Yesterday's Lighthouse

The waves lapped up against the shoreline, an incessant beating against the pebbled beach, a song which has been drumming since the world took shape. The sun shone bright on the waves, and the cliff faces were alive with the fluttering of flocks of bright white wind-adders, their featherlike wings rippling along their winding bodies in the cool ocean breeze. I walked along the well-worn path atop the cliffs, sheer stone on either side of me down to the water. It was a path I was quite acquainted with. I huffed and tugged my red shawl against me, tightened my grip on my ever-faithful walking stick. Acquaintance doesn’t necessarily imply ease of use, now does it? I had to stop and lean against a wide, flat stone, and chuckled to myself. Kremmen would always chide me when we would walk this path together.

 

“C’mon, it isn’t that hard!” he would shout to me, grinning warmly as he crouched atop a boulder. “Put your back into it, hup to! Left, right, left, right, move it, move it!”

 

Then, when I would finally catch up, he would vault off and clap me hard on the back.

 

“There ya go, Breddin! Very good, very good!” Then we would continue off again. Sometimes he would repeat the tease. Sometimes he would stroll alongside me, silently gazing across the water. And sometimes we would sit on the cliff, legs dangling in the breeze, and eat some of Kremmen’s mother’s famous biscuits. The whole town loved the things. Kremmen would pester her that she needed to open a shop, open a dozen shops, all over the archipelago.

 

“Think about it!” he would say, stars in his eyes. He would have to bend down to reach her shoulder, tugging her to him. “Aifur’s Seaside Biscuitry! Aifur’s Wind-Adder Cafe! You’d be rich!” She would respond with a firm smack to the face. “Halten ou Klappe, Kitama, ou mohini weise.” Cease your flapper, child, you know nothing. She was the only one who would stand up to him. Not surprising; the woman was a hurricane. Standing only a couple heads shorter than Kremmen, with wispy, braided white hair down to her thighs, she was still able to haul fishing-nets as well as any man on the island. She was like the ancient stories of the warrior-women of islands not dissimilar to our own home, but bronze of skin and clad in the orange patterned robes of her people. She was formidable, to say the least.

 

Her blood was of steel and cliff oak root. It was said his mother had once snapped a frail branch while walking along the cliffs, and, surprised by the lack of sure footing, she tumbled headlong down the rock face. Fueled by sheer anger alone, she clambered back up the cliff and hobbled back to the village, where the traveling doctor’s shining white Saugenvande wait hovering above the ocean spray. When she was ushered in and sat down on the examination bed, the small man was dumbstruck as much by her tale as his machine’s readings: she had free-climbed a cliff more than a mile from the village, and hiked the way back… all with a broken leg. Not one break even, however, but three. As the story goes, Kremmen’s mother was thrown into such a fit of rage when the doctor suggested a cast and rest that he cowered behind his instruments to avoid her wrath. Kremmen always laughed heartily at this point, as he and indeed the entire village have had several brushes with “Mad Aifur’s” anger apiece. They all knew the woman would not seriously injure them, but the simple fact she could coupled with the painful reminders she would bestow were enough to be an effective deterrent from uncourteous behavior.

 

That is not to say, however, that my Kremmen was a violent or wrathful man, or hot of temper like his mother. His people are a tall race, and build muscle like fiends, as shown by his aging mother, who could still pin a man down. He was no different; in fact, he could be considered above average size, even. But despite his stature, despite the bronze shine of his bald head and the scarlet lines which marked him as a warrior tattooed therein, he always carried a warm smile and a gentle hand. Even those who knew him were intimidated by his sheer physical presence, a fact he found more than amusing, but would be consoled by his demeanor. Sometimes he would intentionally frighten someone before flashing his signature grin and chuckle and giving them a gentle pat on the shoulder. I would scold him on this point; I felt sorry for those kids he would scare.

 

“Rata, rata love. Hush, it is only a game, they know I mean no harm,” he would say, still smiling.

 

“I find that doubtful…” I would respond. After I heckled the names of the poor children he frightened out of him, I would drag him along to go apologize and deliver biscuits to them and their families. To his credit, he never scared the same people twice. That is save a handful of strange youngsters who found his cruel jokes as entertaining as he did. Perhaps they saw there was no malice in his actions. Strange bunch. They got along very well.

 

I chuckled softly again as tears began to blind my eyes, a result of wind as much as memory. The man was adventurous. Reckless, I would say. I took a few deep breaths, face turned to the summer sun, and then stood and continued on my trail.

