“What is it that drives you?” Blood seeped into the ground. A mangled, headless corpse dropped several painted sticks, bound with thongs of leather. “You are an abomination.” Sand blew, shredding canvas and flesh. She felt a sense of hunting or being hunted. She ran. “Your duty is your purpose.”

Distant thunder commingled with fragments of ephemeral whispers cut through Trynneia’s shallow rest, dissipating as she jostled awake. Something about the night unsettled her. A misremembered dream faded as a crisp breeze drifted through her window. Darkness borne from the depths of night swallowed any hints of dusk or dawn near the horizon. She shivered.

Her mother snored across the room, unaware of Trynneia’s wakefulness. Good, she thought. I can’t talk to her just now. What would she say, anyway? Yawning, she slipped from her bed, bare feet padding softly across creaking floorboards. Each step eased past the worst offenders, just as she’d done plenty of times before.

Closing the door silently behind her, she turned and grabbed her mug. Her mother’s kettle had grown cold. She poured some tea, gulping the tepid drink faster than usual. Hints of mint and chamomile cooled her throat, and something else besides. Perhaps cinnamon?

“It was just a dream,” she whispered, her nerves calming as she grew more awake. Clouds shrouded the stars, further obscuring her ability to tell how late or early it was. Rumbling thunder hinted at an oncoming storm. The diminishing sense of oppressive dread from her dream mirrored the world outside. Finishing her drink, she saw hues of blue and aquamarine flowing lazily past the window.

Curious, she slipped on her shoes and threw a cloak about her shoulders. Trynneia pulled it tight and went outside. The colors faded, leaving only lingering streaks that moved purposefully away down the road. “Well, it can’t be early evening still,” she said. “But you shouldn’t be here. Go to sleep.” Twinkling, the lights moved just a bit more as if in response to her words, and she followed.

“Will o’ the wisps aren’t dangerous,” she mused. “I shouldn’t trust you.” She did not follow far before they dimmed and vanished. Trynneia pouted. “That was odd,” she saw, sighing with disappointment. Glancing where they had seemed to beckon, the Chapel of Light loomed just a little further down the road. “Might as well go. Sleep was rubbish anyway.”

Not a building, the Chapel was a marvel of its own. Trees dominated the landscape. Growing in a vast circle, their interweaving boughs remained open towards the center to allow the twin suns to shine down. Within, low-cut grass covered the wide glade, bare of any furnishing. It served as a monument to nature, to life, and to the Light. She had no idea how long it had been there but had known it all her life.

Trynneia passed through the wide gap in the trees that served as the entrance and walked to the center. Nothing but the sounds of the night reached her ears. Owls hooted in the distance and twigs popped as startled animals skittered away through the underbrush.

She knelt and pulled her awl from a pocket in her cloak. Uncapping the tiny needle, Trynneia pricked her thumb and squeezed a drop of blood, black within the darkness of the glade. She smeared it across the tips of her fingers before lightly touching them to the ground.

“By my purity, I serve the Tenets,” she said, her voice murky amidst the rustle of branches. “Bring me peace under the Light.” Earthiness that hinted at petrichor filled her nostrils. Trynneia felt at peace. Thunder rumbled again followed by a gust of wind.

“The darkness is no place for you, young lady.” Her peace shattered at the unexpected voice hidden in the night. She spun to confront it.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here,” she admitted warily. The voice seemed familiar, but she guarded herself, nonetheless. Eyes glancing about, dawn finally threatened, a dimness rising amidst the shadows.

A man crouched where she had walked moments before. Face shrouded still in shadow; a crown of stringy hair fringed his bald skull. An unkempt beard brushed his clavicles. Across his knees a gnarled root of a stick lay, twisted. His pungent aroma assailed her as she turned to face him.

“Am I not free to worship as I please?” He smiled at her. She was mistaken thinking his voice familiar; she knew him not.

“I didn’t mean to imply that,” she answered. “Who are you?”

“I am me. And this is the Chapel, isn't it? Some worship under the Light, some worship under the night.” As the darkness slowly faded, Trynneia could make out his dingy clothes and the grime filling the crags of his aged face. She felt sudden desperation and the need to flee, but he blocked her way. His face looked skyward.

“That does make some sense, and I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll leave you to your privacy,” she offered.

“You are here for me, I think. Or I am here for you. Am I here for you?” Around them settled a grayness that did not extend beyond the Chapel, bound to the two worshipers in the fading night. It seemed a separate thing from the impending dawn.

“You’re here for me?”

“Didn’t I just say that? Why else would you and I come to this place on this night, if not to meet?”

“I wasn’t trying to meet anyone,” she replied.

“And so, you have met no one,” he gestured grandly. “Thus I am.”

“Whatever are you talking about, sir?”

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“Whatever you are here to talk about, miss.” The man grinned a toothy, dirty smile. “I think perhaps what you expected and what you found do not match. Oh, what to do? What to do?”

“I’m not here to talk about anything. Look. I’ll leave you here, just let me pass.” Anger tinged her voice in response to her fear.

“So quick to turn to flee, to run. You cannot escape your dreams. Where you go, there they’ll be. Why confront them in darkness when you can expose them to the Light?”

“Who are you?” she asked again, vainly hoping this time his reply would be less vague. Trynneia remained disappointed.

