Festering Divide

XV.

“She’s been taken.”

The Ambassador nodded.

“Proceed according to plan. I must see to other matters. Leave me and do not fear for my return. I shall return when I am needed and the proper time has come.”

“Sir?”

The Ambassador turned, somewhat upset that the Guardian was still present, responding shortly, “Yes?”

“An emergency session of the Council is being convened. She may be sentenced as early as tonight. We had planned for a few days at least before direct action would be taken, I don’t know if we can gather and perform the operation in time.”

“We must. Go now. I shall arrange an alternative solution, continue watching and take notice of any indications that the sentencing has occurred.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Guardian bowed leaving the office of the Ambassador in a hurry, rushing to the Lighthouse to watch and take note of any goings on that would affect the results of the operation that was about to take place.

The Ambassador fled from the headquarters of the League with a purpose. He passed through the streets making his way to the coast where he knew he could find support for their operation, nestled in the coves, hidden from view, only known by a trusted few. His success was of the utmost importance. She would die if he did not succeed and the hopes for Tiesa and a healing of the Schism would die with her. The League needed her. The Light needed her.

*

Roxanne awoke in a dark, damp room, with the tiniest sliver of light coming in. She reached for her crystal hoping to use that to shed some light on her surroundings and situation. She realized that it had been taken from her and then tried to remember what happened once she left the League.

“I was in the street, feeling as if my soul had been ripped out due to the destruction and chaos that consumed Tiesa, so I fell to my knees, broken. I didn’t know what to do to help, but felt like I needed to, I couldn’t just let this rampage continue, this heartless, wanton destruction. Yet, I was powerless to do anything. There was nothing I could do to stop the city from burning to ashes all around me. It was completely out of my control. Then…”

Roxanne lifted her hand to the back of her head, feeling the lump that had grown and the dried blood from where she had been hit. The memory flooded back in a flash. She had turned her head trying to look back after hearing footsteps approach, saw the blurred outline of a guard from the Lighthouse, raising a crystal club that came flying toward her and that was all.

“They must have thought I was some sort of rebel or something. Mistaken me for someone else in all of the confusion. I hadn’t publicly said anything against the Lighthouse, so I should be safe, right? Unless…No, Bartholomew wouldn’t go so far as to arrest anyone that stepped in or out of the League, would he? That would be madness.”

Roxanne continued to think through what she had seen and what her abduction seemed to indicate. She looked around the room, realizing that the door was locked and bolted, that some shackles hung from the wall and that she could only be in a prison cell within the Lighthouse. Her only comfort was knowing that she would see Bartholomew when the Council convened to hear her case and that she would have the chance before them all to make the case for reconciliation. She could do it. Bridge the Schism that had divided Tiesa and left a festering divide buried beneath the surface, never fully healed or dealt with, the threat of disaster always lurking in the Shadows.

The impact of never fully resolving the Schism was revealing itself all over Tiesa. The city was being ripped in half by divided loyalties, some real and some imagined. The Day of Resolution had in reality simply postponed the decision that would need to take place, the reconciliation between the two forces. Rather than addressing the concern fully and finding a compromise, the Lighthouse had chosen to bury the problem in the shadowy parts of Tiesa, believing that it was deep enough that the issue would never resurface. The extra measures taken by Bartholomew were meant to help suppress the opposition, keeping the Lighthouse as the primary voice and director of what should be done with the Light. The opposition had been suppressed, but it had only been a matter of time before someone would strive to tap into that energy and channel it against the Lighthouse. Violently enforcing rules and restrictions only served to feed the fire that had been burning beneath the surface of the city. With every execution, the fire had gathered more fuel, each murdered soul a martyr. The Glare arose from that fire, tearing open the covering that had previously blocked the unsightly parts of the city from view. Many sympathized with their cause, for who doesn’t love a martyr? The Lighthouse had given them one martyr in particular that was of great use in their cause- Fairfax. He was beloved by all of Tiesa, having spent his time amongst them, talking and serving. He had truly been a Keeper of the Light for the people. It was his execution that signaled to The Glare that the time had come to act.

Even now, in the midst of the destruction and chaos, The Glare used Fairfax as a rallying cry, helping to inspire those that were more reluctant to take part in the violent take-over, but had been touched by Fairfax.

“For Fairfax!!” The Glare roared, as those around him responded in kind, “For Fairfax!!”

