The Lightkeep

by Catherine Miller

  “Did you go very far before coming back?” Penryn asked, wanting to know more, but not wanting to press too quickly or for too much. The memories were clearly painful ones, and that she could well understand.

  Grimult sighed and shook his head. “I did not try to go back, Pen,” he informed her, tilting his head so he could look at her, his expression shuttered, as if afraid she would somehow be cross with him for not even making the attempt. “I crossed the Wall shortly after you did, but...” a grimace, a pause that left her scrambling to fill in with all he could not be saying.

  If it had been so soon, how could he possibly have thought he would fail to find her? Edgard had not gone at a quick pace, and the tracks of the cart should have been obvious should he have looked for them.

  “My wound split open,” Grimult finally continued on his own when she did not supply the explanation on her own. “And I fell. The landing was a poor one and my head was struck on the descent.”

  Penryn’s eyes widened, and placed his mug back on the table before moving aside a chunk of his hair, revealing the swelling. The bruises were dark and angry, and she did not doubt that he was left unconscious for some time for receiving such an injury.

  “I did not hurt you, did I?” she asked, horrified at the notion. She tried to recall if she had touched him there, placed any errant kisses that might have pained him rather than brought him pleasure, but Grimult was quick to assure her.

  “It aches,” he admitted, “but not because of anything you have done, I promise you.”

  She felt his thumb at her waist moving slightly, supporting and reassuring, and she felt a moment’s guilt that he should feel the need to comfort her when it should be quite the reverse. “I was disoriented when I awoke, which made everything far more difficult than it needed to be.”

  He sounded irritated, as if sustaining an injury to his head was more of an inconvenience than the cause for concern Penryn thought it to be. She would well picture him, deep frown on his features, cursing the wound on his wing, the blood seeping from his head, wanting nothing more than to have flown easily after her.

  “Did you hide in the woods?” she asked, fingers skimming down his cheek before satisfying herself by holding him close.

  “First day.” A grimace. “Maybe two. It was less hiding and more that I simply could not find my way out.” He shook his head, as if the whole matter was still a source of frustration to him. “Was able to follow the tracks after that, and it was hard to miss where they might be keeping you with all of our kind etched into the very walls.”

  She could not disagree, the thought of it morbid even now. She opened her mouth, ready to correct him, remind him that they were hardly the same kind—she was a thing apart, belonging to neither. But she liked the sound of it on his lips, the sense of belonging that might not truly be real, but was a lovely fantasy that she was willing to indulge, at least for tonight.

  “The rest is not terribly interesting. More waiting, a brief attempt to enter the Keep itself, but I was unable to locate their robes and my presence was too obvious, so I had to leave quickly.”

  Penryn glanced at his cloak. “And that? Where did you steal that?”

  Grimult gave her a harsh look. “Commandeered,” he corrected, and Penryn rolled her eyes, but placed a kiss on his tight lips simply because she could. “They have communal laundering facilities. This was among them.”

  She hoped that whatever soul had first held possession of it was not in very great need, but it was not worth Grimult’s life to suggest they return it before they make their ultimate departure.

  “I have felt so guilty,” Penryn confessed. “Sleeping in a soft bed. Having a whole bathing room to myself, picturing you sleeping on the ground by yourself.”

  “As well you should,” Grimult answered, speaking so perfectly plainly that at first she took him to be serious, but there was a softness to his eyes that revealed that he was teasing her.

  Another time, she might have smacked him lightly on the chest for his words, but she could not even muster the show of outrage, instead settling for rolling her eyes at him again and nestling back to her previous position.

  They sat quietly for a time, taking occasional sips of tea, but otherwise merely absorbing the companionship with the other, until Grimult finally cut through the silence. “You should not have left as you did.”

  Penryn blinked, drowsier than she had realised for it took a moment to come back to herself and form a proper response. The words that came first were not truly her own. The reminder that it was precisely what she was meant to have done, that she had spared him the choice that he seemed unable to make—to allow him the freedom to go home and leave her to her work, just as every Guardian had done before him.

  But she paused, trying to swallow back the rebuke of a Lightkeep and speak as Penryn, to the man she loved who had been hurt by her hasty retreat.

  To have sealed their mutual affection with a kiss, then sealed him away behind a Wall that could not be opened, with a wing that could not support him should he try to follow by air.

  “I thought I was helping you,” she said at last, an explanation even as her voice dripped with apology. “So you would not have to be the one to leave me.” She shook her head. “I did not think, I had not considered...” a breath, shaky and uncertain. “I was prepared to stay here, in this cottage, until the end of my days. And I did not want that life for you. Not when you had so much to return home to.”

  “I was willing,” Grimult answered, his grip on her tightening. “If it meant you were there.”

  How easily he seemed to be able to say that, that he could renounce the family of his birth when she would give most anything to have the same. He could not understand, would likely never, know what it was like to be without.

  And what of his mother? For him to simply never return? His father awaiting his only son?

