Trynneia lost track of time. She supposed it was for the best. Wisps bundled together nearby, hovering unconcerned while her head remained under the thick fuzzing that had plagued her since her capture. A thin puddle of drool vibrated on the floor of her wagon in time with the rocks and runnels it bounced upon.
Her back screamed with fire, her twenty lashes double what Ylane had received. Trynneia hadn’t seen her since. She passed in and out of consciousness with no thought of physical concerns. Periodically, someone would climb over the gate and dribble water onto her face. She hoped it was water. Sometimes she drank it, but most of the time it rolled off and soaked into the wood floor.
She tried not to move, barely shifting to ease her discomfort. Scabs formed through her shabby clothing, leaving frayed bits of fabric embedded in her skin. The Red had stopped by once and tutted before departing, providing no healing. In Eluvan Sentinel captivity, the Tenets of the Light held little sway.
This can’t be the way things end, she thought. I did what I could to help her! Trynneia wept, unable to contain her remorse for her failure to revive Gadis. I can’t restore the dead.
What did he think I could do?
-Persevere-
The nearby crates rattled gently, their contents muffled and dull as they rocked in concert with the wagon and her agony. We’re all a bit muddled, aren’t we? She’d been left alone, her dreams bleeding into wakefulness. Urine cloyed at her nose, and she knew at some point she’d relieved herself. Trynneia’s arms and legs remained unbound, her captors satisfied that she couldn’t move enough to escape.
I can’t stay like this. Ditan and Ylane are relying on me to get them out of here, she told herself, reinforcing a purpose to motivate her. She refused to think they would want to stay. Given the deplorable conditions the Sentinels left her in, Trynneia knew the others would experience the same.
What do they want of me? It doesn’t matter. I just need to remain free. Do what I can to get free so I can help them escape.That’s all I want.
Blood crusted her clothes, gluing her to the wood. It crinkled and stuck as she pushed herself off her stomach. The muscles in her back pinched and puckered as her torn flesh broke open the scabs. Trynneia bit her lip to keep herself from screaming, instead stifling an anguished groan.
I can do this, she thought, shutting her eyes to the pain. Light help me. Trynneia forced herself into a sitting position, steadying herself with a hand on the crates. There was no avoiding the pain, so she embraced it instead. Her back felt moist, slick with fresh blood. She felt dizzy, wobbling as she sat up.
With wretched, measured slowness, Trynneia peeled her top off. Nothing blunted the pain while she focused on her movements, careful to minimize the agony she could not stop. The warm air felt cool on her exposed skin, simultaneously bringing relief while tearing the wounds open.
She held the bundle of cloth to her chest, one last remnant of her old life, returned to her by Chet. Now it was a stained, ragged ruin. Her smallclothes provided only a meager covering, but she didn’t want the shirt anymore. It smelled rank, a sour mixture of blood, sweat, and pus. Her trousers smelled worse, but she tolerated it. The shirt was simply too restrictive, given her injuries.
Trynneia pushed the shirt aside and reached where she could, feeling behind herself to probe the deep, thick cuts in her back. She’d never heard of lashings and barely ever had seen a whip. Such punishment just didn’t need to exist in Lidoria. Crime, if there ever was any, ended in a jail cell for a brief time. Within a day, her conception of obedience and punishment took on a new, harsh tone.
She rubbed her eyes, cognizant of the blood on her fingers. It’s the least of my concerns. Why should I care? Her hands trembled, full of anxiety cloaked with exposure. Modius haunted her waking thoughts without even appearing. Each strike of the lash had ripped a new memory of fear and seared it into her flesh. And he’s the kind one.
Will o’ the wisps bounced across the wood like lifeless dirt, vibrating as the wagon continued inexorably towards the desert over the uneven road. As she noticed them, they swirled. Not in excitement, but in response, their presence bringing an odd comfort to her solitude.
They reminded her of the butterflies she once watched outside the school window. Had it really been so long ago? No, not even a week, she realized. Brown flecks like the wood mixed with those of light azure, creeping on their own with no perceptible motive, waiting for something.
By the Light, give me peace, she thought. The blood on her fingers was gummy, a stickiness she did not normally attribute to her worshipful finger pricks. She rubbed it between her thumb and forefingers absently as she winced at every rock the wagon bounced over jostled her. What would you have me do, Momma? Without the awl she had carried with her at all times, using her fresh wounds to support her purity pledge felt blasphemous.
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In the tepid shadows of the wagon, her runes glowed an amber-gold, not bright enough to provide illumination, though it wasn’t needed. The sunlight peeking through the cloth roof brought enough. So much had happened that she only now for the first time had a chance to really look at them. Trynneia didn’t think they represented any language she knew, but they adorned the sides of her arms and hands, her ribs, and her thighs.
Lightly she traced them, their shimmery luminescence reacting to her touch. She needed healing, but refused to trust the Red. Knowing Ylane had relied upon Sariam for aid was enough of a reason to reject the woman. She did not want to be at Sariam’s mercy. I have power here. I trust it. It can help me. Trynneia recited the phrases as a mantra, knowing she’d healed before.
