Retribution

XI.

In a dark corner of a dark cave, Thaddeus sat, arms bound and eyes covered. A crowd milled about the cave talking and plotting. The Glare stood chief amongst them, stern, no smile breaking his stony face, while the others were filled with mirth. His lack of laughter seemed to make the others slightly uncomfortable, but they continued in their pleasurable talking and plotting, despite The Glare’s lack of participation. Some of the group moved toward Thaddeus, beginning to take jabs at him. Thaddeus had little response, being of an incredible even-temperament, using meditation to calm himself and separate the pain being inflicted from his core being. The jabs increased in violence and vulgarity, hoping to incite some reaction, for without a reaction, what good is teasing or provoking? The sheer amount of provocation drew gasps and moans from Thaddeus, as he tried to move himself to prevent further injury, the verbal jabs being relatively easy to brush off. As the response increased, so did the joy of the provocateurs, cheering loudly at every new gasp as a mark of their success.

The Glare noticed their increasing levity and turned to see the cause. His face took on the look that gave him and them, their name. Fierce anger darkening his visage. He swiftly moved to Thaddeus, firmly yelling, “Cease!”

The cry echoed throughout the cave, quieting everyone and causing the five or seven provocateurs to shake in fear. The Glare grabbed one that seemed to be the ringleader of the bunch, slamming him into the wall of the cave.

“There is no excuse for that kind of cruelty here. We treat prisoners with respect, especially ones that may serve with us, whose allegiances may be weaker than long articulated. But, you. That bullying is befit of power-drunk Keepers and the like, but never The Glare. Never. If we inflict pain it is always with purpose, evening the balance that has long been tipped to one side. You,” The Glare drew his crystal pistol, brandishing it at the quaking leader and the remaining few scattered to his back and right, “would simply tip the balance in the other direction. Peace is the harmonious, balanced conflict of Light and Shadow, chaos, yes, but balanced chaos. You don’t understand what’s coming or why. And you never will.” The Glare casually lifted his pistol and fired, the blast of light searing the ringleader’s eyes before killing him. His body crumpled to the ground as The Glare turned and shot the remaining provocateurs. One tried to break for it, running for the opening of the cave, hoping to escape. The Glare calmly raised the pistol, took aim and fired, hitting the runner square in the back. He collapsed, dead. Before holstering his pistol, The Glare waved it, motioning for someone to clean up the bodies, which were dragged to the cliff’s edge near the cave entrance, where they were thrown into the ocean, buried in the depths of the sea. The waves crashing onto the rocks, raising and crashing the corpses, until they sank, lost in the rhythmic chaos of the ocean. Up and down, rising and falling.

The gathered members of The Glare twitched and stopped their previously raucous plotting, unsure what they should do. Was clapping appropriate? Screaming? How do you properly respond to the cruel, cold-blooded murder of some of your previous comrades, brothers-in-arms? A murder committed by the chief, no less. Any other instance of murder would likely be followed by cries for vengeance against the offending party, but in this instance that vengeance would lead to the group being torn apart.

As the group stood, petrified, looking to one another for some clue as to how they should act, The Glare calmly stood, eyes steeled, looking out at the crashing waves, appearing to be oblivious to the stares and fear that soaked the air around him. Coming out of his reverie, The Glare made his way to Thaddeus needing to address him. As he reached him, he raised his hand about to remove Thaddeus’ blindfold, hesitating, his other hand rising to trace the burn scar that ran through his eye and down his cheek. He stopped, deciding to leave the blindfold blocking Thaddeus from the dim light in the cave.

“Thaddeus, friend- join us. Your allegiance to the Lighthouse is misplaced and you know that. You have long agreed with the League about the approach to keeping the Light and we are but the natural evolution of the League. We simply strive to bring the ideals of the League to life. Why waste your time with the Lighthouse when you know the secrets that they keep, what hides in the shadows? Fairfax would be here with us, if he had not been cruelly murdered by his own, becoming the first martyr in our cause.”

