Catherine Miller
Copyright © 2019 Catherine Miller
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781707288786
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Prologuefrom the Second Tome
In memory of my grandmother, who loved to read and loved her kiddles even more.
Prologue
The cry of the winds mingled with that of the mother, groans lost to the howl against the entrance to the cracking maw that made up their home.
“Almost done, dearie,” a voice soothed, a hand at her temple, a kiss soon to follow—those bestowed by a frightened mate that had yet to see a birth.
The hands that pressed, an offset to the pain that seemed unbearable as it refused to yield, were far more practised, tending in ways that her mate could not.
But that was just as well, their responsibilities different—his to his love, the other to the babe attempting to be born.
It wasn’t supposed to be done here, she thought, her tongue clicking lightly against the roof of her mouth as she observed the small dwelling. He should have worked harder to eke out more space from the unforgiving earth once he knew that there was to be a child. There was barely room enough for the labours, let alone a fledgling that would soon tottle about the place.
The moans of her charge grew guttural, fear and uncertainty replaced with determination.
Not long now.
“There, you are doing so well.”
A feather peeked out, streaked with fluid and a hint of blood, masking its colour. Downy and soft, useless in their way when so new, but present. It would be a fine addition to their accompaniment. “Just like that,” she urged. “Keep at it.”
Excitement filled her. Similar to what she always felt when helping a new life into their colony, but amplified more than she had expected. She had wondered, but not truly believed that things would progress so quickly...
Shadows crept along the mouth of the cave as the babe appeared, squalling in protest to its forceful ejection from all it had once known.
The mother reached for her prize, eyes already glistening with love and desire, the father murmuring his adoration for all she had accomplished.
The shadows grew to bodies, dark wings nearly impossible to see against the night sky. Only one approached though she was well aware that more would have come.
The mother’s attention flickered to the intruder, her broad smile fading in confusion, then to horror.
The midwife kept the baby tight to her breast, soothing as well she could. “You did so well,” she praised. “And fortune has shone brightly on you, bringing the child so quickly.”
A sharpened knife made quick work of the cord, even as the mother began to struggle, her mate holding her closely as silent tears began to steadily move down his own cheeks.
“We were warned,” he reminded her, trying to console a mate intent on rejecting the truth of what was happening. “That it would be soon.”
“Not mine!” she screeched, hands grasping, but failing to receive.
There would be others in their future. They were young yet, and the birth had gone well. She would cry her tears before she was reminded of the duty and honour that were now hers.
To know that she had been the one to bear the new Lightkeep into the world.
The midwife accepted the warm blanket provided by the sage, still not quite believing that she held one so important.
She had been merely a girl when the last was chosen, the sages announcing the cycle of the stars. She had not noticed the leery glances between the expectant mothers, did not quite comprehend the loss that would come to them.
The loss that was bitter even when they knew the importance.
Selfish it was, she decided as she grew older. For them to shy away from what was so prestigious. It was not as if they were left with nothing. Gifts made by the sages themselves were bestowed, their lives provided more comfort and luxury than they could ever have afforded given their current ages.
And yet still the mother struggled, pleaded and weeping into the arms of her mate.
“Please, just let me see,” she begged.
The midwife gave the infant to the waiting sage. “It would only hurt you more,” she promised her. “You had your time, now there is a greater destiny.”
Blood trickled down her legs and there was the remainder of the birth to deal with. She hoped the girl would cooperate. She had done what was required, that was all.
“The hatchling is strong,” the sage intoned, his eyes drifting over what little of the babe’s skin was exposed. He must be assessing the state of the lungs, as they were loud and potent in their protest.
Or perhaps he had some magic that showed him the truth of his words.
A part of her wondered how the babe would be nourished, hidden away with the sages for the entirety of its upbringing. Perhaps there was something mystical in that as well, providing sustenance for one of such importance.
So the Lightkeep would grow tall, limbs hearty and robust for the journey ahead.
A coin was pressed into her hand, the seal one she had never encountered before. Perhaps glimpsed from afar as others exchanged them in the market, but never part of her possession.
“For your honesty,” the sage declared, before turning to depart.
Honesty. There was that. A hint of awe as well, and perhaps, if she was entirely truthful, a great deal of fear.
Never in their history had a Lightkeep been hidden from the sages, but stories were always murmured, most especially in her profession, of what might befall those who attempted to keep the shrouded figures from their charges.
She did not want that for herself.
She wanted a quiet life, wanted to see the joy and