  Sisters waiting for the brother they loved?

  She did not allow herself to think of her origins often. It was obvious she had been born to a perfectly normal mother, a father involved at some point, whether or not they were a bonded pair. Had they gone on to have others? Were there siblings of her own wandering about the world, unknown to her?

  The thought was a strange one, and she pushed it aside lest she grow angrier with Grim for dismissing the blessings he had in favour of just... her.

  “I do not want you to have to choose,” Penryn explained, tilting her head, the better to look at him. “I do not want that pain for them, or for you to have lost them.”

  “I did not wish for such a choice either,” Grimult agreed, taking one of her hands in his and pressing it between them. “But it was still mine to make. To follow you, regardless of the consequences, that should have been my choice. I have proven it could be done with little consequence.”

  She did not necessarily agree. Fortune had been on their side, that he had not been seen by patrols while he wandered, disoriented in the woods, his wings fully exposed. That when reason returned to him, he had not been spotted while thieving at the laundry, that none had attempted conversation and found him to be mute, unable to understand even the basics of their language.

  Success had been more chance than effort, although she would never say so, not when it would be an insult to his skills, rightly earned through practise and self-governance.

  They were at an impasse, one that would likely not be overcome so quickly. They could hardly change the past, and it seemed like it would do little good to harbour resentment over the choices of the other.

  The stillness came back, and it was not lost to her that neither had actually given an apology, and she wondered if that was a problem, and he was waiting for her to voice the words aloud.

  But when he leaned forward, his breath tickling at her ear, his tone hushed and private even though there was none other to hear.

  “Do you think this dwelling has a bathing room as well?”

  And she could not help the bubble of la
ughter at the sudden change, and she placed one last kiss on his cheek before she made to stand. Her legs were stiff and she was grateful for Grim’s support as she steadied. She pointed to a door in the far corner. “Let us start there and see if they were equally generous.”

  The first door was not a bathing room at all, but a larder filled with preserved goods, some dried in elaborate braids, others lining the shelves in their bottles and jugs, awaiting her whims of investigation. The second was what she sought, and she took up one the lamps from the main living quarters in order to better illuminate the space. Compact and tidy, there was the hoped for bath, and she turned to Grimult with a look of satisfaction. He was more wary as he looked about, having to negotiate around Penryn in the tight space. “Here,” she offered, going to the taps and allowing a rush of clean water through. She waited a moment, the water still cold to the touch, and wondered if she had been mistaken and they would have to resort to kettles full of heated water to add any warmth for Grim. But another minute more and it began to lose some of its chill all on its own, and she looked to Grim, waiting for that same wonderment she had experienced.

  He merely stared, and thinking he did not understand, she reached out and grasped his hand, plunging it into the flow of water. “Warm, see?”

  Grim nodded, and she could not quite make out his expression. How could hot water ever be displeasing? He seemed to be making it so, and she was frustrated that she did not understand him. But now was hardly the time, not when he should be allowed to have a proper wash before they...

  Her cheeks burned. They had slept closely before and tonight was hardly different. Even if it felt so, now that they had spoken of love and shared kisses between them, and would soon be retiring to bed.

  A part of her wondered if he would insist on sitting upright in one of the chairs, guarding the door while she had the bed to herself, but the thought did not settle well. She wanted them safe, and most importantly, wanted Grimult’s presence to remain hidden from any of the land-dwellers, but there was no denying that she craved his nearness, even in sleep.

  “I do recognise that we have bathed together before,” Grimult commented stiffly, and if she peered just so in the lantern light, she thought she could see a pinking about his ears and neck that suggested he was embarrassed. “But did you intend on remaining here for this one as well?”

  It was Penryn’s turn to flush, turning hastily to put down the lamp. “Of course not,” she assured him, all blushes and fumbles as she made her retreat. “I will...” she made a vague gesture toward the main room, not knowing what exactly she intended to do while she waited, before she shut the door behind her before she had to finish her response. Her heart was pounding, and for a moment she imagined Grimult peeling off his layers of clothing, revealing warm skin and strong muscles, and she bit her lip. She required a distraction, and although the drowsy part of her insisted she crawl into bed and wait, the other reminded her that if Grimult held more confidence in the bolt on the door, he might be inclined to retire with her.

  Tucking her shawl more firmly about her shoulders, she went back to study the mechanisms on the door. They were twines of metalwork, the crafter obviously inspired by nature, leaves and vines twining and twirling into an elaborate dance, although what their function was on a door she could not begin to name.

  Reason told her that they must be some manner of lock, and she reached out a finger, wondering if touch could reveal something that her vision alone could not. There was no handle, nothing to suggest that some inner working was truly a simple bolt in disguise, but the work continued onto the doorframe just as the receiving end of the upper lock did, so that must be its function.

  A slight give when her finger passed just so. A hole. Larger than her own digit, suggesting it would accommodate a man’s as well, and although she felt a moment’s fear that it was some sort of trap, that it was not wise to stick delicate appendages into unknown spaces, she reminded herself firmly that this dwelling was maintained by the sages and they would not see her harmed.

