Escalation

XIII.

The streets of Tiesa were filled with an energy that had not been felt in over a decade. Something was changing and the people could feel it. For some this caused anxiety, unsure of whether the change that was coming would result in better or worse for them in the future. They stayed close to the Light, the known, avoiding the Shadows, where strange things were happening. The Shadows had often housed those of a less-reputable reputation, but their numbers or perhaps their boldness had increased since the attacks. Rumors flew of bottles being left on doorsteps with invitations to join The Glare, the mysterious group responsible for the attacks and the graffiti. The energy gave strength to others that had either lived in the Shadows or wanted the Light spread more equally, wanting more control in how the Light reached them. These people thought that it couldn’t get any worse than being purposefully cut off from part of the city, constantly draped in darkness. Most recognized that something was different, but felt no pull to one side or the other, having found joy while the Lighthouse kept the Light, they assumed that if someone else were to take control, they would be able to find joy just as easily.

Signs began to be posted all over the city, with the mark of The Glare as the background emblazoned with the words, ‘Shine the Light!’ or ‘Light and Life for All’. The signs and posters were crudely drawn, but that only added to their appeal, lending them an air of legitimacy that wouldn’t be found in more well done art. The crudeness signaled to the people that anyone was welcome, that The Glare truly represented the people and their needs, while the Lighthouse stood lofty and tall, closed off from the rest of Tiesa, out of touch and above those not in the cloak.

The posters became rallying cries, greetings and partings. Those that supported The Glare began to adopt the slogans as everyday parts of their speech, the practice spread, leading to some incorporating the phrases without realizing the source and the implication of the phrases. Support for The Glare spread amongst the common people, while the Lighthouse increased its efforts to track down any dissenters and bring them to justice. The practices only served to further alienate the Lighthouse from the people, driving them to The Glare. Few joined and became active members, devoted to the cause, but most were in support, smiling as they past the posters and graffiti, waiting for the next move. The Glare began to host speeches in public squares or buildings, rallying the people around the slogans, inviting them to act and at the least to not support the Lighthouse, either through radical means or simply by not aiding them in their purification of the Keepers and the city of Tiesa.

The rallies were dangerous, since anyone present could be brought before the Council in the Lighthouse, so they needed to kept quiet enough that no Keeper guards would come, yet known enough that the energy of the crowd fed on itself, building into action ultimately. If rallies were busted by guards, there were always members of The Glare stationed around the fringes of the group or in strategically located positions to attack the guards before they could arrest anyone that was present. Scores of guards had been injured and killed at the hands of The Glare. A few individuals had been brought before the Council and convicted of treason, sentenced to death.

One such rally was taking place in a small tavern a short distance from the Lighthouse. The guards had been tipped off that the rally was taking place, determined to pull off the sting without casualties and apprehending dozens of suspects. They closed in around the outside, a few stationed on nearby rooftops to watch and attack from above if necessary. Shields at the ready, with jagged crystal clubs held taut, ready to pounce, clubbing any that tried to resist, the crystals covered with a sedative that would knock out a grown elephant, once it entered the blood stream, all it needed was a slight scratch.

The leader of guards raised his club and counted off to three, giving the signal. The guards rushed at the tavern, entering through the front and back doors and any windows that were available. As the guards piled into the building, some confusion developed, the tavern not housing the people they thought it did. They turned to leave when the building exploded. All the guards were either killed by the blast or severely wounded by the flying pieces of brick and stone that crushed the remaining survivors. The lookouts on nearby rooftops were safe, watching in horror as their comrades burned. They climbed down, rushing to the scene, hoping to save someone or at least have an insight into what went wrong. As the lookouts fled the rooftops, someone appeared nearby, outfitted in black, with the mark of the Glare in white on his eye-patch. He stood stoically surveying the wreckage, before addressing the guards.

“Beware, Guarders of the Lighthouse. How much do you need to lose, before you realize that you have no hope? The victory is ours. The Light always leaves falsehood in darkness. The time is coming when that darkness will come to you and your lies.”

One of the lookouts, glanced at his younger brother, crushed by the explosion, grabbed his crossbow and fired wildly at The Glare. The shot went wide, with The Glare not even budging to dodge the arrow, seeing its path before it came.

“If that’s the best you can do, then you really are doomed.” He then began to laugh, sending chills down the spines of those listening, turning and running into the night, disappearing into the misty shadows.

The surviving guards were crushed. This raid had been a huge tip-off and risk. The result being massive failure and death only served to trample the dregs of their hope, smashing it into oblivion. The lookouts collectively gathered the wounded and sent two guards back to the Lighthouse to bring reinforcements to help transport the wounded back and then to return to give the dead a proper burial.

*

As The Glare fled from the scene, he was satisfied. The pathway to a free, peaceful and chaotic Tiesa was open. Obstacles were removed everyday, leading to greatness and hope for the city, dominated by the Lighthouse. Once, the violence would have given him pause and cause for some remorse, but those days had passed. No longer did The Glare feel pity for those that worked to leave others in darkness. He had come to understand that drastic action was necessitated by certain situations. The need for drastic change could only be satisfied by drastic action. In the scheme of all of Tiesa, including the lives of future citizens, the relatively few lives were but a small cost to pay.

Perhaps part of his drive was personal, the need for vindication, masked as a larger goal. Patrick, the boy needed to die to give birth to The Glare, had lived amongst the Keepers before a tragic accident, scarring him physically and deeper, perhaps his very soul. Patrick had always been a bit of a firebrand, stirring up trouble and leading the apprentice Keepers into various mischievous activities, but he was never malicious. Patrick was generally around the League members prior to the Schism, and the idea of more freely spreading and keeping the Light struck a chord with him. He wanted to know what was out there, kept in shadow and darkness, hidden from view. His curiosity got the better of him one day, when he worked his way to the top of Radiant Tower, looking at the crystals that gave Light to all of Tiesa. He pulled one from its place, looking at it, trying to understand how such a small crystal could bring so much light. He was intrigued and delighted. He began to look closely at the entire set-up, struggling to piece it together, when he was interrupted.

Bartholomew and Fairfax entered, in the midst of a heated discussion. Patrick tried to hide himself, but his movement caused a racket that immediately ended the discussion and brought the attention of both to him.

“Patrick, how’d you get in here?” Fairfax asked.

“Nevermind that. Patrick, what are you holding?” Bartholomew asked.

“This?” He responded, holding up the crystal, so that they could see.

“Put it back, immediately.” Bartholomew shot out.

“But, I was just looking at it.”

“Now.”

“Bartholomew, let him look. He’ll get one of his own someday, might as well get used to the idea, and the feel.”

“No, it’s not allowed. Put it back, Patrick.”

Patrick moved to juggle the crystal, not intending to, put wanting to keep Bartholomew on the edge of his seat. He tripped and the crystal moved into the air. Patrick grabbed it with his other hand, but the motion activated the crystal sending light shooting across the room and searing Bartholomew’s forearm. Bartholomew gasped in pain, quickly swiping the air with his staff, knocking the crystal to the ground, while Fairfax jumped to shield Bartholomew and Patrick from each other, but it was too late. Bartholomew had simultaneously activated his crystal, which cut and burned Patrick’s face, going through his eye and down his cheek, when he had knocked the crystal from Patrick’s hand onto the floor.

Patrick was clutching his face in pain, while Fairfax came to his side, hoping to ease the pain.

“What have you done?” Fairfax cried.

“A lesson has been taught, Fairfax. ‘Light brings life, but an overabundance of Light blinds.”