"The Lighthouse" A Short Story by Cassie Winter
Once upon a time, a sentry stood guard before a lightless lighthouse. The building towered over the cliff upon which it was rooted, overlooking a vast ocean on one side, and endless fields on the other.
It was a lonely post, but the faithful sentry did not question it. She stood there day and night with but one task, to let no one past.
How many years had it been since she’d seen another soul?
Then one day the sentry saw a small form making its way through the fields toward her. She waited with great anticipation until at last the stalks of wheat parted to reveal a little girl.
The child seemed familiar, but the sentry couldn’t determine why and felt unsettled.
The young girl approached until they were only a pace apart. She barely came up to the sentry’s waist, but still the sentry widened her stance, ready to prevent the child from getting past her.
“May I?” the young girl asked, peering around the sentry at the lighthouse.
A gust rose up over the cliff behind the sentry and anxiety ripped through her veins. She drew her sword, brandishing it at the small child whose innocent eyes gleamed at her from their reflection in the sword’s polished steel. The sentry rooted herself into the dirt beneath her feet, afraid of being blown away, yet not even a flutter disturbed the child’s wispy hair.
“None may pass,” said the sentry, unable to speak louder than a whisper.
The very cliffs seemed to tremble in the face of this small child.
The sentry gripped tighter onto her sword hilt, sweat trickling down her forearms.
The child leaned to the side, once again peering around the sentry at the lighthouse.
“Why?” asked the child.
The sentry’s balance wavered. Why? She had guarded this lighthouse for as long as she remembered. It was her sole purpose.
“No one may pass,” she repeated.
“But why?” repeated the child.
The sentry’s breathing quickened. Her muscles quaked and the sword threatened to fall from her grasp.
Why?
Her eyes darted back and forth, seeking an answer.
But she didn’t know.
Why didn’t she know?
The sentry steadied herself with a deep breath. The reason didn’t matter. The task mattered. Perhaps a half truth would appease the child and make her leave. For why would something need to be guarded if not for protection?
“For protection,” the sentry said, forcing her voice deep.
“Whose protection?”
The sentry’s breath caught in her throat. Again she didn’t know.
Why didn’t she know?
The sentry’s arms failed her and the sword swung down to her side, kicking up a cloud of dirt. She cursed under her breath.
When the dust settled, the child was gone, the only evidence of her departure the stalks of wheat swaying from side to side.
Unsettled, the sentry paced back and forth at her post, time now feeling like an endless trudge instead of peaceful. Why had the child come? Why had she brought so much confusion in her wake? The sentry wished to go back to the way it was before, before the child had caused her to question everything.
Whereas before the lighthouse rose like a steady beacon behind her, now the sentry felt a looming unanswered question rising at her back and casting a shadow across her purpose. Who or what was she protecting?
Suddenly her post felt too close to the lighthouse, too close to the unanswered question, so she walked ten paces down the path toward the field. She’d never stood here before. It left her feeling adrift and she continued to pace until a day later when the child returned.
“For whose protection?” asked the child again.
The sentry kneeled to look the child in the eye. Why were those eyes so familiar?
“Who are you, child?” asked the sentry.
“For whose protection?” repeated the child with a knowing smile.
The sentry furrowed her brow, seeking an answer in the child’s gaze. Unable to find one, she proffered a guess.
“For the world’s protection?”
The girl shook her head, unsatisfied, and left.
“Cursed child!” cried the sentry, shaking her fist at the stalks of wheat which seemed to clap at her ignorance.
The sentry returned the ten paces to her original post and waited for the child to return, anger fueling her pride in her task.
“For whose protection?” asked the child when she returned the next day.
At the words the sentry’s anger dissipated like smoke, leaving her bones heavy. Why didn’t she know?
The sentry turned to face the lighthouse. It was at once as familiar as her own hand, yet a new question rose to the surface of her awareness.
Had she ever turned to look at the lighthouse before?
The sentry felt a small hand on hers. She jumped and looked down. It was only the child, standing next to her quietly.
“For whose protection?” the child repeated.
“There’s something inside,” the sentry began, gazing at the lighthouse. She knew. She knew there was something inside the lighthouse. But what?
The sentry looked down at the child who was smiling.
“For whose protection?” the child asked again, this time more urgently.
“For its protection?” the sentry tried, wanting answers.
“But why would a star need protection?” the child beamed before turning and skipping off into the field.