“Fairfax would never condone the violence that is imbedded here. You showed mercy to me, but not to the members of your rebellion. Why? How do you inspire loyalty with such cruelty?”

“We are bound by an ideal, Thaddeus,” The Glare responded with a chilling laugh. “I am no more than the incarnation of that ideal. They have no loyalty to me, but to our cause. Those that are gone lacked understanding, yet knew too much to simply depart. They proved a liability to the cause now and in the future. All here understand that and may dislike the violence, but know deep down, that for us to succeed, there can be no liabilities. No corruption of our goals.”

“Imperfections will always exist. Striving to rid your gang of those impure will only lead to dissent and self-destruction. Purification cannot work. You must open your arms and temper your ideals according to the varied thoughts and ideals of the people.”

“Ha. It can and will work, Thaddeus. How else can you achieve the unity necessary for leadership? The ends that we will achieve require such purification, justifying whatever is necessary to get there. We will have peace, Thaddeus. The light and dark will be together, in harmony as you have dreamed. Help us and live. Refuse and you will be made an example of.”

“I will not. The Lighthouse is flawed, but it is not cruel. The Keepers truly desire to bring Light to Tiesa and have peace. We can have that, but only if both sides agree to come together.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Thaddeus, I thought you would see the Light.” The Glare rose and motioned for others to come. “You have made your choice.”

The others came and grabbed Thaddeus, lifting him from the cave’s corner.

“Lower him into the Crevice.”

*

Bartholomew stood, arms clasped behind his back, staring out the window into the square, pondering on the plight of the people. How many stood with the Lighthouse and how many belonged with this fringe group of terrorists? Was he in danger of losing public support and facing a riot? Would he need to adjust the Light to manage them or would it be best to be open? What should he do? The loss of Fairfax was felt keenly at times like this. Fairfax had always provided insight and counsel that Bartholomew would not have seen, they had wildly different perspectives that brought everything into clearer focus when brought together. Bartholomew doubted whether his ordering of Fairfax’s death had been the right thing to do. Was he justified? Certainly, Fairfax had violated the oath of the Keepers, knowing the danger that came with it. He had condemned certain actions of the Lighthouse publicly, calling for change and a more open institution. Then and now, Bartholomew questioned whether something could be just, yet be wrong. He firmly believed that being on the side of Justice was to be on the side of the Light, the side that was right, yet the pain and sorrow deriving from the execution of Fairfax potentially shattered that worldview. If he could not rely on Justice to guide him, what was there?

As Bartholomew mused in sorrow, Erin was brought to his office by the doctors that had rushed to her after the clanging and crashing of the bottle.

“Leader, we have terrible news.”

Bartholomew was brought out of his thoughts, and turned to face those that now stood in his office.

“Have we lost a Keeper, doctor? I thought all was well with the injured…”

“No, I mean, yes, and yes.”

“What do you mean?” Bartholomew queried, confused by the conflicted answer to what should have been a simple question.

Erin spoke up as the doctors continued to fumble over their words, unsure how to broach the subject. “Thaddeus is gone.”

“Thaddeus?” Bartholomew grew pale, fearing that he had lost another faithful Keeper and that no one was to blame, but himself. His mind went back to their earlier conversation, where Thaddeus expressed doubts that the Lighthouse was going in the correct direction. As his mind wandered, he calmed himself enough to ask, “How do you know? What happened?”

“This.” Erin replied, handing Bartholomew the parchment that had been contained in the bottle.

Bartholomew scanned the message, his worst fears being confirmed. The message was signed by Thaddeus, after a scathing condemnation of Bartholomew’s decision to bring any and all dissenters to justice, the letter announced Thaddeus’ resignation from the Keeping and union with The Glare, finally giving a name to the mysterious organization that had brought so much terror and disaster upon the Lighthouse already.

“No, no,” Bartholomew cried under his breath, burying his face in his palms. “He’s gone.”