The Wordless Mage
Chapter 53: Where Light Condemns

Chapter 53: Where Light Condemns

"Liora," the heroes yelled, their movements sluggish from the haze obscuring their still-arising minds. The terror in their expressions were fitting, the wound growing more gnarly once Liora’s soul had integrated into her body in a forced slam.

The brand ingrained in the translucence of her spiritual form burned at her very skin, relapsing to the same moments when she’d first been given the wound.

Although she didn’t even have the time to open her eyes, she was forced to convulse from the quick onset of pain. Her arms flexed, her waist turned, and her face widened.

Like meat on a flame, the air basked in the sizzle that projected from her wound, its heat forming a bright red that revealed itself even through her clothes, burning away at their very seams.

Rowan’s shoulders dropped without restriction, his mind trailing for any excuse to get him closer to her, but his body failing to lift. With each twitch of his finger, each shudder in his joints, it felt as if he would come apart like an unstrung puppet.

Even though he understood this, one emotion prevailed above all: Regret, marrow-deep, callous, and blunter than any blade. He couldn’t bear to see the way she suffered, pounding away at the ground to try to gain at least some lift to his body.

"Go and aid Liora," the king yelled, his shoulders lifting with his right arm reaching to project his strength. And yet, not a single soul lifted a finger. "What..."

The king’s confusion was soon multiplied by the priests’ awkward movements, each one stepping to drop down into the crater where Rowan laid.

"Restrain that man now and put him to death!"

The pope’s staffed raised with its holy brilliance, baptizing the light radiating from even the sun. Its warmth implored those in its vicinity to listen, although it wasn’t any particular mind control.

Rowan couldn’t even protect his eyes from the burning light, although it wouldn’t matter either way. He was helpless to the Pope’s power, and he knew it.

He felt neither the power that came from Writbane, or the knowledge that poured into his mind mutually between the demon and his grimoire. He was depleted, and the weak embers of his aether were proof.

"Pope Tharos, what are you doing? He is a hero, not some heathen! You mustn’t put him to death over a matter that we don’t even understand yet!"

Viral’s body twisted in the direction of the heroes, his movements more desperate now.

"You must agree, right, heroes?"

None spoke up, although all had words to offer. It was only after Lucien stepped forward that the Pope bothered paying them any attention.

"I agree, we must figure out exactly what happened before we go off and kill him, and even if he were the one who allowed the demon to inhabit his body, I still think that capital punishment is too severe a crime."

Elias stepped up from his side, one of them holding onto Liora’s slumped body, both her limbs and her face shaking terribly from the residual pain.

"Yes, I do believe that we must withhold until we learn more. At least give Rowan that much."

Kaia was slanted down, her face hidden. Even though everyone was turned to her, she didn’t speak.

After her continued silence, the focal point for everyone present shifted to the Pope, the light from his staff even hotter.

"I absolutely refuse. That man’s existence is a slight to the gods and must be eradicated as such. There is no amount of convincing that would change this fact, heedless of my own opinion. This staff is a very emblem of the god’s intent, and it blares at his presence. The very gods order me to discard him."

Tharos slammed his staff onto the ground, the light from its tip travelling to form a thin wave of holy light to shoot in all directions around him. The air shuddered at its blast, even pushing back against the slightly off-balance heroes.

Promptly, the surrounding priests all trekked forward with open grimoires, arcana forming in their palms.

"Well, then, I exercise the parliament’s power to request for trial!"

Although Viral’s plea was coated in shaking eyes and lips smacking together from their trembling, it had enough strength behind it to cut Tharos free of speech, his eyes slanting in curious agitation.

"A joke, at best; You are a figurehead, Viral. You may not exercise any power of the parliament until there is a vote. And even if I were to grant you this, you lot deal with civil matters. This is a Theocratic Church-State, and the will of the gods far exceed civil dispute. The boy we are talking about has been possessed by a demon and is intended dead by the gods, so you may leave this to the church, and the church only."

The king turned side to side, watching the priests stepping closer and closer to the exhausted Rowan and the empathetic eyes of the heroes, closing his own in hasty resolution.

"Then you’ve left me no choice," he said, shoving his hand forward with his open palm facing the Pope, "I hereby order, by the decree of the king, that if you do not step down right now and relinquish your attempted murder of Sir Rowan, I will not only hold the church to trial, but urge for all matters of the State--civil or not--to be fully dealt with by the people!"

The wind’s pleasant gust and the shifting of rocks undercut the looming silence in the atmosphere, nobody daring to move in such extraneous circumstances.

The pope laughed.

"Hahaha, you jest! You wouldn’t dare, would you? Your family have been royal suck-ups in what could only be a blip compared to the time this church has stood strong, not to mention the ancient guidance it has provided to develop Laronia to where it is now. This country could not stand, let alone flourish without us, and you presume that you can, and will kick us out? Don’t be so presumptuous."

Viral smiled, crossing his arms.

"I wouldn’t be so quick to assume. You’ve been laying on high in your divine church without so much as peeping into the proceedings of those of us on earth. You’ve only garnered distaste by those in the parliament, and it’s something that would surely pass if presented by me."

Tharos’ eye twitched, his staff going lax from the lowering of his hand. He looked down at Rowan, then back at the king, taking a deep exhale to express his constrained anger.

"Fine, then. The boy may live, but only for now. Arrest him."

At the behest of Tharos’ hand wave, cold clasped and clenched onto Rowan’s wrists, his eyes finally falling to a deep slumber at the relief of survival.

Images of trial and tribulation flashed in his unconscious mind, but he wouldn’t yet understand what they meant. No, not until he truly lived voiceless.