Auryn became the Illuminari’s bogeyman. She presented a cautionary tale for the dangers of corruption in one who already was Skytouched. Outlawing unsanctioned shamanism seemed to turn the Illuminari to be well-regarded by the people. Hedge-witch shamans who supported villages became pariahs. Yet rumors persisted long after Auryn passed that it was not corruption that turned her mad, but the Light.

Chapter 30

Trivial dreams gave way to more substantial ones. Trynneia stood overlooking the oasis, clutching her chest as it raged with pain and heartache. Her long blond hair fell through the air, held aloft by unseen forces before drifting out over the verdant descent. She panted, out of breath as she fled the ones behind her: the undead witch, her son, and the darkest one, Modius.

Their pursuit was relentless, and every time she thought she could catch a moment of rest they would be there once more. She ran again now, side-skipping down the steep hillside. Ahead of her, the traces of color surged, filling the air around her with streaky trails. Thrumming, now close and familiar as her mother’s voice, massaged her muscles, easing the aches as she continued her escape.

Trynneia slipped, the earth giving way beneath her. She tumbled for several feet before sliding to a stop in a small clearing surrounded by unbroken bushes, save the one she’d broken through. Driver and Ditan sat there, luminous with the hues of color passing among and between them. Ditan smiled at her.

“Tryn, thank the Light you made it!” he exclaimed happily. She choked back a sob, seeing him healthy and whole once more. Looking at herself dressed in failing garments with her own limbs thin and atrophic, the difference was even more pronounced.

He ran to her and hugged her waist, his embrace warm and full. Trynneia held his head to her stomach, crying in relief. She had him back, her best friend! The depth of her love and care for him swallowed her, and she did not want to let him go again after what they’d experienced. “Ditan, I-”

“Girl, you’ve been starving yourself. What would yer ma think?” he asked. “Get over here. Eat something.”

Driver waved at her, tending to some juicy pheasants roasting on spits over the fire. All thought of her pursuers vanished from her mind, a bad dream supplanted by a good one. She calmed and sat down with the two shamans, grateful for the respite.

“You see them now, don’t you?” Driver asked, gesturing to the air, his eyes following traces. “It always starts this way, young Lightblessed. But you, you were always different,” he said cryptically.

“What, you do too?” Ditan’s eyes lit up, the joy on his little goblin face palpable. Trynneia tried shaking her head in denial, but she too followed the same traces that Driver had as they swirled about them all, flowing out from the flames and dancing with the air about them.

“No, you can’t deny it now,” Driver said, cocking his head, lip curling up in a knowing smirk. “Always different.” Her chest burned, the mark of the blood witch scarring her flesh. Trynneia clutched at it, but the pressure brought no relief, and her rags clung to the fresh wound.

Peeling her dress away, she observed how the yellow pus and ghastly ichor stained the cloth, leaving damp marks darker than the ones tinged by sweat. Swollen red skin encircled the runes Sariam had carved, and they itched dreadfully. Dark green,red, and black hues danced around its fringes.

“You’re hurt,” Driver commented matter-of-factly. “Let me take a look.” She blushed.

“It would be improper, shaman,” she replied, clearly uncomfortable.

“It would be more improper for you to sicken or die from an untended wound. Come,” he beckoned, the command in his voice unmistakeable.

“I’m fine,” she said, backing away.

“You are NOT fine!” Driver roared, frightening both she and Ditan with his suddenness. Stunned, she did not stop him from ripping her dress wide open, revealing the witch’s marks between her breasts. Recovering, she slapped his hand away too late, pulling the rags closed.

“Blood magic!” Driver recoiled, shaking his hands as if burned. He went into a fit, eyes rolled back into his head, and started chanting. Ditan stepped away from her in horror.

“What are you?” he hissed, making a sign of warding with his hands. Hues began to accumulate around both men, intensifying every second. The very air tingled around Trynneia, and the hairs on her arms stood up in warning. She dove to the side as a lightning bolt slammed down where she’d just stood. Residual arcs strayed to nearby trees, sparking them to flame while leaving the ground at the epicenter of the strike a charred mess.

Driver focused his eyes on her, grabbing one of the spare sticks used to spear the pheasants. “Abomination!” He yelled, lunging to strike at her. The desire for murder lit his eyes, and as she dodged his attack, she saw Ditan readying to do the same. Trynneia pulled out the dagger from her belt to defend herself.

Eilic charged into the clearing, knocking Driver to the ground. The spear clattered away. Ditan got close but she avoided his attack as well, kicking him to the side. Sariam and Modius strode in, following Eilic by just moments. The crone’s eyeless gaze swept the area, and Trynneia had no doubt she could see everything despite her undeath. The skyclad old woman raised her hands, chanting, and blood dripped down from her eyes and mouth.

Modius smiled wickedly, unsheathing a sword she’d never seen him have, and he turned to her. Feeling the thrum rise in her chest with an urgency pulling her attention to the ground below him, she directed the hues to spread apart. Earth cracked and split, tearing a gash several meters long between the two of them.

Lightning cracked again, and Eilic staggered and fell twitching to the ground, his left foot a gaping mass of flesh. Sariam tried to scream, but only a gurgle escaped the gash in her throat that had ended her living days. The blood around her slimed forward through the air, tendrils of red liquid that lashed about Ditan. Her chanting grew faster, if still quiet.

The young goblin thrashed in agony, unable to yell as the blood flowed down his throat, and pierced his arms and legs. Ditan’s limbs twisted and curled in unnatural directions, and his skin began to split as the blood magic tore him apart from within into a miasma of gore and flesh.

Helpless to stop his death once more, Trynneia shrieked her rage, sending a gust of wind into the blood witch. Sariam crashed into a tree. She grasped at jagged branches exiting her abdomen and chest, unable to take hold.

