The Lightkeep

by Catherine Miller

  She took a breath, and forced a smile up to her husband. She wanted to kiss him, but that seemed too indulgent. Better to wait, for their privacy would come. An embrace might be excused if witnessed, but a kiss could not.

  Grimult dropped his arms from about her and she felt the loss most acutely, suddenly far less warm than she had been, even with the presence of a hearty blaze. They walked back through the partition, their hands no longer entwined, and Penryn felt a little more herself.

  Rezen appeared visibly relieved at her reappearance, and she wondered if he truly thought she would disappear through some secret exit in the back, or if it was merely his worry that filled his head with such implausible fantasies.

  But she had been taken once. Disappeared once. Locked away where he could not follow. Perhaps it was ungracious for her to think his concern now was not entirely meritless.

  “Well?” he asked, his eyes hopeful even if his mouth was pulled into a tight line.

  If any beyond the Wall had been so eager for her presence, she would have grown suspicious. And even now, tendrils of her upbringing insisted she be cautious, that she not grow too enraptured at the prospect of what was offered, that she remember her place, to keep herself set apart, mindful and without feeling as she took in the situation and decided the best course.

  Numbness was her safety. It hurt less when she did not have to feel it quite so acutely, when worry or anxiety, or the hatred for the stares were not allowed to penetrate her carefully cultivated apathy.

  But it was obvious that such a reaction would devastate Rezen, so she tried her best to remain engaged, to be open to the possibility that all of this, no matter how incredible, might be real.

  “Our hosts have released us for the evening,” Grimult answered for them when it became apparent she was unable. “We will return in the morning to exchange our clothing.”

  Rezen’s smile was wide and beaming, and he clapped his hands together once as if unable to fully contain his enthusiasm. “Good,” he pronounced. “Good,” he repeated, more quietly that time, his body full of nervous energy, his body already turning toward the door.

  “Now wait,” Harlow interjected. “We haven’t yet settled matters. I haven’t coaxed out yet what the danger is that had you risk coming back here in the first place.”

  Penryn turned her attention back to him. Although she felt a surge of shame to admit it, that conversation was an easier one. Standing straighter was familiar, bringing as much height and authority to her person as she could. She kept her voice low and measured, calm and without the tightening of her throat that might result in too high a pitch. “What I must relate is for all the clans, not merely yours.”

  He frowned at that. “So we escort you to the sages, and they hear what you have to say. Then they decide how much to tell us.” He tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. “Can you see the problem with that?”

  She would not pretend otherwise. “If they do not act, if they do not share the details with the clans, I will disseminate it myself,” she assured him, and a part of her wondered if that was a wiser course. To forsake them altogether would be the greatest mutiny, would make it plain that she did not care for their authority.

  But while this clan had been willing to offer shelter and place value in her words, others would not. They might marvel at her return for a time, willing to listen but not to believe, not when so many had their faith and trust in the sages.

  Penryn’s mind raced but she forced herself to calm, to think rationally for a moment, to reach a compromise that would benefit all. “Tomorrow,” she assured him. “We leave tomorrow for the sages. If you insist on giving escort as your claim, I will tell you of our purpose before we reach the keep. If it goes as it should, the other clans will know soon after and you may begin deciding what is to be done.”

  And quickly. There was no possibility that the full horde could move as quickly as the riders on their great beasts. There were too many, and they would not risk approaching already exhausted and weary.

  Which meant there was time, although it might prove short.

  Harlow did not appear overly pleased, but he nodded his head in acceptance. “Tomorrow,” he agreed, something in his voice suggesting that he would not allow her to rescind her promise later. “Rest well, then, and I will see you come morning.”

  Penryn gave a low nod, and Harlow and the three others slipped past Rezen and disappeared out the door.

  A sigh escaped her and she shared a look with Grimult. He gave a shrug at her enquiring glance, suggesting that he had no better answer to give Harlow than the one she had provided, and she shook her head. He was allowed to interject, to hold opinions of his own.

  “Are you ready?” Rezen urged at the door, his hand holding tightly to the latch as if afraid that if he did not hold the door open and urge them onward, she might declare a change of mind and refuse to depart.

  Was she? If she was honest with herself, it was a resounding no. There was too much to do yet, there was a role that she had to see completed before she allowed herself the honour of exploring the potential for one that she should have known first, and possibly best.

  Daughter.

  She bit her lip, and nodded anyway.

  Another smile, this one softer as she approached, and again he looked at her lack of wings with pity, and she could not deny that she hated that look. She wanted the injustice acknowledged, but another part of her bristled. She was not lesser. Was not helpless, even if the sages had desired to make her so in many areas.

  Grimult had taught her much, and her own curiosity had seen to more education than even the sages might have preferred, and just because she could not fly did not mean she was an invalid.

  “I will carry you,” Rezen declared, opening his arms, his expression hopeful.

  Something in her lurched, something strong and powerful, demanding that the resounding no escape, regardless of how it might hurt him.

