The End?

XXVI. 

Patrick looked down and fell to his knees beside the body of Roxanne. He was broken. Tears streamed down his face, as he held her dead body in his arms.

“After all that I did, you still gave your life for me. Why? I don’t deserve this. There is no reason for you to be dead. I should have died, then you could have really bridged the Schism. I can’t. I can’t do it, Roxanne. I only see darkness. There is no way out. I am blind and cannot see. I thought that by bringing down the Lighthouse, I would regain everything that the Lighthouse had stolen from me. My sight, the power and position. You. Even Fairfax in some way I thought would return, perhaps just by pleasing him, I thought I could somehow call him back. Yet, everything that happened took what mattered. I gained nothing and lost more than I had to lose.”

“What? Roxanne, is that you?”

Patrick looked up, the tears still streaming as his face hardened into the Glare that had become his trademark facial expression. The pain and the anguish that had been visible on his face became replaced with the hatred and anger that preceded death.

“It was her, Bartholomew, but you killed her. You have taken everything from me. There is no redemption in the Lighthouse, only pain and suffering. A pain and suffering that I have felt far too much of. Your time has come Bartholomew.”

Patrick picked up the crystal that had rolled from Roxanne’s hand as she threw herself in front of Patrick. He tossed it lightly up and down, as Bartholomew stood, his face caving. He felt guilt for the many deaths that he had commissioned, and caused. Roxanne’s death destroying the hope that he had had for the salvation of Tiesa. He realized that he never should have tried to kill The Glare, the time for killing had passed, yet he pressed on. One more. That was what he had thought. That one more now haunted him. He sunk to his knees and bowed his head in submission to Patrick.

“Kill me and serve justice. I have ruined Tiesa and destroyed the lives of innocents. I can do no more for good and deserve death. Please. End it.”

Patrick stood and looked down at Bartholomew, kneeling on the ground. He raised the crystal and leveled it at Bartholomew’s head.

“So be it.”

Patrick walked away as Bartholomew fell, his body sprawling across the floor.

The Keepers and the Light Police gave up, some rushing to the aid of Bartholomew, others collapsing in sobs onto the floor of the tower. A few tried to take down Patrick, but he quickly blasted them with the Light of the crystal, ending any serious attacks against him. He strode down the stairs to find his men had already apprehended or defeated most of the Keepers, with some escaping. He ordered his agents to take no survivors, killing any that struggled, without the first sign of remorse or chance to renounce the Lighthouse and swear allegiance to The Glare. He had lost all compassion. Any governing force that had kept his passions in check was gone. He had no reason to stop from dealing death to all those around him. He wondered what there was to live for, yet was committed to live at the least to spite Bartholomew and the other Keepers that had taken everything from him. He ordered the Light cannons brought out and they pursued the Keepers that escaped, firing the Light cannons after them, with no thought to the destruction that was caused to Tiesa. The city was falling to pieces and Patrick spared no thought to the lives that would be lost or the homes that were destroyed. He would have his vengeance. Now taken out on all of Tiesa. There was no one that was free from his terror. Any order that was disobeyed in the slightest was met with severe discipline, often death. The numbers of The Glare dwindled as Patrick’s crusade to rid himself of guilt and responsibility continued, never satisfied. He felt the weight of Roxanne’s death, as she had died protecting him and sought to cleanse himself from her blood by bridging the Schism in the only way he knew how- sending the other side into oblivion, with no hope of return. The Schism would not be dividing anyone after that, it would simply be an ideological cliff that would pose a danger, not a deep divide among the people.

As Patrick continued his quest for solace and comfort, the Light seemed to be gathered in the hands of the few. Patrick gathered whatever had been held by those that disobeyed him and were killed, but he always spread it amongst the people of Tiesa, in memory of Roxanne. He feared the result of the radical social change that she had developed, entrusting everyone with the role of Keeper, worried that he would lose the only thing he had left- his position of influence. Tiesa was in ashes, laid waste by Patrick’s search for absolution in the deaths of any and all that favored the Lighthouse or may have suggested the possibility of such a preference. The circle of loyal followers diminished and Patrick was left increasingly alone with his own dark, shadowy thoughts. Contemplating the nature of peace and Light and where he went wrong.

