The Lightkeep

by Catherine Miller

  She tried to force the word father to apply to him and could not. It was a word that had meaning, of course it did. It was a relation. Kin.

  Hers.

  But he was a stranger. She found herself staring at him in return. The hair colour might be similar to hers, but there was nothing extraordinary about that. A dark brown that bordered on black by the addition of the rain from outside. His eyes were pale, perhaps even lighter than her own, but she hardly spent much time looking at her reflection to know for certain. Their noses bore no great resemblance, and although the colour of wings declared familial lines most prominently, she had none to offer any sense of resolution.

  Should she not feel some pull from him? Some deep awareness of belonging that confirmed that he was special?

  That she came from the love he shared with her mother?

  “If you are as you say,” Harlow cut in at last, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. “What are you doing back here?”

  Penryn sighed deeply. It was a question worthy of an answer, and an honest one, but years of training insisted that her tongue remain still, that anything from beyond the Wall was sacred talk, to be shared only with those robed in crimson.

  Like she should be.

  And was not.

  And it mattered little what was beyond the Wall when the danger was already within.

  “I did my duty,” she assured them, in case any cared for the old lore. “But there is a warning that we must give.” She paused, waiting for Grimult to interject if he felt she should stop before she had finished. “To the sages,” she continued, feeling awkward and uncertain in her speech, her nerves making it all the more difficult to relate. It should not be. She should speak crisply and clearly, the words coming easily because of the truth behind them. Then why did she feel like a foolish girl who was not where she ought to be, caught by elders ready to chasten her for overstepping by far?

  Another breath, this time fuelled by frustration. “We would not have troubled you, and will leave at once if that is what you wish.” The man that claimed to be her father made a choked sound, his head already shaking in denial.

  She looked away from him.

  And stared at Harlow instead, ignoring the trembling in her fingertips.

  Grimult claimed she bore the same pain. A single look at Rezen and she could not deny that he had carried it long.

  And not well.

  “You’re cryptic enough to be one of theirs,” Harlow agreed, and he sighed, patting Rezen’s shoulder. “And Rezen vouches for your parentage. Which makes you one of ours, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Penryn blinked. “I am... uncertain what that entails,” she countered, something in his manner unnerving her. There was an ease in him that almost reminded her of Henrik, that he led by friendliness and smiles rather than strict decree. And it served him well, if the silence of the other men in the room was any indication.

  But she would have to disappoint him with her defiance if their courses did not align.

  “It means,” Harlow said with a wave of his hand, urging her and Grim to settle back into their seats. “That you are under our protection. You were taken once, and I won’t see that happen again. Not after what it did to your parents the first time.”

  Penryn could not help but glance at Rezen once more before forcing herself to oblige and make use of the abandoned bench. Swift tempers and heightened emotions were never useful in negotiation, and she would do well to garner better mastery of herself before she made any further attempt at explanation.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the story of the Lightkeep, fabricated though it was. That she lacked any true heritage, that she belonged to no clan, would take no creed other than the one that would carry her lamp through the wilderness to the beyond itself.

  But these people claimed to know the truth of it. That her birth had been as any other. That she had a heritage beyond those imparted by captivity and tutelage.

  There was privilege, yes, but there was pain also, and the conflicting parts of her were making her head spin, her loyalties utterly divided.

  They should not be.

  They were easy to set aside in a cabin in forbidden lands, when the only part she cared to keep bore the name wife.

  But there were others that she needed to retain, to manage and balance, despite her personal preference.

  “I will be returning to the sages,” she told them plainly, her tone firmer than she had dared to use before. There could be no mistaking that matter, and a part of her feared that some misplaced sense of protectiveness would attempt to alter her course.

  That she would have exchanged one prison for another, this one even more difficult to escape, as she had no wings to bring her back from the cliffside or save her from the sea below.

  She pushed aside such morbid thoughts, reminding herself firmly that Grimult was near, and he would never allow such an occurrence.

  Not while he lived anyway.

  The thought was not a welcome one, and she bit her lip, glancing at her husband and wishing she could dare take hold of his hand and bring it close, to remind herself that he was warm and healthy, without lasting damage from his second fall.

  But Harlow did not attempt to halt her, and merely shrugged his wide shoulders. “As you please.” Rezen jerked, and Penryn was certain there was a protest at the tip of his tongue, but Harlow continued on, unheeding.

  “You are a woman grown. It is not my place to deny you the course you have chosen.” He held up a hand when it was apparent that the man beside him was going to interject. “Only to offer what aid and protection I can, as I would to any member of our clan.”

  A clan.

  The draw was there, enticing and strong, that if she would just allow it, she might be able to believe that all this was true. That the man before her had spoken truly, that he...

  He was her father.

  And this clan, with their still evident ties to the sea were her family. She would have grown up amongst them, in homes such as these, with cook-fire and partitions rather than walls and doors.

  “You have doubts,” Harlow continued, nodding his head. “That is plain to see.”

