[Warbinger Returns Arc]

Chapter 09

The Rite of Light

Richard’s forehead felt cool. Water trickled over his temple, rousing him from a frantic dream of searing hot colours, prickly alien plants and… a beautiful girl with pastel pink hair and pointed ears. He suddenly felt like a weight in his chest was crushing his heart. Another dream that felt so real it was like he had been transported to another world, only for him to wake up alone in his small apartment.

He opened his eyes. Sparlyset sat cross-legged beside him wringing a damp cloth into a small pail. He nearly choked on his breath as he was overwhelmed with relief. It wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t sure he liked being stranded on an alien planet, but at least Sparlyset was real. She noticed him waking and smiled, but continued to wipe his face until it was clean. Then she lay the cloth over the edge of the pail and folded her arms in her lap. Her tail curled around her legs.

“I appreciate our acquaintanceship as well.” she said. Her soft-spoken tone and eloquent words brought a chill to his skin. Her tail flicked playfully.

He pushed himself off his back so he was sitting up next to her and mulled over her words for a moment before he remembered when he said, ‘nice to meet you’, to her before pulling her from a bar in the elevator shaft.

“Hey,” he chuckled, “it’s even truer now that we’ve been through so much.”

She nodded. “Yes, we have had quite an interesting adventure together, and you have taken the Rites with unexpected facility.” She broke eye contact to look down at her lap and her cheeks took on a sparkling quality as if there was glitter on them. She looked back up at him, but kept her head down. “There is much for me to do before the sun sets today, but if you have sufficiently recovered, I would enjoy spending more time with you.”

Richard was feeling better. The metallic taste was gone, though there was still a bit of a sour smell to the air. His headache had lessened and the closest thing to pain in his chest was the fluttering he felt when he looked at Sparlyset. It almost felt like an ache, in its own way.

“That sounds great,” he said. His throat was still a bit raspy, but it didn’t really hurt anymore. “I do feel better.”

“Wonderful.” her smile grew even brighter. “There is a lovely place where we can enjoy a meal together while we discuss what must come next. It will be a brief respite, but if you are as exhausted as I am it should be welcome in spite of its brevity.” She tapped a carefully wrapped bundle beside her.

“I can’t wait to see it.” he replied, conscious of his heart thumping rapidly in his chest.

Sparlyset leaned forward to move the pail of water aside and her loose white blouse dangled away from her skin. He averted his eyes.

Now Richard was concerned that if she’d had time to change her clothes, he might have been asleep longer than he thought. A light flashed in the corner of his eye and he looked back to her. She was sitting on her floating disc. She lifted the wrapped bundle and placed it on her lap.

“I know you have little in the way of preparations to make,” she said. “given that you are not from here and all of your possessions are on your person, but if you would like, the elders agreed to provide you clean clothes that may better suit your comfort than your muddy ones.” She looked over to a set of folded clothes left beside him with a woven sack.

The disc floated her to the room’s entrance, which had no door, and she glanced at him one more time before sliding away. There was no visible indication of how she controlled the disc, so he had to assume it was another magic thing, like the healing.

He stood up, hunched over slightly from the low ceiling, and began taking off his clothes. Sparlyset had dominated his attention while she was there, but now he took a moment to see where he was while he changed.

The chamber was plainly decorated; the soft mattress he woke up on took up the entire back half of the room. The rest of the floor was covered in a feathery green rug that wasn’t unlike a freshly mowed lawn. There were shelves against the wall that held clothes and trinkets, and a round window above the bed let in sunlight. The orange robe she had worn before, stained with blood and mud, was discarded against the wall near the pail.

He pulled up the brown pants. They actually fit comfortably, but from what he had seen of the villagers, they were intended to fit more loosely than they did. The shirt was too long for him, but he wasn’t about to be picky. It came with a ribbon. He stared at it in his hand for a moment before deciding to just ask Sparlyset what it was for. He tied his pouch and gun under his shirt. His filthy uniform fit into the sack and he hung it over his shoulder before stepping through the open doorway.

A ramp curved all the way around the building and opened into a cozy living area. A tiny cooking pit was surrounded by a round metal grate and plush cushions, a low table with round handleless cups nearby and a small shelf of books and scrolls.

Sparlyset sat on her disc in the middle of the room. “Are you puzzled by the ribbon?” she asked, noticing the red ribbon still in his hand. She motioned for him to approach her and she took the ribbon from him when he did. He kneeled beside her disc, and she leaned towards him to tie the long ribbon around his waist. “It is an unnecessary accessory,” she admitted, “but it is common for young folk to tease the ones they like by wearing ribbons of their colour. You will integrate better by observing our customs, I believe.” she said the last teasingly, looking up at him from the corner of her eye. She wore a brown ribbon around her waist.

