The Lighthouse's Whisper

The sky was streaked with faded gold and bruised purples as the sun's last rays disappeared beneath the horizon. The first lantern was lit by Lina, and the warm flame flickered in the refreshing salt air. Her community constantly braced itself against the wind and the waves by clinging to the cliffs like a stubborn barnacle. She tended the flame that protected sailors every night as she made her way up the twisting road to the lighthouse. Her family had held the honor for many centuries, and the villagers referred to her as the Lantern Keeper.

However, at twenty-three, Lina frequently felt as like she was wearing a part that was still too wide in the shoulders and didn't quite suit a coat that had been passed down from others.

There was more than the typical tang of salt in the wind tonight. The air felt heavy, like a storm building far out at sea. It was palpable in her bones. There was a deep, restless growl from the waves, and the road was slippery under her feet.

Her daily routine consisted of lighting the main beacon, checking the mirrors, and ensuring that the beam was clear enough to see through the darkness. However, she halted upon arriving at the lighthouse. On worn hinges, the big wooden door stood open and swayed softly.

Nobody arrived up here.

After dusk, the peasants never ascended the cliff. They recounted ancient stories about shadows and curses, and ghosts that prowled the coast. At least Lina believed she didn't believe such stories. However, she felt uneasy about that open door for some reason.

She entered. The spiral staircase was covered in moss, and the air was cold and wet. As she ascended, her footfall resounded hollowly. The lantern room at the top was quiet. The wick was not ignited, yet the huge glass lens glittered in the faint light. And there was a guy standing in the far corner, somewhat obscured by the shade.

He was tall and wore a ragged coat that, in the moonlight, shimmered oddly like fish scales. He stared at her with a disturbing serenity in his pale, nearly white eyes.

"Who are you?" Even as her palm clenched around the oil light, Lina asked in a firm voice.

With a deep, quiet voice akin to waves carrying stones across the beach, he declared, "I am the Tide." "And I need your light tonight."

Lina gasped with surprise. According to the traditions she had heard, sea spirits that were confined to the deep occasionally assumed human form when the night was sufficiently dark. However, they were merely tales. Were they not?

As she approached the large lantern, she informed him, "The light is for ships." "Not for you."

The Tide's head cocked. "Keeper, a ship is lost tonight. I can't claim one. I'll show you when you light your flame.

Lina struck a match against her better judgment. The beam sliced through the storm-dark sky, the wick caught, and the lens intensified the flame.

"To the window," the Tide said. Lina noticed it far out over the waves a ship, too near the rocky cliffs, its sails ripped, its lights flashing. Her stomach grew constricted. From the cliff path, she had not noticed it.

The Tide declared, "Help me save them, or they're mine by dawn."

Lina paused. The rocks below were ruthless, and the storm would soon break over the shore. If the crew noticed the light in time, it could lead them. From here, safe in the tower, she could maintain watch. However, when her father's boat hit those same rocks years before, safety had never saved him.

Then she said, "Tell me what to do."

The tiniest smile curled the Tide's lips. Grab the skiff. To them, row. Clear the way for them.

Lina felt her heart pound. It was an ancient, hardly seaworthy skiff. Outside, the waves were already crashing high. However, she noticed that the ship's light was waning, like a decreasing heartbeat.

The sound of the Tide followed her like the sea's draw as she dashed down the stairs.

As she pushed the skiff into the sea, gusts of chilly rain slammed into her face. She rowed hard, her arms burning, the lamp swinging from the bow, even as the boat tossed crazily under her weight.

The Tide was at her side once more, his words echoing through the storm, but this time he was walking on the sea as if it were solid ground rather than in the boat. "Don't stop."

The world shrank to the dim light in front of them. With only the roar of her heart, the crash of the waves, and the creak of oars, the hours appeared to blend together.

She waved the lamp and shouted as the ship eventually loomed over her. On deck, figures emerged, pointing and rushing. With a moan against the wind, the ship started to spin and edge away from the rocks. She felt a wave of relief.

Then there was a wave.

She was completely engulfed by the waves as the skiff capsized. Her breath was taken away by the cold. Her lungs burned as she thrashed and struggled upward.

She was hauled up by strong, liquid hands. With his pale eyes softening, the Tide held her. He whispered softly, "You burned bright," and then he laid her gently on the beach.

The storm had broken by the time she returned to the lighthouse. In the harbor, the ship rested securely. Lina realized that it had been more than just luck, even though the people would talk about a miracle.

She had turned back to face herself and the sea.

Even though the tide had passed, she sensed a fresh vigor that had not previously existed when she lit the lantern the following evening. The Lantern Keeper was still her. Now, though, it was her who had ventured into the dark and survived.