The Lifeless Light: A Tale from Dema

Chapter Seven: Coward

I stumbled through the darkness with reckless emotion, torn between two choices. A part of me wanted to shelter myself—wandering off until I was truly alone and far away from those who could hurt me again. Yet my conscience couldn't let go of Tyler and what would become of him. The last time I saw a bishop's hands around someone's neck ...

I shuddered at the thought of his fate.

Calling out for him would be futile and dangerous, so I relied on instinct. They likely headed northwest, towards Dema, but with what kind of guidance? It was the darkest point of the night, lit only by the pale-white moon. There were no paths, not even the glow of a torch in the distance.

I trekked against the chill of the wind, seeking for a sign of my friend—a cry for help, the glimpse of a scarlet robe ... something. The rolling hills and rocky ledges confused me under the veil of night. My steps required caution. Even worse, I had no sense of direction, just like when I fled the towers.

Why was my most natural instinct to run? Whenever I felt overwhelmed, I let my emotions blindly take control—leading me to people and places I'd regret. I loathed my impulsivity.

There was a murmur from a distance. I stopped, gazing in the direction it came.

"Sahlo!" A voice cried.

I sprinted through the long, wispy grass and studied the void of darkness until a white horse and a crimson figure entered my vision about 20 yards away. I crouched behind a bush—my heart thumping with adrenaline.

"Sahlo folina!" the voice shouted again. It was Tyler, kicking and squirming as the bishop drug him by the hood of his jacket. I had learned earlier that the phrase he spoke was one of desperation—a signal within the brotherhood that pleaded only for the help of a fellow bandito.

I sensed the bishop's fervent anger through his tense shoulders, as he barked words I couldn't quite pick out. He pulled Tyler in front of him with one strong tug.

The young man slid across the grass and dirt, quickly stumbling to his feet. He seemed quite flustered.

As Tyler faced his adversary, the bishop's hand whipped across his face. He recoiled.

I considered intervening, but my muscles seized. Tyler thrust his fist, but it was halted by the bishop. Black-painted hands gripped his bony wrist.

Why didn't I help him? My throat closed up and I cowered behind the bush, hoping the situation would resolve. I was never known for bravery, even when my heart raged at injustice. The feeling of helplessness and fear always consumed me. I ran from conflict ... every instance I could recall. I shuttered when Tyler was first encountered by the bishop, and today I proved to be just as weak. The past three months amounted to nothing but running and shrinking. I scolded myself—hated myself.

Why ... Why was I such a coward?

When I gathered enough strength to look up again, I saw the bishop pointing at Tyler's chest with his other hand. Mumblings of a stern lecture echoed out.

Never had I seen a bishop command such power and raw emotion. It was against everything they were called to be: upstanding, eloquent, patient, and rational. Yet perhaps, that was just another lie.

Of all the bishops, I couldn't figure which one would act this way. Could this be Nico?  Yet I remembered how viciously Andre suffocated the woman in the Quiet Room.

Perhaps any of them could be so harsh.

Tyler shoved the bishop back.

"No! Listen to me!" he yelled with such passion that his voice cracked. Their conversation quieted down to inaudible syllables.

My mouth opened aghast. Violently defying a bishop was sacrilege.

There was much more to this man than I realized.

The bishop calmed down, despite the tense circumstances. They spoke for a few minutes more before Tyler finally surrendered—his head low with disappointment.

Once again, the bishop reached out and smeared his neck with black stripes. Tyler was more despondent than the time by the stream. I could almost feel the burden resting upon his frame.

His confidence was shaken. I feared for his life. I couldn't see well through the darkness, but I believe he wept.

The two mounted the horse and rode off toward the city.

A cold, faint glow illuminated Dema. Wisps of silver smoke rose from the towers, originating from the furnace down below. I grimaced.

I wasn't ready to go back yet, but did I have a choice? The Banditos proved as untrustworthy as the Bishops and I felt hopelessly alone.

Yet I trusted Tyler, wherever he stood in this corrupted game of politics. He and Joshua seemed like the only rational ones in this mess.

I feared the Bandito leader was too close to Brenton to warn or persuade without being noticed. He surely wasn't aware of what happened tonight. I doubted he was involved in Brenton's plan.

Nevertheless, what trust and affection I felt for Bandito camp vanished thanks to that snake.

I had all night to question what the day brought me.

When I woke up that morning, nearly 16 hours earlier, I never expected to be sitting deep within the vastness of Trench without a safe place to run.

A shiver rolled down my spine. I couldn't go back now ... I couldn't go forward.

I was stuck between two places, unsure how to fix anything. Everything within me wanted to cry. Yet as the moon sailed farther across the sky, I was too exhausted to feel. I was numb.

I wandered for a while seeking shelter, until I found a stable, quiet cave. Collapsing on the floor, I drifted off to sleep.

Upon waking at dawn the next morning, I took a moment to admire the morning sun. It looked just as alluring as the time I gazed upon it from the towers while it sunk behind the horizon—yet this time its beauty was biting ... mocking. Back then, I had this funny aspiration to journey far and wide until one day I could catch it, as if it held all the peace and fulfillment I desired so desperately.

Sitting in the cold, barren cave, I scoffed. My fantasies seemed so foolish now. I figured the journey I sought after—the light I craved—was futile. I could spend every last breath of my life and never catch its warm glow. My dreams felt hopeless, but this conflict between the Bishops and Banditos was mine to change.

My curiosity proved too strong. I knew I must to go back to the Bandito camp one final time.

I needed to know what their next move was, before I made mine. 

============

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! 

If you enjoyed this section, please hit the star button and feel free to leave a comment or suggestion before reading the next installment.