As they yelled, they launched crystals into the air that burst into light, landing among what had been Shadows, opening the Shadows to the people, a gesture of openness, symbolic of the change that The Glare would make once the Lighthouse had been destroyed. The Light from the crystals also served to help dispel the smoke that was draped over Tiesa like a blanket, smothering them. Cheers erupted from The Glare collectively as they recognized the beauty of what they had just accomplished, without interference from the Light Police.

However, as they celebrated, a fleet of Light Police rounded the corner prepared for whatever The Glare could throw at them. The Glare was caught a little off guard and panicked as they fumbled for crystal grenades or crystal pistols. Before many could effectively wield their weapons the Light Police were upon them, bashing heads with their crystal clubs. A few tried to flee, some making it, others taken down by the archers that watched from what remained of the surrounding rooftops. What had moments before been celebration became fear-laced panic and despair. They had succeeded, but at the cost of their lives. Some were killed on the spot in the fray, while most were taken into custody to be tried and publicly sent to answer to Justice.

Roxanne continued to muse on her fate, unaware of the chaos that was raging outside the walls of the Lighthouse. Her ignorance would be shortly removed, as the Light Police brought in the members of The Glare that they had captured, the noise bringing Roxanne out of her introspection, yet she remained confused, unable to see what was happening. Doors were unlocked and sounds of a struggle were heard, scuffling, shouting and grunts of pain. Roxanne cringed, assuming that the guards were beating the new prisoners, as that was a fairly common occurrence. Footsteps approached Roxanne’s door, stopping as the sound of keys jangling and being put into the locks was heard. As the door opened, light came in, temporarily blinding Roxanne, who saw the outline of the guards and noticed a dozen or so stationed by what must have been other prison cells. One of the guards entered and placed restraints on her wrists, locking them together and preventing her from using her hands to escape or anything close to it. They lifted Roxanne to her feet and walked out of the cell, locking it behind them before two guards and Roxanne proceeded to leave.

“Where are we going?” Roxanne asked, her voice the only sound in the otherwise silent corridor.  

“Before the Council. You are to be tried and likely sentenced to death for being the traitor you are.”

“I’m no traitor,” Roxanne spat at the guard, “You’ll see. Bartholomew will see the truth that I have and together we can heal this broken city. Stop it from the destruction that rages on.”

The guard simply snorted in disbelief, knowing the hardness of Bartholomew and the plans he had in store for Roxanne.

They continued to march toward the Council chambers, Roxanne confident that Bartholomew would hear her out and change his plans accordingly, away from actively seeking to purify the people of Tiesa, but rather to help, reaching out to serve and heal the brokenness that afflicted so many. Finally acknowledging the pain that the Schism caused and was causing and work with the League and The Glare to resolve that.

They reached the chambers, the guards knocking on the door before entering, with Roxanne between them. As she entered the room, framed tall against the light that entered from the corridor, she tossed her hair dramatically, striving to get it out of her face, without the use of her hands. Most of the Council gasped to see Roxanne, bound and standing before them to stand trial for treason. Bartholomew had a pained look of determination on his face, committed to the course of action that he had set, yet deeply hurt by the consequences.

“Roxanne, do you know why you are here?”

“I suppose so. The restrictions on communication or association with groups that disagreed with you and the Lighthouse must have been tightened. I have never published or vocalized any criticisms of the Lighthouse or her policies. I simply sought knowledge to better serve the Light.”

“Roxanne, all knowledge you need for service to the Light can be found here. Not all facts are of use in that regard. Some may seem beneficial, but only serve to distract you from the reality of the now, posing historical or philosophical dilemmas that have little bearing on the day to day realities of the now.”

“But, council members- I know we can heal the Schism. We can stop this violence and rampant destruction that haunts Tiesa.”

“Yes, Roxanne. We can and that is precisely what we aim to do. You are hereby charged with treason for fleeing the Lighthouse in favor of the League and dishonoring your oath as a Keeper by ignoring the simple, beautiful truths that govern the Light and the keeping of it, in favor of philosophical and intellectual musings. How do you plead?”

“Guilty, sir. But, there is much good outside these walls. We can better keep the Light if we know the past and strive to follow what the Light directs, not forcing our will upon it.”

Bartholomew hung his head in saddened defeat, knowing that he had one course in front of him and that by following it, he would destroy one of the greatest Keepers that the Lighthouse could have seen.

Under his breath he murmured, “Fairfax, I have failed you.” He raised his head and his voice, “Then we have no choice. Bring her to Justice.”