The Blinding

Chapter 57 - Tissa

My old friend stood before me, mouth agape, as though he'd just glimpsed an actual giant. His presence here wasn't entirely surprising, but his words ignited a fury within me that overshadowed any disappointment. A distant memory resurfaced—a memory of Batuulo and me chasing him through the palace grounds, laughter echoing as we finally caught up to him. We couldn't have been more than five years old. Yet, like a wisp of smoke, the memory dissipated, revealing the man he had become. It was a stark reminder of the boy I once knew, now indoctrinated into the beliefs of the very palace we had once joyfully explored.
"That was before..." he began, his voice tinged with bitterness.
"Before what?" I demanded, struggling to reconcile the past with the present.
"Before I witnessed the carnage your people can cause," he replied, his eyes clouded with painful memories. "I saw it firsthand in the battle with the Nubians. They killed so many of our men. General Magan lost his life because of them! I won't allow you to use your powers to do the same!"
"General Magan? Is he not the same man who tormented you for years?" My voice dripped with incredulity. "And that's who you fight for now? You're more lost than I thought. I'll use my powers as I see fit, just as you've rallied your men to do the same."
His eyes pleaded with me, and his voice trembled with desperation. "It wasn't just General Magan," he continued, his voice softer. "The Magicians, they unleashed their powers, killing men and women indiscriminately. I couldn't count the bodies that littered the battlefield. And they did it all from a distance. No amount of weaponry could stop them. If it weren't for Magan, I would be dead."
"Regardless, the Nubians used their magic to wage wars for territory, didn't they?" I retorted. "The Council fights for equality, for the principles our nation was built upon. This isn't the same. Shire is a threat, and both you and I know it. If you choose to fight for him, then so be it."
"Is that it, then?" he pressed. "You'll allow the fighting to persist, risking the future of both our tribes, and countless others? Is that truly what you want?"
I bit my lip, consumed by thoughts of Samakaab, Hani, Elmi, and Idil battling on my behalf. My worry threatened to pull me away from the conversation.
"I see that's not what you want," he continued. "Come with me. I'll tell Shire you surrendered, that I killed you. I'll find a safe haven for you until we can navigate your situation. Don't let your pride prevent you from doing what you know is right. I'll spare your companions' lives. We can hold them briefly and release them once the dust settles."
His words were a cunning diversion, and I knew he intended to exploit my connection to the Council. It was working, but Samakaab's words still rang fresh in my mind. I would not yield to Shire while my friends risked their lives to protect me from him.
"I won't do it. Leave, now, or I won't apologize for what my powers may do to you."
His expression fell, and gone was the soft voice he had used moments ago. His eyes closed briefly, then opened, revealing a dangerous fury that sent shivers down my spine. His fist clenched around his sword, and a wicked smile crept across his face.
"Your powers?" he snarled. "If they were truly at your disposal, you'd have used them by now. No, I think your powers are worthless. You have no idea how to harness them, do you? Your standoff with the shifters was nothing but a fluke, wasn't it?"
I took a step back, my fear intensifying. How did he know? I wondered. Another step, my fingers inching toward my Bilao, my eyes locked on the Warrior before me.
He chuckled wryly, his gaze unwavering. "Go ahead, grasp your weapon if you wish, but know that any feeble attempt at combat will be futile against me."
I sneered at his words, but my unease continued to grow. I prayed he hadn't noticed the moment of hesitation before I finally wrapped my fingers around the hilt of my sword.

