For three days, Prandag had received no food, and scarcely any water. She’d been stripped and left alone in a cold cell, in the dark. Without the Light. On the day of execution, they’d hooded her with thick cloth and led her outside. As her eyes adjusted to the high noon brightness of the twin suns, she saw, just for a moment, the metal beam from which they’d dangle her by her hands. Then Blinder came, and stole her Light forever.

Chapter 20

Trynneia woke to someone shaking her shoulder gently. Ditan’s gap-toothed smile widened as her eyes opened, full of the yellow glow over her amber irises. A ragged woolen blanket covered them both. It reeked of old mildew that had started to rot in the desert heat, but to her, it was a welcome comfort.

Doing his best to stay focused on her, Ditan’s eyes nonetheless searched the air around them both, in that Skytouched manner that had grown on him. He slipped his four fingers between her five, clasping hands with a strength she hadn’t felt from him in what felt like forever. Her own grip seemed nerveless and weak in comparison.

“Good to see you living, Tryn. Here,” he said, offering her a meat stick and some dried fruit. “Don’t eat too fast, you’ve been gone for nearly a week. You’ve earned us a reprieve, of sorts. I only get beaten every other day, but otherwise they let me stay with you.”

“What happened?” she asked. “I don’t remember anything.” Light streamed through the torn wagon as it rocked back and forth, the soothing knock of its contents comforting her. Dust in the air swirled, reflecting in the beams, mesmerizing both friends in turn.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Ditan said. “You held back a vicious sandstorm, alone, in the middle of the night. The elements continue to sing about it.”

She only nodded, chewing the food slowly. Each bite took more strength than Trynneia had, but she tried for Ditan’s sake more than her own. Whatever had happened truly had passed out of her mind, and her concentration centered only on the food before her.

“Modius comes, sometimes. He rides near our wagon a lot, too. I don’t get him, Tryn. He’s cruel beyond any logical measure, but there’s no hatred in what he does. Maybe malice. Not for you anyway. I’m the cursed one,” he complained. “Goblin shaman. A pagan wretch of society.”

Trynneia leaned her head against his shoulder, his warmth an additional comfort to her. Snippets of memory, and pain, and terror, caused her to jerk while she drifted.

“If anyone’s a pagan, it’s that blood magic witch. Knew there was something about her that didn’t sit right,” he whispered against her head, his lips tickling the thin fuzz that had begun to grow back. “She was their backup plan, I guess. To keep us alive.”

“How do you feel, Tryn?” His left arm cradled her back, his bony embrace a suitable match for her own malnourishment. It felt odd that he tried to provide her this relief. Her weak sobs could not assuage the guilt she experienced for their treatment. She said as much.

“Inadequate, I think,” she started. “I haven’t been able to protect you.”

“What makes you think I need protectin’? I’m still here, doin’ better than you I think. Who designated you to be my protector, anyway?” His nonchalance at their situation did wonders for her humor despite her trepidation.

“I think I did, by getting us wrapped up in all this.”

“Psh. You give yourself a lot of credit, Tryn. We both mucked up together.” Ditan grabbed a water pouch and offered it to her. “Don’t know where they’re storing water, but they haven’t been shy sparing me some lately. Take it. You need it more than I do.”

Gulping down mouthfuls, she allowed no drops to spill. Her runes began to glow very faintly, returning to life once more. Sighing in contented relief, she leaned back and shut her eyes. “How can we escape this, Ditan? Everything we do leaves us weaker and weaker.”

“Pretty sure that’s their point, I suppose. Gotta wait till we’re closer to civilization to do anything. This far out in the desert? We’d just die even if we got loose. Sad to say it, but they’re all that’s keeping us alive at this point.”

“Imagine that,” she chuckled dejectedly. “I have no idea what they want from either of us, Ditan. No idea at all.”

“We’re heading to Praxoenn, I know that much. So, yay? It’s where we’re supposed to go anyway.”

“Yes, because I wanted to be brutalized all the way until I received my punishment,” she said sardonically.

He hugged her tight. “We’ll figure it out, Tryn.”

The caravan stopped for the evening, circling about a fire as had become their custom through the journey. When Modius discovered Trynneia awake, he had Ditan removed, leaving her alone in her wagon. She gripped the blanket close to her, trying to understand the auras within the crates surrounding her. Their meaning or purpose remained shrouded, eluding her just as much as everything else around her.

Ditan’s screams pierced the night and she grimaced, not wanting to imagine what they were doing to him. Imagining it would only cause her to envision the same being done to her. Or worse. Easier then to try and shut it out, ignoring his agony to maintain her sanity. Nothing could be done to muffle the noise, even as his voice became ragged and hoarse.

Trynneia could not sleep, nor did she want to. A whole week? She couldn’t imagine being so far gone that she’d lost a week, and couldn’t even remember what she’d done. “Trynneiiaaaa” she heard Ditan call her name. She curled up on herself, feeling how thin she’d become, that even the scant rags she’d been given hung off her frame. Nothing provided her warmth like having Ditan’s body next to her had.

