The Lightkeep

by Catherine Miller

  Grimult’s mouth opened and she could hear the refusals before they had even fallen from his lips. “Grim,” she murmured softly, risking a brush of her fingers against his hand. He turned, and for a brief moment she was the one receiving his glare before he seemed to realise himself, softening as he regarded her. “We need help,” she finished gently, hoping he could see there was no insult in that.

  They were not going to succeed with only the two of them.

  Not against a horde with anger in their hearts and weapons in their hands.

  They were nearly bested by five, unrelenting in their pursuit.

  She swallowed, pushing back the fear, for it could do no good here. Not yet.

  Grimult gave a low nod, but it was plain to see that he was displeased by the arrangement. “It isn’t far,” their host assured them, and he smiled at them pleasantly before taking to the air with his fledgling, presumably to make any necessary preparations in the short time before his guests appeared.

  “If I may?” came a voice behind her, and Penryn nodded hesitantly. He was a burly sort, unlike most of the lithe and willowy figures she had presumed made up the whole of their kind. But his strength made her feel less of a burden for accepting his assistance.

  He did not carry her as Grimult did, with arms and legs a tangle about him. He only plucked her up by the waist, and Penryn swallowed thickly as suddenly they were airborne, her eyes seeking out Grimult’s as two others grabbed hold of him and did the same.

  She could not get any words to come forth, even the most genial of pleasantries, so the flight was short and silent. She had lost most of her fear in the previous days of flight, time and familiarity making it far more commonplace than she ever would have thought it possible to be, and a part of her was sorry that the thrill was gone, the shiny newness of it bringing joy and terror in equal measure.

  The most discomfort of it now was being held by a stranger, of the uncertainty of what was to come, and the reliance on others for help and food when for so long it had simply been her and Grim, tending to themselves and growing ever closer for it.

  Before long however, they were settling on an alcove nestled in the rocky cliffs, the waves beating unrelentingly to the base far below.

  She could hear it, but did not dare look lest she grow dizzy and topple over the edge, demanding the need for yet another rescue.

  She had experienced quite enough of those for the present.

  “Thank you,” she acknowledged, the man giving her a quick nod before suddenly swooping away, his task with her finished.

  She was startled by his quick departure, but could see his swooping low, back to his task interrupted by assisting two felled beings.

  There was beauty in it, to watch from afar, the strength and power in the wings, first splayed wide then pulled close as others dove beneath the waves, cresting a moment later, glittering in the few rays of the sun that broke through the clouds.

  The others followed more slowly with Grimult, and she wondered if he was truly such a burden or if they were coaxing information from him as they tarried. She frowned at the thought, wondering suddenly if they could be trusted at all, but finding they had little choice in the matter.

  She turned her head, the alcove not an open maw as she had expected, but filled by a wall of wood, intricately carved from what appeared to be driftwood, the only cessation to the design the crease of an obvious door, a long handle in the middle providing access within.

  She did not know why it surprised her to see such a thing, but realised that in the few pictures that had been drawn of the ancient dwellings, all were open to the sea below. Had things changed so recently? Or were her books so old that they no longer reflected the world in its present state?

  The thought made her nervous, and she took a step forward. Should she knock? It felt woefully impolite to merely push on the door and see if it would admit her, and another concern was that the man who brought her had been mistaken in the dwelling he chose and she would barge in unannounced to a stranger’s home.

  Who could easily throw her into the sea below in their efforts to protect their domain.

  Better to wait, she decided.

  It was not long, and she leaned against the cave wall and watched the sea, birds joining in with their half-kin, so small and delicate in comparison.

  She would have liked to have tarried longer, but she was growing colder as the breeze swirled about her, chilling skin already frigid from the seawater.

  She bounced on her toes, willing Grimult to appear more quickly, grateful when at last, he did so.

  While her trek had been silent, the expressions on the three faces that settled beside her suggested theirs had not been so, and trepidation filled her that perhaps things were going poorly.

  “Well,” the leftmost muttered, and suddenly the door was open, breaking off whatever he meant to say.

  “Don’t just stand there, came a voice within. “Come along!”

  Another fledgling had been the one to open the door, smaller and obviously female with her wide eyes and golden curls. Her wings were a delicate white tipped with the colour of sand, and she shyly waved them inward. “Papa says,” she reminded them, as if that was the most grave and pressing command that could be given.

  Grimult’s escorts excused themselves, flying away with a burst of more cold air that sent a shiver through Penryn. If they had been alone, she did not doubt that Grimult would have held her close, would have allowed them a moment of comfort before proceeding to their next task, but they were both mindful of the small pair of eyes that stared so expectantly, awaiting their cooperation.

  Penryn cleared her throat, mustering her courage. She did not know why she felt such great trepidation at entering the dwelling. She could feel the warmth escaping from within, smells of food cooking reaching her nose and promising a hearty meal to her stomach that had known little these last days.

  Yet still, she was wary, and she found herself admitting it to the little girl who waved her in with all the grace that Penryn had failed to be born with. “I have never entered a home like yours.” Grimult had to stoop to enter through the doorway, but Penryn managed without it.

