The Tower on the Shore
Image by Mohamed Hassan
My ship made land at the darkened lighthouse many hours later than I had hoped. It took a careful reading of the afternoon stars to navigate the endless black waves. Eventually, we found the tower. This far from the twilight region the stars were always easy to see, except for the few days the moon hung high in the sky.
My sloop docked with a deep groan, and I had to promise her we wouldn’t stay longer than an hour before she let me disembark.
An hour is too long on the shore, she complained. We should never have come to the mainland.
I hid a smile as I tied her to the dock. Selah was young, and very opinionated.
She undid the lashing I had tied. The rope twisted under her control into a less secure lashing, one that could be quickly released, which made me anxious. I got anxious every time I went ashore, like Selah was going to abandon me.
I didn’t quite trust her yet, for all the months we had worked together.
“We’ll be gone within the hour,” I promised again.
I’m sure, Selah said. Try not to do anything stupid.
I lit my oil lantern and turned the wick to just above a sputter, then quietly climbed out of my vessel.
The long wooden dock was decades old, and I stepped carefully to avoid putting my foot through a few rotten boards. My boots were quiet on the wood, but the creaking from the pillars reminded me that no matter how quiet I was, there would always be something to draw the Darkness’s attention.
The rocky quay smelled of salt and fish, with seaweed and flotsam marking the tideline. I stayed close to the water, but not so close that my boots got wet. I’d rather have sandy boots than wet. I liked these boots.
The lighthouse tower was a spear into the starry sky, surrounded on all sides by water. Only a small retractable bridge connected it with the land, and it was currently lowered, badly damaged. Not a good sign.
The wind picked up as I reached the dark stone that marked the foundation of the lighthouse. The tower itself, spiking high overhead, was open to the elements. The wooden door had been smashed off its hinges, from the inside.
I passed into the tower, holding my lantern aloft to survey the scene. Deep gouges scarred the stone floor and walls. There were remnants of wooden furniture scattered about. The aftermath of someone taken by the Darkness.
The logbook was missing. It should have been hidden inside a stone alcove. I found a bag of gold coins, the lighthouse keeper’s guild mark, a salt block, and a few other valuables within the alcove, but not the logbook.
I began lighting lanterns around the small room, setting the salt block in front of the door. The Darkness would not take kindly to my presence. Unfortunately, I couldn’t retract the broken bridge to keep myself safe.
I sighed. Without the logbook, this investigation would take longer than an hour.
Selah would not be surprised.
With the added light from the lanterns, I scoured the tower. There were fragments of pottery on the stone floor, origin unknown.
I decided the light at the top of the tower would have more clues. Grimacing at the long climb, I began my ascent up the stone stairs.
The Consulate would want as much information as I could gather before they decided whether to abandon the lighthouse or restore it. I had my preference, but I knew better than to try to influence their process.
At the top of the tower, the brazier in the light mechanism was cold and crusted thick with soot and ash.
Laying within it was what remained of the logbook.
I carefully sifted through the charred pages. Someone had ripped the book apart before burning it.
One page had partially survived the burning. I held it up to my light to read.
It was dated a week ago.
600, ignition. Oil reserves at one-quarter, shipment from Consulate delayed.
1035, first sighting, two ships took course from the light, both small-mid, minimal crew, traveling together. Bearing west by southwest.
1410, large merchant vessel, The Seadog’s Shroud, stopped to resupply fresh water. Bearing south.
1840, schooner docked for oil refill, young woman. Unhappy that I could not spare any. Bearing southeast.
2200 extinguish. Some soot buildup. Oil reserves above one-eighth. Darkness close.
The oil reserve – several pots lining the inland wall of the tower – had been smashed to pieces, their oil spilt. The pots had been smashed by something small, like a hammer.
I found the hammer after a cursory search.
It struck me then. This wasn’t just the work of the Darkness. The victim wouldn’t have done this under its thrall. Someone sane had done this deliberately. Someone had set up the lighthouse keeper to be taken.
My lantern sputtered.
I quickly turned up the wick, but the sputtering continued. The Darkness was taking interest.
“Not yet,” I muttered. I sprinkled some salt onto the wick, and the flame climbed back to its usual state.
Relieved, I did a more thorough search of the top of the tower. There was an emergency reserve of oil I could use to replenish my own dwindling supply.
The emergency reserve was something only lighthouse keepers and select members of the Consulate knew about.
And it was empty.
I walked out onto the balcony of the tower and surveyed the sea. None of this made sense. Someone with knowledge had done this.
Was it another guildmember? Was it the Consulate guildmasters? Would the Consulate have ordered a hit on a guildmember? Why would they do that?
The Darkness hadn’t done this. Or had it? I knew little about the Darkness, but I knew it only had one goal: to feed. It consumed the minds of its victims and made them puppets to its unfathomable designs. It was currently contained on the mainland, cut off from any living creature.
The Darkness had always been devious. Perhaps now it was desperate. But why would it do this?