“Who do you need me to be?” Using the stick, he pushed himself to his feet and looked down at her. His eyes did not focus but instead gazed beyond her. “It is your lot to now see, and for me to be seen. The Light shows us the way.”

White light suffused the Chapel, burning away the darkness until even color muted and vanished. Shadow hid beyond the far side of the trees, outside the bounds of the bark where night remained untouched. Overhead only impenetrable black remained.

“Who are you?” she sighed, repeating once more. Trynneia watched him warily, amazed that she did not squint at the change in ambiance.

The man looked skyward, ignoring her, tracking something unseen traversing its way through the air. “This is right, is it not? Or is this a mistake?” He thrust his stick into the ground. “No! No. Yes? I see.” He grinned, nodding as he conversed with an unheard voice.

Trynneia edged around him, hoping to sneak quietly by while he remained distracted. “Yes, yes, I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her,” he said. “Trynneia.” She froze.

Terror thundered in her chest. He knows my name. He knows who I am. How?

“Truculent homunculus of perfunctory succulence. Sustenance? I don’t think that’s right.” He blinked several times, as if struggling to find… “Words. Perhaps it is left. Is it? Or is it not at all what it was meant to be? Rings of trees, rings of threes. Knees!” His rambling words did not echo but merely clipped into silence.

He’s mad, she recognized. Completely insane. She stepped slightly, and his head jerked to look at her again. Trynneia fell to her knees. Whatever solace she thought she’d find here; this was not it.

The man’s voice dipped and shuddered as a voice both unpracticed and unbidden tried talking through him. “Untethered from Light…fettered by weather…blood shall feast…and turn to leather. And then…and then…” He shook his head, stuttering for a moment as he reasserted control. “You’re sure?” He held out his thumb and forefinger, pointing at her chest. His eyes shut, and the rancid stench poured down from him over her. She retched in response, emptying her stomach.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked, wiping bile and tea, and what little remained of her dinner from her lips.

“To you. To you? Who are you talking to? This is much simpler when I have the right words. I compress. Digress. Digest?” His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the ground, convulsing. He thrashed in the mess she had made, oblivious to the foul mixture soaking into his ragged clothes.

Care for others, she reminded herself. Mind the Tenets. He’s in need, though I doubt he truly follows the Light. Trynneia knelt by his head and clasped his ears, skin crawling with disgust even as compassion warred against her revulsion. His body jerked as he spoke.

“You are the dream, the dreamer, the dreaming. Streaming. Do you stream, Trynneia?”

“Hush,” she said, wanting to calm him with his name but knew it not. “You need to hold still.”

“Your dreams, my dreams, their dreams. Dreams! Inseams. It seems. Dreams,” he continued raving. The man reached up and cupped her face, pulling her down, their noses almost touching. She gagged again at the scent of rotting cloves or cinnamon in his breath and gasped for fresh air. Pure whiteness enveloped her, banishing everything else from view.

Trynneia felt a transition, remembering the dreams that had awoken her.

“No, don’t remind me.”

“Mind. Heed. Indeed, indeed. Do not be blind, observe the Light. This is what’s left. This is what’s right.” He rasped. She could still feel him, smell him. Dreams spun faster, and her terror grew. Things revealed themselves, more frightful than she could have ever imagined. Pain. Suffering. Shuddering, she let him go, and he released her at the same time.

Trynneia stumbled away from him, half standing and half falling, completely blinded by whiteness, and he vanished. Her breath became shallow and rapid. She slid, collapsing to her knees once more. “Light help me, Light guide me,” she intoned, unsure if she was praying or reciting.

In her blindness and haste, her hand slipped on an unseen sphere, and she fell once more. Smoother than glass, she picked it up and cradled it to her chest. Warmth blazed into her fingers and filled her from within.

Impossibly far away, she heard the man cry out, muted and shallow, “The Oath, the Oath!”

The Oath? She knew the Oath. Trynneia didn’t know how she knew, but the words filled her mind. Do I say them? Why shouldn’t I?

“Do no harm! Care for others! Serve yourself!” the man yelled, his voice even quieter than before, distant. In the overwhelming brightness, he sounded very far away.

The Tenets, she thought. “What is this?” Calm asserted itself despite the rising torrent of fearful uncertainty she experienced. She felt weightless, euphoric. “What is happening?” Her grip loosened as the orb pulled itself into her chest, the warmth pushing from her hands through the rest of her extremities. Floating with no reference point, Trynneia felt no pain but had no control either. The matter had been taken out of her hands. She spoke the words, unable to resist.

“I swear to selflessly preserve the Light, protect it from the Darkness, and uphold the Tenets.” Why did I say that? Conviction filled her voice, surprising her.

The overwhelming light vanished. Trying to reorient herself, she knelt on the ground in the middle of the Chapel of Light. Dawn broke, and the first of the twin suns began to twist its glow through the morning sky. A crow cawed and flapped away, launching into the air. No hint of the man remained, save the muddied puddle on the ground.

Alone and exhausted, she stumbled across the road to the rectory. Her pricked thumb throbbed in time with her head as she squinted now against the growing dawn’s light. She didn’t remember why she had been to the Chapel or how she had gotten there.

Trynneia glared in dismay at the mud and grass stains on her cloak. “Momma’s going to be mad at me,” she said.