“Initiates!” a sage called, his skin as aged and drooping as the wings behind him, greyed with age but not lacking in dignity. Their steps halted, and they moved to a perfect circle, a formation that Grimult’s lesson-mates still had yet to perfect. Coordination of that sort would matter little in their future work. They would not have to time their steps so perfectly with another, though he supposed the judgement of distances would be a necessity for protection and for the hunt. He would have to ensure there was enough food for both himself and the Lightkeep, as the sacred flame would need constant attention.
A pedestal, some five steps high was at their centre, and the cloaked figure ascended it, each step small and careful. It was hardly enough for Grimult to see over the sages themselves, and it occurred to him for the first time that the chosen one was slight of stature. He frowned unconsciously. It was not for him to question the sages’ choice, but it would require an even stronger Guardian to compensate for any dangers that a less than robust Lightkeep might have otherwise endured.
But perhaps that was unfair. Perhaps the cloak obscured rippling muscles, height more than compensated for in strength.
The desire for knowing itched prominently, and he stifled it just as he had always done. He respected the rules of the order, even when their tendency toward secrecy proved infuriating. Or tantalising, depending on the point of view.
“The hour grows short,” the sage continued, his voice strained but clear as he addressed those carefully chosen for this exact task. “Some of you have grown lazy, have dedicated yourselves to other pursuits rather than your true purpose.”
Grimult kept his eyes steadily forward, although he could sense others wavering in their stances, perhaps guilt overtaking them for their lax approach to what should be their greatest honour. “I have spoken with your instructors directly, and can assure you, you will find your focus once again.”
A murmur of unease went through the leftmost rank, and Grimult caught Yanik’s shudder from the corner of his sight. Their burdens would be heavy, he knew. Their initial orientation had spoken gravely of misdeeds, and the most unpleasant of chores would surely be theirs until they remembered their places.
He did not wish harm on any of them, but he did wish for their dedication. If he was not chosen, then one of them would be, and the Lightkeep at the centre of all of them was theirs.
All of theirs.
To protect, to revere.
To honour for the sacrifice to come.
“Perseverance is not unnoticed,” the sage continued, milky eyes drifting from one initiate to the next. Grimult stood a little taller when they settled on him, his heart beating at a quicker pace to be under such direct scrutiny. “Talent will be nurtured.” He moved on to the next. Did his attention pass a little more quickly than it had on him?
Grimult distracted himself from such thoughts by focusing back on the cloaked figure. Was the person beneath not sweltering on such a day? Or perhaps there was some mysticism attached to them after all, and they were free from such plagues as heat and perspiration. To be the servant of a flame might mean that, although he had never been quite certain of the validity of such claims.
Most initiates chose to believe they would be travelling with someone perfectly ordinary, a comfort that all was understood within the world and there was nothing so very strange about travelling such vast distances with someone who might be other-worldly. Shrouded in secrets and duty beyond any other, whose true task would be hidden even from the Guardian.
“Attend to your instructions, hold them close, for they could save us all before the end,” the sage cautioned, eyes too knowing as he took in the rest. He appeared old enough to have been an apprentice for the last selection, and Grimult vaguely wondered how his own group compared to the last. There were always tales passed down, of fearsome protectors and the wizened Lightkeeps they were bound to, but most ended with shaking heads and firm reminders that they did not measure up to those in the past. Not in the least.
The sages turned almost as one, as if they lived in such awareness of one another that words no longer were required. The door that had shut behind them rose again, inviting them back to their sequestered world where they could tend to their sacred tasks without interference from unknowledgeable folk.
Despite what Yanik thought, he did not want to be one of them. He wanted to know of their work, more than the reverenced whispers that went through the villages and towns, to understand what it was they did, but he was not willing to do all that was necessary to join their ranks.
He had a farm awaiting his return, a family that missed him dearly. He would make the separation worth it, then return and see that all was back as it should be.
Or so he hoped.
If the sage was to be believed, he might be returning soon. Even more so then he had expected. And if he was not chosen...
His mother would make stew, he was certain. Something hearty and tell him that he’d worked too hard and neglected himself. She would click her tongue as she surveyed the state of his wings, reminding him of the importance of engaging in friendships so that tending to one another was not as awkward as he claimed.
He missed them. Missed his sisters and their chatter, although he had found it trying enough when it was a part of his every waking moment.
The sages had only made it a halfway to the