“I guess there weren’t any pink ones?” he said. As he realised what he’d just said he shot back up to his feet and took a backward step.

Her cheeks glittered. “You certainly have the knack for teasing.” she said. “I am a puren of fire and light; thus I bear the colours of red and white, diluted together into pink.” her voice lowered. “A rare oddity in Mount Flange.” Her disc took her to the doorway and she reached out to pull a rod with a hook on the end from the wall. She used the hook to unlatch the door and it creaked open slightly on its own. “The red will do.”

He followed her, ducking under the low door frame and stepping out into the evening sun. Sparlyset’s sombre tone when speaking of her colours worried him, and he wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate to ask her about it. Maybe if it came up again.

She pushed her rod into a hole in the door until it shut, and then turned the rod with a click.

The disc zipped quickly along the dirt road, forcing Richard to quicken his pace. She led him over a bridge, and then turned sharply left. They followed the bank of the stream around a large home—much larger than Sparlyset’s—until the ground gave way to a cliff and the stream tumbled into a pool below where the town continued.

She floated over the stream and disappeared into a copse of bushes under a single tree on an outcrop leaning over the pond below.

Richard’s head hung staring at the two-metre width of the stream. Geoff would laugh at him, jumping over a stream for a girl as if they were kids. But he would encourage him too. He backed up for a running start and leaped across. He rolled as he landed, stopping with his hands and knees in the dirt. The stream was crowded with prickly bushes on this side, making that spot the only way here.

He brushed his hands off on his pants and eased his way through a narrow gap in the bushes. Sparlyset was sitting in a patch of violet grass. Her bundle was neatly unwrapped now, a square of red cloth with a basket of food in the middle.

The outcrop overlooked an area of stream-flanked hilly pastures. The hills rolled down to a lake where a group of youths were enjoying an afternoon swim. It was a good angle of the valley, where he could see the river far at the bottom partially obscured by the blue-green trees. It was a beautiful, quiet spot he would never have expected to find hidden in the middle of the town.

Her face was expressionless as he sat down. She stared at him silently until he felt awkward and decided to speak first. “Do… your…” She cocked her head. He rubbed his eyebrow with the side of his hand. “I thought you damaged your spine and couldn’t walk.”

She made a quick palm-down gesture with her hand. “Your concern has been enormously endearing, but I was born without the use of my legs. I did tell you, but you had not endured the Rite of Tongues yet.”

Enormously endearing? It bothered him not knowing if she meant that. Her serious face and tone made it seem sarcastic. He wanted to ask.

She picked a yellow cylinder out of the basket and lay it on the cloth in front of her, then did the same with what looked like round buns. Next she picked out a pot with a tight lid and slapped the ground with her tail.

“I will announce the names of these foods,” she said, poking the pot with a finger, “and I would like you to confirm whether you comprehend the words. Even the Rite of Tongues cannot give meaning to a word if your own language has none in its place.” She held her hand palm-up. “You may confirm with your palm upwards, and deny with your palm downwards. For simplicity.” Her palm turned to face the ground.

He knew she had figured out his nodding—she had used it herself—but it was probably easier for her to use her own gestures. He shrugged. At least he knew what it meant now.

“This is stew,” she said with a tap on the lid. “Made with bino, potatoes and garlic.”

“Bino?”

“Yes.” she pointed to the pastures. He had missed it before, but there was a single fluffy animal—that he could make out— grazing in the shade. It was too far for him to see properly, and its brown fur made it look like a bush. “It is meat from the bino’s flank. I would have stewed it myself, but you were not the only one suffering enough exhaustion to doze off before the circle of elders.”

Richard nodded. He was still tired. She lifted the lid to reveal the steaming brown stew and poured some into a plain bowl before handing it to him. Her finger touched the top of a bun and she said, “bread.”

He nodded, but then remembered her gesture and stuck his hand out. She placed a bun on it and laughed. He smiled back at her. Only the yellow cylinder remained. “Is that… cheese?” he asked.

“It ruins the fun if you guess prematurely.” Sparlyset filled a bowl with stew for herself and frowned at the broth. “I forgot to pack spoons.”