Back downstairs I spread out what I had found on the stone floor. The hammer and the contents of the alcove were valuable. Yet they had been left behind by whoever had done this.
I studied the partially burned logbook paper again. Something wasn’t right. The format was too informal. An average sailor might not find anything wrong with the entries, but I knew the Consulate and their keepers better than most. They had a rigid format for how records were kept, and this wasn’t it.
I read closer, paying attention to details. The ships’ bearings didn’t make sense. South was just inland. In fact, all the ships’ directions pointed inland.
This whole page was a lie. It was a poorly crafted lie, too. Nobody would come to a lighthouse expecting them to provide oil.
“Why write a lie and then burn it?” I thought aloud, earning another set of sputtering from the lanterns.
Rather than wait around for the Darkness to be right on my heels, I decided to spend my time thinking aboard my sloop.
Selah listened to me explain everything. She was a relatively new ship, and her navigation skills weren’t the best, but the Consulate had forced us together after my last ship retired. They said I needed someone young to keep me on my toes, and someone bright to whom I could teach the ways of the sea. I would have preferred a more experienced vessel, one wise enough to be as distrustful of the Consulate as I was.
“It was written by the keeper,” I said. “It matches the writing on her most recent report.”
Were there any other pages left from the logbook?
“No. Strange this should be the only one.”
Unless the keeper meant to keep it from burning.
“Why burn it in the first place?”
Maybe someone made her burn it. Oh, I don’t know.
It didn’t make sense to me, but we were building her deductive reasoning.
Selah rotated her yardarm back and forth, which she often did when she was deep in thought. Why trash the tower and attract the Darkness’s attention?
“Someone wanted the tower to go dark. And they didn’t care about the consequences.”
Selah said nothing. If she had eyes, they would have been closed in contemplation.
“I’m trying to figure out who would have done this,” I said. “It wasn’t a robbery, and it wasn’t random. Someone with knowledge did this.”
She hummed, obviously not listening to me.
“The Consulate might be trying to abandon this trade route. Some of the guildmasters have broached the subject. It’s not as profitable as they wish.”
Silence.
Frustrated, I picked up the charred paper and read the details again. What was I missing?
I’ve got it! Selah shouted – as much as she could shout when speaking directly to my mind. The page is a map!
I frowned. “A map? To what?”
The bearings all point inland, almost like directions.
“Directions for what?”
I … don’t know. Maybe the keeper discovered something. Maybe she hid something from whoever did this.
“And wrote it in a way that an ordinary person wouldn’t suspect anything. That’s a good idea, Selah.” I wanted to encourage her rather than dismiss a long shot.
I reviewed the page. The first bearing was west by southwest, presumably from the tower.
As I went to climb onto the dock to go chasing after this next clue, I froze when I looked further ashore.
The Darkness was waiting.
Just beyond the dock, tentatively foraying across the water with tendrils that evaporated as soon as the salty brine splashed them, loomed a mist-like void.
Sometimes the Darkness came like a whale, no subtlety, all power. Other times it came like a shark, circling until it ambushed its victim. And other times, like right then, it came like the fog, building slowly before encompassing everything within its grasp.
It felt its way towards me, bloated and hungry. It was a beast, unpredictable and wild. And it was large. Larger than the sky. Vision and logic could not fathom its depth and breadth.
The constant splashes of sea foam kept the Darkness from moving onto the dock very far, but it got close enough.
I dared not look too closely. I didn’t want to go mad.
Eventually, the Darkness retreated inland.
I waited an hour before I stepped foot on the shore again.
Good luck, Selah said. And whatever you do, keep quiet.
The first indication Selah had been right was when I discovered a freshwater spring less than two hundred paces inland, west by southwest of the tower.
The logbook page was a map. But to where?
The page gave my next bearing, south, though I couldn’t decipher what I would find there.
Fifty paces and I discovered a corpse. Judging by the outfit, it might have been a woman. My dim lamplight and the gentle illumination of the eternal stars showed me little, but it appeared old, several years or more. Next to her was a broken lantern.
I thought of the roving Darkness and shivered. Sometimes it savored its victim’s consciousness. Other times it sapped it all at once, as must have happened here. Poor woman.
My light hadn’t sputtered yet, but the moment it did I would turn around. Getting back would take me at least as long as getting to wherever the keeper was sending me.
It had been years since I braved the mainland. It came with the territory, but I usually found ways to avoid it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t this time.
I took my final bearing between two gnarled trees, and began walking. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but if the keeper—
A loud snap rang out through the mists, and I stumbled to my knees. I bit back a cry, heart pounding. I had hit my leg on something.
I had made noise.
I waited for a few tense heartbeats for my lantern to begin sputtering. It flickered, but did not dim.
Rising painfully to my feet, I tried to take a few steps, but my right leg was caught in something that clanked as I moved.
A large steel trap had snapped shut on me. It was something a hunter would use in the twilight region, where animals had not been eradicated by the Darkness.