  “What did they tell you of us?” Rezen cut in at last, his voice strained.

  The impulse to reject the question was there once more, that the sages’ methods were sacred, secret things, not to be discussed with the common people.

  She bit her lip, her hands clenched into fists at her side, and vaguely she was aware that the left did not give even a twinge of pain any longer at the action. Perhaps it had finally mended.

  Or perhaps she was so overcome by what was before her that she simply had no room to feel such things any longer.

  They were waiting on her to speak, and the panicky feeling was threatening to pull her under once more. But she beat it back with a few long breaths. “It is all right,” Grimult murmured behind her, and she felt him lean close from behind so he was whispering only to her. “I believe they are sincere. You are safe with them.”

  She closed her eyes, wanting that to be true.

  Willing it to be true.

  But a part of her was so very afraid that this had all been a mistake, a misunderstanding, and it would not prove real at all and she would have allowed her hopes to flourish.

  Only to have them dashed when the truth of it was revealed.

  She opened them again. She trusted Grimult’s judgement more than her own. Hers was too weighted with years of indoctrination, while his was good and pure and allowed room for others. For clans and family and all that was good and best in the world.

  “They told me you were wise,” Penryn answered, forcing herself to look at Rezen rather than Harlow. It was far more difficult than it should have been. “That when told of the purpose behind my birth, you were glad,” there was no mistaking the stricken expression on his face, the ashy quality to his skin. But he did not close his eyes, did not look anywhere but back at her. “That you relinquished me with all
the grace and dignity of ones befitting the arrival of the Lightkeep.” At that he could not seem able to control the derisive sound that came from his throat, shaking his head.

  “It nearly killed us,” he rasped out, something in his eyes entreating, his hands opening and closing as if full of the desire to reach out and touch her.

  Should she want that? Allow that? Not for her sake, as the thought of it still set her heart pounding in the urge to flee, whether from something good or something harmful, she still had not decided.

  But there was compassion for him all the same, and she could see why Grimult believed in him.

  “Your mother...” he cleared his throat, shaking his head again. “She did not speak for a long while. She... blamed me for not going after you, for not bringing you back home where you belonged.”

  Penryn’s eyes widened. “They would have killed you,” she answered honestly, for that felt no great secret at all. To trespass into the sages’ keep uninvited and uninitiated... all knew the consequences.

  And to target the Lightkeep especially...

  A sad, dim smile came to his lips. “I went to the keep once. Hoped I might see you. To... know that you were being treated well. That you had milk to drink and that someone cared for you.” She had not expected that, and her heart lurched to think of how close he might have been, but more than that was fear that he might have succeeded. Had they found him? Hurt him? His wings were intact and there did not appear to be any prominent scars on his person, so perhaps not.

  “It is aptly named, of course, and I could catch no glimpse of you. And to make enquiries would mean I would be detained returning to your mother, and she required much care.”

  Penryn glanced at the floor, wondering if she could truly ask the question that burned at her tongue, urging her onward. “You speak of her as if she is already gone,” she observed, her voice quiet. She did not want to bring more pain to this man, not if... if he had truly lost so very much, and to speak of another wound to an already broken heart might prove too much for him.

  At that, his shoulders relaxed rather than grew more tense, and she took that as a good sign. “Not gone, no. But she is stronger now, and does not need me as much as she once did.”

  “Amarys is a good woman,” Harlow confirmed. “More than you ever deserved.”

  “Of that I am well aware,” Rezen answered quickly back, as if the comment came unbidden, from a place that did not require thought at all. He blinked, surprised by the words, before he grew more serious again. “There was so much I always wanted to ask you. Wanted to... tell you if I was ever given the opportunity.”

  He looked at her almost expectantly, as if waiting to hear that she had done the same.

  She gave a reluctant nod to her head. She did not want this witnessed any longer, did not want to bear her most personal wounds to a group of strangers, and even now, the man across from her felt as such.

  “Perhaps,” he began, turning his head to Harlow quickly before glancing back at her. “You would be willing to come home. If only for a little while. I would... I would love to show you where you belonged.”

  Her lip trembled at that, and she bit it harshly. Tears were going to pool if she allowed herself to soften, if she dropped even a modicum of her self-control. She could not keep her hand from shaking, however, as if her body did not much care what her mind required of it, and suddenly Grimult’s hand was there, clasping it softly, hiding it away from prying eyes.

  They had discussed this. No touching while others were near.

  She did not care that he had broken their agreement.

  Not when she needed him.

  She did not miss the narrowing of multiple eyes as they looked at their conjoined hands with varying levels of suspicion. But it was not enough to make her shake loose of her husband’s hold, and if she raised her chin a little higher, then perhaps they would see she had no shame in it.

  “You’re her Guardian,” Harlow observed, as if finally seeming it necessary to acknowledge that Grimult had a role in this as well. He turned to his left. “They announced his name, didn’t they?”

  “Grimult,” Penryn answered for them, squeezing his hand a little more firmly. “And yes, he is as you say.”

