Redemption?

XVI.

“But, Bartholomew…I’ve done nothing wrong…I can heal Tiesa. How can you do this? See the Light, Bartholomew. You know that it can’t be like this forever. You cannot keep the things you dislike in Shadow, eventually they’ll come out.” Roxanne was flabbergasted, frustrated, broken, her voice starting strong and diminishing as she struggled in the arms of the guards, who began to slowly drag her from the Council chambers.

Bartholomew simply lowered his head, unable to respond. The rest of the Council appeared to be in shock at the quickness of the verdict and at Roxanne’s presence. They never fully gained their composure after realizing that Roxanne was being tried for treason. The guards removed Roxanne, the doors closing as Bartholomew buried his head in his hands, broken and on a path that he couldn’t leave, yet he felt overcome with guilt.

As the guards took Roxanne toward her cell, she was in shock. She struggled to come to grips with the fact that she had been sentenced to death, sure that soon she would be joining her father among the lights in the sky. She had never anticipated this as a possible outcome of her return to the Lighthouse. It seemed unreal, so much so that she was convinced it had to be a bad dream. They had reached her cell. There were fewer guards than before, her cell door was unlocked and the guards pushed her in, she prepared to embrace her fate, when everything went black.

*

The Council heard the cases for the remaining offenders brought in after Roxanne, holding a massive hearing, where the guards all testified against them, citing eye-witnesses, and providing first hand accounts of their treachery. A group of the prisoners tried to plead their innocence, claiming they had been set up, but Bartholomew was dead to their pleas. His spirit was broken, he had shut himself off from the world, yet committed to achieving justice, if he could do one thing. All the prisoners were sentenced to death, to be brought before a firing squad the following morning with Roxanne. The gallows had not been rebuilt and the amount of executions had reached such heights that a firing squad provided a much quicker and efficient solution to achieve justice. The prisoners were led back to their cells, black hoods placed over their heads, in preparation for the execution, symbolically cutting them off from the Light, and making the process easier for the squad members, no longer shooting at people, but anonymous individuals, guilty of treason. The anonymity allowed the squad to imagine the most hateful, prejudiced faces they could, letting them fire without the guilt that may accompany the humanization of seeing the victims’ faces. It is easier to hate that which we can’t see and don’t know, which we have no ability to understand.

*

Erin had heard through the grapevine of Lighthouse gossip that Roxanne was to be tried for treason. She snuck to the Council chambers and pressed her ear against the doors, hearing as Bartholomew sentenced her to death, broken by his actions, the hurt and lack of feeling apparent in his voice. She listened as Roxanne tried to defend herself, pleading with Bartholomew to give her a chance to heal the Schism once and for all. She knew that Roxanne could do what she had said. That Roxanne truly did have loyalty to the Light and she had come back. She hadn’t deserted the Lighthouse; she sincerely wanted to improve it. Erin was distraught, having thought she had lost her friend, finding her again, only to lose her. Erin knew what she had to do. She had one choice, the only way to redeem herself from the judgment that she had passed on Roxanne- she would need to save her life.

*

The Glare twirled his crystal blade impatiently. Waiting for word and unsure of the path that would need to be taken.

“Is the girl sentenced to die? Has the operation gone smoothly? Why has no one reported the status of the operation? Fools.” As The Glare finished his short rant, he turned violently letting the dagger fly through the air, spinning until it hit the center of the dart board, landing with a THUNK that caused those in the cave to jump and panic, thinking they were threatened and under attack. The Glare strode to the board and pulled his knife from the center, continuing to twirl it around his fingers as he left the cave. Before he had reached the entrance, he motioned for a few others to come with him.

“We’ll assume that all has gone according to plan and need to go to our positions. The day will rise with chaos, beautiful chaos. The Light and the Shadow will mingle and be indistinguishable from each other. No longer will we be divided by our loyalties to the Lighthouse or lack thereof, the only loyalty we will have, will be to black and the white, the Light and the Shadow. Come.”

The group departed from the coast, heading toward the city, which had a warm glow emanating from it due to the fires and explosions that raged. Their plan was sure to cause more chaos and further open the festering divide, not do anything to heal it. Yet perhaps, the wound needed to be opened completely before it could heal. Everything needed to be out in the open or it would continue to fester and build animosity between people. A complete reversal may be necessary.

