The Light shall wax and then the light shall wane

Our twin sun’s might be capped with golden mane

And yet man seeks the per’lous Void within

Betrayal becomes his most mortal sin

This task once broached shall seek to bring man’s fall

Against this fate shall mankind give their all

Comes battle now to slay both foe and friend

Naught but corpses to inter at war’s end

Chapter 13

Cold, unforgiving stone braced against Trynneia’s back as she stared at the floor between her legs. The glow of her runes had completely faded as she contemplated her fate. She had no idea that coming back to the village would result in capture, incarceration, a criminal investigation, and a sentencing in less than one full day. Running away implied guilt. Staying implied further guilt.

A new deputy had arrived, one of the four normal deputies of the village, Sule Telbat. Normally the deputy station would be unmanned at night, but with the presence of prisoners the magistrate had ordered overnight surveillance. Too much had already been said, so Trynneia and Ditan remained silent.

She hated their voluntary quiet, and hated not communicating with her friend. Sule alternated between pacing the room and sitting at the desk, but never once coming closer or trying to talk to either of them. He was content to let them sit in their confinement. Trynneia couldn’t remember the last time she may have felt this lonely.

Alone with her thoughts, she tried staring at the walls, hoping to find some interesting crack to draw her attention, or perhaps a bug. Anything. Throughout her life, she’d been easily distracted, though now she knew to attribute that to the tea her mother had brewed daily. Tea Rendrys had paid for with… No, she wouldn't dwell on the how of that. But why had it kept her powers from her? Slowly, she’d come to think it hadn’t actually done that.

Looking back, her mother still had her powers, and she had consumed the tea as well, just not as much, or as often. Sometimes there were separate brews; perhaps different teas for each of them. Trynneia couldn’t be sure. Such a strange puzzle for her to try to unravel.

In her youth, Trynneia had been anointed as Lightblessed, for the proof had been etched into her flesh by the Light. She had no waking memory of this event, but it had been with her all her life. She grew up knowing it was her heritage, that she’d take her mother’s place one day.

Mother had preached the Virtues of the Light, a doctrine of loving humanity, and life, and treating others with dignity and respect, but never the deeper things. Rendrys could use her powers to perform miracles, Trynneia had heard from others. Yet she’d never seen it done. At best, her mother would tend Trynneia’s minor wounds from aggressive play, or remove her fatigue. Never was she taught how to do those.

Sometimes Rendrys would mention a cost, and how her daughter wasn’t ready to pay it, before redirecting conversation to other topics. Trynneia, try as she might, could not pry any further knowledge from her mother on the subject, and it drove her to spend her free time outside, avoiding her mother as she got older.

Throughout her life, she’d been distracted and had found comfort in that. Now, even that comfort had been removed. Trynneia focused on more recent events, how her dreams had started showing visions, how she’d been hearing things while awake, how she’d called on the Light to aid her, resulting in the one death she knew she was rightly imprisoned for. With her mother’s death, her powers had begun to awaken.

Was that the price she had to pay? Losing her mother? Inherently that made no sense to her. Why would death ever factor into her use of the Light? Could that be why she could scarcely use it now? Perhaps if she could actively, consciously use the Light, she could find a way out of this predicament. What else could be going on to prevent her, if it wasn’t just in her head?

She thought of the night before, and the view they’d had at Driver’s home. In all her memory, that was the furthest she’s strayed from her home and from the village. She’d kept close all these years, and Trynneia wanted to weep at the lost opportunities she’d witnessed. The different greens of the hills, light olive and sage of scrub bushes, to darker evergreen trees. With the coming of spring, flowers bloomed, and the browns of freshly tilled earth hinted at richness to come.

This was her corner of the world, and she knew so little of anything beyond it. Visitors to the village were few, peddlers and traders on their way to somewhere else. Even then, one had to know the right road to lead here from the main thoroughfare, which she only knew as somewhere north. Where had her mother been trained, and how much of the world had she seen? Had Trynneia herself been born here, or brought as an infant? Surely no one here could have anointed her in the Light.

Now it all seemed even further away. She could see no hope from their predicament, and sat there idly tracing lazy rows in the light dust on the floor. The hour grew late, and Trynneia tortured herself with the thought of sleep. Was this her last night? Should she stay awake to experience the last of her moments, or give in to the darkness of night and fever dreams, rested to face the morning?

She trusted to the Light, placed her fate within its comforting grasp, then curled into a ball on the slab, and slept.

Morning came, and Sule woke them both at the rising of the first sun. He had remained, and looked like he’d slept at the desk himself, for no relief had come in the night. Not long after came a pounding at the door. Even Sule was surprised, drawing his sword free before looking out the window. He chuckled, collected himself, and opened the door to Old Chet.

