Guardian of the Lightkeep

her stumble, and their silence was indication enough that the subject was not to be discussed. But he could not keep the incident from replaying in his mind, most especially his reaction to her apparent distress. He needed more self-control, that much was obvious. She was under the care of the sages, and there were plenty there to offer aid. Even if their manner was not entirely in keeping with what he had first assumed it should be.

But there was much he did not know. Perhaps their kindnesses came in private, and sterner words were needed to improve her mettle for the trials to come. Unlike himself, she had already been chosen, and there was no mistaking the Journey that loomed, coming closer with every day that passed.

Was that preferable to the uncertainty that plagued him daily? He could not decide. He did not know if his future held a quick return to a farm he missed and a family that loved him dearly, or if there was a greater destiny for him.

He did not truly know which outcome he longed for more as it seemed to change almost daily.

There was a scuffle as evidently Felnir did not appreciate being questioned by his usually agreeable associates, and muscles evidently not quite overworked as Grimult’s were found the ability to hit and shove in outrage.

They should be quiet lest they alert the instructors and midnight drills were added to their noonday exertions.

“Shut up!” came a deep, grumbling voice, enough to cut through the mounting chaos. “I want to sleep,” it finished.

If the selection would be made on strength alone, there was no doubting that Hammil would be chosen. The tallest by far—with a sturdy build that was matchless in combat—most listened when, on rare occasions, he demanded something. No one wanted to endure the bruises and possible cracked bone that would accompany a hit from the likes of him, untempered by the practice sets.

More grumbling, but Grimult heard the shifting of fabrics as cots were returned to. He would not mind silence either, most especially if he had to endure more of Felnir’s boasting. He seemed entirely unchastened as he was the one that urged many to go to the neighbouring taverns for merrymaking and carousing and the sage’s disappointment was almost completely of his own doing.

He doubted Felnir would notice that the Lightkeep swayed. He doubted that he wrestled with the urge to help, to see to her health and wellbeing.

That it troubled him that the sage’s words were hissed out in irritation rather than concern.

Never mind that he had just been chastising himself for struggling with those exact impulses.

If the selection was to be soon, that meant their individual assessments would be also.

He did not know how sleep was to come when worries tugged at his every thought, dragging him back when exhaustion insisted he find the respite of sleep.

If he was to guess, it was near dawn by the time he managed it, although the awareness of how little he would have before facing the day almost made even that impossible. But there was no denying that he was awoken abruptly by the blast of the bugle, a call to rise and begin chores.

Many around him groaned, and, admittedly, had it been his father’s call to begin the day, he might have begged for another hour of sleep. But it was not his father, who might have reacted with a roll of his eyes and a settlement of an additional five minutes, and Grimult sat up, forcing himself next door to the washroom. Cold water could revive almost anything, even the deadened feeling that clung to him like a second skin.

The benefit of haste was that he did not have to share with anyone else as he pumped cold water into the hipbath. There were seven in total, spread out in neat lines with only the barest partition between them. Privacy was not seen as a necessity between initiates, most especially since their shared quarters meant that shyness was all but abolished within the first hours between them.

But having only sisters, Grimult had retained at least a semblance of his dignity and preferred, whenever possible, to bathe alone and tend to the rest of his hygiene in peace and solitude.

Days were a cycle of much the sameness. Meals were prepared, some even turned into lessons as batches of foraged goods were placed in baskets and initiates were tested on which were edible and which would cause irritation to the bowels or worse.

Grimult had yet to hear of any instructor allowing a mistake to actually be made into a dish, but given their severe expressions and the nearness of the selection, he wondered if it would soon be possible.

Training was next, some in the practice arena, others sending troupes into the woods to feign hunts and hone their alertness in such tangled surroundings.

They learned to make shelters, important for the health of both Guardian and Lightkeep, but also to protect the precious flame from being doused by a strong wind.

Did she have such lessons? In case something befell him? Or was she taught more reverent subjects, such as the purpose of the flame and the meaning to their people, the histories passed down from each generation before.

He hoped she had at least a modicum of training on more practical subjects. Not because he would resent tending to them on his own, but for her own sake. The instructors were clear that there were many perils along the way, and to think of her alone, trying to protect the flame as well as herself...

He wondered if the Lightkeep would consume his thoughts so greatly had the cloak revealed a man hidden beneath. He did not know.

All he was certain of was that in doing so, it had made his potential charge no longer a myth, but a person. Perhaps there were charms and enchantments that offered greater protection that he knew, woven into her since girlhood, but clearly she was