As the adrenaline wore off, I began to feel the damage that had been done to my leg. My shinbone was cracked. If I had been wearing thicker boots, perhaps the trap wouldn’t have broken my leg. I silently cursed my sense of fashion and comfort.
I tested the release on the trap, and the metal squeaked.
Knowing my time was short, and noise would kill me faster than lack of light, I poured the oil from my lantern onto the hinges and contact points of the trap. It helped the metal not squeak as much, but when I pulled my leg out and let the trap close completely, it made a loud clack.
My lantern sputtered.
I put an emergency pinch of salt onto the flame, but it remained low and dim. I had used most of my oil to free myself from the trap.
I had to get to the sea, quickly. It was the only thing that would stand between me and the Darkness.
Limping, I took my bearing and aimed for the shoreline.
I had made barely sixty paces when my light went out.
I didn’t stop. There was no way to know whether a lack of oil or the Darkness had extinguished my light. I set the lantern down so I could move quicker.
On I marched, silent tears falling from my eyes, tears of pain, fear, and confusion.
I could see the sea now. My breathing was ragged, noisy. I tried to calm it. Panicking wasn’t going to help me.
A growl sounded behind me.
I looked over my shoulder, and a cry escaped my lips.
The lighthouse keeper barreled toward me, clothed only in Darkness, hunched over and frothing at the mouth.
She crashed into me, and we rolled on the ground as she clawed at my throat.
“Clever little sailor,” she rasped. Darkness filled her eyes and poured from her lips.
She pinned me down and began squeezing my neck. I swung wildly at her, but she ignored my blows.
“Sleep. Dream the deepness, the silence, the Darkness. Close now.”
My mind grew blurry.
Salt. I needed salt. But my pocket was empty. I had used my last pinch up a few minutes ago.
Unless…
Reaching up, I wiped my tear-stained face, then shoved my moistened hands onto the keeper’s face.
White-hot heat erupted from my hands, and the keeper screamed. She staggered off of me and scratched her cheeks frantically. She drove her face into the dirt, trying desperately to remove the salt.
With a hiss like a water-doused fire, black smoke began to stream from her.
She writhed on the ground as she evaporated into mist that billowed into the sky.
By the time she was completely gone I had finally caught my breath. My hands were badly burned, and my leg was fully broken.
Crawling on my elbows, I made for the sea. I needed to stay calm.
Still, I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder.
The Darkness loomed across the entire horizon, and was flowing swiftly after me, ravenous. It would reach me in moments.
With nothing else to do, I closed my eyes.
The Darkness engulfed me.
Silence swelled around me, colder than ice.
I had one chance to survive, before I became like the lighthouse keeper. I had to make it to the sea without opening my eyes.
I couldn’t hear the surf. I would have to travel in a straight line without seeing or hearing where I was going.
Pain shot through my body as I crawled. I had to avoid crying. The salty residue on my face was already burning me.
Fear began to take hold. I was in the Darkness, the Mind-Rotter, the Endless Maw, the Extinction, Extinguisher, Ender.
I was going to die. Worse, my body would stay alive, a puppet of the Darkness until it rotted to nothing.
I should have reached sand by now. Was I even going the right way? I began to move faster, panicking.
Hey! This way!
I froze. That was Selah.
You’re too far to the right. Turn forty-five degrees to the left.
Of course. She didn’t see with eyes or speak with a mouth. Her voice pierced the cloud of Darkness, directly to my mind.
I adjusted my course and made my way with encouragement from Selah. My broken leg pulled me to the side, but she kept me traveling in a straight line.
At last, my hands plunged into wet sand, and I staggered forward into the brine.
My hearing returned, and I opened my eyes to the starlit sea, and my sloop awaiting me in the shallows. I had made it home.
That was an elaborate trap for someone mad with the Darkness, Selah said as she sailed us to the east.
“Likely she didn’t go mad all at once,” I said. “It probably came on gradually, and she was able to make her plan. She must have kept enough sanity to try to burn the map to the trap.”
Why didn’t she finish burning it?
“Her madness won. Too many deep looks into the Darkness. One of the dangers of the mainland.”
A good lesson to learn. She whapped me in the back of the head with a length of rope. Now get some rest.
I took her insolence with a smile. She meant well. And she had saved me.
“Why didn’t the Darkness take you?” I asked.
It isn’t interested in manufactured lives, she said. Just you fleshy ones. It especially likes ones that can spread its influence.
“That’s why the Darkness made the keeper set a trap for me. It wanted a ride across the waves in my body.” I shuddered.
Rest, Selah commanded. You’re safe now. Focus on healing. I’ll get us home.
I closed my eyes and let her navigate. We might get a little lost, but I wasn’t worried. Not about Selah.
Not anymore.
Holding my first officially published work.
A special thanks to Katya Chumakov for her help in editing this piece, as well as the rest of the Warp & Weave staff for getting this work published. You made a dream come true. I will continue to submit works to this journal, as Deb Thornton suggested. What a wonderful part of our community you all are.
