So he turned, and looked.
The building itself was far shorter than he’d imagined, and he supposed that was part of the strangeness of it. Rather than be placed on tall beams to mimic the original homes carved into the rockface beside the sea, the entirety of it was upon the ground. The stones had a reddish hue, and he could not decide if they had been stained to look so, or if a specific quarry had been constructed long before to find such a unique colour.
He did not see any doors, the walls of it smooth and enclosed, though presumably a determined person could simply fly over the obstruction and see...
He could not even imagine.
Nor could he imagine a person foolish enough to attempt it. Not if they expected to live long enough to fly out again.
He turned back around, glad to see that he had kept pace with the Lightkeep and she had not strayed from him.
They both knew the direction they were to take. There was no path that would see them directly there, no ease to make the Journey more tolerable. They would have to rely on their surroundings alone, the position of the sun and the stars themselves if necessity demanded they continue on at night as well.
That part made him nervous. He had studied the charts they’d been given, had understood the basic principles, but could not deny that they still seemed random points of light rather than the guides his instructor promised him.
If they kept their pace steady and their stops short, then perhaps they would not be needed.
Or, he could hope, the Lightkeep understood such method of travel far better than he did.
The Lightkeep switched the lantern to her other hand. Was it heavy? It was not for him to touch, not for him to tend, so although the desire might have been there to alleviate even that burden from her, it was not for him to do so.
She did not speak to him, only kept her march ever forward, her pace increasing every so often, the opposite of what he might expect. There would be pouches filled with water tucked into his pack, and if she insisted on such speed, soon he would have to insist she pause so he could get her to drink something.
He would not see her lightheaded and faint on the first morning of the Journey.
“My lady?” he began at last, hoping he could urge her to slow down, to keep a more manageable gait so they could continue until their stomachs required a rest with nourishment.
She seemed startled that he had spoken at all. It was not forbidden, not anymore, but perhaps she did not know that? He wondered how she expected them to communicate if not through words.
Her pace did slow, if only marginally, as she glanced at him. “Yes?” she asked, a small line between her brows as if uncertain he was addressing her at all. Who else would he be speaking to, if not for her?
He swallowed, trying to force words that did not quite want to come. There was still an acute awareness of who she was, what she was, and he felt woefully inadequate, regardless of his newfound status. “You are going to exhaust yourself if you continue in this way,” he answered. Protect her in all things, he had sworn as an initiate. Even from herself.
She frowned, turning her head away from him and continuing onward without another word.
He would insist later. Most especially about drinking water and perhaps about her removing the hood if the day proved as hot as the one before. That felt slightly beyond what he should suggest as she doubtlessly had been dressed by the sages, the colour and detail of the cloak declaring exactly who she was, but surely her health was of far greater import.
There was a bend to the road that took them leftward, and the Lightkeep released a sigh, turning back fully. He did as well, trying to ascertain what held her interest. Was she saddened that the sages were no longer in view? The structure that held them was now entirely obscured, and he glanced at the Lightkeep, catching a glimpse of her expression despite her hood.
She was smiling.
A small thing, a gentle tug at the corner of her mouth, but present nonetheless. It confused him, as she nodded to herself and turned back, her steps at a far more sedate pace.
Grimult opened his mouth to enquire, then quickly closed it again. It was not his business to pry into her feelings on the subject. On any subject. He could better understand the instructors’ insistence on the maintenance of boundaries. Affinity often followed a close proximity to one another, and he briefly wondered if that was partially why he had been chosen. Many of the others had formed strong bonds almost immediately, camaraderie easy between them.
He had friends in his village, although not technically a part of the clan that resided there. They had been permitted to tend their farm, to build and flourish as a family, but there was always an awareness of the separation that remained. It was little wonder that his sisters would wish to marry, to feel a part of something truly.
“Penryn,” the Lightkeep interjected abruptly. “Not ‘my lady,’” she clarified, glancing at him keenly. An unusual name, one he had not expected to be given. Not that he’d expected to receive one at all.
“I had been told that there were no names amongst the sages,” he answered, realising it was a mistake to have uttered immediately. She could take it as prying into their ways, and that was not his intention in the least, nor did he relish the thought of placing her in the position of scolding him for impertinence.
Penryn raised her head a little higher. “I am not a sage,” she reminded him, her voice firm and
