Lightblessed

Peace remained ever tenuous under the dominion of the Illuminari. While not a governing body in the traditional sense, its devotion to the Light found its way across the land. No ruler desiring respect from their populace would dare flaunt mandates from the Illuminari.

***

Trynneia felt Modius approach rather than heard him, though perhaps hearing could also be claimed. Just not in a traditional sense. She’d thrown the blanket over onto herself, wrapped in it to protect from insects more than for comfort, though its weight did provide that as well.

Waking from a dead sleep, she had the eerie sensation of being watched. Even through her closed eyes, she caught faint traces of the colors, a beckoning stream surrounding the ground before her and the fire just beyond. Following them they bent back around behind her and curled away from him as waves breaking before the bow of a ship. She knew his aura well, and marveled that even in her half conscious state she could observe it through tracing the hues he disturbed.

The sensation of his shape stooped just behind her, slowly dragging the blanket back. Her heart raced and her spirit quailed. What did Modius intend? The colors moaned all along, and she noticed the thrumming that pumped in time with her heart. Calm settled in, allowing her to relax while she shifted her consciousness and perception to the energies around her.

Modius stopped, merely gazing at the side of her sleeping face, and ran his fingers lightly through the short, finger-width length of hair that had grown back. She perceived him sniffing his hands and looking sidelong to where Elanreu slept. He held his dagger with a reverse grip, though uncertainty still dictated his motives.

“Should just finish this shit now. Only two more days left. Cut and run, cut and run,” he muttered to himself. “Why didn’t it work on you? It should have worked.” He ran his dagger lightly along her jaw, flexing his free hand.

Intuition, her friend, presented a possibility to her and the thrum quieted. Tendrils of color flowed snakily through the air around the fire and she grasped them, somehow commanding them to wend their way to his weapon. Immediately its temperature increased, and Modius flung it away with a light shriek. It landed in the dirt near Elanreu. He woke up as it thudded to a stop near him.

“Away from her,” he ordered, rising. She feigned rest, her immediate danger quelled, and listened. Elanreu retrieved the dagger as he stood, looking it over in his hands. “All you know is murder, Modius. Light send that it doesn’t find you too soon.”

Scowling, Modius looked from the sleeping girl to his Lord, hatred burning in his slate gray eyes. “You haven’t given me a chance. Let me work on her. She can still-”

“Ssh,” Elanreu shushed, finger to his lips. “You both go to your judgments now. You failed your main task and I cannot overlook that,” he explained, leading the other man away from her. Trynneia trailed on wisps of unseen light that wicked their way about her two captors. “She’s shown no proof that she’s the abomination.”

“Sariam saw her-” Modius hissed, but off again with a wave.

“She’s dead, Modius. Gone. The Regency kindly overlooked certain...employees of mine. Frankly, I’m glad she perished, but obviously her words would be useless in any context based on her predilections.”

What did the blood witch see, Trynneia wondered, that Modius would try to use it against me? What is this abomination he believes me to be? The sounds grew weak as they passed farther away, her own reach straining to follow. She let the strands go, feeling an immediate weakness upon release. That was close, but worth it, she thought.

Twice now they’d discussed an abomination, and twice now she was just as confused. Her chest ached, her flesh still raw where the runes had been carved between her breasts. Just thinking about the blood witch awakened the old woman’s magic in her mind and body. Alternating between itching, tingling, and overall soreness, it soured her already sullen mood.

For a few heartbeats, she almost would have welcomed Modius to draw that blade across her throat. Anything to end the sights she saw while she slept, reliving her torture, and Ditan’s torture. Each physical defilement, each grisly act, each psychological attack visited her even in her conscious thought. Ending them all would be a tender release.

She hated flinching when either man came close, but tolerated Elanreu as an improvement over Modius. That her former torturer had crept up on her in her sleep, blade in hand, proved to her he hadn’t shed his persona in spite of most outward appearances to his Lord. Of the two, he terrified her beyond everything she’d ever encountered.

Trynneia could hear the murmur of their quiet discussion, but they remained too far away for adequate listening. She shivered, and moved closer to the fire, dragging the blanket along in the dirt. They paused, both seeing her wake and move around. She looked around and pretended to be startled, then glanced back to where they were and waved with a feigned smile. Elanreu waved back, and Modius glowered.

She pushed on those shimmery tendrils of color and the fire intensified just the amount she wanted, but stacked a few more sticks of wood inside to build it up. Being able to manipulate these colors made no real sense to her. Like her intuition with the Light itself, she acted on impulse to direct them to desired effect. Unlike the Light, she saw these colors in everything. In fact…

Trynneia caught herself thinking about the Light. It had been days since she’d been able to sense it or use it, and her runes had gone dark. Lord Elanreu had commented about her mother’s eyes and how they differed from her own, saying that Rendrys’ had glowed yellow while hers did not. When had that stopped? She couldn’t remember. Sometime after healing her shoulder, at the least.

