The Lighthouse

I.

Descending from the tower, a crowd is gathered below. A grey mist covers the streets with the streetlamps providing minimal light in the perpetual dusk of Tiesa. The gallows are ready, with the onslaught of that day’s criminals, being led to their impending doom. The anticipation is thick, as the crowd knows that these criminals are different than the usual. These are infiltrators, traitors, Keepers that had turned against the Lighthouse. Pirates even.

Watching from above, the Leader steels himself for the horror that he’s about to witness. Hands gripping on the window ledge, so tightly his fingers pale from the pressure. In the square, the crowd readies for their entertainment. The cloaked executioners lead the guilty to their gallows. Black blindfolds are wrapped tightly around the eyes of the guilty, blocking any light that may enter. Each noose is placed carefully and securely around the neck of the offenders. The executioners look up, awaiting the signal. With great anguish the Leader holds up his staff, so that the light reflects through the crystal at the top, glinting brightly and sending a bright, unmistakable beam into the air and a solitary tear graces his cheek. As the beam breaks through the clouds, the executioners return to their work, pulling the lever that leads to the offenders' doom.

CRACK! The necks snap simultaneously, echoing over the apathetic square and up to the Leader’s window, where he slumps, shoulders shaking in silent sobs, as the crowd realizes the spectacle is over. They mumble amongst themselves about the dead, spreading rumors of a fringe, conspiracy group and brief horror that some children were present, quickly forgotten as they return to their everyday labors and worries.

A young woman lingers at a distance. Simultaneously drawn and repulsed by the corpses, she stands proud, with her head cocked to one side. A dark green cloak covers her deeply red hair, blowing in the biting breeze that swirls the mist around her feet. She begins to take a step forward, her eyes locked on the third of the five killed, a man that bears a striking resemblance to her. She steels herself, gritting her teeth, and turns her back to the corpses looking upward, feeling the gaze of someone else.  Her eyes meet the Leader’s, continuing to soak in the scene from his bird’s nest. She removes her hood, pulling out a smooth crystal that she holds above her head refracting light to the Leader, who subsequently refracts the light from his own crystal over the woman, quickly turning and heading inside, with the name, Roxanne perched on his lips.

The woman in green returns the crystal to it’s holding place at her side and begins to walk towards the Lighthouse, the magnificent building the Leader entered from his ledge. The structure is in the center of the sprawling city, with towers in each corner. In addition to the corner towers, the center of the Lighthouse contains the tower that lends its name to the entire castle-cathedral, extending far above the other towers to heights unfathomable. Legend has it that the Tower reaches into the sky spreading the light from the sun itself. The Lighthouse is made of stone, white, gleaming stone, a monument to the purity of the Light it was built to protect. The streets are empty, as usually happens after an execution. The people gather, hoping excitement, perhaps a protest or rebellion like the myths have, but instead, quick, uneventful deaths are the norm. The people return to their safe, relatively uneventful lives, continuing on, most uncaring about the Lighthouse and the work of the Keepers within.

Roxanne entered the Lighthouse and strode past the public chambers where a few elderly citizens of Tiesa pondered the Light, nodding to the Keepers nearby, and finally reaching the gate to the upper levels. She raised her crystal, allowing the light to refract onto the keypad. The gate opened to the spiral staircase leading upward. Roxanne climbed until she came to the Chamber, a grand room where The Leader and the Council of the Keepers met to debate and determine the future of Tiesa.

She paused before the door, collecting her thoughts, unsure what she wanted, but feeling compelled to enter. She raised her hands to push open the double doors, heavy and tall, pausing about to go on by, returning to her room in another part of the Lighthouse. Torn, she waited for agonizing seconds, deciding to leave as the door opened, startling her.

“Greetings, Roxanne.” The Keeper said, raising his crystal, “My deepest condolences for your loss.”

“Thaddeus, thank you, though can we truly feel sorrow for the pain brought about by our own choices? The path he walked was regrettable, but the choice was his, no one else’s.”

“Choice is key, but love extends beyond choice Roxanne, even to the deepest, darkest crevices…”

“Yes, ‘where the light cannot shine.’ I know, Thaddeus. Is Bartholomew here?”

“The Leader is pondering, Roxanne. He…”

“Thank you. Tomorrow?” Roxanne replied, cutting short Thaddeus’ remarks.

“Yes, until tomorrow.” Thaddeus conceded with a sigh, continuing on his path out of the Chamber.

Roxanne briskly entered, feeling a little fiery after her exchange with Thaddeus. She knew he meant well, but he was always so understanding, that she wondered whether he really grasped the seriousness of the situation and gravity that it should be dealt with. Could he really get it and remain so steady and unmoved?

“Roxanne,” Bartholomew beckoned to her, startling her out of her introspection.

“Why, Bartholomew? Why? He knew it. He knew what the danger was and the cost. Shouldn’t that have been enough to stop him? Knowing that he could leave me, alone?” Roxanne’s voice rose as she spoke, her pent up frustration, anger and sorrow beginning to surface, “If only he could have ignored it and focused on other things. He always went back to the Schism.”

“Roxanne, we suffered a great loss today. Your father was like my brother. We had always dreamed of changing the world together. He was a brilliant, passionate man, Roxanne, and his lost potential is tragic. He could have accomplished great things, if only he had remained true.” As Bartholomew strove to comfort Roxanne, he embraced her.

“But why? He betrayed me.” Roxanne choked back tears as the word crossed her lips, vocalizing the concern that had really been weighing on her.

“No, not you. He betrayed the Lighthouse. He always loved you, but that wasn’t enough, was it? His love may have been strong, but it couldn’t hold him to the light. Today was the most trying of my time as Leader, Roxanne. I never thought it would come to this, but as you know, we are Keepers of the Light for a reason.”

“I know.”

“You can live to honor the man your father could have been, the man before the Schism. Greatness lies within you. Explode the greatness within.”

Roxanne looked up into Bartholomew’s piercing blue eyes, that could see straight through you, but never seemed to let you see the sadness or pain that must lurk just behind them.

“I will. We can heal the Schism, right? So this doesn’t happen again, the pain and sorrow of betrayal?”

“We can only hope. Until tomorrow, Roxanne.”

Roxanne departed, slightly relieved, but still deeply divided. Her life that was once harmonious had been ruptured into two loyalties that were never meant to conflict. Her loyalty to her father and her loyalty to the Lighthouse, as a Keeper. Unsure where to turn or where to remain- follow her father, chasing the Schism and betraying all the Keepers stood for? Or leaving her father’s work behind, continuing to protect the light as the Keepers were sworn to do.

Roxanne returned to her room to find a message in a bottle. The bottle was green glass, tall and fairly thin. The message inside was on old paper, torn and aged with wear. Rolled up and tied with seaweed, the parchment was brittle. Roxanne removed the letter and began to read. A scoff appeared on Roxanne’s face soon replaced with a look of interest, quickly replaced with disgust, yet the interest returned fighting the disgust for dominance on her countenance. Roxanne finished the letter and began again, not believing what she had read. As she went through the letter for the third time, confirming her suspicions and beliefs, a fellow Keeper entered.

“Erin, come here,” Roxanne called excitedly.

“That’s why I came,” Erin replied, “I thought about just standing in the doorway, lurking to provide comfort and companionship, but thought that might be a bit too much.”

Roxanne rolled her eyes at Erin’s typical sarcastic response.

“Read this,” she said, handing Erin the aged, damp parchment.

“No…”

“It has to be. Who else would know?”

“But, he’s dead, Roxanne. There’s no way it could be him.”

“I’m telling you, it’s got to be and that changes everything.”

“Everything? He’s still on the other side, working against us, Roxanne. The Schism is only widening with this League of Light, these pirates.”

“My father-“ Roxanne began, clearly hurt by the biting suggestion of Erin’s words.

“Roxanne, you know I don’t mean your dad. He strayed, but he was different. Some bad choices, but hey, you’ve got to accept that, sometime, right?”

“Accept what?”

“That your father’s work to bridge the Schism only deepened the divide.”

“No, I can’t believe that. He worked too long and too hard for the Schism to be worse.”

“There’s no other choice, Roxanne. If you’re not bridging the Schism, you’re deepening it and well, your dad sure wasn’t building any bridges.”

“There’s still time.” Roxanne waves the message as if that’s proof of her claim, “There’s still time.”