Driver slumped to the ground, weakened by the multiple bolts of lightning he’d pulled from the heavens, and even so Trynneia watched the hues gathering around him again. As he prepared for one more retributive strike, Modius vaulted the rent in the ground, somehow having a hatchet in one hand and his sword in the other. Using the sword, he stabbed Driver through the chest and pinned him to the ground. The hues of light receded.

Modius looked at her, triumphant. He struck with the hatchet, intentionally taking his time to remove Driver’s head even as Trynneia ran towards him, gathering her strength. A gust of wind staggered him and he fell to the ground. Her wispy body jumped onto him, every moment of her despair unleashed in a torrent of dagger strikes.

With each blow, blood covered her, and she didn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop. The life of his eyes went out and she continued, over and over. Red tinged her vision, an internal haze of hatred and rage, mixed with the external mist of blood. Her grip on the dagger kept slipping, slick with the blood and gore all over it, and her arms grew weary.

Satisfied that he was dead, she retrieved his hatchet, and all concern left her as she visited upon him the punishment he had dealt to everyone who had ever known her.

From the edges of their encampment, Lord Elanreu watched Trynneia’s merciless attack on Modius, who had been helpless while he slept. When she woke from this bewitchment and beheld what she’d accomplished, she’d be horrified. Elanreu smiled, and enjoyed the spectacle.

***

Second sunrise had already finished as both orbs continued their rise into the midmorning sky. Trynneia murmured, her words unintelligible as she raised her arm to cover her face. She rubbed her eyes with clenched fists, breaking free the crusted blood that gummed them shut. Several birds perched on the nearby corpse, much of it already picked clean. She started and scrambled away, shocked.

Blood caked her dress, sticking it to her skin. It crunched as she moved, breaking free of her body. She stumbled over the severed head and cried out in both horror and relief. Where’s Elanreu? Casting her eyes about the campsite, she realized he was gone, and the horses with him.

I did this, she realized, that so-vivid dream coming back to her. I’m a Light-cursed monster. Trynneia wrung her hands, the feeling of being alone for the first time in months making her anxious.

“This is too much. Too much,” she said. The bloodied dagger lay near the head, half-buried in dirt and blood. She retrieved it, comforted somehow by its presence. “I need you back, Ditan,” she lamented, wishing for her friend to be near and able to help. “You and mom both.” Seeing no point in remaining, she left the clearing, heading back to the main trail that wound through the Oasis.

Birds and other jungle creatures called to each other, unworried by a murderous human passing through their midst. She followed the trail for hours and never came across another person. For a while, she tried to focus on the flow of colors before her, emptying her mind of what she’d witnessed. It didn’t help much. She staggered on, the empty ache in her stomach working in concert with her dehydration to sap her strength further.

Running water caught her attention as the road curved around a bend, bringing it closer to one of the creeks that nourished the oasis. Not far from the road, she saw it through the trees and underbrush. Avoiding what she could and cutting through what she couldn’t, Trynneia made her own path.

Looking into the crystal clear water, she let out a sigh of relief, her first true acknowledgement of her surroundings in hours. Cupping her hands, she drank freely of the warm water. The creek flowed slowly, so she risked wading into it, gasping all the while. Trynneia scrubbed what blood she could from her body and removed her clothing to do the same. Even using some sand from the bank, the stains remained, an unwelcome reminder of what she’d done.

“Mother forgive me,” she whispered as she worked. “Light preserve me.” Modius’ sightless, unfocused gray eyes watching her filled her mind. Judging her.

A sharp whistle drew her attention to the bank and she blushed at her nudity, covering herself as well as she could with her damp garments.

“So this is where you ran off to,” Lord Elanreu said sternly. He approached and stepped into the creek to grab her. “I thought I could trust you,” he continued, dragging her free of the water. “Drop those,” he commanded, gesturing at the blood stained clothing.

Trynneia did so, and they fell into a sodden mass at her feet. Elanreu retrieved the dagger and tucked it into his belt. He then removed his cloak and gave it to her, commanding her to cover up.

She followed him silently back to where he’d tied up the horses, somehow having managed to track her through the vegetation without drawing her attention while she bathed. Though it wasn’t far, the path wasn’t clear enough to prevent the vegetation from cutting her exposed thighs and calves as she passed. Her unprotected feet also trod uncomfortably, and she trailed small tracks of blood in her footprints.

“I thought I was alone,” she said meekly when they reached the horses. He’d kept Honey with him, and she still had her additional clothing roll tied to the saddle, though she’d left behind her blanket.

“Well, you thought wrong. Saved me part of a trip by continuing on at least. There’s that,” he acknowledged. He backed her up to her horse and removed her cloak. The sting of humiliation filled her once more. “The witch did a number on you, didn’t she?” he said, touching the flushed edges of her diseased flesh.

Trynneia looked away, unable to watch him examine her naked body. To her surprise, he only lingered a moment before grabbing some ointment from a pouch on his own horse. It stung when he smeared it on her, and was much colder than it had a right to be, producing a pungent fresh scent she’d never smelled before. Before long, the wound became numb, and didn’t bother her as much.

“I killed him, didn’t I?” she asked as she dressed. He nodded.

“How did you feel when you realized it?” he questioned, mounting on his horse and gathering the reins for the horse Modius had ridden as well.

“I felt...relief. Sorrow. Accomplishment?” She hadn’t quite anticipated the last one, and questioned herself. “Yes, accomplishment.”

“Really?” Elanreu asked, intrigued. “Did you find something to prove to yourself?”

Trynneia swung up into her saddle, her gaze far away, considering. “I think so,” she admitted.

“Was it what you wanted to prove to yourself?”

“Yes.”