 

I always loved these cliffs. They were the first pieces of this land I saw when I first arrived on the ferry. It was a day just like this, light clouds in the sky, sun shining freely. I remember how the cliff oaks wove in and out of the sheer rock face, in some places catching entire chunks that had broken free, clutching them like a protective mother with her child in its carrying-net. The trunks did not stretch into the sky as the oaks of my homeland did, but rather seemed to grow along the cliff’s top, with branches stretching out over the water. The wind-adders could be seen weaving through the boughs, catching the flies that plagued the cliffside. Sometimes a particularly adventurous adder would ripple its way over to the ferry, only to be quickly turned away by the ship’s crew waving brooms and anything else they could find. They despised the things. I haven’t the faintest clue why. Now I watched those same adders (or, more likely, the descendants of the descendants of those wind-adders I saw all those years prior) not from the sea, but from above the shore. They did not investigate my presence. I was grateful for the solitude.

 

After some time I came to the old rope-bridge that led from one cliff to the other over the shoal. I checked to make sure the fibers were intact before I crossed, untying and retying the hitches. They were replaced every couple of years, and they had just been so not a month ago, but it was best to be sure. Despite being hidden by the water today, I knew the shoal lie just below. If I fell, the shallow brine would not protect me from the sand, nor any rocks which may lie concealed below, as they were wont to do. I would like to meet their acquaintance on my own terms rather than those of the bridge. I crossed carefully, making sure to take note of any planks that appeared rotting or unsteady. Kremmen had been the one to show me how to tell good wood from bad, the spots that showed when the core was unsteady, and how to prod it gently if I was still unsure. Once during these lessons, he went to step on a plank he had deemed sound, and fell clean through the bridge, screaming. I shouted and rushed to the hole, but saw no sign of him among the sand. Then, without warning, he snuck up behind me, grabbing my shoulders and shouting “BOO!” Somehow he had tied a fiber to his ankle that swung him up under the bridge when he fell, all without my noticing. I broke down into tears.

 

“I thought you were dead!!! I know how dangerous the shoals are, don’t scare me like that!” His smile quickly faded.

 

“Oh, love, I am sorry… I am sorry…” he sputtered, embracing me. “I am so sorry…” He was far taller than I, his arms encircling my body like the clam about its pearl. “Murumir, love. Forgive me. I will not do it again.”

 

“Mirumou,” I said through tears. I forgive you. That was one thing I had noticed the day I met my Kremmen: despite his recklessness, his seemingly carefree attitude, and his love of practical jokes, he was still an honest and kind man. When he went too far, he backed away. When the time came which was not for jokes, he refrained.

 

This time I crossed the bridge without any such incident, barely having to glance at the planks to assess their quality; I simply skipped the bad ones. On the other side of the bridge, I checked the hitches around their posts. One was beginning to show wear, but these ones were older. They would be replaced long before they gave out.

 

I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the sun, and looked along the cliff. My destination was at the end of this bluff: a tall structure made of black and red stone hewn from the volcanic island just south of us. I heaved my shawl up more to defend against the mounting afternoon wind. “Yes, but we do feel cold still”. That was how I would respond when the people of this village would notice with shock my shawl during my first months. I came from the people of the north, what they called “Spray-sprites”, for our pale skin, and small, thin stature. They were in awe of my hair, the same shade of bronze as their skin, and in a style of braid they had not seen before. They would pepper me questions about snow, about ice, and all manner of arboreal things, to which I would have to respond that I simply didn’t know; my ancestors came down from the far north hundreds of years ago. I had visited once, but it had not snowed for months. My home was not so different from their own island. But they pressed on, sure that something of my homeland was unique. I racked my brain, and finally remembered something I had noticed they did not have here: a fox I had seen once as a child. A small thing, quick on its feet, with bright blue streaks along its face. I watched it for quite some time before it fanned its mane at me and bared its jaws, and then promptly hopped away swiftly. The children loved that story, and for weeks I received pictures scrawled on scraps of paper of spiky orange and blue things with “Vix” or “F O C k S (?)” scrawled on them as they tried to figure out how to spell on their own. I still have these drawings, pinned to one of the beams in my home. They bring me unceasing joy. I shivered beneath my light covering. Yes, I still feel the cold. I didn’t much mind it, but I took care not to freeze too much. Not really a problem at these latitudes, but I digress.

