Records

VIII.

It was early in the morning, prior to the appearance of the Light, flickers were starting, that shot out in the darkness, but the Lighthouse was still bathed in darkness. A lone figure walked the halls, wandering without purpose, sometimes retracing her steps, going back and forth as if she couldn’t decide where she wanted to go. Her deep red hair a sole splash of color in the grey hues of the early morning hours, she decided to move forward, this time her walk had a stronger feel, a purpose. She strode toward a deserted office, void of an occupant for sometime, but still containing the personal belongings of the previous owner. The Keepers as a whole were meticulous record keepers, often leaving the office space of past Keepers as memorials and mini museums, while they were technically open to access by anyone within the Lighthouse, the custom was to leave them undisturbed, unless a serious question regarding their past was raised or an heir came to collect the deceased’s belongings. Heirs were rare as Keepers generally stuck to the Lighthouse and if they had family they were often in the Lighthouse as well or separated at such a distance that they had little care for any belongings.

Roxanne, unable to sleep had risen early and decided to look around her father’s office. She reached the door, looked around to double-check that she was alone and entered, shutting the door behind her. It was not yet light enough to see clearly, so Roxanne pulled her crystal from its pouch and placed it on the table to act as a light. The low glow of the crystal was reassuring and calming, flickering ever-so-slightly like a candle in the wind. Roxanne sank into the chair at her father’s old desk, soaking everything in, being flooded with memories. Running around the office as a little girl, pulling books from shelves and asking him about anything that popped into her mind, playing with Patrick and coming for mischief, later after Patrick’s disappearance, coming for comfort. Roxanne let her mind wander, the thoughts and memories running wild and carefree, helping her digest the recent events and find where she fell, locate her loyalty.

“Oh, Dad. How do I know who to believe? Where is the truth? I want to believe Bartholomew and the Keepers, yet I want to believe Patrick and, and you. I don’t even know what you believed, I thought I did and then you became more distant, and now everyone tells me what you thought, but I can’t fit everything together. It’s like two or three puzzles that were thrown together and I’m trying to fit all the pieces into one giant puzzle. Dad, if only you were here. If only I could just talk to you again and see what you believe, see if you’re a traitor or a hero.”

Looking around the office, Roxanne saw all of the books that she had never read, including some shelves devoted to her father’s journals. The sight of all this untapped knowledge made Roxanne a little uneasy and overwhelmed. Perhaps if she could read everything, she could piece the world back together into a picture she could understand, not some fragmented vision of the world.

“Where do I belong? Patrick was raised here and now…he’s gone, but Bartholomew seems convinced that the Lighthouse is best for everyone, if only they lived right, did their Keeping, looked to the Light, and the Leader, that everything would work out. It doesn’t seem that easy. Dad, why did you leave? Why did you leave me? If that was what I should do why didn’t you take me with you? You were gone and then you were locked away and then- I should have gone to see you somehow, but I knew they wouldn’t let me and I was angry and I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me and now…now you’re gone and there’s nothing I can do. No apology to make, no way to find out what really happened.” Years of pain and unexpressed emotion escaped as Roxanne slammed her hands on the desk, not out of anger, but because the emotion needed an outlet and that was the most convenient escape route. Unwept tears broke from the dams that Roxanne had forced, not wanting to seem weak. In her solitude, she experienced the full range of emotion, letting her feelings go and be felt rather than held hostage. It was overwhelming, yet therapeutic. As the tears streamed down her face, some of pain, but mixed equally with tears of joy and gratitude, she forgave her father, relieving a burden she didn’t know was there. Perhaps it opened her eyes, allowing the light to fill them more fully and show the truth, less obstructed than before.

Minutes passed as Roxanne purged herself of self-contained feelings, freeing her mind to see clearly, unburdened with past emotions, guilt or grudges. Her eyes dried and her sobbing ceased, so she stood and wandered to the bookshelf staring at the books that she knew so well, running her finger along them, pulling one out every few to look at its worn cover and pages, soaking in the smell and the memories. As she perused the books, she reached the section of Fairfax’s journals, first passing over them without much thought, as they had always been forbidden, serving as Fairfax’s private thoughts and notes, not for others’ eyes. Roxanne then stopped realizing that the answers she sought could very well be contained in those pages. She looked through the volumes searching for markings of time to indicate where she should start her search. Nothing on the spines of the books indicated points of beginning or end, so Roxanne picked a likely looking book and opened it to the first page looking at the date.

“Starts before anything really happened,” she continued flipping pages looking to see how far it went, “Nope, nothing.” She reaches for the next volume flipping through and still finds nothing. The third book that she picks up is the jackpot. Beginning just prior to his first true associations with the League and his seemingly hardened disposition towards Roxanne.

Roxanne holds the book in her hands, open, ready to start reading to find out the secrets she had long been seeking. Yet something held her back- fear perhaps that she wouldn’t like what she would find, that it would paint a dark picture of her father, one that she didn’t want to accept as true, or maybe she felt like she was violating the privacy of one that had already lost everything, that the one sacred thing left was his memory and thoughts. Roxanne took the plunge, believing that the light that would be shed on the darkness of the past would be better than not knowing, regardless of what came from and that the best way to honor her father would be to understand him and live as the best of him would have wanted. She began to read…

My research in the library has lead me to believe that the current practices of the Lighthouse are not fully in line with what has previously been preached and practiced. I’ve often felt that the Lighthouse has been going in the wrong direction, since I was a young Keeper, I hung around with the League (before the Schism when they were ultimately removed from the Lighthouse) and some of their ideas stuck, I suppose. The Lighthouse seems to be more and more wary of history and transparency, concerned with the large droves that fled Tiesa during the height of the Schism, when the League was operating more or less as the primary agents of Light. I joined with the Lighthouse because I loved the Light and the Lighthouse was the best method for me to build that love, but I don’t know anymore. I feel alone. Bartholomew and I have been growing farther and farther apart in our philosophy of Keeping, which has resulted in increasing tensions here. My time with the League has also been considered suspect. I can’t share my troubles with Roxanne, since I don’t have the answers and if I happen to be wrong about everything, I don’t want to lead her out of the Lighthouse for nothing. It’s been hard reconciling my beliefs and finding the most pure nuggets of truth that I accept. I still don’t know what they all are or what any of them are. I know that the Light brings life, that while too much Light may result in blindness, I find the amount of Light to relate more to the concentration and amount found all at once, not necessarily a capped limit of Light that could be reached and never topped. I think the more Light we have, the better we all see. That the Light can show us the warts and darkness hidden in our alleys and shadows, but that realizing the good that exists in addition to, in spite of, maybe even because of the unpleasantries that lurk in the shadows we create to mask our folly.

I love the Light and want to do what I know to be right, but am afraid of the pain that it will cause others. Roxanne will be alone, particularly painful after the death of Patrick, who was like a son to me and brother to Roxanne. Bartholomew will be broken, after all our efforts to heal the Schism, bring some balance and moderation to the Lighthouse. And to my fellow Keepers. How can I keep my intellectual integrity and protect those I love from backlash due to my own choices? Where do I belong?