Corruption and decay. Each form of ruination took its toll on the unwary. Corruption tore down that which was whole, allowing it to persist in such a form as to look unmarred while being consumed from within. Decay took over when that facade crumbled, deteriorating the remnant to complete its dissolution.

Chapter 25

Trynneia walked next to her wagon, exercising her freedom. Holding her left arm close, she supported it with a sling of cloth she tore from her blanket. Her pain had been enough that for her to find it tolerable, she had given in and healed the sliced skin and muscle, and portions of the bone. Now she didn’t fear it breaking open, or having disease set in.

It felt good to stretch her legs for once, but she knew she wouldn’t continue too far. Feeling the sun on her face, that’s what she wanted. To touch nature, and see the Light again in its glory felt exhilarating, clearing her mind - for a time at least - of her torment. Pairs of sturdy horses pulled each wagon, and she counted twelve total. Three or four were completely dedicated to supplies and she felt sure those were mostly empty now.

She’d known that three others had joined up a while back. Did they provide safety in numbers? Or had they simply added to the supplies available? The caravan didn’t have a large contingent of people either, perhaps a little under two dozen, not including herself and Ditan. Feeling distracted, she wondered at their individual purposes, and why they all had chosen (or been forced?) to travel to Praxoenn together.

Other oddities settled in her mind. Trynneia’s wagon held crates no one ever opened, with contents she couldn’t decipher. Yet each contained multiples of auras that overlapped in their own weak ways. Then there was the lead wagon, covered with so many protective runes. From her vantage point she could barely make it out, but wondered at its inclusion as well. Had it been built to contain a shaman? Or something else? And why had it been brought along as if prepared for the possibility?

Eilic had stayed away from her, and she worried about his absence. At least by seeing him, she could know that Modius was keeping his word and leaving him out of Ditan’s punishment. While not truly comforting, it would assure her that for some moments at least, Ditan might be still safe.

Modius rode his own horse throughout the caravan. He spent most of his time up front, but dropped back occasionally to talk with drivers of the other wagons. When he passed her, he nodded with a wicked glint in those slate gray eyes, but said nothing. The curt acknowledgement only served to dampen her already low spirits.

The landscape of sand dunes had given way to cracked dirt with pockets of scrub brush fighting for moisture in a land devoid of it. Shimmering waves of heat rose all around, distorting the distance to the horizon. Somewhere out there was Praxoenn, and she knew almost nothing of it except its name. For seventeen years, all she’d known was her village and the surrounding farms. Never could she have imagined this desert hell they traveled through, so different from her former life.

Nothing of that time remained to her now except those memories. Rising resentment for Ditan clouded her remembrance, as she began to dwell on those actions of his that had irked her. Growing up with him, she’d become used to his flippant, nonchalant attitude, adopting some of it herself. It made her rebellious in her own way, shirking what she supposed was her mother’s attempt at training her.

He had stolen casually and without remorse, rarely being caught. When she was aware, she had either covered for him or made reparations. Either way, it made her nearly as guilty as he. Sometimes she’d distracted his mark, and only in hindsight did she now realize how often she’d been his accomplice. The more she thought of his indiscretions, the more she burned at the thought of how he’d used her.

Perhaps Modius was right, Ditan was a beast after all. His parents ran a bank and they were civilized...or had they obtained their money in similar fashion and fled to her town to avoid punishment of their own? Were they all criminals? Was this what Modius alluded to?

The suns bore down on her, their searing heat making her woozy. She’d wrapped her blanket about her head to cover much of her exposed flesh, but her bare feet still shuffled awkwardly on the hot sand. Her runes didn’t glow anymore, and hadn’t really seemed normal for a day or two. The protection they once afforded her could not be relied upon, and she trudged onward with growing resentment for her friend, and their captivity, and the notion that she needed to take back from Ditan what scraps of her honor she could.

Her strength flagged as the afternoon wore on, and she found herself falling behind even the last of the wagons. Realizing she wouldn’t be able to keep up, she pressed on, legs aching and her throat quite dry. Step by step, she slowed, each footfall coming more lethargic than the one before. Trynneia feared that she’d be left behind, to catch up when they circled for the night.

Modius soon allayed those worries by coming back with his horse. Trotting along her side, he simply watched in silence. She chose not to acknowledge him for a time, but as her stumbling increased, he stretched out a hand.

“Come, Trynneia. You can’t go on like this,” he offered, reaching for her right hand. She could not deny her waning strength and took it, struggling up onto the horse behind him. “Grab my waist, we’re going for a short trip,” he said before kicking his heels and urging the horse forward.