He just shrugged and held the bowl up to his lips. It smelled good, like lamb or goat stew with a familiar garlicky aroma. “Good thing I’ve trained with bowls since I was a kid.” He joked. The stew rolled over his tongue. It was sweeter than he expected, but the savoury end of the flavour was familiar enough for him to enjoy it.

Sparlyset didn’t laugh at his joke and his heart sank. She sipped her broth and stared at him over the rim of the bowl. “Richard.” she said. It was the first time he heard her say his name.

“Sparly,” he answered.

“I would desperately love to spend the fleeting hours of daylight with you here, coaxing laughter from each other and forgetting our troubles…” She lowered the bowl so her hands rested with it in her lap. “But I bear news even more desperately grave.”

‘Tell me how I can help,” he said.

She smiled weakly. “Few purens may touch the warm embrace of light. The trait is a rare heirloom of my bloodline alone within this village. It is to this mythical inheritance that I owe the nervousness in my heart. The world-devouring calamity known as Warbinger has returned after millenia in forgotten slumber.”

“Is that what that tear was?” Richard was beginning to feel worried, but he couldn’t pinpoint why.

“A tear had appeared?”

“It was in the sky, in front of the Earth,” he said. They both turned to look at it.

“Then the sands of time do not drain in our favour.” Sparlyset said. “Long ago, Warbinger manifested between the stars and began to devour life. He was fought and weakened, but no weapon of the Eight Worlds could slay him. So dismembered, they sealed his eight fragments away by the grace of Light to be guarded by each of the Eight Worlds.”

“Sometimes I feel like you’re speaking in riddles.” Richard said.

“I speak plainly.” she asserted, then continued, “Warbinger has not manifested here, else the mountains would quake beneath his ceaseless frenzy. But we cannot know for certain what transpires, therefore I am bound to assumption until more knowledge graces us with its revelation.” She paused to furrow her brow at him.

“I’m still following,” he said, raising his hands defensively.

“Inform me if my words must be watered-down for you to keep pace with the conversation.” she glared.

If Richard wasn’t confused before, he was now. Why did she seem insulted that he might be having a hard time? It was like she was upset by the idea that he might not be as smart as she thought. “There’s no need for insults.” he said. His heart ached. He wanted to see her smile. “I get everything you say, I’m just not used to the way you say it. That shouldn’t come as a surprise, you’ve been listening to me run my mouth all day. I just didn’t know you would sound so… eloquent. Like a princess.” He started to blush. “I keep wanting to listen to the sound of your voice and forget for a second I have to listen to the words themselves too.”

Her cheeks glittered. “I apologise, Richard. My intention is never to insult you, but it will benefit us both if you remain focused so I need not make unnecessary repetitions.” He extended his hand palm-up and she continued with a slight smile on the corner of her lips. “The aforementioned assumptions are thus: Warbinger has brought Oval and Earth near to strengthen his eighths by their proximity. This grants him power beyond what the seals were intended to contain. He has breached the void and entered Earth, in avoidance of the Lightweavers who reside here on Oval.”

“But you can send him back?” Richard asked. Geoff and his family, everyone on Earth would depend on it.

“The Rite of Light will grant me the spells, but even should our efforts bear the lush fruits of success, none will know how long he remains banished until he returns. My power alone is not sufficient to stall him for long.”

“Alright.” Richard balled his hands into fists. “So first thing’s the Rite of Light, then we have to return to Earth and banish Warbinger. While he’s gone, we look for something more permanent. Right?”

“Yes, though it—” she stopped as a grey-cloaked figure appeared from thin air next to them. Richard jumped to his feet.

He stood almost as tall as Richard, with long blue hair hanging out of a hood that covered his eyes. “Sparlyset,” he said. His voice was deep, but smooth as Richard had come to expect from purens. “You are the talk of the town, spending time with this creature. Do you really need to give everyone more reasons to dislike you?”

“Begone, Dorshemet.” Sparlyset replied coldly. “Naught that transpires this day regards you.”

Dorshemet laughed. “The elders have granted me the privilege of acting Council, Owing to my incredible wisdom beyond my years. I have a message and a question for you. First the message: Go home and stay there. Do what you want with the alien, but his chance to return home will come soon. Second, where is Lamet? I have already asked everyone of merit. I would not even waste my time asking you, if I was not forced to speak with you already.”

Sparlyset’s face contorted into a deep frown. “She is elsew—”

“Fine,” Dorshemet interrupted, “if you will only make jokes I will not waste more time on you.”

“The jest persists because Lamet is frequently absent when needed, as she appears to be once again!“ The man scowled and Sparlyset took the chance to continue. ”Why are the elders not preparing for my Rite of Light? They know what must be done.”