 

I reached the old cliff oakwood door to the tower, and pushed it open. The hinges whined in protest. I would have to remember that for my next visit. I reached up and clicked the latch on a lantern until the sparks became a small flame, and the shanty at the tower’s base lit up, revealing maps, wind roses, charts, and cloud atlases spread over the salt-and-wood-scented tables and shelves. Musty trinkets held some pinned, while other baubles filled the shelves. Old clocks, navigation mechanisms, swords, jewelry, a mask from a species entirely alien to humans. Rocks, dusty gems, bits of carved driftwood. Bits of sea creature bones, wrenches, and things whose names Kremmen had told me once but I had quite forgotten. There were also things I recognized quite well, however: talismans from the equatorial tribes, dice from the raiders of the east, a necklace from an island not too distant. There were even items from his adventures to my homeland: an old, busted axe, for example, which he got from a neighbor of mine who was being shipped off to Hessia Station to be trained as a marine to fight the newly formed Bellian Freedom Coalition. There was no way the war could be brought this deep into United space, but that would never mean its fingers, hungry for fresh souls, wouldn’t reach. The axe was the last thing belonging to my neighbor that I ever saw.

 

I climbed the winding stairs of the tower, and observed the paintings covering the walls that swept by. Some were still intact, but most were in some stage of disrepair. They were still beautiful in their own right, in a way a dream, half remembered, is still beautiful. Who knows, maybe someday the artist will fill them back in, or perhaps someone will help him do so. For now this is all we have. Some saddened me to look at, complete and destitute alike, those beautiful snapshots of the joys and sorrows of life. Some I knew would never be repaired, and some reflected images faded but still recognizable. It was best to appreciate they existed at all rather than weep at their current state.

 

I emerged from the half-light of the tower to the bright sun of a room arched by a glass dome. In its center sat an enormous machine on a swiveling stand, pointed toward the sky through a parting in the dome. All around stretched the great expanse of the ocean. Directly to the north, I could just barely see the tall mountains that cradled one of the planet’s spaceports. Only a single, large vessel was visible above it, probably some sort of capital ship on its way from farther in United space to the frontier. I couldn’t get a good look at it; Kremmen would have known without so much as a glance. A small island was visible to the southwest of my tower, where a more modest port sat. One VTOL boat sat on a huge disk of cliff oakwood, but other than that, there were only small fishers, catamarans, and a small ferry that could only carry two, maybe three small boats. Maybe a fisher as well. Stretching in an arc along this port island and my own were a smattering of atolls and islands ranging from mere rocks to those rivaling the one on which I stood. If one was to make a rough circle of this arc, they would find that its north edge was barren of islands. That was where the ancient supervolcano that dwelled here had blown itself open. That was where the ocean rushed in to reclaim what the continents tried to steal from her.

 

The wind whipped my shawl and hair about, despite being mostly sheltered by the glass dome. I breathed in the cool air, and watched the waves roll in from an approaching storm far to the east for several minutes before turning to the machine. I knelt down and checked a screen at the base. Green indicators showed it was working properly. I pulled out my small mobile from my robes, and touched it to the screen. When it blinked confirmation, I scrolled through the messages it displayed. I was right, the big ship was a forge cruiser, the USN Hammer of Volund. Crew of 60,000. Enough material to build its own fleet of light ships. There were a couple transports carrying the Saugenvande of the United Systems’ elite, come to vacation in the picturesque archipelagos of our world. Some trading ships, freighters. Besides the forge cruiser, there was one other interstellar ship, likely carrying more freighters within its belly. That ship would be here awhile; they didn’t give the new FTL engines to civilian ships. Only warships got those. They say they charge in just a third the time the standard drives do. The forge cruiser would be gone in a few days, but the other would be here for weeks probably as it cooled down and recharged for another push out of system. Kremmen would have loved to see that. He was always in awe of the FTLs, eating up any information he could on them.

 

I kept scrolling through the updates, checking every shuttle that had dropped from the Volund and made landfall, but all the manifests were classified to civilian lighthouses. I sighed and watched for any sign of a Saugenvande making its way from the port to our end of the archipelago. Nothing. Only the typical traffic of traders and fishermen. The great dish of the watchful machine sat stretching skyward like a great mechanical eye, and yet it had seen nothing of my dear Kremmen.

