The shame was hot and biting, and he had to push it away forcefully before it could consume him over something that had yet to be.
He would not admit to Yanik the truth of his desires. It was not his business, regardless of the common, infuriating understanding between their ranks that everyone’s affairs were open to the discussion and opinion of everyone else.
But perhaps it was worthwhile not to allow insult to grow between compatriots.
“It is not my aim to emulate a sage,” Grimult clarified. “I merely intend to take our roles here seriously.”
He moved off again, certain his words had earned another roll of the eyes.
“Only one of us is going to get picked, you know,” Yanik reminded him, utterly unnecessarily. “You could maybe try to make some friends and start thinking about the life you’re going to have when it isn’t you that’s chosen.”
A tightening in his chest even at the possibility. “And that is what the rest of you are doing? You are already looking forward to your dismissal?”
Yanik shrugged his shoulders, pale feathers ruffling at the action. “I’m not going to pretend I’m the best at anything. Just seemed reasonable to maybe think about what comes after when I’m not going to be the one going on the journey.”
It was true that Grimult highly doubted that Yanik would be the one selected, at least not now. But perhaps if he had applied himself more diligently in the beginning, the outcome might have been different.
Grimult wanted no such regrets. So he ignored the attempts to bond with his fellow initiates and instead applied himself to his work.
If he could not be with his family and help them in their labours, then he would apply himself as best he could to the work that needed doing here.
Hurried steps gave way to vaulted thrust of wings, adding additional distance to their paces, the hour later than even Yanik had calculated. Many were assembled in the arena, the high walls lending an ominous nature to the space that was lacking in most other areas. Its purpose changed frequently, today the long string of initiates flanking both sides of the round space, two obvious holes in their ranks, quickly filled by Grimult and Yanik.
Instructors gave them both displeased glances, and Grimult felt a twist in his gut at their displeasure. He had made an oversight—a grave one, and he did not relish it being added to his record.
Now was not the time to panic. He stood straight and tall, mimicking the instructions they had been given in their first days of training. They were to carry themselves well while they wore the uniform, while the swirling sigils were displayed in bright embroidery across their chests. Wings were to be clean and tidy, with little accounting for the slight mussing that accompanied flight.
Grimult had to purpose to keep from tucking his slightly downward in dismay at his dishevelled appearance, Yanik seemingly unconcerned by the disapproval of their betters.
The Announcement was not supposed to be today, although the initiates often murmured amongst themselves that the sages would keep the date of it hidden, without the dramatics that accompanied a ceremony. Common folk were shuffling into the stands above, not nearly as many as might be present for something as important as the selection of the next Guardian. He relaxed somewhat at that, thinking this merely an occasion for those willing to make the journey to catch a scant glimpse at their Lightkeep.
Time was growing short. They all knew that. As secretive as the sages always were regarding their charge, they had made it known that they would soon be releasing the flame once more, its keeper sent off with the work of lifetimes.
And he might be a part of it, if only he was worthy.
“You look sickly,” Yanik grumbled to him. “I regret fetching you.”
Grimult tried to smooth his expression. It would not do to broadcast his tumult of emotions for all to witness—even if a much more interesting view would soon appear through the darkened passageway where only sages were allowed to tread.
Sages, and one other, that is.
The noonday sun was hot and it took a great deal of willpower to hold back the natural instinct to raise a wing to offer much desired shade. An awning typically was erected in the middle of the arena to keep the officials and most important persons comfortable during such spectacles, but not today.
There was only the dust and dirt of the ground where once grasses and flowers had grown before the theatre was erected. It was long before his time, long beyond memory itself, but he supposed it had to be so. Was it an underkeeper’s job to see that no seed was allowed to take hold even now?
A horn blew, only once, yet all fell silent in any case. The seats were scantly filled, but the initiates were all present, and the sight of their future charge was likely the true cause of the entire show. A reminder of their duty, that their work was not for an unknown entity. But something real and breathing, meant to be sheltered along the great Journey.
The sages came first, as they always did. Some of their wings dragged low across the dry earth, leaving trails of dust in their wake quickly trampled by the ones, younger than the first in the procession. They formed two half crescents, a cloaked figure in the centre, the fabric simply a darker shade of crimson than the sages own wares.
It was not a garment cut in the typical fashion. There were no slits so wings could be free, only a swathe of red, a large hood obscuring all that came beneath.
It was disconcerting, but he had always found it so. The urge to see beneath was a pressing one, even as he reminded himself firmly that he was being shown all