*

Darkness had settled upon Tiesa, the only light coming from the fires raging outside the walls of the Lighthouse. Roxanne was immersed in darkness, completely alone and terrified for what the morning would bring. She had never felt such fear, such imminent disaster, completely outside her control. No matter what she did, she was going to die and Tiesa was likely to tear itself apart. What could she do? She sat, bewildered and helpless. She wanted to sob, but her situation seemed too unreal for the tears to come. She couldn’t even comfort herself by crying, there was no recourse. So she sat. And lost herself in half-brained schemes and blurry memories, cast in shadow. As she had resigned herself to death, whatever that was, the unimaginable darkness of eternity, someone was at the door, rustling keys. Roxanne didn’t bother to turn, shrouded in the hood that blocked all light from her eyes, figuring that the time must have come for her to be brought to ‘justice,’ killed for wanting the best for the Light. There was a small cough that sounded oddly feminine for the guards that had been there before and nagged at something from her memory.

“Roxanne. I’m sorry.”

Immediately Roxanne knew that Erin stood in the cell with her and was overcome with the emotion that had previously been inaccessible. The tears flowed without stopping. She managed to choke out a question, “How’d you?”

“Shh,” Erin kneeled next to Roxanne and comforted her, drawing her tightly in an embrace, “The guards let me in. I cried and they caved, although something seemed a little off. Anyway, I came to save you.” Erin glanced around as she answered, as if she was trying to hide something.

“Erin, there’s no chance. There are guards everywhere and I’m going to the firing squad in a matter of hours. Just go and help save Tiesa.”

“Roxanne. You’re not going to die and you won’t be going before any firing squads in the morning. Here,” Erin stopped as she reached to grab a key that unlocked the restraints around Roxanne’s wrists. Erin then pulled the hood from her head.

“Roxanne, switch me clothes.”

“What? No, I can’t…you can’t…I won’t let you die for me.”

“Roxanne, you can save Tiesa. If you die, our hopes for reconciliation and healing die with you. You’ve seen what it’s like out there, it’ll only get worse until Tiesa is ashes, unless someone can bring us together. You can do that. I can’t. I could never leave the Lighthouse.”

“But, what will I do, once I’m out? All of the Lighthouse knows I’m here and will notice if I just prance out of here. And the guards? How will I get past them?”

“Roxanne, trust me, it’ll work.”

“No, I can’t let you die, you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not right for you to be killed, there’s no justice in that, none at all. I can’t…I can’t…”

“Roxanne, I’m saving your life, so that you can save all of Tiesa. If you die, we all die, now give me your clothes.” Erin had stripped, throwing the clothes she had been wearing at Roxanne, who reluctantly changed giving her clothing to Erin.

“Now, we’ll need to wait for the guard to change and you should leave as that happens, since they’ll be distracted. Keep your hood up and hold your head in your hands to hide your face, pretend to be crying.”

“No need to pretend,” Roxanne said as tears streamed down her face. “Thank you, Erin. Thank you.”

“Quick, that’s the change.”

Roxanne embraced Erin and placed the hood over her head, checking the restraints, before leaving.

Roxanne left, burying her head in her hands as she had been instructed, heading down the corridor, when the guards called out to her, “Hey! You! Wait, you dropped this.” Footsteps ran toward her, as she froze unsure whether to respond or run. She turned, as the guard offered her a crystal.

“Thanks,” Roxanne managed to get out in the midst of sniffling and sobbing, taking the crystal and walking away.

The guard returned to his post and Roxanne fled the Lighthouse without incident, unsure where she should go. Not knowing where to go, when she looked closer at the crystal and realized that there was a message connected to it. She unrolled it and read, shocked and confused but knowing where she needed to go as she saw the mark that served as the signature.

*

The morning came and Bartholomew walked to his window. Deep bags were under his eyes, evidence of the sleepless night and the many restless nights that had preceded it. He looked out over the field and trench where the execution was about to occur, distraught, yet trapped. He felt like he could not escape, bound by his commitment to Justice to carry out the executions, regardless of the personal attachment that he felt to any of the traitors. However, he couldn’t fully separate himself from the horror that was about to occur or the sense of hopelessness that accompanied thoughts of Roxanne’s imminent demise.

As he thought, the guards brought out the guilty, hoods securely over their faces. The firing squad took their places, carefully checking and double-checking their equipment to ensure that this would be quick. Unlike the public executions of earlier days, few knew or gathered to watch the squad gun down the day’s guilty. The squad waited the signal. The traitors stood tall, facing death with dignity. Bartholomew raised his staff and then gave the signal, turning and hiding his face, unable to watch the violence that he caused.

BANG.

The bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless.