The Lightkeep

by Catherine Miller

Their confusion was genuine. Or was it? For all the training she had endured, she had also been sequestered from people. Did they have a different way? Their ability for deceit ingrained in the lot of them? It sent an unpleasant pull through her, the not knowing. She felt a tinge of worry that she had misstepped, although this was the code she had been given.

  An introduction to the people here. A smile, before retiring to the room with the sages, to sign the ancient scroll that affirmed the continuation of a peace generations old.

  It was simple, but it was necessary.

  For the protection of the winged-folk was in their seclusion, and it was her responsibility to ensure it was maintained.

  Henrik took a step nearer to her, his voice lowering significantly until at last his words were private. “I can assure you, there has been no such breach.”

  Penryn eyed him steadily, an eyebrow lifting of its own accord in question. “My injuries were not inflicted by accident, I assure you.”

  He paled, his eyes drifting over her person, settling on the wrist that even now showed some hint of the bandaging, tighter than the slim forearm of her other hand.

  “We must talk,” he managed to get out, although there was a hardness settling over him that was disturbing to behold. Where friendliness had poured freely, he held himself more erect, a stiffening to his posture that suggested the ease between them was at an end.

  That was for the best. She would have truth between them. Pleasantries between enemies was hardly useful.

  “That is our purpose, yes,” Penryn agreed. “For you have much to answer for.”

  Henrik’s jaw tightened, and he gave a stiff nod, sharing a silent glance with two other sages surrounding her. She was acutely aware of the discomfort of those in attendance, the barely contained enthusiasm having spoiled into worry.

  She should be sorry for that, yet dread was what tugged at her most fiercely. There were no friends here. Not really. There was ritual and tradition, but those could be set aside easily enough.

  A sharp point of a blade by any one of these men and that would be the end of her.

  She had never been taught to fight. She was gifted a Guardian instead, to see her to this point and no further.

  The rest entrusted to an agreement hard-won through blood and the promise of more.

  She had never felt so alone.

  She raised her head a little, determined to keep her composure before Henrik gestured curtly back toward the door they had entered in such a short time before. This should have been a joyous happening, another cheer heralding their retreat for a brief signing before the merry-making could begin.

  A feast held only once a generation.

  She wondered if any of them truly remembered what it was for.

  They sprinkled their history throughout their daily lives until it was commonplace, immortalising a people in works of stone until it was as ordinary as the very building they currently inhabited. Did any remember the war between them? The slaughter? Or was the only thing spoken of the revelry and dance, the entire joining of a people as they came together for a feast that would not come again for another century?

  She gave one final glance to those in the front-most row. They were in fine dress, the stitching and embroidering glittering in the light from the lanterns. They must have paid dearly to be so close, yet all they would remember now was the glare she had given their beloved sages, the tight line between her brows.

  The anger that even now set her hands to trembling.

  The ladies paired with their menfolk, the colours of their gowns and waistcoats coordinating, their expressions matching just as well. Confusion mingled with an awkward sort of embarrassment to have witnessed such an uncouth ceremony.

  They had expected joy.

  They had found none.

  She kept her back stiff, ushered toward the door by a swarm of sages, surrounding and almost suffocating in the tense rage that radiated between all of them.

  What else was she to have done?

  They were the ones that insisted on straying from the codes. Of abandoning decorum and the script that was meant to have been drilled into them since childhood.

  It had certainly been taught to her.

  She was nearly to the door when a subtle movement caught her eye, a hunch of back, of cloth less fine amongst the fine brocades and intricate pattern-work. Simple and black, a body coiled amongst itself.

  Hair dark as pitch.

  Her heart stuttered, shame flooding her that even now she could feel the catch in her throat, the surge of hope that maybe, just maybe, it was...

  But that was not possible. He should be nearing his home by now, surely. Perhaps if his wing had healed, was even now tending to his father’s farm after receiving the welcome of a hero, a Guardian whose task had won him the admiration of the whole of his people.

  Likely every maiden in his village had already set their hearts on him.

  She pushed the thought away as firmly as she could. That was good. What she had wanted for him. To have a good life in a safe place, to make his home and live a long, happy life, set away from the terrors of conflict with the very people filling this room. But she found her eyes drifting back even as she was pushed through the door, not bodily, but by the constant steps that threatened to trample her if she did not keep moving.

  And her breath caught in her throat for all too brief a moment, he looked her way.

  And although she was certain she had imagined it, that it was merely the imprint of her most fervent desire...

  For all too brief a moment, she thought it was him.

  But if that was true...

  What had Grimult done?

  What had she done?

  Four

  The door slammed with a thud, locking her into a round room, the table within already filling with sages as they settled into their places, all eyes staring at her with suspicion and, dare she think it, disappointment.

  There was a rigid chair set apart, atop a platform to make it slightly above the rest.

  Her place.

  She walked to it with stiff movements, her thoughts whirling and unwilling to calm even as she tried to force herself to focus.