  But Grimult was faster still, his hand at her shoulder, perhaps to some, laying claim. But to her, it was the promise of safety.

  He was exhausted, and nourishing stew and warm clothes could only provide so much, but he had been steady ever since, and she did not doubt him.

  Rezen appeared visibly disappointed, his mouth opening perhaps to argue, but he shut it again with a sigh of resignation.

  “You will follow?” he asked anxiously.

  “Yes,” Penryn assured him.

  To the home of her birth.

  And a tiny part of her, long buried and denied, felt a thrill at the prospect.

  Twelve

  Rezen did not allow them out of his sight. It made their communications all the more hushed, all the more covert, Grimult’s touches restricted to only what was necessary as he gripped her tightly and followed Rezen further down the cliff-face. In another world, the beauty of it might have been thrilling, and she supposed if she could pry her eyes away from Grimult’s face long enough to appreciate it, so it might have proved. But instead she found herself studying her husband, determined to catch any signs of distress or tiredness that would insist they land rather than risk another plummet to the depths below.

  “I can feel your stares, wife,” Grimult complained at last. Rezen had already landed, standing anxiously as he awaited them. This too had a wooden blockade built, sheltering the dwelling from either unwanted visitors or from the harsh elements beating against the rocks. It was too high for the sea spray to reach, but she could well suppose the wind and rain would be enough to warrant such construction, regardless of the desire for privacy from one’s neighbours.

  She did not think she would like just anyone being able to trespass on her time with Grimult, even if custom made such allowances.

  “Perhaps I like to look at you, husband,” Penryn answered back, tilting her chin so her words were solely for him, not carrying in the wind about them.

  His hands gave her a slightly tighter squeeze, and she would have liked to have sealed the truth
of her words with a kiss, regardless of the ulterior motive that she would not be sharing with him.

  He might think her foolish for her worry, would remind her plainly that he was charged most especially with their safety so she could leave such concerns in his care alone, but it was her right to fret over him. To ensure that he had enough to eat, that enough sleep had taken him during the night, that he was not overly chilled when the winds grew bitter.

  She was grateful that the rains had stopped for the moment, although the clouds overhead were a thick, impenetrable grey that promised more of the same throughout the night. Dusk would be coming soon, if it was not there already, the world beginning to darken further.

  It was time to be sealed away, warm and comfortable.

  But instead her heart was beating rapidly as they landed beside Rezen, her uncertainty making her palms prickle with the urge to fidget.

  Rezen was no better, swaying his weight from foot to foot, his attention drifting first from her then to the door behind him. “I should speak to her first,” he hastened to explain, and Penryn wondered why he had not done so while he waited for them to follow, their speed slowed by Grimult’s exhaustion as well as the burden of her additional weight, she was certain.

  “Yes,” Grimult agreed. “We will remain here.”

  Rezen glanced at him, a frown briefly coming over his features. His doubt was obvious, and Penryn felt a brief moment of affront that he should think her husband capable of such blatant deceit, but she quelled it quickly enough. From the start, he seemed ready to believe that she would simply disappear before his very eyes, and even at his doorstep he did not seem convinced that would not be the outcome.

  Penryn bit her lip, standing still standing close to Grimult although he had released her from his grasp. “We are very tired,” she added, hoping he did not find her rude. It was the truth, but was not the sole reason she had said it. “I am not so foolish to think we can make any further journey tonight, and I would like to see your home.” She managed a small smile, one that hopefully resembled something encouraging, and pulled her borrowed shawl more tightly about herself.

  There was no point in denying it was cold, and Rezen nodded his head, seemingly satisfied. “Right.”

  And with a deep breath, he opened the door and disappeared within.

  The wind caught it and slammed it shut behind him with far greater force than he doubtlessly intended, and Penryn stared at it. Too many feelings tugged at her in opposition, and she sank back against her husband with a sigh, letting her forehead rest against his upper arm. A sprinkling came from above and his wing extended, shielding her from the worst of it as he drew her further into the alcove, away from the resuming shower. “My parents are in there,” she told herself, wishing the words would settle over her with something more akin to comprehension.

  “Aye,” Grimult agreed, pulling her nearer and allowing his hand to brush against her, both for warmth and for comfort.

  It dropped away just as suddenly when the door pulled open, a woman standing there, her eyes wide and frantic. She was short in stature, less slender than Penryn knew herself to be, but there was something about the set of the eyes, the curve of the lips...

  While there could be doubt to the father, there was no denying her mother.

  Who already wept even as she stumbled out of the door.

  Rezen stood behind her, his hand outstretched as if he had tried to contain her but to no avail, the woman breaking free and coming to stand before Penryn, her eyes full of wonder.

  Even as tears already coated her cheeks.

  “Are you really here?” she asked, hands reaching out, fingers trembling, before settling on Penryn’s cheeks.

  Her throat was tight, as if rather than gentle touches, instead they had found their way about her throat and squeezed with all their might. “I am,” she confirmed, her voice feeling like it was coming from very far away.

