Lightblessed

The truest act of a shaman is to preserve nature, not control it. Power comes from the harmony of the elements with the shaman, thus becoming an extension of their mind and body. Seeking harmony with one’s environment empowers a shaman. For all their wisdom, the Illuminari could not conceive of something so fundamental as the relationship between man and nature.

***

Trynneia fidgeted in the back of her wagon, left alone with her thoughts. Between her dreams, Modius’ words, and Ditan’s actions, she struggled to accept her new role. There was no good justification, for everywhere she bent her thoughts, subduing Ditan through mutilation and torment could not be rationalized. And yet...

She’d seen what he’d become now, a raging, flailing shell of the man she’d known him to be. Only she could be held accountable now. They’d tortured him, yes. They’d mutilated him, eviscerated him, and caused him untold suffering. Just the other day, she’d still bantered with him, even if in a muted sort, both their trials having taken their tolls. He had died, and hadn’t been the same since she’d resurrected him.

It was all your fault, Trynneia. You broke him. You took everything that was good in him and destroyed it. You deserve the pain, not him.

This is why she’d ultimately sided with Modius. Not out of the desire to harm, Ditan, no. Far from it. How could she call herself Lightblessed now? She had to watch for herself, as well. For all she knew, she was the only sane one in this group. This was how she could take control and ensure her safety, and in a horrible way, ensure Ditan’s as well. Her punishment would be to take the responsibility for his torture, so that sicker and more depraved people couldn’t.

Trynneia watched the two men around her the most, and felt their eyes upon her. She couldn’t comprehend what stayed their lusts, but for that she was thankful. She couldn’t take the beatings anymore, couldn’t face the pain. The pulverizations, the lacerations...with Sariam and her blood magic gone, she was the only one who could heal, and to keep herself in the position to help Ditan, she had to remain intact. To remain intact, she had to…

Put it out of her mind. That’s what she had to do. Meet Modius head on, save herself, yes, that’s what she had to do. She cried for the loss of Ditan’s friendship, cried for what she prepared herself to do, and cried for how she could still continue to see herself, under the Light.

She remained unbound, and had been given some of Sariam’s clothing. Now and then, Modius peeked in, satisfying whatever curiosity he had, then departed. When he did speak, it was gentle, but hard. He masked his underlying cruelty with the veneer of civility, but she did not mistake it. Trynneia still saw him as a viper.

Evening fell, and he came to retrieve her. Taking her place near the fire, Trynneia felt the company’s ire upon her. She couldn’t tell if it was because she’d been elevated from slave, to captive, to...confidant? Perhaps they wondered what she’d given up to receive this new status. Perhaps for a few who may have clung to the old ways, seeing her now curry favor with their leader made them feel subtly betrayed by her turn from the Light. Not everyone here had abandoned the Light.

Modius sat near her and offered her food, dried fruits and meat sticks. She pondered how long their resources would last, and how far they were from Praxoenn, and even if that was their actual destination.

“The Illuminari have a lot to answer for, Trynneia,” he began. “I don’t trust they ever will.”

“They follow the will of the Light, and shouldn’t have to answer. Their tenets-”

“Mean nothing. They are only human, same as you and me. I’m a flawed man with many regrets, you see.” She looked at him and saw his gray eyes glisten in the firelight. Indeed there was remorse there, she thought. Or he was a very skilled actor. “You’ll find they’re no holier than anyone else. Even your mother was no saint.”

She slapped him, even as she recalled the accusations made of Rendrys after her murder, and the supposed trysts she’d had with Driver. Instinct moved her hand, an act she couldn’t recall. Trynneia recoiled in horror as Modius rubbed his face. He just smirked.

“You’re strong, Trynneia. Where did you get it from?”

Trynneia wilted next to him, not feeling the strength he asserted, and continued questioning her role in all this. Her powers were only as old as her abduction, but survival had dictated their use. She’d had to rise to match need.

“You’re untrained, as your mother wished. Rendrys was foolish, and idealistic. She thought she could spare you your fate, your true fate. At least the one she foresaw.”

“What do you mean?” Trynneia asked, genuinely curious to finally hear something of her heritage, though guarding herself against the possibility of lies.

Flicking small twigs into the fire, Modius delayed his response. One or two of the others went back to their wagons, or to the bedrolls beneath them. Evening dragged into night.

“What do you know about being Lightblessed, Trynneia?”

She stared into the flames, watching them lick and swirl in heat induced vortices, wood turning to white ash and collapsing. Trynneia searched for an aura but saw none. There were hues though, reds and some light greens, but mostly oranges and whites - streaks of light that both flowed towards and away from the campfire. The greens reminded her of the old fireflies that-

“I see now. She induced a compulsion in you. There were rumors of a tea… But was ‘Lightblessed’ itself that was the trigger? You’re distracting yourself,” Modius’ voice seemed a long way off as he mused. “Trynneia,” he whispered into her ear, so close the warmth of his breath slid down her neck. She shivered.