“Mind if I join you?” Modius held back the flap of her wagon, the steaming scent of something bitter and spicy coming from a bowl in his hand.

“You know I can’t stop you, Modius,” she spat back unenthusiastically.

He sat next to her and handed her the bowl. Small bits of vegetable and grains floated in the thick orange stew, and when she stirred it she saw strands of stringy meat within. It smelled horrible, and tasted just as bad, but she desired it with all her being, the warmth and sustenance supplemented with liquid she’d gone long without. Trynneia slurped it hungrily while Modius watched in amused silence.

Tonight, various shades of reds accented his black aura, his silence disturbing her as much as Ditan’s screams. The stew satisfied her hunger, but she ate slowly to savor it as well as she could.

“You are such an interesting girl, Trynneia. You surprised me the other night,” he said, taking her bowl when she finished.

“I don’t even know what I did,” she retorted.

“Pity.” He looked at her, those slate gray eyes haunting in the half-light. Hungry. He pulled the blanket down, running his fingertips lightly against the flesh of her arm. “I hope you enjoyed the stew. I prepared it myself.” She did not respond, instead staring out the shredded canvas to the starlit dunes beyond.

Ditan’s screams grew weaker. “Why do you hurt him?” she asked simply, as if she hadn’t asked it before.

“It arouses me,” Modius explained, a sultry heaviness in his voice. “Goblins have a high tolerance for pain, you see. We can do so much more to him before he fails. Unfortunately, our other healer is no longer with us.”

Trynneia turned to him, concerned. “What do you mean?”

“Well after your little stunt the other night, poor Sariam expired restoring the two of you. She serves us now in other ways. Your friend however, might be close to needing you again.”

Her mind raced as a realization dawned on her. “You didn’t force me to watch tonight. You’ve been acting kind.”

“Oh Trynneia, you never cease to amuse me,” he said as a malevolent sneer crept across his face. “Tonight’s been especially fun for him.”

Trynneia’s runes surged. “What have you done to him?”

“Come, I’ll show you.”

He hopped out of the wagon, then cradled her in his arms, her body too weak and wasted to even stand. Navigating the dunes in the dark, he circled the outside of the wagons to a point opposite her own, then started out into the desert. A hundred or more yards out, she sobbed in horror as she took in what little she could see by starlight.

Dark stains spread throughout the sand, and Ditan’s body lay there, flesh carved away and missing. His intestines had been pulled from his body and lay in the muck of his own excrement. Modius dropped her near him, and she desperately felt for a pulse in his cold flesh.

“The stew was particularly good tonight, wasn’t it?” Modius purred in her ear. She’d managed to keep from retching, but the realization curdled in her stomach, and she heaved. “Why’d you go and do that? I put a lot of care in fixing that up for you. There was plenty of blood to use, but the piss was hard to get. Had to collect that first, you see.”

Trynneia tried not to comprehend what she was hearing. Her duty was first and foremost to her friend. Close to needing you again echoed in her mind. There. Ditan’s aura matched his skin, dull pale green, nearly faded against the sand. She knew she didn’t have the strength for this. Helpless, she watched it dissipate completely.

Unthinking, she grabbed Modius and then placed her hand inside Ditan’s torso as her intuition directed her. Warmth spread from Modius, passing through her and into the goblin. Modius watched in shock, immobilized as the most damaged parts of Trynneia’s friend expelled themselves while regrowing. Her runes shimmered, their metallic gold light bathing the three of them with energy and casting shadows amongst the nearby dunes..

Ditan stirred, grasping her forearm with his hand, pulling her free of his body as it repaired itself. Thrumming vibrations filled her chest, and hues appeared, yellows and whites to embed themselves in the goblin’s aura. Her body flushed with heat, and Ditan’s vigor improved. When it was done, he nodded at her while Modius’ chill body fell into the sand.

When her spell finished, Trynneia noted that several people stood on the dunes around them, watching. Eilic slid down to check his leader, and others came down to retrieve their two captives.

“Ya shouldn’t ha’ touched him, ya fuggin’ bitch!” he spat. “What did ya fuggin’ do?” His furious stomach punch knocked the wind out of her, and somehow she managed to vomit once more before dry heaving. “What? What?”

Without his club handy, his blows felt comical, but that didn’t mean his attacks didn’t hurt. Trynneia grew woozy. Something seemed off this time. She felt stronger than she had in weeks, and had no doubt Ditan had been returned to full health.

A separate darkness creeped in at the edge of her vision. Hues of impenetrable black, midnight purple, and red followed everything she saw, trailing every object like a vague echo. Her head thundered painfully. Eilic knocked her down, and as others bound her, he stooped to help his leader.

Modius watched them haul her away back to the caravan. He watched her as Eilic escorted him, his eyes trying to decipher something, always puzzling and questioning. Modius leaned weakly on Eilic’s arm. His smile spread, satisfaction writ large on his face.

Trynneia chose not to struggle as they threw her in the wagon again, bound hand and foot. It was not his face that haunted her dreams that night, but the blood upon the sand, her friend torn apart as if by vicious animals. Killed by humans.

And she’d restored him again to life.