“You failed and gave up; your chance has passed. If we can find Lamet she will be sent to another village to fetch a real Lightweaver, but like as not she has vanished along with the guards and their tower.” He turned to face the Earth’s blue silhouette hanging in the sky. “At best, if you survive the Rite you may be of use in opening the way to Earth. It may allow us to delay Warbinger long enough for the journey to Nook Valley. Unlike you, their Lightweavers are likely to be prepared. But if you insist on performing the Rite, you will do so on your own.” The man rose into the air and vanished.

Sparlyset drank her stew, so Richard did the same. She chewed and swallowed before speaking. “Lamet the Riteweaver’s lengthy adventures enlightened her to the truths in the Lightweavers’s warnings. Her brother meanwhile mocked my piety with the others.” Her shoulders slumped and she stuffed her bun in her mouth to distract herself.

There was a lot that Richard didn’t know about Sparlyset, he realised, and it might be none of his business to pry. But he had to help her. For the Earth’s sake, but for her sake too. She finally looked up and noticed him staring at her.

“I am a disgrace.” she finally said after a long silence. “We faced enough judgement for aggrandizing a Rite that permits spells useful only in fairy tales. Then death came prematurely to my parents when I was young, and I postponed the Rite of Light a year to mourn and lost even the scant scraps of respect earned for adhering strictly to tradition. When I eventually attempted the Rite, I failed, and burdened the village further with my long recovery.” She let out a long sigh, and sagged until her head could have rested on her knees.

“You’re not a burden.” Richard repeated. “It’s just that some people are so focused on how much you weigh they never stop to look at what you’re carrying.”

Sparlyset frowned at him, just as she had the last time he tried to make her feel better. But rather than explain the expression she just kept looking at him with pink eyes that were starting to water and left her thoughts unspoken.

“I know I don’t really understand…” He wished he did. He wished he knew what he could say that would make her happy. “I know that Rite is going to be tougher than the other two, or there’s no way you would have failed it. You're strong, Sparlyset.”

“I fear that without your support I am destined to fail.” she finally said. A tear rolled down her cheek.

“I’m sure you’d do fine.” Richard countered, trying to sound encouraging. “But if you want me there, I’ll be there.”

Sparlyset broke the cylinder of cheese in half and handed a piece to him. “Warbinger will not wait for us to prepare, and neither should we wait for him.”

Richard quickly downed the last of his food as Sparlyset began to pack everything back up. When she was done tying her bundle she handed it to him, but kept her rod.

She wiped the tear from her cheek on her sleeve. “To conserve my remaining strength I must impose upon your back.”

/

Sparlyset held tightly to Richard’s shoulders until he set her down gently in the ritual basin. “Sit with me,” she instructed. “The trials of the Rite will reflect your presence. I cannot foresee what challenges it may present, but as the Rite is mine and only I may complete it, do naught but follow my direction. Not even speak.”

She ignored the other villagers poking their heads in to spy. Richard carrying her through the village had attracted a decent little crowd of snoops, but his presence made her feel shielded from their judgemental whispers.

She cut both their palms with a ceremonial knife and they bled together into a pair of riteseeds. The seeds wriggled to life between their palms and gorged themselves on their blood. The bond secured, she cast her magic into the bulbs to begin the Rite, and the chamber reacted to her spell. She hummed into her spell and the colourful tiles of the floor burst with white light. The walls shone with blinding brilliance. The murmur of uninvited voices faded to silence until they were all that remained, sitting together in a white abyss.

The taste of the bulb was unpleasant, and it was difficult to swallow, but she choked it down. Richard did the same. She was proud of how easily he performed the Rite of Tongues, and he recovered so quickly. She was sure he would endure the trials of Light, even if he could never reap the benefits himself.

A sinking feeling came over her. A sense of impending dread that could not be escaped. As she felt her nerves begin to twist she noticed a sickly look across Richard’s face. “The duration of our trial correlates to the toll on our bodies and minds. We must not dally.”

The white light dulled to grey, and soon black surrounded them. Darkness. Her eyes adjusted slowly, revealing familiar woods. The spinewood forest that coated every hill and ridge of Mount Flange, but cloaked in shadow. A distant light hung in the air, beckoning her with its warm glow. Richard was nowhere to be seen; she had to reach this light on her own.