 

A gauntleted fist pounded on the door. I lit a lantern and went to get up, but Kremmen held me back, shaking his head. It was not like the people of our village to visit at such an hour of the night, and much less like them to intrude so insistently. The fist pounded again. “Whom do you serve?” shouted Kremmen. They did not respond, only hammered again, then again. I was afraid the door would splinter.

 

“Ay, kangamir, dumken… hngh…” Kremmen got up and stretched. They knocked again. “Your fruit will not rot, have patience!” he shouted drowsily. He opened the door just enough for him to see out. Two armored USN sailors stood in full regalia, with exception to the helmets they held under their arms.

 

“Kremmen Bismari Lieve ven Tewahi Nohanapari,” asked the taller of the two, more a statement than question. I didn’t like her. In her sailor armor, she stood equal with Kremmen, and her single eye had an iris of striking, icy blue. Where her other should have been was a patch with a marking I did not recognize, full of aggressive slashes and sickle-like curves. Her hair was buzzed close to her head on one side, and bald on the side of the patch, black atop burgundy skin. She was human, plainly, but from what world, I hadn’t the mistiest idea.

 

“Aye, that is me,” Kremmen said slowly. He made sure to keep the crack of the door small. Not that it would have helped, had the sailors wanted to get inside: it was a flimsy tack of wood, hobbled together after a storm had blown our old one off its hinges. A normal man could push it out. A sailor could jettison it through the back of the hut. “Whom do you serve?”

 

“Lieutenant Chotgore, United Systems of Wintergatan Navy. We’ve been sent to deliver you a message.” She thrust out an envelope, small in the gauntlets of her regalia.

 

Kremmen glanced at me, but all I could do was stare back questioningly. What business had my Kremmen with the Navy? He had never been on a spaceship, much less taken one offworld. But he took the envelope anyways, visibly perturbed. The sailors promptly put on their helmets, saluted, and marched silently off to a waiting shuttle that carried them off over the horizon. Kremmen let the door go, and it drifted shut with nothing but a slight creak.

 

“What is it, love?” I asked, leaning my head against his arm. I could feel him tremble as I draped my arms around him protectively. “What does the Navy want with you?”

 

He said nothing, only stared blankly at the paper. He did not smile, and his brow was creased and wet. I squeezed his arm, scared. This was not like him.

 

“What is it? Will you open it?”

 

He blinked, returning from whatever world to which he had sojourned. “Aye, aye, of course,” he said absentmindedly. His large hands gently broke the ornate seal of the Navy on the paper package, and he removed a message typed with neat black letters. The letter was indeed addressed to “One Kremmen Bismari Lieve ven Tewahi Nohanapari, or, One Master Kremmen of Family Bismari of clan Tewahi of Nohanapari”. Normally I would be struck by Kremmen’s full name, shocked both by its length and the fact the Navy knew its standard translation, but I was too confused by what I read to pay any heed to it. It was a letter from the Head Admiral himself, or at least, his office, a long and rambling thing full of formality and the stench of interstellar bureaucracy, with a single paragraph demanding Kremmen’s presence to a world (or perhaps a ship) whose name I did not recognize. He broke down weeping, crumpling the pale thing between his fingers. I put my arms across his shoulders, waiting for him to calm down before speaking again. It was a long wait.

 

“Kremmen… Kremmen, what is this?” I asked. I tried to think of something else, but I was too confused to know what to ask.

 

He took a deep breath, eyes closed, and let it out slowly. When he opened them, they still shone with tears.

 

“I… I have not been… entirely honest with you, my love…” he said. He looked so much smaller, so much older, so defeated. He would not meet my eyes.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I… Your island wasn’t the only I went to…”

 

“I know this,” I said, confused. Kremmen was an adventurer by nature. My island was one stop in a long list of destinations that he and his friends’ catamaran would stop at in my archipelago, and he had visited every rock north of the equator and west of Tona Domatten, the endless storm. It was during his tales of these escapades that I first met him. Since then he had not ceased their telling, and his repertoire seemed boundless.

 

“No, I… I have been off this world… I have gone places I had always dreamt of visiting…”

 

I blinked. “Off… Off Nohanapari?” I asked. “Of course you have, Kremmen. I don-”

 

“No,” he interrupted. “I have been off this world. I have been off Tekao. I have sailed the Sea of Light.”

 

Neither of us spoke for a long time after that. We sat in silence, him quietly weeping, me embracing him, trying to comfort him.