Had the Light abandoned her? Was there a need to be “worthy” in some way? Had she cast it aside with her blood frenzied attacks that last night of the caravan? She’d lost one power but gained another unknowingly, and it frightened her now to consider it. The thrum pulsed through her pleasurably, as if reacting to her own revelation. That was new as well.

The two men walked back together, Elanreu with a smile while Modius looked even more sullen and angry. Trynneia did not trust either of them, and the thrum felt anxious as well, mirroring her emotions.

“Did we wake you?” Elanreu asked. “Turns out neither of us could sleep.”

Bullshit, she thought. “No, I was cold. It wasn’t until I sat up that I noticed neither of you were here,” she exaggerated. “I just wanted to build up the fire.”

“Well, I think Modius is done with his watch for the night. I’ll take my turn, you can rest.”

“Not sure I can right now,” she said, definitely uneasy about the look in Modius’ eyes. His smoldering hatred would burn through her if he could focus it in such a manner. What did he see in her?

“Very well. Join me then,” he offered. “He was just turning in for the night.” Modius turned with a frustrated flourish and threw himself down on his own bedroll.

“I should sleep too,” she said. “But you gave me a fright by not being here.”

“I didn’t know you cared, Oathbreaker,” he forced a smile at her, and both knew it to be false. To her surprise, however, he handed her the dagger Modius had dropped. “I’m not sure what he thought he might do with this, but I’m sure you can guess,” he whispered. She hesitated, taking it while looking at her Lord.

“You would trust me with this?” she said under her breath.

“I may need to trust you with many things, soon,” he intimated, intriguing her. “I won’t let you get murdered in your sleep by that psychopath.”

The psychopath you sent after me. The psychopath that murdered everyone I hold dear. Don’t think for a second I trust you either. “Thank you, I think,” she replied instead.

“You’re welcome. As it is, I’d rather not get murdered in my own sleep by that psychopath,” he chuckled softly, nodding at Modius. “A token of good faith, I say.”

“You’re sure I won’t do it myself?” Trynneia hefted the dagger to feel its weight. The pinpricks of light danced away from it, unwilling at the moment to be near. It meant something, but she knew not what.

Lord Elanreu looked her up and down, appraising her. By all appearances, she was only a couple days removed from repetitive gross injuries she’d had to heal herself from, along with sleep deprivation and severe malnourishment. Physically, perhaps, she’d improved. Both these men need to die, she thought, surprised at her own dark thoughts. He nodded, and she gave a short titter as if his nod agreed with her assessment.

“What’s funny?” he asked, suddenly serious.

“Nothing,” she sighed. “I just can’t believe you’d give me this, is all.”

“Don’t think for a second I won’t be watching you, Trynneia Oathbreaker,” his words grew more stern as he talked. “You aren’t as strong yet as you think,” he intoned. Elanreu held her gaze, his implication clear. She swallowed.

“I’ll just keep it safe, then,” she promised.

“Good, we’re in agreement then. Go sleep,” he commanded, ending their conversation abruptly.

Well this is a turn of events, she thought. Trynneia kept the dagger sheathed, clutching it to her chest as she laid back down and pulled her blanket around her once more. Her spirits rose just the slightest bit as she gripped the weapon tight. Sinful thoughts that departed from the Light weighed themselves like the metal in her hand, and as they dwelt upon them, each began to feel less heavy.

She could do what needed to be done. Her survival depended on it. Trusting the Light’s Judgment to take everything on her scale appropriately, two more lives would mean little. She hoped.

Wicked imaginings billowed forth into her dreams as she fell off to sleep. Trynneia drifted back, leaving Lord Elanreu to ride ahead as Honey drew even with Modius. Sometimes she’d just stab him from behind. Of course he never saw it coming. Other times, she waited until they were in camp, and just when they both fell asleep she would slash their throats.

Dreams didn’t allow for emotion, but what little was left to her did not extend to sympathy, or regret, not for these acts. Instead came elation and hope. Certain justification that would be seen properly in the Light, and she’d be forgiven. The dagger’s weight was Light indeed, not something to be fretted upon, but wielded with conviction and purpose.

Liberate yourself, Trynneia, she urged herself. End this madness and see yourself to the Light once more. Trynneia no longer concerned herself with the stain she bore upon her soul, only that the stain served its purpose, and the purpose would be made to further serve her.