She traced a circle horizontally with her finger and a disc flashed into being beneath her, lifting her up above the ground. She might be too fatigued to cast Floating Disc again for a while. The weight of her thoughts against the front edge pushed the disc forward and she sped through the woods, darting around trees and rocks. The light grew closer.

The first time she had attempted the Rite of Light it had manifested the same trial, but she had not performed the Rite of Exploration yet, and so could cast no spells to aid her movement. She had had to crawl in the dirt and mud to reach the first light, and was nearly dead by the time she made it.

Now she sped over a shallow creek and raised her hand to snatch the fluttering light from the air. It absorbed into her hand and she began to understand the spells that Light contained. The world brightened a little.

She slowed to a stop as a tower of cliffs rose before her, jagged with cliffs and outcrops. A light teased her from the topmost ridge. Richard waited for her silently at the bottom, looking nervously at the rocky ledges.

The first was a test to overcome her own weakness and find her own way out of the shadow. This second trial she knew she was not meant to surmount alone. If she possessed the Bound or Horizon Bound spells like Lamet and her brother, the Rite would have presented a challenge that could not be solved by them. She was meant to rely on Richard here.

She extended her arms to him, and he lifted her onto his back. “Climb the cliffs,” she instructed. He climbed up easily while the ledges were short and wide, but soon they reached a height where the path was unclear. The ledges were narrower and it was difficult for Richard to see the way forward while keeping his balance. “I will indicate the ideal route.” she said. And pointed up to his left where the rocks were closer together.

White light was composed of myriad colours that showed themselves when refracted. Together those colours made the world a brilliant and contrasting place. By working together. She had never had friends before she met Richard. There had never been anyone to compliment her strengths and cover her weaknesses. To contrast her quirks or balance her faults. Only neighbours or friends of her parents who helped her when she was in need but spoke ill of her limitations when they thought she could not hear.

She directed Richard again, towards a narrow ledge that sloped gently upward, enough that he could reach the top without further climbing. He had climbed enough today. He bore her upon his back the entire morning already. He faced a steel monster that racked his heart and mind with fear. Just to bring her home. And all the while, he insisted that he could not have pressed on without her help.

He may have remained lost in the forest without her, but she would have died there without him, crushed beneath foreign stone. He was her hero. The colour that brought beauty to her world.

As they reached the top, he brought her to the light and she seized it. It flashed in her hand and faded into her skin. The world brightened a little more.

Then he was gone and she dropped to the ground.

The world vanished around her, leaving her alone, afloat in the dim light.

A voice devoid of emotion or gender spoke in her head, “Are you the same child who nearly wept her final tear in this Rite?”

“No!” she shouted.

A light appeared before her, shimmering into a reflection of herself. It floated before her, and mirrored any movement she made. “You claim to have grown. Do you understand your nature now? Do you understand what I am?”

“You are me!” she yelled.

“But what am I?” The reflection taunted. “If you understand, you can express it in a single word. Take four chances, any more and you would reveal your lack of wisdom.” The voice chuckled inside Sparlyset’s head. “You fixate upon my every detail, but others rarely notice me. What am I?”

Sparlyset recalled something that Lamet the Riteweaver had told her once. It was rare to be offered words of wisdom from her, but she was a woman who cared little for the opinions of others. No one notices your flaws as much as you.

“Are you my flaws?” Sparlyset guessed.

“A clever guess,” the voice cackled mockingly. “But I am not your flaws. I am with you whether you permit me or not.”

It still sounded like her flaws. She sneered at her reflection, and it sneered back at her, Her thoughts turned to Richard. Even when she had questioned the value of being carried at the expense of his strength and energy, he would never concede that he was better without her. The thought never crossed his mind.

Yet when at last they could speak she found him puzzled by her words and suddenly her mind was filled with doubts and insecurities. That even he would tease her for the way she spoke. But of course, her doubts were unfounded. Her silly thoughts led her to insult him and still he responded with kindness.

“You are my doubts.” she answered with more confidence.

“Interesting.” The voice sounded thoughtful. “I am your own to carry, but others carry theirs.”

She must be close, she thought. She was on the correct path.

“You are my insecurities!” she blurted.

“Have you grown as much as you thought?” The voice grew quieter as if moving away from her, but her reflection remained in place. “I believe you have. You have grown, I see it now. You know the answer, so I will make it easy. You are judged by our combined load.”

You’re not a burden. She heard Richard’s voice in her head. It’s just that some people are so focused on how much you weigh they never stop to look at what you’re carrying.

“You are my burden!” she said.