 

“When?” was all I could ask. I thought back to the first day we met in the port tavern of my home, the stories he told. Brushes with pirates. Chases by a great Vehenua fish. Storms. Deserted islands. Shipwrecks and treasure, the whole lot. I did not see him for a year after his stay at my island, but from then on, we had never left each other’s side. He rarely left the island, rarer still the archipelago. And the United Systems would never allow a single-year tour offworld. So he must have been very young indeed. Why had Aifur never mentioned it? Why had no one?

 

“Fifteen,” he said, cutting into my thoughts. “I was fifteen years old. A Navy dropship landed at the port. ‘Strong men to sail the Light’. That’s what their banners said, men meaning humans, of course, not just males. The Systems talk weird, aye? Anyways. I was one the best warriors on Nohanapari, in all the archipelago, in fact.” He gestured vaguely to the lines on his head. The people of Tekao, or at least, the archipelagos around where Nohanapari sits, have a view of “warfare” altogether different from most, even amongst my ancestors and the various peoples which I was raised among. To them, it was essentially a match of martial arts. Barefisted (sometimes barebodied, even), no implements, no killing. To kill was a worse dishonor than defeat in battle; it was a defeat in spirit. There is no rule stating that killing is not a way to victory, but the scorn one receives from accepting a battle won by blood is so great that few dare go so far. After all, did the one who died not prove to be the braver of the two, the stronger of will and spirit? The greatest warriors are then masters of restraint and mercy, rather than combat. Such was- no, no, is, is my Kremmen.

 

“I was one of the best,” he continued. “Never needed warriors much those days, not like when Mother was young. When the archipelago was of a less… friendly lot. Not like that. Mostly just small rocks here and there. Folks getting in other’s fishin’ grounds. But even so, I rarely lost. I had the Nohanapari size, eh? Took one look and wet ‘emselves, or wound up under knee. Fredanga was quick when used right. Mother taught me to do that well. Um… Sorry. Fifteen. I was rash, then. I saw this as a chance to show off, to go on adventures. I’d been on the sail as long as I could remember, to sail something so great as the Light itself was… a dream, eh?” He stopped for a moment. His mouth spoke of joy, but his eyes and the wrinkle of his brow told a vastly different tale. “Of course, the Navy doesn’t care what age you are. If you can shoot a gun they’ll take ya. I left without a word to my mother- stupid child, I know- and off we went. I was stationed aboard a light frigate. Started as an engineer, worked my way up to captain. Doesn’t take much, on a ship that small. I only had ten sailors beneath me, compared to those capital ships with whole cities. I was eighteen years old. Not the youngest, but close.”

 

I could not believe the words he was saying. A captain? On a spaceship? “Kremmen, if this is a joke-”

 

“It’s not a joke,” he snapped. He blinked, surprised, and turned away. “I am sorry. It is not a joke. Unfortunately. What I did to those good sailors… that wasn’t a joke.” He took a deep breath, shuttering. I saw every vein in his body bulge, every muscle on his body tense. “There were four other frigates in my formation, each with a captain, just like me. During my sixth month, standard, of being captain, we were dispatched to capture a pirate that had raided a small rock station, somewhere out by… by Antonio de Padua, I think. Doesn’t matter. It was just supposed to be something simple. Easy. New captains. We chased the ship down, we hailed it, we tried everything. No answer. Obviously; they were pirates.”

 

“Were they human?” I asked.

 

Kremmen paused a moment, then shook his head. “We never found out.”
 

I blinked. He didn’t have to explain. I knew what it meant.

 

“It was ordered by one of the other captains in the formation. He headed a bigger frigate than I did, and was the sort of… default leader of our five ships. Seniority. Technically, we reported to the captain of a destroyer. No destroyer in this formation, though. It wasn’t supposed to be a big run. One pirate ship that robbed some poor rock. That’s it. When they would not respond, he lost his temper. Ordered open fire on their drive. I refused. But it didn’t matter. The kind of damage four Navy frigates can do to a small, garbage pirate junker… They didn’t have time to answer. Four blazing blue lances pierced its drive, tore right through the hull at the speed of light. A flash on the scope. Then nothing. Gone. Instantly. Vaporized. We weren’t even close enough for the EM to hit us…”

 

I put my hands on his shoulders and held him closer reassuringly. “But love, you did the right thing. You refused to give the order to kill. You are a warrior, it is not your way to kill, you did good to your honor.”

