Lightblessed

Do no harm. Care for others. Serve yourself. The basic tenets of the Light were immutable, yet unscrupulous men and women found ways to bend these ideals in service of the Light. Mankind preferred to punish those who defied these beliefs instead of rehabilitating them. Punishment begat cruelty which begat injury, and further correction came in the form of perversion, not redemption. Thus the Void worked to undermine even that which was most holy.

***

“Where are we, Tryn?” Ditan could only voice a harsh whisper. Trynneia cradled him in her lap, stroking his hair. At her urging their captors had relented and given him smallclothes to wear, but nothing else. She stayed near as she could, to provide him comfort and healing between his bouts of torture.

Modius presided over an unending cycle of pain and healing for Ditan. Trynneia loved her friend fiercely now, a motherly concern where her own feelings swung between horror and relief. Some days, he went without major beatings, but most days started with vicious pummelings. Few of their captors had love for goblins, thinking them subhuman and beneath concern. Only a select few such as Modius and the old woman whom Trynneia had learned was named Sariam, kept the others from killing him.

“I’ve no idea. We’re still heading north though.” She looked at him, and dabbed at some scabs on his face, remnants of wounds she’d just healed. “We’ve hit the desert.”

Each day had gotten longer and warmer, with spring passing into summer. Their caravan had been joined by others, and now several wagons accompanied them, with various outriders and scouts. She’d been conscious when they’d passed through the last town, Parms, as they’d loaded up water and stores for the remainder of the journey.

“Glad we’re heading in the right direction. I might get that Light’s sanction after all,” Ditan joked, coughing at his own humor. Neither he nor she ever expected good to come of their arrival. “Modius has his hands full?”

“It seems like it,” she conceded. “They’ve mostly left us alone today.”

“Just means they’ll beat me extra in the evening. Think I know why my parents were bitter all the time,” he said, shifting in her arms. Trynneia held him close, his thin limbs bony through her clothes.

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

“Tired of being overlooked,” Ditan replied, smiling.

“I don’t know how you do it, Ditan. Keep your sense of humor in all this,” Trynneia wept even at his humor. “None of this is right. It’s desensitizing. When they make me watch…”

He reached up to her cheek, his bony fingers chill against the flush of her skin. “They keep us alive, Tryn. And intact. Well,” he glanced at the stump of his left arm, “mostly intact.”

“I did try to fix that. I try every time,” Trynneia lowered her eyes, apologizing. The runes on her skin glowed weak amber today against her ashen skin. There was no strength in her limbs, kept that way through malnourishment and overuse of her power to heal Ditan.

“I feel it, Tryn. Don’t try anymore, it just wastes your strength. You’ve given it your shot.”

“But why? Why keep us both alive? They clearly hate you and obviously want me for something. Killing you saves them supplies. It just makes sense.”

“Aw Tryn, sounds like you want them to kill me.” Ditan winced even as he tried to grin. Her healing couldn’t fix everything each time. ’It’s good to know you care.”

“By the Light, you know I care,” she said, squeezing his shoulder.

Their wagon jerked to a halt, and Sariam threw aside the cloth covering the back of it. Eilic, the young man who often helped her, grabbed one of Ditan’s ankles and jerked him free of Trynneia’s hold. He showed no kindness, and his effort rewarded Ditan with abrasions up his back. Neither of the captives fought anymore, their spirits had been subdued. Trynneia let go and awaited the inevitable.

She crawled to the back, where Sariam grabbed her and pulled her out as well, dropping her to the sand and scrub brush. She observed it was late afternoon, the low height of the twin suns close to setting with the first just starting to touch the horizon.

“Our tonight’s entertainment,” Modius said, leading his horse close, “shall be joints. Again. I do so like to watch him struggle.”

Eilic grinned and began systematically shattering each of Ditan’s joints, starting with an elbow. He ensured he inflicted as much pain as possible. He’d only gotten through the left limbs when Modius stopped him.

“Hold, Eilic,” he tapped his index finger to his lips. “You’re enjoying it too much. Where’s the fun in that?”

“The fuggin’ goblin enjoys it. He’s laughin’.” Eilic defended himself, not disguising how much he relished his task.

“Trynneia looks a little left out. Let her have some fun too.”

Her runes flared up, changing from amber to white. So far Trynneia had been spared the most brutal beatings, but there was an unmistakable savage glint to Eilic’s eyes as he turned to face her. His sadism terrified her, and now it came her way. Eilic raised the blunt club he used so often. She shut her eyes to the incoming blow.

“No, she doesn’t get to receive the fun,” Modius purred. What?

“What?” Eilic echoed her thoughts.

“Hand her the club, Eilic.” Oh, by the Light, no! She heard Eilic chuckle, and even Sariam gave out a gasp of delight.

“Oh, that’s delicious,” the old woman croaked.

Eilic put it in her hands, making sure she had a grip of it, and licked her face. Trynneia shuddered. “Break him till he bleeds, love,” he whispered, desire rank in his tone.

She trembled, and her runes dimmed to just a soft glow. “I won’t do this,” she said weakly.

“My dear, you know you have no choice,” Modius replied. “Right knee, please,” he waved dismissively. Ditan’s eyes widened, shaking his head even as he fought back tears. The club fell numbly from her fingers.