“I am.” the voice replied, still fading. “And it is important that you understand me. But your answers show you have grown in other ways as well. Do not fear your own reflection.”

The world grew brighter still as the Sparlyset of light entered her body. Her grasp of Light and its functions deepened. It was unlike the other Rites, which granted only a vague understanding of the spells you could cast with them. Enough to seek them out to be learned, but not enough to cast them on their own. The Rite of Light was not even done and she already saw what she could do with it. Intertwine. Banish. Illuminate.

Ground appeared beneath her, brown and dark. It was far below at the edge of the light that she realised now was emanating from her. Thorns sprouted from the earth and wove a winding path filled with dead ends. At one end of the labyrinth, Richard stood. She eyed the path before him, working out the route to the other side where the light she sought waited.

Richard entered the maze. The path took him along the right wall and around a few corners before an obstacle slithered into his path. A dark purple tentacle. By its sinister aura she recognized it as an arm of Warbinger, and it would snatch him up before he saw it. If she cast Illuminate, he would spot it and be saved, but it would still bar his path.

So she reached out with her magic and felt the edges of the world fray around the squirming tentacle. The endless void in the cracks of the world pulled it and its squirming turned frantic. She exerted her will against it and her light forced it out of their world. The cracks healed and no trace of disturbance remained.

Richard continued walking undisturbed until he came to the first branching path. Left, centre, right. He turned left. It was the wrong way, and a long detour that could cost them strength they would need for the next trial. She gathered some of her light and shot it into the maze to illuminate the correct path. It burst behind him and he turned, hesitating a moment before letting the light guide him.

Now the path was nearly straight, but ahead the ground gave way to an endless pit. She cast Intertwine, a spell similar to Banish; it brought two worlds together. But it was Earth she needed. A space opened that united the two worlds in that one spot, and tiled lavender flooring covered the hole. He looked apprehensive as he crossed, but made it safely.

She sighed. She was already tired. She had used all her energy healing herself early in the morning, and used too much more to reach Richard’s Rite of Tongues. She had little left, and it was beginning to strain her arms. Her eyes felt like they would not open again if she shut them too long.

But Richard still needed her guidance. He chose his path correctly around the next corner, sparing her spells, but another of Warbinger’s slimy, writhing arms reached out from his prison and grabbed Richard by the leg. It tugged on him, toppling him on his back.

Sparlyset reached out with her light and stunned it. Its tight grip loosened and she tore open the void to banish it quickly.

Richard stood up, replaced his sack over his shoulder and continued. She illuminated the final path for him and he reached the exit safely. She sighed again, this time as much from relief as from fatigue. As he touched the light, it shot up into her chest and the light grew brighter than ever.

The labyrinth faded away and Richard looked up at her. She began to drift down, slowly at first, but then she suddenly dropped like a stone. Panic sparked in her only for as long as the shock of the sudden drop, but faded quickly. However quickly or far she would fall, Richard would catch her.

Sparlyset felt his gentle arms rise up to cradle her by the legs and back and looked into his dark eyes. The eyes of a handsome, but alien man. With fluffy, curly hair like a bino’s mane. She could forget the trials, staring into his eyes. It never occurred to her such a man could exist.

She wanted to tell him how much she liked him, but her oddities had precluded her from even making friends in the past. And worse, she knew his exorbitant kindness was merely part of his character; he may not like her at all. She may make a fool of herself by speaking up.

His eyes showed concern. If he was permitted to speak, he would ask after her condition. And she would tell him… what? That she is fine, despite her waning strength? Or the truth, that she is tired and eager to be done?

She remembered his earlier words, and made up her mind. I guess there weren’t any pink ones? She decided on honesty. She could not expect him to like her if she was not honest with him. “I am incredibly fatigued.” she told him. “But you strengthen me by your presence… by reassuring my troubled mind that I am possessed of my own.” He smiled at her. “You illuminate me Richard. As my lights that guided you through the dark labyrinth, you envelop me in a warmth that projects visions of a bright future.”

He tightened his hold on her. She wrapped her arms around his neck. His eyes were inviting her to kiss him, she thought. So she did. Their lips touched, and the sweetness of his kiss engulfed them in light that drowned out the rest of the world. They floated in each other’s embrace, their hearts pounding together.

The world drifted slowly back into view, blurry grey outlines that filled with colour as they drew near. The ceiling of the ritual chamber arched above them and the rude whisperings of prying townsfolk returned to their ears.

She was sitting in the basin across from Richard, and they were both breathing heavily.

She had done it. The Right of Light was hers. And so was Richard.