  She had dreamed of this. Had wept for it, throughout the years, when she had come to realise that other people got to stay with those they were born to. But not her. She was never supposed to have experienced this, it was forbidden, and yet...

  It was wonderful.

  “I always tried to imagine what you looked like,” her mother confessed, strained though the words came out through the veil of her own emotions. “My sweet girl.”

  And her own tears fell freely, and suddenly the hands shifted and she was pulled into a fierce embrace, and if they both cried, then that was all right, surely that was all right, for just a little while to be and to feel and...

  Suddenly there were more arms, strong and masculine, yet unfamiliar to her as she forced herself to look up. And Rezen was there, his own eyes misted with moisture, as he pulled both wife and daughter close.

  And it was so clear from his expression that he had longed to do that since the moment he had seen her, but for her sake, had resisted.

  She bit her lip, ducking her head so she would not have to see him, would not have to acknowledge the bolt of shame through her for her doubts.

  She did not know how long they remained there, her mother the first to pull back, to wipe swiftly at her eyes. “You’ll catch your death out here,” she insisted, suddenly shooing and urging them both inside, curious eyes landing on Grimult for a moment before she closed them all in and latched the door firmly behind her.

  The layout to the dwelling was not dissimilar to Braun and Milsandra’s. Somehow smaller in its dimensions, with fewer cushions about the floor, the benches not polished to quite the same shine as in the other home, but no less inviting. Rather than partitions, wooden walls had been fully erected with doors in between, with latches and locks. Penryn stared at them perhaps a moment too long, finding them strange and unnatural in a place like this. Those who clung to the old ways did so because they continued to feel the connection to the sea, or so she had been taught. That surely did not include doors and locks to keep it all away.

  Her mother went toward the door, opening it fully, her smile bright as she waved them inward. Rezen was the one to give them pause, holding up a hand. “There is something you must know first.”

  Penryn hesitated, the dread already pooling within her. It seemed inevitable that something would interfere, would keep something so good and perfect from truly being hers. But she could not shy away from it all the same, so she steeled herself and gave Rezen her full attention.

  “There are more to our household,” he blurted, his eyes locked firmly to hers. Her smile faltered, and she swallowed reflexively. That was good, she told herself. They had gone on to have more fledglings to replace the one they had lost, fulfilling a dream postponed too long.

  “How fortunate for you,” she managed to get out, thinking it sounded rather genuine, at least to her own ears, although there was all the more sorrow for her. Not that she wished them to be lonely, to have spent the years solely pining for the child they could not have, but for far more selfish reasons. There were more relations denied to her, siblings she had never known, and that saddened her greatly.

  Rezen took a step nearer, and she forced herself to remain stationary. “We are blessed,” Rezen agreed. “But the circumstances are difficult to be called so.”

  Amarys pulled the door nearly shut, her free hand making anxious work with her skirt. “Foundlings,” she murmured, clearing her throat as she did so as if finding it difficult to get the words out. They were hurried, and her eyes darting quickly about Penryn’s features, looking for some sign or reaction. “The elders were brought in when their parents died, and Rezen...” she glanced at her husband. “He wondered if it was time for us to do something good.”

  Her voice was small, and filled with pain, and Penryn remembered Rezen’s earlier hintings. Her mother had not always done well, and required a great deal of care. Now she needed less so. It was a difficult gamble to have made, if her progress had only come at the introduction of multiple fledglings to a home where their caretaker was in a delicate state.
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  “Are you angry?” Amarys asked, her grip tightening on the door handle.

  “Angry?” Penryn repeated, her voice feeling very far away. “By what right could I claim such a thing?” A part of her realised that was a response the sages had often given her when they wanted an emotion buried and she was slow in compliance. They would remind her of her place, of all that had been given to her, until she was calm enough to give the proper platitudes and speak of her gratitude with something resembling truthfulness.

  The next touches were familiar to her, subtle even as they were against the small of her back. Grimult knew. Knew when her words were not really hers, but had been set into her mind from her earliest beginnings all the same.

  She took a calming breath, and then tried again. “If there is anger,” she allowed, for it was there. Simmering in a low burn even now. “It is not for you.”

  It was for the circumstances that had dictated her life until now.

  For ways that were old and lacking in sense.

  At sages who had made her upbringing all the more difficult, when, at the very least, love and affection might have been afforded before they sent her out into the wilderness, uncaring what happened to her once she had fulfilled her portion of duty.

  Amarys did not appear convinced, and Penryn tired again to ascertain the source of her own feelings so she might be a little more forthcoming. “I am saddened,” she managed at last, giving a little shrug. “That we were not given such time together. But I am glad for your orphans that they have not met with even more misfortune.”

  Some of the texts had insisted that within a clan, none were truly orphaned. By blood, perhaps, but all would find aid and kinship forged through other means.

  The thought had dismayed her at the time, knowing that she would never be claimed by any clan.

  But evidently, she had been wrong.

  Grimult claimed her for his own, giving her his house and his clan when they wed.