been preserved by the village for this purpose, when using it as farmland may have been better. Few would deny it made an excellent getaway from troubles for a time, or to escape work. It reminded her of her own pond clearing near her old home.

Trynneia hadn’t come this far north before, and their trip sped along, as Chet grew eager to get back in town. She grew more worried the longer they went without finding Ditan, since he and Deputy Fant couldn’t have made much more speed than she. An hour after breaking with Sule, they stopped in a new clearing.

“They should be here,” Chet declared, looking around. She got the feeling he’d been a tracker in his younger days, but had settled for running an inn at some point. No wonder he’d chosen to take custody of her for now. “There,” he pointed. “Some blood leading into those trees.” He looked determined, but worried, and she felt it too. Trynneia loosened her knife in its sheath.

Both of them stepped slower now, following a bloody trail. Chet had picked out two points, one where someone had come into the clearing, and they followed the point of departure. Their unease increased. Soon it became more chaotic, branches and leaves crushed, mashed against trees. Blood smears instead of drips. Sometimes even blood spray patterns. Their speed increased as they heard frenzied yelling ahead that crescendoed, then stopped.

Chet saw Deputy Fant’s head first, or what was left of it. He stifled his retching, covering his mouth and crouching down. Motioning to Trynneia to do the same, her eyes widened at the sight. They scuttled along low to the glade’s ground, picking their way through weeds and around fallen trunks.

Before long, they came across the deputy’s body, mangled and crushed by brutal axe strokes. It scarcely looked like it had been human, and his sword remained undrawn. Trynneia couldn’t hide her fear for her friend.

“We know you’re out there, Trynneia. Come on now, Ditan’s dying to see you.”

Chet leaned in close, whispering very quietly, “I don’t know what this is about, but they seem to expect ya. Friends?” She shook her head. “Yeh, I thought no. I’ll go in first,” he offered, getting ready to stand.

“No,” she said, putting her arm on him to stop him. “It’s me they want,” she said, removing her pack. They heard rustling to their front left, moving away from them. Her runes blazed, and her senses heightened. Trynneia was terrified, but stood anyway, heading for the rustling noise.

As she approached, her heart thudded violently in her chest, almost drowning out the noise ahead. What she saw broke her. A man with slate gray eyes, dressed in woodland green sat on a log, gripping what she at first thought was a staff. As she took in the scene, she realized that on the ground in front of him was Ditan, feet bound, still unclothed, with a bag over his head. That’s when she realized the staff was a spear penetrating the goblin’s right shoulder, and she could only tell he still lived by the shallow rise of his back as he struggled to even breathe.

The man looked up at her and smiled, malice greeting her like an old friend. Ever so lazily, he worked the spear around, causing her friend’s body to twitch. She could not help the tears streaming down her face. “What have you done?” she whispered, horrified.

“I have cleansed the Light of one more pagan,” he replied. She yelled, throwing the knife at him. His aura flared, sickly greens and blues darkening to purple and black. With ease, he used the spear as leverage to both dodge the knife and deflect it away, while causing more injury to the crippled goblin.

“Half a village. It took killing half a village to get you to come to me,” he said, shifting his attention from her to the goblin, working the spear around more. Ditan didn’t even make a sound. “But now you’re here at last.”

“I don’t even know who you are,” she said, as she saw Old Chet very slowly approaching the man from behind. “At least let him go.”

“Oh, I could do that,” he said, jerking the spear to one side. Ditan’s body didn’t flinch, and his aura was nearly gone. “Don’t think he cares anymore though.” He put his fingers into the wound and dug around a bit, before withdrawing them and sucking off the blood. “Getting pretty cold.”

“You’re a monster!” she yelled.

“You’ve no idea,” he replied. “Your friend is as good as dead. Do you have any final words before we begin?”

Chet leapt from his concealment, but with a look of boredom and unfathomable ease, the man yanked the spear from the goblin’s body and spun, slamming the tip through Chet’s body and using the innkeeper’s momentum to force him to the ground. “Tut tut,” the man said, chopping down with a hatchet. “I told you he was as good as dead.”