And what filled her most with dread, was that each of the stone figures had wings.
No sage had mentioned this.
The point was to forget.
Did they know? That the other keepers of the bargain had turned memory into... into something that was passed by daily, studied and...
Figures in red emerged from the doors of the keep, smiles bright and jarring. “Edgard,” they acknowledged, hands outstretched. The figure at the front had a great many rings on his fingers, golds and rubies adorning each in a garish manner. Did these people hold such wealth? The sages of her keep asked for little from the people. At least, compared to all of this.
And then a bow, his smile fading as he looked to her. “Lightkeep,” he intoned, his hands folded near his chest, pressing into his heart.
He should have waited. She should have descended from the cart, the better to nod, to gracefully follow behind them as they ushered her inside.
But he had not, so she was forced to rise and nod, and send a prayer that she might descend without incident, as none would be permitted to offer aid. Not when it meant touching her.
And that suited her well enough. There was only one she would have liked to have helped her, and he was on his way home.
There was no time for such thoughts. Later, when she was in a new chamber, sealed away for the night, she could allow more tears to come.
Not now.
She took hold of the edge of the cart and eased her way down, mindful of her skirts so they did not catch beneath her boot and send her tumbling. So often the sages had complained of her lack of grace, regaling her with tales of the one who had come before, tall in stature and elegant in all mannerisms and speech.
It had taken every bit of her to keep the spite from bubbling forth into words. That those Lightkeeps were gone and all they had was her.
Her foot met the ground and she was steady and had not made a fool of herself nor the people she represented. A fair beginning.
She released her hold on the cart.
“That will be all, Edgard,” the sage informed him. “Your people thank you for your service.”
She did not turn her head, wondering now if he would return home for good. His watch was at an end, the next Lightkeep not due until he was long since deceased.
Another would take his place, some day.
But for now, there was a family to fill his days.
How she envied him.
The sage turned to her before gesturing to the open doors of the building. “If you would accompany us,” he urged.
As if she had a choice.
But she did not allow the bitterness to turn fully into a scowl, instead walking forward, leading rather than following them into the open maw of stone and carving.
And felt the many pairs of eyes coming up behind.
Her skin prickled with awareness, the chill surrounding her as she entered the vast building made entirely of smoothed and long-ago polished stones.
Candles flickered in their cages, lanterns lining high over head, pulleys and tethers allowing mere mortals to lower them for lighting since there were no wings to make the task easier. She well understood that particular frustration, and it took a great deal to keep from turning her head, to assessing the men behind her. How much did they know? Remember? So many warnings had been given to her, to never presume, never to be forthright with knowledge that she was privileged enough to have been bestowed with, but they were sages. Surely that was enough that they would know the truth.
And she had a censure to give.
Glass sparkled in windows, colours mingling and bleeding into portraits of colour. Of winged creatures, not quite accurate in appearance. Of weapons and blood.
And finally, the largest of them all overtaking a great portion of the back wall, of green meadows and two figures, one winged, one not, heads bowed to one another, arms clasped, perhaps in friendship, perhaps resignation.
To see it all displayed thusly sent a cold clutch of fear through her. She felt exposed, in ways she had never imagined.
Histories so blatantly displayed before the whole of the people, not hidden away and cherished, doled out in sparing portions, just enough.
She swallowed thickly, footsteps echoing in stone halls, and she forced her hands to loosen from the tight fists of fear and indignation. She could not fight, could not condemn so soon.
“It has been many cycles since we have had the pleasure of accepting a female Lightkeep to our humble residence,” the sage said, and at last she felt she was allowed to turn, to study him. Hair that had once been fully dark was whitening at the temples, but he was not nearly as old as the eldest sages where she grew up. Some of those were bent with age, having lived so long as to have personally known and instructed two Lightkeeps for their Journeys. Unless she was terribly misinformed in the aging process of the land-folk, there was no possibility that this man had served so long.
“Or am I mistaken?” he asked, his eyes suggesting that he knew he was not, although he was giving just enough room for correction.
And a prompt for her to remove the hood.
She suddenly did not wish to, regardless of how she had loathed the fabric shuttering her from the rest of the world back home.
She had never considered it so, not even since the Journey had begun. She was happy to leave, happy to forget what had come before. But now as she felt so small and alone in a strange land that would never quite be hers, she missed what had come before. Even with its many faults.
But they could not see her tremble, and she was pleased that her hands were steady as she