Patrick was completely The Glare, as all who had known him as Patrick were dead. He sought out those that held any loose allegiance to the Lighthouse or the Keepers and exiled or killed them. He rebuilt the Chief Chambers of The Glare on the coast, where he overlooked the storm tossed sea nearby the cove and cave that had been the founding place of The Glare. The city was stable. Any rebellion was quashed immediately, without warning. There was no place for dissent while The Glare led Tiesa. The Glare worked to re-establish the League, but it never seemed to stick. There was nothing driving it and The Glare became frustrated and ultimately gave up, deciding that there was no need for a competing voice and that The Glare knew best. He sought to master the Light, learning of its intricacies and mysteries, always seeking for what new tricks and benefits he could learn. He often pondered on his place in the scheme of existence, eventually convincing himself that he had truly brought peace to Tiesa and healed the Schism, when no one else could. He was a chosen one of sorts, the savior of Tiesa. One anniversary of the climatic battle that ensured Tiesa’s freedom from the bondage of the Lighthouse, The Glare spoke to the people of Tiesa.

“People of Tiesa! Time has been good to us. The Light has spread and all signs of the Schism are eradicated. There is no longer a divide buried beneath the surface. The Shadow mingles with the Light and harmony is found in that balance of chaos that was forbidden by the oppression of the Lighthouse. You have the Light and the Light has you. I have the Light and the Light has me.”

The crowd was apathetic and doubted some of the rhetoric that often spewed from the mouth of the Glare. For all his talk of equality under the Light, many lived in Shadow. They supposed that was part of the chaotic balance necessary for achieving true harmony and peace, but felt little excitement at his claims of greatness.

“The Light is among you, easily reached and accessible, no longer held distant and out of your grasp because you are unworthy of watching it. The Light is yours, as it should be. The Light that I have is no different than the Light that you all hold in your hands now. While, we have made great strides, there is always the threat of resurgence and rebellion. We must constantly watch, keeping the balance of Light and Shadow. Should too many hold the Light themselves, the balance will be disrupted and Tiesa will spiral out of control. When the black and white mix together all are equally covered in gray, with nothing to lose and nothing to hold above others. Therein lies true peace and happiness my friends. Embrace the Shadow and the Light, seek for those things that were once forbidden, for now everything is yours.

The Shadow allows us to enjoy the Light to a greater extent, by passing through the Shadows, the Light gains greater meaning. Those in the Shadow can more fully love and express their loyalty and devotion to the Light. Opposition is needed in all things, my friends. That tension and opposition strengthens us and binds us closer together. This is the Age of Light.”

The crowd applauded and cheered, enthusiastically accepting his message, as those that had different opinions had drifted into the shadows during the course of the speech, leaving only the faithful and most devoted. As they spoke amongst themselves, they all appreciated what had been said, finding the truth in it, holding their own crystals up to guide their way back from the coast, no contrary opinions were voiced, since there was no need to disagree, they clearly saw the benefit of the Shadows, to help them appreciate their Light more, the opposition served a clear purpose, to help them appreciate what they already had.

As those that thought differently kept quiet in the Shadows, not a part of the group. They had yet to see the greater light that The Glare offered, wishing instead for the simplicity and relative peace that had accompanied the Lighthouse. No one sought them out, they left them in the dark, unaware of the greater vision of things. They simply hummed along doing their work, hurt by the distaste shown towards them, yet unable to join with the Light holders that kept them in Shadow, not wanting to shatter the world that they had before them, but every once in a while they would come by and shine the Light brightly in their eyes, talking about things that they never knew or seemed to destroy what they had heard. The Light seemed to give them an ego boost that led them to say whatever they wanted, without thinking of the consequences.

The Light collected in pockets, leaving most of Tiesa in Shadow. The implications were dire. The Glare may have been oblivious to the trend as he remained in the Chief Chambers, alone, kept to himself. He had lost much of his charisma with the death of Roxanne. He clutched her crystal that had become his at all times, placing it atop a cane that he used to walk, not out of necessity, but simply to have it close by. The Light pockets were high in approval of The Glare and those that were lucky enough to be given Light crystals when The Glare executed or exiled rebels, quickly left the Shadows for the pockets of Light, it often not taking long before they forgot what it was like to left in the Shadows, criticizing them, but recognizing their necessity to the perpetuation of the Light as a means of differentiating them. They fully embraced the idea that both Light and Shadow were necessary, advocating for full equality and representation. The Glare brought down the Light, casting it among all of Tiesa. The Shadows continued to grow, but that’s as the Light splinters…