The innkeeper rose early, it seemed. He’d come dressed for travel, well-kept but sturdy black boots on his thick feet, taught gray trousers that strained to hold his muscular thighs, and a cloak of onyx draped shoulders broader than an ox. Chet’s salt and pepper beard more than made up for the lack of hair to crown his head, and when he smiled, Trynneia could see he was missing one of his lower left teeth.

Confusion swept through her thoughts as he removed his cloak and handed it to a flustered Deputy Sule. She could hear Ditan still stirring in the next cell.

“You don’t mind if I have a word with the lad and lass, this morning, do ya, Deputy?” He asked with a smile and a light tambor at odds with his size. She’d known him to be friendly, the few times she’d been in his company, but never assumed they were more than acquaintances, at best.

Yawning, Sule took the cloak to hang it, “Sure, but make it quick, not sure what business you’ve got with them. I’ll be watching you.”

“Just as well, just as well. You know your business, I’m sure. Mind if I borrow this chair?” he asked, taking the patched-up chair that served the office as one of its few pieces of comfort. Not even waiting for a reply, he dragged it right up near the cells and plopped into it. Trynneia winced as she heard it groan beneath him.

Sitting there like he owned the place, legs kicked out in front of him straddling the wall between the two prisoners. He bobbed his head a few times, gesturing for Ditan to hurry up. “Sure is a pickle, isn’t it? Couple a days of insanity, mayhem and murder, and now we’ve got two of our own all wrapped up in a bow to take the fall. Not fair, is it?” Chet’s delivery was a lighter tone, almost celebratory, as if glad this nonsense would soon be behind him, and the village would go on with its bloodlust sated.

“I had words with the magistrate late last night. Word got to me of you two by way of your friend Evar Gress. Now, Ditan, I know your kind are tolerated as representatives of the banking clan but it brings lots of misgivings, too. I hear talk, you know. Several here saw what you did the other day and it scares ‘em. They tolerated old Driver because of the Priestess, but she ain’t here no more to protect him,. Witchcraft they say. There’s many as wants you ended.

“And you, miss Trynneia. Right sorry to hear about your mom. Closest thing to a saint we had, but she had her secrets to keep. Our village has lost the favor of the Light, and would like to see it returned. Like I said, there’s superstitious lots out there, worried all for the future of their farms and the salvation of their souls.”

He hunched over leaning in and whispered to them both. “Convince the magistrate there is value in what the two of you can provide, if given the right opportunity.” He gripped Trynneia’s hand and shook it, then did the same with Ditan. “Light’s blessing,” he said, retrieving his cloak and shuffling toward the door.

“What was that about?” Sule challenged him, annoyed at that last whisper he couldn’t overhear. “You can’t just leave like that.”

The innkeeper cracked his muscles menacingly and looked askance at the overmatched Deputy. “Can’t I?” For a moment, Sule looked unsure. “Just playin’ with ya, Deputy,” he continued, forcefully slapping the deputy’s back. “Wishing two kids luck when it’s your magistrate who’s likely gonna want them punished severe-like, and I don’t think it’s warranted. What’s a guy like me to do but try to right an injustice?”

“Just leave, Chet. The magistrate will decide what he decides, and you know his word is final.”

“”Sure, lad. Maybe these kids can get him to change his mind is all. Then the words can match something more favorable, and still be final, neh? Right. Now, I'll be seein’ to my inn after all. Breakfast won’t make itself, and I wager I’ll need more food later for the crowd that’s gonna assemble.”

Trynneia sat on her slab even more confused at his abrupt departure as at his words. Clearly it seemed he knew their proposed fate, but couldn’t tell them straight away. He looked dressed to leave, not cross a small village at the break of dawn to speak to villagers. What did Old Chet have planned?

There was no way she wanted to resign herself to the magistrate’s ruling, so she knew she had to try and change it. But how? When the man had left last night, he’d seemed smug in his conviction, and today would just be a formality. What had Chet been getting at? Her mind raced.

Deputy Fant arrived, bearing a tray of food. Before offering any to the prisoners, he broke his fast with Deputy Sule, and chatted idly over the events of the night and early morning. Crisp bacon, undercooked eggs, and rolls enticed both Ditan and Trynneia, and having watched the two deputies partake, they were willing to eat some of it themselves.

“Don’t enjoy it too much,” Fant sneered. “I’d rather you be starving when you meet your fate, but orders is orders.” The two ate slowly, savoring what they could while Fant watched their every motion. Sule departed when they finished, taking the tray with him. “I can’t wait to see what the magistrate has in store for you,” Fant taunted, gleefully staring at them.