They moved past the caravan, traveling until the caravan fell behind them, dots in the distance. After about a half hour, they broke from the road, and headed straight north until they hit an overlook. A verdant valley spread before them, nestled in the lee of the bluff. Trynneia hadn’t seen such green in months and thought how back home, summer was in full swing, and the crops would be burgeoning.

“Do you see that, far in the distance?” Modius pointed. She looked and saw buildings towering above the vegetation, just at the cusp of the horizon. Nothing more could be made out. “That’s Praxoenn, Light and Home of the Illuminari, and our destination. Still several days distant, for the road twists and turns, but we’re on the fastest course now. I wanted to give you a glimpse. For better or worse, your future lies there.”

Modius helped her dismount, and she stood upon crabby green grass mixed with dense scratching weeds under foot. The breeze wafting up from the valley carried the fresh scents of lilac and lavender, with fruit besides. Hues of many shades streaked by her, glimmering lights undimmed by the few clouds in the sky, or the shadows of the low hillocks on either side of them. For just a moment, everything was perfect.

She sat, flinging bits of dust over the edge and watching them cascade down for just moments before wind scattered granules in every direction. Modius seated himself beside her, his hard eyes sunken above his hollow cheeks. Seeing him in that light reminded her that they were all suffering together, of a fashion.

“Why is it a crime to be a shaman, Modius? I know Driver, our shaman back home, was tolerated because he had my mother’s sanction. He was only ever talked of in whispers, and my mother never mentioned him until I asked.” Trynneia posed a question that had been on her mind only in passing, and only now did she give it consideration.

“Huh. Not exactly something I expected you to ask,” Modius responded. He stared off in the distance, chewing at one of his nails. “Shamans corrupt nature, bending it and perverting it to their will. When they alter the wind, they pull it from its course. They reroute the flow of water. The very earth shakes as it is pulled apart. Some, like your village shaman, gain special favor to work with the Light. As you’ve seen, being Skytouched is quite disruptive.”

“I see,” she replied, not quite sure what to make of this.

“Even when properly prepared, shamans suffer under this malady. It never goes away, and will kill them in the end. Always. The death of a human mind and spirit that is tied into the body of nature is quite destructive. Untrained, like your friend Ditan… He’s been muddling about trying to figure it out. It has disrupted the Light, and could no longer be countenanced.”

“What will happen to him in Praxoenn?”

“That’s not for us to decide,” Modius said, standing back up. “Come, we must get back before nightfall. Ditan is an abomination because of the breaks he causes in the Light.”

They journeyed back in silence with only the clop of the horse’s hooves keeping pace with their thoughts. Now Trynneia had begun to understand the danger Ditan posed. She’d seen how completely Driver’s home had been consumed by flame, and witnessed the repeated aftershocks when her own home had been pulled into the earth. Such disturbances ran counter to the Light, as undeniable evidence she’d seen with her own eyes proved..

How did this knowledge serve her or her Ditan? More doubt crept in about him. Such power did not work in harmony with the Light, as her own did. It had to be restrained in any way possible. She hated how he’d kept it from her for so long. Years, he’d said, before he told her. Surely there’d been no need for secrecy. She hated how he had never found a proper teacher.

Above all else though, she hated how it truly was a perversion of the Light, and she’d willingly supported his use. With each clop of the horse’s hooves, her anger built. Trynneia thought she understood now how the Light had been failing her, for she’d strayed so far from its guidance. Tears of anger spilled forth from her eyelids, darkening Modius’ tunic as she gripped him tight with her good right arm.

Modius had entrusted her with her new responsibility. Before, she’d been reluctant to cause such injury to her friend, but now she welcomed it. This punishment she inflicted would hurt her, of course. Ditan was still her closest confidant. However, she could not forget his betrayal of the Light, and by bringing her along into that betrayal, he became unforgivable. Her path forward was clear, and she realized she had much to atone for.

Mother would have been so proud of me for recognizing this in time to correct myself, she thought. I can keep him from corrupting the Light further, and preserve him for Light’s Judgement. Those in Praxoenn will see me as a hero of the Light, and I shall receive the blessing of Light’s Judgement. I shall become a Priestess in truth for restoring sanctity to the Light. Each thought solidified in her mind how right she was, and her mind felt at ease for the first time in days.

Now, she would be bringing a thieving, conniving, traitorous bastard to justice. She could not wait for Light’s Judgment to be pronounced upon him. Trynneia had not abandoned all hope for him to be rehabilitated or trained, yet at the same time hoped that Light’s Judgement would be merciful.

She clung to Modius tightly with her good arm, holding her blanket close. Despite the heat, she felt quite cool herself, his presence now a comfort she relished as the first of the twin suns began to set, signaling an end to the day. Modius felt her warmth entering his body and grinned, spurring his horse into a gallop to catch the caravan before night fell upon them both.