  The rest did not matter. She would deal with it as she could, but for now... this needed doing, and deserved every bit of her attention.

  She could feel the anger being drilled into her from multiple sets of eyes, but she did not waver as she took her place, staring back at each of them in turn. She spread her skirts out primly, hid as they were behind the edge of the table. She was far younger than any other in the room, but she would give them no cause to dismiss her.

  She represented an entire race, was tasked with their protection. That was her purpose. Had been from the beginning.

  “That display was hardly called for,” Henrik began, taking his own seat and leaning forward on clasped hands, eyes flashing. “There has been no breach, and you have frightened an entire people for no reason.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “No reason? I think not.”

  He grimaced, and the sage beside him reached out a hand, stilling him from saying anything further. “My lady,” he began, and Penryn found it odd that he should use the same title that Mara had, but she did not demand he use the one given to her at birth. “Perhaps you would explain your coming here. You say there was an attack?”

  She refused to huff, placing her hands placidly on the table and kept her spine as rigid as she could. Perhaps if she appeared severe, they would be more inclined to hear the truth in her words. No artifice, no embellishment, only plain speak that could not be refuted.

  “A rider, a warrior well trained with a blade, attacked me on my journey here. One of your kin, not mine,” she clarified, already seeing the disbelief in their expressions. “I do not believe you require reminding as to the difference.”

  Or had they too become complacent, the truth fading into myth rather than reality?

  The sage beside Henrik shifted, eyeing his brethren q
uickly before returning his attention to her. “There are some,” he began, his voice quiet. “Who begin to doubt that your kind even exists. If that is the case, that is hardly proof that you were not attacked by one of your own ken. Therefore the charge would be against your own people, as I can assure you, we are blameless.”

  Penryn gaped at the lot of them. Doubt? They dared wear the signet, dared call themselves sages, yet doubt their purpose there? The thought was sickening. For as much as she hated the men who held her sequestered for the whole of her life, she never doubted their loyalty to their kind, to their perceived betterment for their society as a whole.

  These men dared sit here, staring at her with their uncertainty, and wonder if it was all a lie?

  She did not know who might be the dissenters, so she eyed them all with as much sternness as she could. “Why do you serve?” she asked the room, wondering what their possible reply could be that would justify their being here if they did not believe in their shared purpose.

  None gave an answer, and that sent a bolt of irritation through her. “You think I ask without reason?”

  The one beside Henrik gave a wave of his hand toward his fellow sages, turning to her with placid eyes. He was the oldest of them there, if wrinkles and a shock of white hair was a true indication. “We are here to ensure the peace of our peoples. Just as you are.”

  Penryn nodded, although she did not smile, did not give any hint that she was pleased that his answer aligned with hers. “Yet there seems to be a lack of faith amongst you. That the histories are mere fabrication rather than something real.”

  Again, the silence. But she was quick enough to notice the eldest sage glance swiftly across the table, suggesting one of those that held such doubts. Penryn fixed her eyes on him, waiting for him to look at her. Younger than some, his hair holding a tinge of red in its otherwise light locks. The red of his clothing did not become him, but that hardly mattered. “I take it that you all retained your names,” she addressed the group but her attention did not waver from the one. “What is yours?”

  If he was startled to be singled out, he made no show of it. “Lameston,” he answered, bowing his head briefly.

  “Lameston,” she repeated, leaning forward in her seat her fingers twining into one another. “Do you believe that your kind hunted mine?”

  That did rile him, his eyes widening at such blunt language, but she did not know how else to speak of such things. They were horrors, were a time of suffering and fear, and she would not have them return to it. Not for anything. “Yes,” he answered, the word soft, but not hesitant. “I believe that is true.”

  Penryn relaxed slightly. “And you believe that my people rebelled against you? They came to your villages and began a slaughter of their own?”

  His mouth drew into a firm line. “Yes.”

  A gruesome truth, but no less important. They were indiscriminate in their fury. Many died in the attack, with little care given to age or sex. That particular passage had been difficult for her to accept, and even now she felt sorry that such actions had felt justified, so desperate were they to be free.

  To be safe.

  “You understand that a delegate would be selected from my kind and sent to you, to reaffirm the treaty that was brought between our kinds? That seclusion was preferable to any further contact? That both would seek to forget that the other existed?” She tilted her head. “Perhaps that last part was done too well?”

  His mouth tightened further, and she nodded her head. “I would ask you to speak plainly. We are here for our talks, after all.”

  “It is merely that one part that has always seemed too fantastical to be real,” Lameston admitted, his eyes darting to a few others about the circular table. Perhaps they agreed with him, or they were ones who had given him assurance throughout his years of service. She supposed it did not truly matter. “People with wings? Regular people, flying about the air.”

  It was Penryn’s turn to purse her lips, settling back in her chair. “Why do you think they were hunted, if not for something so fantastical as you put it?”

