Lightblessed

Centuries had passed since a Lightblessed had been tried by the Illuminari Council. The breaking of Praxoenn had purged all records of the event. A new protocol was needed, fit for the Purpose, to adequately address any that came to the Light.

***

Shallin paced back and forth slowly in Trynneia’s room, counting out thirty-seven steps from one wall to another. A soft thud followed every footprint she left in the once-lush carpet that had thinned over the years. Trynneia sat at the windowsill, this one overlooking the open area from which the Atrium derived its name.

“You’re agitated,” Trynneia said, observing her companion. Shallin had an orange aura this morning, lightly fanning out from her shoulders and head, then flowing down her back.

“I hate it here,” Shallin replied, shrugging her shoulders. “I didn’t expect to be imprisoned, Your Grace.” She continued counting her steps at a whisper.

“You didn’t have to come, Shallin. Light knows what the Regents make of your presence here.”

“Don’t be naive, Your Grace. They know I’m here as an assurance for Lord Elanreu. Depending on how your Judgment goes, I’ll probably die, and he knows it.”

“Why send you along then?” -she hunts, she kills, she is death- She protects you in his stead. There is no one he trusts more. -with taking your life- Beams from the twin suns’ early morning light lanced down, beginning to illuminate a raised dais where an ornate throne sat. Below it sat three cruder, but still opulent, thrones for each of the Regents. Rows of terraced seats ringed the basin. Servants scurried about making preparations.

Shallin shrugged. “Word has surely gotten to them that I nearly killed you. Either it will be framed as an attempted assassination of a Lightblessed, or as a failed attempt to kill a shaman. Neither of which is favorable in the eyes of the Illuminari Council. Your Grace.”

“This all stinks,” Trynneia agreed, glancing at her hands. She couldn’t comfort herself with the totem, as that had been taken upon their arrival by Torvas, as well as the sword Shallin had carried for her. You are meant to see them as they are. They are meant to see you as you are. -murderer- -abomination- -shaman- “I’m scared, Shallin.”

Shallin’s eyes darted to Trynneia for a moment, before falling back to the floor to watch her steps. “We both are, Your Grace,” she admitted. “Already having second thoughts?”

“Yes. No.” Trynneia drummed her fingers on the windowsill. “Maybe? What would you do? If you were them?”

“You don’t fit the Purpose. Their Purpose.” Shallin stopped and looked askance at her. “Here’s my take, based on how we hunt. How I hunt.” She leaned back against a wall, arms crossed at the chest, feet at the ankles. “They want you to feel trapped and helpless here. They don’t want you to replace them, though they believe that’s your purpose, Your Grace.”

“What is their Purpose, then? Everyone mentions it like I should know.”

“You really were isolated, weren’t you, Your Grace? It is love, and support for others, of course. But only for those who follow the Illuminari, and the Regents determine who does or does not fit in. The Purpose is meant to exclude the shaman who broke Praxoenn. It’s hard to see the damage these days, since much of it has been repaired or replaced. But the Regency has a long memory.”

“That’s pretty single minded,” Trynneia said.

“Thing of it is though, no one minds. We’ve seen what they do. You’ve seen the worst they can do. We Hunters police them, to keep them in check. At the Regency’s behest. But we’re only the last resort.”

“What’s the first?” Trynneia asked, curious. She ran her fingers through her hair.

“The Haemophagia. Blood witches.” -savor- -life- -death- Your blood has nothing -everything- to do with them, Trynneia. -marked- -cursed- -accept- We are all your powers, and your heritage. Do not forget us. Trynneia shut her eyes, trying to ignore the overlapping voices while visions of the undead Sariam marking her with blood runes flashed through her mind.

“They are present at every birth, or are meant to be,” Shallin continued. “Every child has their finger pricked, their blood sampled by a Haemophage. It’s a whole ritual to celebrate life.” “Today is your birthday,” Trynneia remembered. “What most people don’t know is that they are being tested.”

“What happens if they…if the child…fails the test?”

