But not Grimult.
The weight of his responsibility was settling on him, the quiet sureness he had fostered for so long suddenly feeling far too thin, ready to break open as soon as the strangeness of his new purpose became all the more real.
The Lightkeep moved, walking back towards the sages, and Grimult followed as if pulled by some invisible tether. There was no choice in the matter, only the impulse and need to be near, and once again he wondered if some magic had come over him at his agreement.
The thought was a sobering one, to imagine that he had less control over his own will that perhaps he had thought before.
Aemsol had been correct. Her body was female, yes, but that did not make her an ordinary woman, and he would be a fool to forget it.
“We thank the rest of you for your service and dedication,” the sage continued as they approached. His eyes went to the crowds above. “Including yours in giving us the use of your sons. They are dismissed to your care once more.”
All but one.
Now Grimult wished more than anything that he had managed a glimpse at his family, that even now he might know if they were pleased at the choice. He had not squandered his time here, and not wasted what precious time might have been spent with them instead.
And they might appreciate that, but still, he could well imagine they had been excited to see him home.
His mother likely had scrubbed his room clean, although it was more of an alcove in their small dwelling rather than a full enclosure. There would be fresh linens on the bed, his sisters offering to help before being shooed away by their mother, insisting she do it herself.
There would be all the fixings for his favourite meal waiting by the cook-pot.
And there would be again, he assured himself. When he came back from the Journey and was home for the rest of his days.
He swallowed as the sages surrounded him, even though he should have expected it as they had always done so to the Lightkeep the few times he had glimpsed her before now. They kept their distance, but he was accurately aware of their presence, his eyes not sure where to settle as he looked at their expressions.
They should be pleased, but each seemed hard and unwelcoming as they guided them both back toward the passage.
The one he had never truly believed would be for him to take.
Already he missed the camaraderie between initiates, the commiseration that could be found if he was so inclined to look. Yanic would make some remark about how dark and imposing the passage was as they entered it, fashioned by the sages own attitudes, he was certain.
Hammil, coming from a family of masons would say, if pressed to give any comment at all, that the stonework was adequate, but his father could do better.
And Grimult...
He would say that the Lightkeep was shorter still than he’d expected, and he was having trouble imagining how tightly they had strapped down her wings beneath the cloak to achieve such a shape behind her.
Surely she would not have to maintain such discomforts once they were alone in their travels. If she had been taught to keep to the ground, then so be it, but his own wings ached at the thought to being so confined.
Torches lined the passageway, disallowing for him to take in many details of the space and the people within unless they were directly beside one of the flames. Orange danced with the reds worn by all but him, giving them an almost menacing appearance, and the pride he had expected to feel about being selected was nearly completely replaced with rueful acceptance.
They had not told him of this part. Of the wary feeling that came where awe should be. To be included in something so momentous surely would come with a feeling of gratitude, and perhaps it might come later but now...
There was a bend in the passage, allowing for two alternate routes to be taken, a glimmer of natural light coming from the rightmost. There were figures there, and he saw more reds, more imposing faces.
How many sages did they require for an escort?
But there were four others, clothes in warm browns and soft greens, with faces filled with pride and worry.
His steps faltered.
They had not been in the stands at all.
“You are permitted to say goodbye to your loved ones,” a gruff voice informed him from behind, others smoothly parting so he could make his way to them.
The tether demanded he remain with the Lightkeep, but he found when he could get his feet working that it was not so very difficult to move away from her. Not when his family was there, waiting.
His mother had tears in her eyes, which he should have expected. But they sent a lump to his throat all the same. “Don’t cry,” he pleaded, opening his arms and surrounding her. His sisters did not seem willing to wait their turn for hugs of their own and pressed close to each side, arms and wings twining until he was not certain he would be able to get out again.
That was likely their aim, and he felt a swell of warmth go through him. He had missed them. All of them. And suddenly the Journey felt even longer, but determination filled him to see it through, and quickly. He would do it well, would not shirk any of his newfound responsibilities, but he would remember the home he was returning to and not tarry when it wasn’t needed.
His mother leaned back, her hands coming to grasp his face between both palms. “You take care of yourself,” she ordered, as firmly and expectantly as any