  The little fledgling looked at her as if her admission was one of the strangest things to have ever met her small ears, before she shrugged and hurried inward.

  The space was larger than Penryn had imagined. All the lights came from small lanterns toward the ceiling, providing ambient illumination that countered the hard stone that made up the walls themselves. Rich fabrics had been draped on some, patterns and even landscapes woven into elaborate tapestries, some muted with age, others bright and cheerful as if they had only just been completed.

  Cushions were in abundance, some on the floor, others on low, backless benches, the floor covered in thick carpets that only added to the warmth of the space.

  There were partitions rather than walls, one of the previous generations evidently skilled with paint and a brush for they were detailed motifs of the view outside, masterfully recreated on the wooden panels that presumably opened to the kitchen.

  A woman appeared, her hair a burnished red, her expression revealing that she had not been expecting visitors at all, but her smile was welcoming all the same.

  “I beg your pardon for sending the little one to greet you,” she gave as an unnecessary apology. “I wasn’t...” she wiped her hands on a towel them seemed to realise what she was doing before she flushed and forced them to stillness. “Well, that hardly matters. We are happy to receive you.” Her husband appeared behind her shoulder, all sheepish smiles before he entered the main living space, gesturing for them to sit.

  “Rest, you have had quite the ordeal. I am certain someone is off even now to fetch a healer.”

  Penryn glanced at Grim, unhappy with the thought. She wanted them well, of course she did, but they would fuss over the bandages on her wrist, soggy and drooping from the water.

  And then, inevitably, they would ask where her
wings had gone, and she would have to supply an answer.

  She shivered again and she felt Grimult come up behind her. Not touching, not quite, but present, and she was grateful.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Braun. They’re soaked through.” She waved them inward and Penryn glanced at the husband, only to receive another of his cautious smiles and a shrug, following the lady of the house.

  If she noticed Penryn’s lack of wings, she was too polite to say so, instead leading her past the kitchen with the roaring blaze, to an alcove further on, this one with partitions enough that with a little more construction, might have accommodated an actual door.

  “I doubt they will fit properly, but they are clean while we get you both warmed up.”

  Penryn swallowed, accepting the pile of clothes and watched as the woman went to another trunk in what was obviously her own bedroom, this time pulling out larger offerings to hand to Grim.

  “Fish stew and bread is all I have to offer for supper,” she said, passing by both of them with another hint of apology in her voice. “Bring your wet things once you’ve changed and we’ll get them dry in no time.”

  “Thank you,” Grimult cut in, bowing his head lowly. “We are in your debt.”

  A wave of her hand, and Penryn realised where the fledgling girl had inherited her grace from. “We take care of our own,” she pronounced before turning back to tend to her kitchen.

  Penryn frowned at that. Neither of them could be considered so. The clans often disagreed about their respective ways of life, claiming each to be superior to the other. Grimult’s people were most often seen as inferior, moving inland often viewed as a betrayal of the ancestors, of the natural way for their kinds.

  Or so her books had told her.

  But maybe they were wrong in this too, and things were not nearly as contentious as she had been raised to believe.

  There was a panel of fabric that Grimult draped across the opening, shielding them for just a moment from watchful eyes, fledgling or otherwise, and rather than see to his own sodden clothing, he came toward her, unfastening the clasp at her throat and allowing her cloak to fall to the stone floor below.

  The sound of the felling device hidden within the pocket gave it far more resonance than it might have otherwise managed on its own.

  “This is not a seduction,” he murmured, so softly that she almost did not catch it. And that at least brought a smile to her lips even as she felt tears prickle at her eyes at how quickly things had turned for them. She felt lost and uncertain, overwhelmed at the feeling of home and rightness that accompanied being in such a dwelling, the longing and envy enough for her throat to tighten with the sheer want of it.

  Fledglings tucked away in alcoves of their own.

  Shared meals and fish stews, and homes passed from one generation to the next.

  But a simple life was not for her.

  Not yet.

  Perhaps not ever.

  He stripped Penryn down until she was all naked flesh, her clothes a pile at her feet, then she was clothed again in warm clothing, softened with use and frequent washings, constructed to accommodate wings that were not there, the slits allowing a chill to seep through, until Grimult finished it off with a warm shawl tied about her shoulders.

  Thick stockings completed her ensemble, and then it was his turn, although she added frequent rubbings to his chilled skin, contenting herself that he was there and present and breathing.

  And still hers.

  It did not take long, their dressing, and was perhaps altogether too short for what they might have liked. But they were guests and their hosts were waiting, and they could not indulge overlong.

  Even if they permitted a single kiss for greeting, for relief.

  And one of gratitude that they had made it here at all.

  They parted quickly enough, small smiles on their faces in apology, wistful glances that meant that at another time, another place, they would not have had to separate at all. But they had chosen their course, and the appeal for a warm fire and a hot meal was an alluring one.