“Lightblessed...We’re… Mother was a Priestess of the Light. I mean, she was a healer, and a counselor, I suppose.” “That backwater village did you no favors, I suppose.” He drew her close, and she marveled at the strength in his arm, more so than the warmth. She needed this, the comforting touch of someone, anyone at this point.

“I was banished to Praxoenn, to become what she was. Then I can return home…” she trailed off, remembering the hatred of that crowd. The sadness in the magistrate’s firm eyes as he announced her fate. The destruction of the home she’d grown up in, and the devastating fire that ravaged the Chapel of Light.

Witnessing her mother’s murder.

Modius brushed away her tears, licking them from his fingers. “Forgetting all that we’ve put you through, and where we’re going, have you ever given thought to what you want, Trynneia? Do you want to become a Priestess?”

Trynneia struggled with the cognitive dissonance of the situation. How could this man, who she’d known only to be so cruel, be so compassionate? Even as she rescanned and saw his deep black aura, with no hint of other color, she questioned if she’d misjudged him after all.

“What is left there in that village for you? The fate of being its Priestess? How would becoming one regain your acceptance among the people, after what they believe you’ve done? Perhaps the magistrate did you a favor by sending you away,” he suggested.

He sent US away, she reminded herself. Don’t forget Ditan is wrapped up in this. But Ditan was just a goblin, and she needed to think about herself now. She smiled shyly at Modius.

“I’ve never thought about anything else. Mom always expected me to follow her.”

“No, Trynneia. Rendrys wanted you to replace her.”

“How do you know so much about what mom wanted?” An even more important question raised itself. “How do you even know my name?”

“Hmph,” he snickered. “Your mother was no simple ‘Priestess of the Light,’ girl. You’ll find that out when we reach Praxoenn.” His embrace pulled her closer and he leaned in, his lips just above hers. “I’ve known your name since the day you were born,” he said.

Trynneia was breathless as she gazed into those hypnotic eyes, so captivated she closed the gap herself, and kissed him. He pulled back, with a thinly veiled lascivious grin on his face. He nodded to the others who remained around the fire, pointing them out to her.

“I need you to prove to them that you didn’t sleep with me just to get some preferential treatment,” he explained. “Kissing me like that doesn’t help your cause,” he warned quietly. “But I did enjoy that little surprise.”

Chastened, Trynneia blushed. “Sorry Modius, I don’t know what possessed me,” she said. No trace of color remained in his aura, but she didn’t mind.

What are you doing? She admonished herself. This is all wrong!

“You’ve given thought to what you promised earlier?” Her eyes scanned the wagons, quickly finding the wooden one, and the weak aura within. Trynneia hesitated.

“Why torture, Modius? Surely there’s another way to subdue his powers, keep him weak until we can get him help…” She searched for a different solution, still not wanting to accept that she deserved to be punished for causing his regression, yet knowing it was the right thing to do.

“Remember, you caused this, Trynneia. His grip on reality now is tenuous at best. The elements are a rising torrent around him, and his mind lashes out now at everything and anyone. You are responsible. Eilic can do the job, but he gets...overzealous. Gobs killed his parents, you see.” Something about that tickled her memory, but it flashed away. “But to do this, I can still show how you are being punished by doing this horrible thing, but you and I will know it’s for his benefit. It helps subdue his destructive powers, and it keeps Eilic from killing him. It’s best for everyone, Trynneia.”

Modius squeezed her hand, and smiled disarmingly. Trynneia had to admit that despite his flaws, perhaps he could be handsome under all that. His aura was not just black anymore, but had traces of light etching into it, like shooting stars consumed by a black hole, and she knew everything was alright. The Light gave proof that his suggestion aligned with its purpose.

She returned his smile, and pulled herself up using his grasp as leverage. He coughed for the first time all evening, and his grip felt cold. Her runes flared a warm orange glow, spreading health from her into his body. He pulled her close and ran his hands over the thin hair on her scalp.

“I’m glad you’ve seen the sense of it, Trynneia. You won’t have to do this too many times, either. We are near the end of our journey.” Her warmth vanished into him, sucked away as if it had never been. Her runes went black, and ice chilled her. Trynneia panicked, but he coaxed her to move forward.

Her heart fluttered, her nerves warning her that despite what she’d convinced herself, what Modius had reaffirmed, something wasn’t right. But she deserved this punishment, she’d been a wretched friend, and a dishonorable daughter. She would do everything in her power to help Ditan, and if this was the path she must walk to save him, she would. No matter the cost.