  Lameston shrugged. “Perhaps that part was muddied. Other societies put great stock in importing labourers. That might have been the goal, and things went... poorly.” He had the decency to look embarrassed at last for his phrasing, to speak so politely of another horrifying prospect, and Penryn was not sure she could maintain her calm if they belaboured the subject much further.

  It was not the first time she regretted being robbed of her wings, not by far. But the longing was greater than it had been in years, the ease in which she could divest herself of a cloak, could show them that she was not a myth, not a fantasy, but real.

  And required protection.

  Perhaps it was that doubt that made them willing to send others beyond the Wall. If her kind was simply another faction of the same species, they could mingle undetected, no real harm done.

  But that was not the case, and she did not believe that her scars would be enough to prove what they were unwilling to accept.

  “So if you do not believe that there is such a striking difference between our kinds, then you will not accept responsibility for the attack done upon my person?” she enquired, her attention drifting to Henrik. Some of the anger had seeped out of him, as he at least was able to meet her eye without glare of his own, but her eyes flickered back to Lameston quickly enough. “You are going to maintain that my experience was a fabrication?”

  The men looked amongst each other, a silent of exchange of communication that she could not interpret. It must come only through years of toil with one another, until words themselves were superfluous.

  She would not have that.

  She pushed the thought away. She had not time for such selfishness.

  “We have given no order,” Henrik said at last, as they seemed to come to the accord that he should be spokesman. “We made no allowance for any to trespass. We have patrolled the border, just as our forefathers have done. We have told our people the penalty for even making the attempt.” He laid his palms down flat upon the tabletop, and appeared genuine.

  Appearances could often deceive.

  “There has been no attack. Not from us. We are innocent of the charge you put before us, and I receive insult at the accusation.”

  He spoke of insult when she had received bodily harm instead?

  Penryn sat quietly, trying to decide her next course. The others appeared content to allow her the time, and when she next spoke, it was not with hesitation, but entreaty. “What explanation have you, then, for why one of your kind could be there?” She glanced at Lameston. “If you are willing to accept that I am able to truly tell the difference.”

  He did not look ashamed, but he was not able to meet her gaze for long. None had a ready answer, but it was obvious that Lameston had something he wished to say, so Penryn pressed him. “I asked for plain speech,” she reminded him, and he took a breath before answering her.

  “Where are yours?” he asked, the words coming quickly, and Penryn stiffened at the enquiry. “If it is true, why do you have none to display and allay any doubts?”

  Penryn’s expression turned stony. “Have you forgotten our objective? To allow both peoples to forget the other? How would that little display achieve such a purpose?”

  Lameston had the grace to look slightly abashed, but Penryn was hardly finished. “Mine were removed from me, is that the clarity you crave? When I was very young, before I could learn how to fly, I was robbed of that privilege. So that I could sit here, amongst you all, and appear like your kind. So that we could have these talks, and sign that parchment behind us, and that peace could remain between us.” She released a tremulous breath, her hands gripped tightly to the edge of the table in the effort to remain seated. “And you ask instead where my wings are? As if I am something to display to assuage your own curiosity?”

  Henrik interjected, his eyes darting between the two of them, obviously discomforted by the earnestness
of her response. “No offense was meant, I am sure,” he placated, reaching out a soothing hand, almost urging her to sit although she had made no movement to do otherwise.

  She needed to collect herself, wanted nothing more than to leave the room and take a few shaky breaths with only herself for company.

  Perhaps even to escape back to the large hall and see if her mind was truly playing tricks, even Grimult would appear to her as a phantom, present only in the corners of her mind, but a comfort all the same.

  That surely was the way of madness. Madder still that she would almost welcome that sort of insanity, if it meant she was not quite so alone.

  “I have nothing to display,” Penryn continued, her voice a forced calm that she did not truly feel. “No wings to unfurl. Only my word that what I have described is the truth of my experience.” She held her head a little straighter. “And I was told by my people that my word was sufficient. That I would be respected during my time with you.” She looked pointedly at Henrik. “Has that changed since my predecessor was last here?”

  The man beside Henrik reached out and touched Henrik’s arm, her attention drifting to him instead. He laid an aged hand upon his chest and gave a slight incline to his head. “I keep to the old ways, my lady,” he informed her, and where once she might have chafed at such news, now she was grateful for it, “So I have no name to give you. But I would answer your charge that we do not respect you.” A long look from eyes milky with age. “If you would permit it.”

  Penryn gave a nod and the elder smoothed out the collar of his robes, his fingers finding the signet at his throat, the movement fluid despite his age, as if something done so often and in such great frequency that his limbs could not help but comply. “Your claim is heavy indeed, and one that we cannot take lightly. Never before has such an accusation been made, which is why Henrik’s words during the Introduction were so hasty.” A glance, a hint of censure there. “Which is why they were also ill-advised.”

  Henrik shifted, obviously displeased by being chastised in such a matter, but Penryn was left with the impression that these arguments were old ones between them.