"Do you truly believe that your meager training is enough to challenge me?" Loyaan's voice carried an undertone of warning. His history loomed between us, an unspoken reminder of our shared past. His sword remained poised defensively, a clear message of his readiness to fight. Yet, he did not advance.
"What if I don't surrender, Loyaan?" I questioned, drawing resolve from a newfound source within me. "Will you end my life? Would you kill your childhood friend to defend a cause you know to be fundamentally flawed?"
His face remained cold and unyielding, his sword unmoving. However, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, barely discernible.
"Loyaan," I pleaded, desperation tingeing my voice. "Please, you must recognize that your actions go against all that is honorable. I am the Magician tribe's last hope, the key to true peace. Are you willing to slay me, even when it contradicts the oath our tribes are founded upon?"
His gaze fell to the ground in shame before returning to meet mine. In that fleeting moment, I glimpsed the man I had once known, buried beneath the facade.
"Forget about Shire, the Council, and our tribes. Forget it all," I implored. "You were my sole friend within that palace, and I yours. My feelings for you run deep. Does that mean nothing to you?"
He sank to his knees, and his Bilao clattered to the ground with a thud. His head drooped into his hands.
"Tissa, you mean everything to me," he confessed, his voice trembling. "Do you not understand? I searched for you for weeks after your departure. I questioned the servants, Batuulo, everyone. You vanished without a trace. I had no way of knowing where you had gone or what had become of you. I was left with nothing but a few hastily scribbled words on a piece of paper. I would have protected you, done anything to— And then Magan perished, and I was lost, unsure of what to believe. Shire, he... he threatened my father's life and mine. I know he's no saint, Tissa, but he's the only family I have left. I beg you, surrender, and spare me from the fate Shire has foreseen."
His words pierced my heart, and I found myself pushing his sword aside, dropping to my knees before him. His tears flowed freely now, the tears of a man defeated. Gently, I removed his hands from his face, locking eyes with him and clasping both of his hands in my own. I detected something in his gaze, a glimmer of affection, perhaps? It couldn't be, but his words painted a different picture.
"I am deeply sorry for the pain I've caused you," I whispered, my voice filled with remorse. "I needed to leave, I hope you understand that now. But surrendering isn't our only option."
"What else is there?" he inquired, his voice filled with vulnerability.
"You can join us," I proposed, hope budding in my chest. "Join our cause, and together, we can confront Shire. We'll send word to the palace, urging your father to escape, and we'll rescue him and Iftin. The Council will offer you protection if I ask them to. Together, we can stand on the right side of history."
He wiped away his tears, his expression shifting as he contemplated the possibility of our plan. He opened his mouth to respond, and I dared to believe that he might agree. What other choice was there?
But before he could utter a word, the tent flap was forcefully pulled back, revealing Samakaab, his eyes ablaze with fury, bearing down upon us with the intent to intervene.
Samakaab hesitated for just a second, his eyes fixated on the perplexing scene before him. Witnessing my hands intertwined with Loyaan's, emotions must have coursed through him like a tempest, uncertainty and shock painting his expression. Realizing the gravity of the situation, I instinctively released my grip on Loyaan's hand, my fingers trembling with unspoken words. My throat felt constricted, words trapped in the mayhem of this unforeseen encounter.
Before I could muster the words to halt the impending clash, Samakaab's resolve, fueled by a fierce determination, propelled him forward. I looked at Loyaan for just a brief moment, and in his eyes, I detected a hint of recognition buried beneath layers of conflict and history. The past weighed heavily upon them, and the innocence of their childhood friendship seemed but a distant memory.
In the blink of an eye, Loyaan scrambled to his feet, his sword gleaming in his grip. Both men, now standing face to face, appeared unyielding, each with an unwavering purpose. The moment of hesitation had evaporated, replaced by the resounding clash of their Bilaos as they hurriedly stepped out of the tent, resolute in their intent to bring the other to their knees.
"Stop!" I stammered, my voice quavering as I struggled to bridge the chasm of misunderstanding yawning wide between them.
"Stand back!" Samakaab's voice thundered, or was it Loyaan's? The intensity in their voices seemed to merge into an indistinct crescendo, leaving me immobilized, a mere spectator to the impending confrontation.
"Both of you, stop! You don't understand!" I pleaded desperately, my words a fragile bridge stretching out toward them, struggling to find purchase.
"I said, stand back!" This time it was unmistakably Samakaab, his voice slicing through the tension like a blade through silk. His eyes blazed with fury as he roared, "This man is dangerous, he and his group ambushed me in Sarapion, kidnapped me."
Confusion contorted my features as Samakaab's revelation crashed over me like a tidal wave.
"You kidnapped him?" I gasped, my voice trembling in disbelief, my gaze darting between the combatants.
Loyaan parried one of Samakaab's ferocious blows, swift and controlled, then countered with a strike of his own. "I let you win! I didn't want to kill you!" he shouted, their swords clashing in a chaotic, almost poetic dance of steel.
"You're lying! You lost, and you'll lose again. I won't allow you to harm her!" Samakaab's words dripped with venom, his eyes locked onto Loyaan.
"Samakaab, please wait. He had no intention of harming me!" I cried out, my voice quivering, the desperation palpable. Yet Samakaab either couldn't hear my plea or had chosen to disregard it as his relentless assault continued.
Determination etched deep lines on Samakaab's face, lines that bore the weight of history and unspoken grievances. My attempts to intervene with words proved futile, for their combat raged on, their lives precariously balanced on the razor's edge. My desperate pleas dissolved in the maelstrom of their anger, both men consumed by their need to settle the scores of their past.
If either of them emerged victorious, what then? How could I forgive the one who'd extinguished the life of the other, both men having earned a special place in my heart, representing distinct facets of my soul? The weight of such a choice threatened to crush me, and I surrendered to the despair that had taken root within me, sinking to my knees, my head falling into my trembling hands. The grief at the looming possibility of either of their deaths pressed down upon me like an insurmountable burden, leaving me feeling utterly defeated.