 

He shook his head, tears beginning to stream down again. “No… no… I did not… I… I yelled at him that it wasn’t right. He said pirates forfeited all liberties. In my rage, I... lanced his ship… I lanced the captain’s ship… Not in the drive, no, I made their breath bleed out. I don’t know who survived, maybe all, maybe none. The other captains boarded us, and I was taken in chains back to the destroyer. ‘Were they apprehended?’ That’s what the captain of the destroyer asked. ‘Nay,’ I replied. ‘Lanced. Flashed.’ The captain simply nodded. ‘And of your fellow frigate captain?’ He says, and I say, ‘I lanced his ship. He shouldn’t have lanced them.’ ‘Maybe,’ He said. The destroyer captain didn’t care. This was... beneath him. He told me I should be court-marshalled, but so should the other captain, technically speaking. And so, I was technically enforcing law, but… also not. It doesn’t make sense. The Navy doesn’t make sense. He didn’t say if the captain would be ‘martialed, or that he was alive, though. He cut me a deal, cuz he didn’t want to deal with a suit. Didn’t want the headache of who was right of… of the two of us. So he told me I would work a year of engineer dog’s work- running bolts and metal around, taking orders. Like a dog. Year of dog work, and then I would be dishonorably discharged from the Navy.”

 

“And that’s… how you got back?” I asked. It was a dumb question, but I was lost in a wave of information and confused emotion. I could barely form sentences.

 

“I came back twenty… yeah, twenty years old, came back to Mother and Nohanapari. No one on Nohanapari cares about the discharge. No one leaves the archipelago, no one cares about what happens on other planets unless it affects Tekao. Mother had some words to say about me... leaving so suddenly, for so many years, but eventually even she settled down. I sailed again- this time not leaving Tekao. It was like I had never left. I was free from the Navy, and what I did to those sailors. I met you. I was happy.”

 

I hugged Kremmen closer, stroking his neck gently, tears streaming down my eyes. We said nothing for a long time. It wasn’t until the second moon of Tekao rose over the horizon that we moved, spurred only by a sharp knock at the door. We both jumped, startled. But we knew who it was. We did not move.

 

“I don’t want to go, Breddin. I don’t know what they want. I don’t want to go…” Kremmen said weakly.

 

“I know, I know…” I responded. “Shhh… I know… I don’t want you to leave either…”

 

The Navy sailor knocked again, plainly annoyed. I heard the door start to splinter. It had gotten too much abuse that night. Kremmen pushed himself upright, and breathed deeply, eyes closed. In one of my hands I held his, while with the other I rubbed his back, trying to calm him. Finally he opened his eyes, and stood. All illusion of his lack of size slipped off like a disregarded robe. He stood as a colossus in the middle of the room, as if carved from bronze, broken only his tear-streaked face and reddened eyes. I stood beside him, dwarfed, with my hand on his arm. He looked down at me, and I smiled weakly up to him. He smiled weakly back.

 

“I will return,” he said.

 

“How do you know?” I responded.

 

“Because I will.” He took one last breath, and opened the door. We were greeted by the crimson face of Lieutenant Chotgore above her hulking sailor armor. It felt like only minutes since we had seen that face last. They exchanged no words. Kremmen stepped outside, and Chotgore spun about and walked forward as two helmeted sailors fell in line on either side of Kremmen, just far enough behind to keep watch on him. Their boots crunched the dry grass atop the cliffs as they made their way to the shuttle. Beneath the sweet smell of the sea lied the sharp sting of interplanetary vessels, burnt steel and fuel. Kremmen cast one more sad look to me, and I raised my hand in a salute which has been used since time immemorial, a promise of reunion. He returned it, and we stood watching each other as the shuttle bay door closed and the ship rose into the clear predawn sky. As it faded out of sight above the horizon, I lost all composure and collapsed into racking sobs. I slammed my fists on the ground, screamed incomprehensible nonsense. They took him, they took my love, my Kremmen! The bastards, they took him, and I did nothing but stand aside and let them lead him like a sheep to slaughter! I pummeled my head with balled fists, even while I tried to tell myself there was nothing I could do. There were three sailors this time. Even one, I would be able to do nothing. What were they going to do to him? Where were they taking him? I should have gone instead. It should have been me. It should have been me…

 

Slowly, the sobs began to fade away as the exhaustion built up over the past several hours took its dues from my body and I drifted into unconsciousness. It had to have been morning by then, and I did not awaken until the sun was far in its descent back to the loving arms of the ocean. I envied the ocean. Every morning, its love left her, but every night, she would be back in her arms. I envied that she was not taken from her like my Kremmen was from me.

