Page 12 of Light Locked #1

The Journey

C LEA SHIVERED AS she rose from the quiet pond she’d purified. The sweat and dirt of the day before had felt like an intolerable cast upon waking up. She’d dismissed herself to this pool of water and dipped her hands through, watching the light bleed into the water and push away the toxic mire.

Blessings of healing and restoration required a specific focus in seeing the deepest potential in something.

She had to imagine the water in a state of wholeness and clarity and create a path to that place.

The water did the rest on its own. Everything, at its core, wanted to be whole again.

Some Veilin were passionate about expulsion, enforcing and using weaponry, strengthening defenses, or creating seals.

Healing wasn’t a very popular art for Veilin.

Most healed quite well enough on their own and only basic skills were needed to heal common human ailments.

Despite that, healing was the art she’d honed, at the risk of not developing the others quite as well.

As the sixth of her siblings, she’d never expected to lead anyone, much less soldiers, and she’d fallen in love with her chosen art despite all urging otherwise.

Even in Virday, she’d practiced healing rigorously until even the king consulted with her on the practice.

Being an expert in healing didn’t seem that hard considering no one else was that interested in practicing it, but it still felt like something valuable to her.

The only downfall of it was that in trying to see the world in its potential wholeness, the pictures of how broken it truly was were darker and clearer. It often meant feeling either like the world was wonderful or feeling like it couldn’t be worse. There wasn’t much room in between.

This morning, she saw her journey for its potential.

Searching through her bag, she hid her chest under the bundle of dirty clothes as she grabbed anything resembling clean clothes.

She dressed behind a column-like totem that the forest's illusions had coated in a pleasant green moss.

The clothes were looser on her than clothes had ever been.

Her skin was dull, her hair lacking its vibrancy, but the morning was misty and beautiful, and Clea felt revived after her night of sleep.

The claw marks had healed along with any scrapes and bruises, and in the absence of others, the medallion no longer felt like such a burden around her neck.

The city of Virday was safe, at least for now.

She finished adjusting the rope belt of her pants, and with the straps of her bag in one hand and her boots in the other, she embarked back toward the campsite.

It didn’t take her long to reach Ryson. He’d already spread the ashes of their fire and hidden his armor.

It appeared as if they’d never been there.

He was leaning against a tree when she arrived.

In the morning light, his eyes were black.

His thick brows gave his expressions more weight, his coal black, near shoulder-length hair in complete disarray .

He looked like a cat someone had decided to pet backward, and she found herself wanting to comb his hair down. Maybe that would ease his temperament too.

She realized she’d been staring too long and should say something.

“I’ve never met a Kalex with eyes that change color based on the light,” she said as she sat across from him, releasing her bag so that she could ease the shoes onto her feet.

Her stomach turned as it digested her breakfast from earlier that morning.

The circular disks they had bought were filling but made meals less than enjoyable.

“I feel like I’ve seen all colors and kinds, but never gray. ”

“Silver,” he corrected.

Silver , she repeated snidely in her head as she wrestled her foot into her boot.

“They’re a bad omen. Most Kalex born with them are killed,” he added mechanically.

“That’s horrible. Why?” She stopped lacing her boots, fingers still tied in them as she looked up at him.

Ryson at first looked puzzled and then shifted uncomfortably, like he hadn’t expected her to pay so much attention to the comment. She was surprised when he elaborated further, pleased that she didn’t have to prompt him again for answers.

“Kalex are very superstitious. Silver means that the moon is in your blood,” he said .

“Why did you bandage them in the city if they turn black in the light anyway?” she asked.

“I can’t risk getting caught under a shadow dark enough to give me away.”

Clea accepted his reasoning as she pieced together terms and stories she’d heard here and there. In many Kalex beliefs, and even in some Veilin stories, the moon was the birthplace and ruler of cien.

“The moon is in your blood? Like you’re royalty, but from the forest,” she replied thoughtfully. “Like the moon is your parent?”