Instinct free of purpose had guided her. Now she needed to direct her power to herself. She shut her eyes, envisioning the strips of skin ruined upon her back. Instinct. That’s what it is. Find it. Trust it. Light curled around her, glowing smoke that reacted much as the wisps had, responding to need.
Unable to see the change, she felt its caress as it spread from the runes on her ribs, bringing soothing warmth. In her mind, she saw how the whip had torn into Ylane, and she narrowed her focus. With Ylane’s earlier torture as a guide, each blow served as a guide for how the lash fell and bit deep.
Light reached the cusp of her injuries and cascaded inward. Trynneia gasped and failed to hold back her tears. Her fingers flexed involuntarily, bridging in front of her to try and push her torn flesh back together. The Light responded, pulling the wound together and bonding it. Coolness flowed into her fingers, a tactile response as if she actually were touching and healing her wounds directly.
Trynneia risked a glimpse, opening her eyes. An aura of Light enveloped her vision, and she saw her own back. Seeing every wretched stripe from this vantage point horrified her. She smoothed her hand across them, slowly sealing each one, feeling the scabs fall away as scars freshened into a new wholeness, unmarred by injury.
She took her time, fixing what she could. Daylight began to slip away, and her energy waned. It’s tied to the Light of the suns themselves, she realized. Maybe Ylane couldn’t manage because she wasn’t exposed to the Light.
“What a magnificent gift,” she whispered. Trynneia began to push herself, moving from one wound to the next. Gentle coolness and a light throbbing accompanied each repair as worked through the strange Light interface between her powers and her purpose. Her pain lessened while she peered deeper, seeking infection or imperfection in her work.
Healing herself in this manner satisfied her impulses to let her mind wander. With intense focus, her attention flitted from one injury to the next, seeking answers and guidance, yet understanding that she couldn’t comprehend most of her activities. Bits of information poured in, and Trynneia filed them away as experience, hoping someday to understand. For now, the rapid shifting field of focus soothed her emotionally while repairing herself physically.
She began to sweat as she pulled the last of the Light from the suns, one after the other having dipped below the horizon. The wagon had slowed and stopped, and Trynneia recognized the wagon pulling into formation with the others, another ring to the side of the road. The aura faded and her interface faltered, ending the healing session. If only I had started earlier, she lamented. I could have finished.
Rolling her shoulders, Trynneia exercised with motions that had been excruciating just a short time before. She knew her full strength hadn’t returned, but her spirits buoyed at her restoration. Let them come for me now. I know what I can do, she thought. For the first time since she’d been punished, she stood, stretching her legs. They were weak, and she stumbled, supporting herself with one of the crates.
A horse approached outside, and someone dismounted. Trynneia waited, struggling just to remain standing. Escape meant nothing if she didn’t know where they were, and not if she couldn’t rescue the others. The gate fell and Modius climbed in.
“Fascinating,” he mused. “Your friend Ylane has barely moved, yet here I find you standing. You are well?”
“Thank the Light,” she muttered.
Modius tilted her head up, examining her. She looked back, defiant. “Turn,” he commanded. Doing as he instructed, she felt him touching her bare back, searching for the marks he’d left. Only the faintest of scars remained where she had run out of time. His hands lingered only moments, then withdrew.
“Come, child. I will find you something suitable to wear. You’ve discarded half those rags already, I see.”
Why is he being so kind? She wondered. “Surely there’s something in one of these crates?”
“Mostly just supplies. Food and water to make the journey. Clothing wasn’t left with you.”
“Ah,” she said, sighing. She did not want to be paraded in front of the others in the caravan wearing what little she had on. His hand gripped hers.
“You haven’t eaten in three days, Trynneia. We’ll get you some food while I send the Red for something suitable. There must be something in what remains of Gadis’ belongings.”
Three days? I slept for three days already? She knew she’d struggled, but that amount of time seemed unfathomable. No wonder I feel so weak. “It can’t have been that long. How is Ditan? Tell me he’s alright.”
She climbed out with him, her feet striking rough grass sprouting through coarse sand. The temperature seemed much cooler, even for the lateness of spring. Three days to the outskirts of a desert, and the weather differed greatly.
“He lives, but Eilic hasn’t been gentle.” She could hear his smile as they walked, the smug satisfaction in his voice. “You need to let go of who you thought your friend was, Trynneia. You need to see that he is your enemy.”
“Let me see him,” she demanded.
“You will do so when I decide to, and no earlier,” Modius said. They walked to the center of the circled ring her wagon belonged to. All eyes fell on her half naked body and she shivered. Shuddering, Trynneia sat and began to eat, nibbling at the meager food. “When you are ready, I will let you see him. Not before,” Modius admonished. “I promise, you will come to see him as we do. Vermin fit to be extinguished.”