 

That was two years, three months, one week, and six days ago. Every day for two years, three months, one week, and six days, I have made the journey to this lighthouse. Every day I prayed Kremmen would somehow return. Every day I waited. Every day I checked the ship logs, walked through the halls of memory to this place. The rest of the island had given up long ago on convincing me to move on, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t. He would come back, he promised. I cannot give up on him. I stared out over the sea at the approaching storm on the horizon. He was coming back, he would, I know it. He was a warrior; and so was I. I would not surrender so long as my heart beat in my chest.

 

I sat crosslegged on the floor by the machine, letting the wind wash away the heat of the unhindered afternoon sun. I was tired of feeling helpless, like I was but a single pebble standing against the horrendous force of a typhoon. But it was all I could do to stand my ground. To survive in a world as hateful as this is as righteous an endeavor as any, I think. To do what we can to the best of our ability is all we can do. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less; perhaps it hurts more because. Doesn’t change the fact it hurts.

 

I stood up and checked the logs again, made sure the eye was pointed at the right patch of sky, stared at the Volund, and then made my way back down the lighthouse. I stopped at the shack at the bottom for a bit. In the dim light and tight walls, it smelled of salt even stronger than the sea itself. Everything was like a memory given shape, all the adventures Kremmen and I had, encapsulated in tiny trinkets and bobbles. I snuffed the lamp, locked the door (out of simple habit. No one was going to rob a poor lighthouse in this archipelago), and headed back.

 

The sun was low on the horizon now as she returned to her love for their night’s rest, her joy spilt across the rolling waves and billowing clouds. Oranges and yellows, reds and pinks, and on the fringe, a deep, rich purple, splashed all together in the sky and sea like a painter’s wildest delight. The path became harder to discern through the tattered shadows of the shrubs and grasses, but it was not impossible. I knew this path well. I passed the rope bridge, the wind-adder cliffs, the flat rocks, and the village, on my way back to my hovel. Children ran to and fro, chasing a rubber ball, and the old folks laughed with each other around a fire while the younger would keep the children in their peripheries. They saluted me, and I saluted back, smiling, but did not stop.

 

I brushed aside the door-curtain at my home, and tied it down shut so it did not escape during the storm. It would be a shame to lose such a beautifully woven curtain. One of the old women that had been sitting by the fire had made it for me not a month ago. She was a friend of Aifur’s, and helped raise Kremmen. She had taken a fondness of me the moment I came to Nohanapari, and curtains were a frequent and welcome gift from her, the smile she gave and joy she received from delivering them a gift unto itself. When the curtain was secure, I finally collapsed onto my bed. It was not much: just a low reed mattress with some tattered blankets, some from the old woman, some from other folks of the village. One from my homeland. Sleep came fitfully and in just a rough of shape as the oldest of the blankets, and the dreams smelled all at once sweet and bitter, were filled with bright pinks and sharp reds and low blues, sounded of thunder and pipes and voices. Through it all, Kremmen’s voice came. “Breddin,” he said. “Breddin.”

 

I snapped upright. It was dark. I rubbed my eyes; it did not help much. The room was bathed in blue moonlight, everything blended together in a slurry of half-seen, half-felt things.

 

“Breddin,” came the disembodied voice of Kremmen. I blinked, looked around. He was there, standing in the cliff-facing door of my hut.

 

“K-Kremmen???” I whispered, incredulous.

 

“Hello Breddin,” he responded. Even in the half-light, I could see the sad wrinkle of his eyes and forehead, his tired smile. He was dressed strangely, in a Navy uniform, but I could not discern any details beyond that. I leapt from my seat, ran to him, and threw my arms around him. Tears streamed down my face. The already bleary world melted even more in fog.

 

“I came back,” he said.

 

“You did, you did, you came back…” I broke down into sobs, and felt drops of water on my head, which told me all I needed to know. The wind outside sounded of thunder, but Kremmen’s calming voice played like soft pipes. He smelled sweet and bitter, the world was filled with low blue. I clung to Kremmen, and he held me close to him. The world felt of mist and dew.

 

It was not long before the scents, the colors, and the sounds faded away, dissolved into a soft darkness.

 

“I said I would return.”

 

“How did you know?”

 

“Because I did.”