“A star?”
Specks of black flecked across the sentry’s vision. Afraid she might faint, she hurried to sit on the ground. Her muscles sighed. Had she ever sat before? She lay her sword across her lap and gazed up at the lighthouse.
The child had suggested there was a star inside the lighthouse. That wasn’t possible.
Yet as sure as the sentry was that it was impossible - a star could not be caged, she was just as sure that it was true. And what’s more, she had always known it.
How could she have forgotten that she was standing sentry for a star?
As she gazed at the lighthouse, she found herself wondering what it looked like. Did she know and had simply forgotten, as she had seemingly forgotten everything else?
She waited eagerly for the girl to return the next day, wanting to know more, but the girl never came. Days became weeks, weeks turned into months, and months blurred into years as the sentry continued to sit, gazing up at the lighthouse with a star trapped inside. But the girl never returned.
A longing grew in the sentry’s heart, spanning the expanse of time like a blanket of wonder. She found herself sifting through her mind for peaks at the star, yet all she found were memories of guarding this lonely post.
Eventually her heart broke. Why had the child not returned? She wanted to know, to understand. Tears spilled freely from her eyes. She lifted her sword like a mirror to her face to wipe away the tears and discovered something unexpected.
The sentry’s own eyes were at once both foreign and familiar, peering at her from the slits in her helmet as if the child’s eyes had grown old and weary.
She dropped her sword and leaped to her feat. What sorcery was this?
Her heart thrummed as if her feet were tearing through the fields away from the lighthouse, but something held her fast. She summoned determination, calling it up from the cliff stone beneath her and into her blood.
It was then that the Lighthouse Sentry, having stood guard for a countless age, abandoned her post.
She alighted on the staircase that spiraled up around the lighthouse and climbed for what felt like days. When she finally reached the top, instead of windows into the lantern room, the sentry discovered fortified shutters held closed by a great iron chain and lock. No wonder the lighthouse had always been lightless.
“For whose protection?” asked a familiar voice.
The sentry jumped. The little girl was there with her on the deck regarding the massive lock. How had the child gotten past her?
“I abandoned my post!” the sentry cried, a wave of grief felling her to her knees. “What have I done!”
“Whose protection?” the little girl whispered, resting a gentle hand on the sentry’s shoulder.
Tears burbled up from the cracks in the sentry’s heart and leaked from her eyes in impossible amounts, pooling around her on the lighthouse deck. She found herself removing her helm to dry her face, but as her eyes found the teary puddle, the sentry came to know her full reflection for the first time.
Her eyes were indeed those of the little girl’s grown old and weary, for her whole face was that of the little girl’s grown old and weary.
How was this possible?
“For whose protection?” asked her reflection.
The sentry pushed herself to her feet and noticed the child had vanished, but then realized that wasn’t possible. For the child was her, the Lighthouse Sentry.
Her armor melted into mist around her, leaving behind the tangible truth buried deep inside her that she’d been afraid to bare witness to.
The sentry went to the lock on the shutters and whispered to the star caged inside.
“I stood guard for my own protection,” she paused, “from you.”
She bent to reach for her sword, but instead found an iron key lying at her feet.
As she set the key into the lock, wisps of blinding light seeped through newly forming cracks in the shutters and a new voice filled the sentry’s being. The voice was old and wise, and just as familiar as the child’s voice had been.
“But that’s not the question, is it?” asked the new voice.
“No,” the sentry’s heart smiled.
The sentry turned the key and the lock sprung open, causing the chains to fall away from the shutters.
“The question is,” began the new voice.
“Who has the power to cage a star?” finished the sentry.
“It’s safe now. We don’t have to hide anymore,” said the voice.
“I know,” grinned the sentry. “It’s time.”
Our hero threw open the shutters, flooding her world with untamed light.
As the hero gazed into the star, all its unbound power spilled into her, filling the cracks of her being with precious gold light, power, and magic.
The sentry breathed it all in, expecting to burst, but instead discovered a delightful wholeness and closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the towering building had vanished. She stood atop the cliff looking out over the ocean.
The sentry breathed in the salty air and turned to walk into the unknown, a smile on her face because the lighthouse was no longer lightless. Instead the sentry carried it with her in her heart, promising from now on to protect it with love and not fear.
The stalks of wheat clapped in her wake, and in the distance she swore she could hear a familiar child laughing with joy.