  Or so she hoped.

  Her finger placed, she gave a slight pressure and the whole device turned smoothly, hooking and securing into place, metallic clicks suggesting that it was solidly placed and would allow no entry.

  Satisfied with herself and her mastery of the strange door, she took up their mugs from earlier and set to washing them with a soft cloth and a chunk of soap already waiting by the basin in the kitchen. It felt so wonderfully domestic, like any other home with a warm fire and dishes to be washed after an evening shared.

  Awaiting a husband before they could truly retire for the night.

  She frowned, the fantasy ending. He was not her husband, and likely never would be, not when none would see them wedded. There were times before such things, of course. When mates were taken, their bonds sealed when a fledgling appeared rather than by solemn vow or a blessing, but she did not think Grimult could overlook tradition so completely.

  She shook herself. There was no point in dwelling on such matters. She did not have a life to offer him, happily domestic or otherwise. She would have to return where she was forbidden, and if they did not execute her outright, then she would likely spend the rest of her days locked in the lowest reaches of the Keep, until time had taken its toll and none could hear secrets she likely could not even recall in her later days.

  The thought was a sobering one, and she dimmed many of the lights save the on by the bed. She added another log to the fire to give them warmth through the coldest hours, and then retreated to bed with far less anticipation coiled in her belly.

  They would sleep, that was all. There could be no fledglings, no deeper intimates, not when it would trespass against Grimult’s sensibilities. Why was that thought so hard to accept? It should not be. Not when the sages had made it very clear to her from the start that such relations were not for her.

  She laid down, the mattress comfortable and the blankets warm, and wondered if it would be best simply to try to sleep rather than to allow her worried mind to play havoc with her already tender emotions.

  And although she came close, her thoughts becoming muzzy and her breath slow and methodical, she had not quite managed it.

  Until the bed dipped, and she felt him settling close to her. “Sleep, Penryn,” he urged, his voice the soft rumble that she loved so very dearly. “All can wait until tomorrow.”

  And at last, she slept.

  Because for once, he was near.

  Precisely where he should be.

  Seven

  “And you?” Grimult asked, his eyes soft despite the strain in his voice having to ask it. “How were you chosen?”

  It was amazing to Penryn how much easier it was to speak of matters when reclined in a bed, nestled close, the sun not quite peeking through the trees yet. Enough light to see the other, but not so blaring that all secrets were blatantly on display. He had woken first, and she opened a tired eye, feeling watched, only to break into a smile to see that it was because of him.

  Perhaps in other occasions being pulled from sleep prematurely would be an unwelcome thing, but not now. Not when he had tucked himself around her after noticing her wakefulness, murmuring in her ear that it was time she share her secrets, and she would not be leaving the bed until she had done so.

  It was more forward than she had expected from him, and for one delicious, teasing moment, she had thought to counter, reminding him that was hardly a threat at all, not when it was very close to what she truly desired.

  But he was being serious, even if he tried to hide it behind a dose of playfulness, and rather than fight it, she found that her strict protocols were not quite so stringent so early in the morning, when sleep was still close at hand, when she could close her eyes and simply feel him all about her.

  It would be a cruel tactic if she was not so willing to share with him, any manner of truths might come pouring out under such ministrations. But Grimult was careful with his queries, holding to the histori
es that should have belonged to him long before.

  The slaughters even now were hard to discuss. Petty hunters satisfied with their trophies, regardless of the age of those they had killed. Children not as fast as their parents, fleeing to safety, only to be caught in a net or pierced by an arrow, their wings brutally removed before death had quite finished taking them.

  It was slow, and it was agonising, and Grimult was not wrong to fear when weaponry was more advanced on one side than the other.

  A people, so tied to the sea that it had never occurred to them to leave it, not even for a short time, banding together, to take war to the land-folk and put a stop to the huntings.

  A slaughter of their own, when it was not seasoned warriors they faced, but towns unprepared for the attack that came from the very air itself.

  An accord, first grudgingly given, imperfect in its language as neither spoke the other, at least at first, but through determined gestures and painstaking months of stunted drafts, they managed to establish enough of an understanding to etch out the beginnings of a tenuous treaty. Some stayed, heavily guarded, to learn and oversee the building of the Wall itself, to ensure their treaty was enacted properly. Then they returned with all they had gleaned of the land-dwellers world, writing it into books and passing along the language to other, younger generations.

  All while promising that the threat was over, that the people did not have to worry, did not have to speak of it again, not when it was impossible for them to return...

  And it did not take many generations until the people simply forgot. When horrors were shielded from the fledglings, until there was no memory to pass down at all, the sages offering to keep hold of the histories so the common folk could live and work in peace, unburdened by such harsh realities.

  “Me?” Penryn asked, snuggling closer, wishing sleep might still be possible, but knowing she owed Grim all the answers he desired.