“I will not do this,” she repeated defiantly.

Modius dropped the reins of his horse and strode to her, fury blazing in his slate gray eyes. He gripped her face and yanked her close, his fingernails tearing into her flesh. “What part of ‘you are my fucking slave’ have you not learned yet? Right knee. NOW!” he shouted into her face.

Trynneia sucked in a breath, wondering how her reply would cost her. “No,” she uttered between pinched lips. She would not betray her friend in that way. Modius violently flung her to the ground.

“Fine, have it your way, Trynneia,” he spat back, nodding at Eilic. The young man’s face lit up with glee as he retrieved the fallen club and began to strike.

After, Trynneia stared at the sky. Faint golden wisps remained of the second sunset as the rest of the sky darkened into night. Eilic had not been merciful, showing particular vengeance to her hands and feet, but not sparing the rest of her. Modius had to order him to stop as the blood splattered his face.

She had no tears left to cry, for this pain had been of her own doing this time. Trynneia had known that rejecting the order would hurt, but Light she hadn’t expected this. They stripped her, then dragged her by the hair to leave her by the fire. Uncomfortably close to the fire. She could only watch as the red and white blisters destroyed her skin. She was in a place beyond pain. Then they turned her head to watch the goblin’s punishment.

Ditan’s beating was just as savage, and then they’d thrown him near the fire next to her. At least he’d lost consciousness quickly. Perhaps it had become his defense mechanism, perhaps there was just that little left of him to resist. Either way, she’d been forced to watch. Again.

Clouds rolled in and a wind picked up. Goosebumps pricked up on her skin as the temperature dropped, and only the nearby fire kept her warm. The captors mostly sat around a different fire they’d set, preparing their food. Modius alone kept watch over them, sharpening his knife. He tested the edge, nodded to himself, and approached her.

“You know, I’ve wanted to carve you up for weeks now,” he said reassuringly. “I want to feel your flesh part in so many ways. I want you to know I’ve been merciful,” he continued, smashing her face with the butt end of his knife. She spat blood, unable to stop it from the gash in her cheek or from her broken nose. The act wasn’t one of defiance, simply a weak expulsion of the fluid in her mouth, a failed attempt to rid herself of the taste.

Modius caressed her hair. “It didn’t have to be this way. Was it really so hard a thing, to refuse bludgeoning the gob? Wouldn’t it have been better to have a chance to end his suffering? I think he might have welcomed that,” he mused, grabbing a handful of sand and tossing it at Ditan’s unresponsive face.

“Now, what am I to do with you?” His grip tightened in her hairl, pulling her head off the ground. Trynneia tried to ignore him, but the blade sliced through her hair. As it parted free from her scalp, her head hit the ground anew. She felt blood trickle down. “You have to make a choice, Trynneia, because I know you haven’t got the strength now. It should be a simple one, of course. Heal him, or heal yourself.”

Trynneia found a few more tears to cry, somehow. “Of course, you could always surprise me. But you see, I understand people like you. Do the right thing. Save yourself.” She coughed, her throat raw from the screams she’d made earlier. “All he does is cause you more suffering.”

She didn’t want to admit his words made some twisted sense. She needed to care for herself first, and the punishment she’d received was because she wouldn’t beat Ditan. His aura appeared very weak, and she had to try hard to even perceive it. Trynneia couldn’t even touch him, and that’s how she’d healed before, by passing her strength into him. Modius continued slicing away at her hair, pulling her up as far as he could and dropping her head each time.

Trynneia smelled meat cooking, and through her pain thought of how hungry she was. All the best food went to the others, while she and Ditan got scraps now, leftover bones in watery stew. No flavor and little substance. “That smells delicious, but we can’t be eating that, can we?” Modius said, moving her right arm out of the fire where it had fallen. He patted her charred fingers, almost disgusted when his hand stuck to her flesh. “Fix yourself, Trynneia. That’s an order,” he growled. “Don’t disobey my orders again.”

He left her then, kicking sand in Ditan’s face as he departed, laughing as he joined his followers for their meal. Every inch of Trynneia’s body felt like it was on fire, and the willpower she’d mustered to ignore it crumbled now that her antagonizer had abandoned her. Pain came almost as a cruel relief as she tried to unhear what he’d said. He’d not given her any true choice.

She couldn’t feel this way ever again, Trynneia would do anything to avoid it. She fixed her eyes on the twinkling of the stars, willing herself to distraction. Each ragged breath pulsed searing pain through her shattered ribs and limbs. Constellations seemed different here, a bit out of place from what she remembered. Was that a consequence of travel? Or were they actually moving in the sky? What under the Light could move those smaller points of light through the heavens?

Trynneia knew there had to be answers to those questions, and she wouldn’t learn them by dying here. She welcomed the pain, allowing herself to submerge into it. Her intuition traveled every nerve and capillary, seizing what had been broken, and pulling it together. Repairing her body hurt even more than receiving the injuries that damaged it. Almost. Metallic gold light surged from her runes, cracked and torn as they were. The nearby murmur of conversation dropped as her captors looked her way. She pulled as much as she could to fix herself, her back arching away from the ground. Finally, her focus waned and she collapsed. Blessed numbness pulled her to sleep.