“You know. They are deemed to be shaman and…removed.” -truth and lies lies and truth- What is your purpose, Trynneia? Shallin’s eyes dropped.

“You’ve done this? To a child?” Trynneia looked at Shallin, horrified. “No.”

“It’s often our first test, if possible, to see if we’re ready. Willing. Committed. It’s an easy way to kickstart our resistance against them. But it’s very rare now to find one. Centuries of the Haemophagia have done that for us. But yes,” Shallin admitted, choking back a sob. “One was available for my…initiation. Those with shaman tendencies have grown adept at hiding.”

They hide, and abide, yet still practice in the open where they can. -easier to lie than to die- Who hid you, and why? “I wonder if my mother knew?” Trynneia thought aloud.

“Only she would be able to tell you. Does it matter at this point?” Shallin crouched, then sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest. “So that’s my dirtiest secret, Your Grace. Still want to become a Hunter?”

Trynneia leaned back and stared at the ceiling. She remembered the fires Ditan had conjured, how the ground had trembled when her home had been pulled below its surface. How the Chapel of Light had been doused. How wind had ripped at the canvas of her wagon as she hid in the back with Sariam while storms blew through on more than one occasion.

Watching Ditan’s rapid descent into madness enraged her still, once she’d learned how his powers left aftershocks long after he used them. Punishing him had kept him from practicing, and she’d grown to enjoy it near the end. Almost. -bolder action, be decisive- Being Skytouched is not a crime, but a state of mind. -purge it- “If I’d have killed him sooner, I could have left that desert earlier.” You cannot hate him and not hate yourself. -only one way to stop a shaman permanently- He was your friend. -enemy- Learn from your mistakes. Commit to -end them- your purpose. -End them all.-

“I’m sure that could have been possible, Your Grace. But knowing what you know now, is it possible you were responsible for stranding the caravan? Even once?”

Colors pulsed around the ceiling, flowing close to the delicate latticework that rimmed the walls. Trynneia could feel the thrum around her. Use us, it urged, a guttural voice whispering amidst all the others. Every caress of the air filled her vision with multiple colors, fragrances, and tastes at once as more and more voices overlapped, calling to her so familiar and yet so foreign. Serve your purpose, came the most prominent of them. Embrace your duty.

“No. It was him,” she spat. “You didn’t see him, Shallin. Raving. Crazed. He was out of control.” -as were you- “He came at me, and I-” He was trussed like a pig for slaughter, and you obliged. Helpless, both of you. “I…” She shut her eyes, remembering Sariam entering and the flames consuming and… You were under their control. Her control. -robbed of your vengeance-

“You loved him, didn’t you? I’m just trying to see,” Shallin said, coming to sit with Trynneia. “I can’t ever imagine being friends with a shaman like that.” Despite her words, something in her gaze speculated otherwise.

“He was like a brother, Shallin. I didn’t understand how much being a shaman was a betrayal of the Light. I felt betrayed myself.”

“His death was necessary, Your Grace. You know this. Move past your guilt.”

“How? My death is just as necessary now. I am what you hunt. No different than him.”

“Let’s reframe it then, shall we? You betrayed him by being one yourself, Your Grace. Embrace that instead. You see what they see. Feel the powers they do. This is what Lord Elanreu wants from you. We accepted that when he brought you in. You can counter them.”

“The Illuminari Council won’t let a Lightblessed go,” Trynneia sighed. “Light’s Judgment can take me and I’m fine with that. Then I’m free.”

“Fuck me, I’ve gone from being your therapist to your recruiter. See how you twist me, Your Grace? They are terrified of you. You have your own purpose to fulfill. If you’d stop for one moment to look past the hatred you have for yourself, you’d see that.” Shallin grabbed Trynneia’s scarred right hand. “I don’t think they have any power over you.”

Power comes in many ways, some from Light, some from Life. Some from Love. -the ultimate solution- -the only solution- There is a Burden carried by the Lightblessed. Wield it. -shaman- -aftershock-

Abomination.