  And more.

  Rezen was giving her a peculiar look, but she could not quite put a meaning to it. But it shifted again, back to entreaty. “Won’t you come home?” he asked, his voice almost too hoarse for her to hear.

  Penryn glanced at Grimult. “We have been offered lodging here,” she hedged, trying to decide if it would be rudeness itself to simply abandon their hosts upon the first offer of another kind.

  Even if that offer was a lifetime in coming, was enough to send a wail through the fledgling parts of her, insisting and demanding that she see all she could, that she meet the woman who had given birth to her.

  Had... loved her.

  Rezen gave a look toward the kitchen doorway, and she could well picture him storming through and insisting their hosts release them from their acceptance at once, but that would not be civil and Braun and Milsandra had been nothing but kind to them.

  Even now, they wore clothes that were only borrowed. “A moment,” she asked, needing to think, needing council that could not be given in a room full of...

  She did not know what to call them.

  They were so willing to accept her, to lay claim to a person they already seemed to take as one of their own. But she knew nothing of what it mean to be part of a clan, let alone part of a family, and the retreat was for her own sake as well as the urge to put things right with their hosts.

  The fledglings were already gone by the time they entered. Braun and Milsandra were seated at the table, holding hands and looking seriously toward the table, but they stood rapidly as Penryn entered. “Let us not pretend you could not hear all,” Penryn said with a sigh, grateful more than anything that she would not have to explain it all.

  They looked to one another, before Braun gave a low nod. “If you are coming to ask if you may go with your father, the answer is yes,” he offered before she even had time to find the words.

  “Your things will take that long to dry out, in any case,” Milsandra added. “We can meet tomorrow.” She smiled, but it was a tight, worried thing, and Penryn wondered what troubled her.

  “You have been so very kind,” Penryn murmured, watching as Grimult went to retrieve their boots. They would be damp still, but it was better than going out into the elements in only stockinged feet. “I am sorry if I have brought trouble to your home, or if you regret your hospitality now that you know...” she paused, sighing deeply. “Who I am,” she finished with a slight slump to her shoulders. She took the boots from Grimult and knelt to tend to the laces herself while he did the same, and it held her attention for the moment.

  “No trouble,” Braun assured her, but Penryn could not help but glance to Milsandra instead, looking for her own pronouncement.

  She waved away Penryn’s concern and shook her head. “We’d all heard Rezen’s tale. I was but a girl then, and maybe I thought it was just talk. But for you to be here, and to see what was done to you...” Penryn paled, and it was with shakier legs that she stood to her full height. “Long have we mistrusted the sages. I think now more than ever, we were right to do so.”

  Even now, regardless of how Penryn hated that it existed within her, something urged her to defend them. To offer assurances and platitudes that her duty was a necessary one, and their purpose was the protection of their people as a whole.

  That their intentions were honourable, even if their methods were not.

  But she could not in good conscience say any of that, not when there was a man so close who had known the most harm they were capable of, and called it a necessity.

  “Until tomorrow, then,” Penryn said instead. “Thank you for the meal, it was most nourishing.”

  A hint of her usual smile returned when Milsandra heard that, and she nodded. A clamour from the sleeping
quarters, drew their attention, and Braun rolled his eyes before begging their pardon and departing.

  At the additional clamour and the slightly raised voice, Milsandra hurried after with a weary sigh.

  Leaving Grimult and Penryn alone, if only for all too brief a moment.

  She opened her mouth to ask if she had chosen rightly or if they should have stayed here where they were safe and warm and could deal with things in the morning after a night of much needed sleep.

  But instead Grimult caught her up in his arms, pulling her tightly to him. “I told you,” he murmured into her hair, between pressing a quick kiss there as if to seal his pronouncement. “I told you none had forgotten you. That you were loved and missed.”

  The tears prickled again, partly in relief, partly at the truth of his words that she had not quite dared believe, even before.

  “You were right,” she acknowledged, and it was no hardship to acknowledge it. But then part of it that troubled her, drawn from her lips by the safety she felt when he was so close, when the world felt just a little more removed when all she could see was him. “But he is still a stranger to me.”

  “Yes,” Grimult agreed, his hand patting the back of her hair, the strands now damp rather than wet. It eased something in her, the touches and the confirmation that she was not wrong to feel so, that they could admit the truth of it while also granting the relation was real. “But he need not stay that way.”

  Penryn shifted, looking up at her husband. “Our course has not changed,” she reminded him. “There is a horde coming here and I will not grow distracted.” He touched her face gently, but she would not be dissuaded. “We rest, and then we press on.”

  Another agreement, his voice a gentle rumble that calmed her pulse, that offered more reassurance that she ever could have thought possible. “But there is time yet for this. To meet your mother. And there will be time after, when all is settled and our lives are our own again.”

  She wanted to believe him. Wanted to think that there would be a life after the war that seemed inevitable in its coming. Where there might be a home, with more family than she had ever dared imagine for herself.