  But Penryn allowed herself to reach out and give his hand one last squeeze before they picked up their belongings and went to the kitchen.

  A table and two benches were pushed to one side, two fledglings, the boy from earlier and their initial greeter already seated, small legs swaying back and forth as they waited. Their expressions grew far more interested when the newcomers reappeared, spoons held aloft, empty bowls temporarily forgotten.

  “See, I told you she didn’t have any wings,” the brother attempted to whisper to his sister, but it was loud enough for all the adults in the room to hear very clearly.

  Penryn flushed, looking to her hosts, expecting to see suspicion in their expressions at being reminded of her strangeness, but instead they looking only mortified that their son had announced it so vocally.

  “Danyl, mind your tongue!” his mother hissed, turning to Penryn with even more apologies ready at her lips.

  Penryn shook her head, not wanting her to feel even more put out in her own home. “He is not wrong,” she answered simply, smoothing her hands against the skirt of her borrowed dress. “Is there any way I can help?”

  The woman looked terribly relieved, and she stepped to a counter and handed Penryn a bowl. “Bread is on the table if you would like to help yourselves to the stew.”

  Braun came up behind her, rubbing lightly at her shoulders. “Sit, Mils. I’ll bring yours.”

  She gave him a weary smile before she relented, going to be with her fledglings. “You did not eat all the bread, did you?” she asked, her voice holding a hint of warning.

  “No, Mama!” both assured her, although something in Danyl’s tone suggested he had consumed more than was strictly necessary.

  Penryn almost gave a small protest when Grimult took hold of her bowl and ladled a hearty portion into it. She wanted to have done so for him, but he shook his head, gesturing her to the table. He seemed steady enough on his feet, merely tired, and he was already seeing to his own meal so would follow quickly behind.

  She did not know where to sit, but there was a numbing sort of tiredness surrounding her that made her care less about trespassing on etiquette she did not know and was unable to prepare for, so she simply sat with her back to the wall, next to the little girl. Her eyes were wide as she regarded Penryn up close, no longer consumed with fulfilling her father’s instructions, her attention mostly trained on Penryn’s back. Penryn remembered her curiosity in her youngest days, when she liked to touch everything that intrigued her. Was she fighting a similar impulse?

  “Eat, Lynara,” her father ordered, returning her full bowl to her. “And it is hot, so be mindful.”

  The little girl nodded solemnly, taking up her spoon and blowing on the contents with great care, her eyes drifting between Penryn and Grimult between blows.

  They sat in silence for a time, content to see to their meal, uncertain of what to ask of one another. Penryn had an abundance of questions regarding life in their home, or even broader enquiries about their view of the other clans. There was bread on the table, and the wheat must have been grown somewhere. Were they not grateful? There was a whitish hue to the broth of the stew, suggesting a healthy dose of cream, perhaps even by a farm near Grimult’s own home.

  How could they look down on those that grew the food and tended to the animals that provided for their nourishment?

  Perhaps they did not.

  Perhaps there was more holding their clans together than a Lightkeep sent out into the wilds, a Guardian chosen to stay by her side, if only for a little while.

  “So,” Braun asked at last. “Milsandra and I are happy to have you stay the night with us, but I won’t pretend that your presence is going to remain secret for long.”

  Penryn blinked, glancing at Grim in hopes of receiving some hint of how she should respond. “We have business with the sages,” he answered for them, and she relaxed somewhat, content to allow him to naviga
te conversation with people far more alike those of his acquaintance than those she had known. “Your offer is a generous one, and circumstance dictates that we shall have to accept, but I assure you, we are not in hiding. We do not desire to bring trouble to your home, and will leave it as soon as we are able.”

  Milsandra and Braun shared a careful look with one another, and Penryn piped up as soon as she had taken another swallow of stew. It was very good, rich and well seasoned, simple fare but filling. “We are so grateful for your hospitality,” she added in case that had been missed in Grimult’s assurance that they meant no harm or complication on their house. “Truly. I do not know what we would have done without all of your help.”

  Never mind where they would have slept the night, they might not have made out of the icy waters if not for the keen eyes and quick intervention of the fishers.

  “I did not mean to hurry you out,” Braun clarified. “Only wanted to warn you that it’s more than possible we’ll be getting visitors tonight.” He grimaced, and Penryn grew all the more wary, and her next bite of bread was a little more difficult to swallow than it should have been. A sip of water poured into her waiting cup from the pitcher at the centre of the table, and all was right again—aside from the dread pooling in her belly. “Elders in the clan wanting to take a look at you, no doubt.”

  Penryn looked to Grimult for guidance. He merely took another bite of his stew before returning her glance. If he was trying to give some sense of silent communication, she did not know how to interpret it, and she frowned, pulling apart her piece of bread with her fingers, staring down at her meal. They should have taken the time to talk about this. To reason out their story, the explanation for their being here.

  Did they stick to the truth? Allow rumour and gossip to spread the news of the land-dwellers’ coming?

  The sages would not approve. They would insist on being told first, so they could disseminate the information according to what was good for the population as a whole.