“What burden are you talking about?” Trynneia stirred as the colors flowed all around her body, arousing her with their scents. The voices overlapping her conversation with Shallin distracted her, causing her to lose focus. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your Grace?”

“Shallin,” Trynneia blushed, and pulled her hand back. “Sorry, just thinking to myself.”

“You can’t let them enact the Light’s Judgment on you,” Shallin said earnestly.

“There’s no getting around that now.”

“No, Your Grace. Full stop. Quit thinking of this as the punishment you’re due.” Shallin’s eyes lit up, suddenly excited. “It’s the punishment due them.”

“It’s my absolution.”

Shallin jabbed Trynneia’s forehead. “Think, Your Grace!” She smiled. Trynneia watched a pure white aura blaze about her. “You are Lightblessed! You are the Illuminari.”

Trynneia glowered. “I pray the Light burns away my guilt and leaves me guiltless. After that, I’m nothing.” Her attitude stole some of Shallin’s enthusiasm.

“That’s exactly what they want. I haven’t seen Light’s Judgment before, but Lord Elanreu has. I think Lady Desi has as well. Not sure on that one. Either way, from what I know about it, you won’t survive. Do you even know how they do it?”

“I don’t care, Shallin.” Trynneia shifted in her seat, leaning away from her.

“Blinder comes, so you cannot see what the Light does. Then they leave you to the twin suns. If you survive, you’re absolved of your crimes. But it ruins your body. Before long, you take your life, or beg them to do it for you. If you don’t survive, well, they’re rid of you just the same.”

Shallin’s aura somehow cast a shadow over Trynneia, the stark relief of her outline splayed upon the floor. Trynneia watched the shadow shimmer as if in a heat wave, sweltering as it fought to exist. You’ve already passed the precipice, Trynneia, a single voice said. Driver’s voice. Your duty is your purpose. You cannot escape it.

“What is my duty, Driver?” -the end is the beginning is the end is the beginning- Trynneia rubbed bloody tears from her eyes, coughing up more blood as she wept. Become what you are meant to be. “What am I meant to be?”

-purge-

The witch’s mark on her chest burned with pain, searing her skin. Pulling back her top, she watched green pulsations throb through the capillaries across her flesh, the wound raw and oozing yellow-green pus mixed with blood. She coughed more, doubling over.

“I don’t know, Your Grace. But don’t let them have the final say.” Shallin opened and shut her hands, wishing that she could hold a weapon. “Our lives depend on it.”

“They’ll kill both of us, won’t they?” Trynneia realized, Shallin’s words sinking in at last. The thought twisted inside her stomach, filling her with fear. She didn’t want Shallin to suffer her fate.

“I’ve already told you as much. Whatever they do, you’ll die. I doubt I’ll survive either way.”

“Light.” Trynneia groaned in agony, clutching her chest. A red haze filled her sight. “I’m the last.” She looked at Shallin through her pain. “Tell me the truth, Shallin. I’m meant to serve the Tenets. How are the Lightblessed expected to serve the Purpose?”

Shallin rubbed her hands together, blowing on them. “There is no place for the Lightblessed under the Purpose of the Illuminari.”

Trynneia felt the warmth of Shallin’s aura bathing her skin, soothing the ache in her cracked flesh. -the purpose is the pain is the penance- Serve us as we serve you. Seek your absolution. -revel in failure theirs is yours is theirs is all- Restore the faith your mother had when she served in the Light. -bathe in the blood that bleeds the Light-

-Champion-

-Murderer-

-Shaman-

-Abomination-

-Lightblessed-

-Oathbreaker-

The two young women heard the door unlock, and Igol peered inside. “Apologies, Your Grace. The Regency has called for you to come. It is time.”

Trynneia drew in a deep breath, shuddering at the pain. “It is time,” she agreed. “We’re all mortal,” she said, echoing words of Rendrys from long ago. Shallin helped her stand, and the two young women followed Igol out the door.