“Sure,” he replied in that same labored tone.

Sure, she repeated again as she tied her shoes more furiously, but her countenance softened as she thought about the implications of what he said. The moon was a frightening thing when trapped in the forest, but in her early life she’d found so much comfort in it.

When she couldn’t sleep at night, she’d sit in the windowsill of her room in the castle and simply stare at it.

Until she was nineteen, she was kept under heavy guard.

Her literature, her outings, visits and activities were restricted and monitored.

If she acted out, then in a moment’s notice she would lose all those privileges for weeks and there she would be, lingering high up in her room, able to watch the world outside but unable to move.

In such a way, she’d felt like the moon, idle in the dark sky, only visible by reflecting light that something else had given it, and yet still somehow completely independent.

She’d loved the moon for its company. She’d loved the plants in her room for how they reminded her of the power she had to impact something else.

She’d loved meditation for how it taught her to appreciate the simplicity of her breath and the vast power of her own mind to escape.

Having access to little had taught her to give what she had profound value, and what she had was powerful in that it allowed her to divorce herself from needing the rest of the world.

The moon had been one of those things. It could never be taken away from her.

The thought of mentioning such a precious thought to someone so ill made her scoff inwardly, and as soon as she finished tying her boots, he walked off. Clea scrambled after him.

“Hold on!” she said, ducking under a branch. She looked around the woods and wondered how he knew which way to go. She hadn’t seen him reference a compass or map.

Staring at his back, she contemplated the journey ahead. She didn’t like it, but this was one of the rare cases where she absolutely did need someone else. She needed him, and this journey would be long, longer if they didn’t find a way to cooperate.

Clea felt some radiance of hope now that they’d started their journey; it was a refreshing feeling to finally leave Virday and not in a state of panic.

She saw that radiance now in the woods around her, and it became evident that their morning travels had the potential to be quite pleasant.

A thick layer of white fog enchanted mossy redwoods and, as the day drew on, she heard small birds singing from the treetops.

She knew it was a lie, but it was a beautiful lie, one that she allowed herself to appreciate before the days grew hard and dangerous.

“That medallion,” Ryson said from up ahead.

She wondered if he was anything like the forest in that he might be the slightest bit more amicable during the day.

“Yes?” she answered, tone coated with a renewed sense of politeness.

“Does it not attempt to possess you? Or is it a matter of time?”

“A matter of time. The king was stronger than I was, but he’d also been wearing it for much longer.

I imagine he started wearing it at first to suppress it, just as I am.

It slowly tricked him because he didn’t know what it was, but I’ve seen what it can do.

For now, my ansra seems blunted, but stable, and you aren’t being possessed, so I know to an extent I’m able to arrest its power. ”

“And if you can’t last the journey?” There was an obvious skepticism in his voice, like he was actively planning this into their trip.

“Then drag me to Loda, or take the medallion in my stead,” she replied with a shrug, dodging a bundle of flowers that had sprung up on the forest floor. The next bundle had Ryson’s footprints all over it.

“And you think I have the strength to resist possession under something so evil?” he challenged, ducking under a branch ahead .

“You should have a few days before it consumes you, since you aren’t a Veilin. If you feel you won’t have time, then leave me and seek the help of the Lodain Veilin. They will be able to destroy it with their collective power,” she explained, and the comment earned her a disdainful glance.

Ryson stopped, looking over his shoulder. “I don’t remember volunteering for that.”

Clea straightened resolutely under his glare.

“Fine, then leave me and escape on your own if you want. You shouldn’t take the medallion lightly.

Even the most selfish of beings should know this and respect that they must do their part to contain its power.

If released, it could mean the extermination of humanity, the destruction of free will, and the death of all that we see as right in the world. ”

He started forward again, obviously unmoved by her speech. “Untried words of a child. Tell me, Princess, did you rehearse that?”

“A child? I will have you know before I left Loda, I was twenty-eight.” She lifted her chin victoriously as she stomped after him.