played in the dirt together, and Hildabrand had showed Lythina a few tricks about turning the earth
“Planting a garden is far more than just plopping a few seeds into the ground,” her grandmother had said. “There are little spirits in the earth that help the veggies grow. They nourish and care for them when we are away, and help push them out of the soil towards the sunlight.”
Lythina remembered how she questioned her grandmother’s wisdom, “but God says he is the only deity, and that there is no one else. Only he can make the vegetables grow.”
“Oh, you’re very right, love,” Hildabrand had responded. “He is the Light, but he also created other beings to help him around the earth.” She had watched as her granddaughter concentrated on this.
“Like angels,” Lythina had concluded.
“Yes, like angels; though angels help humans, while fairies help plants and animals. If you’re still and quiet enough, you might be able to see them flittering about throughout the trees and bushes, like sparkles in the brush. They only let you see them if they feel it’s safe, like angles do.”
Remembering that conversation brought a smile to Lythina’s face. Her grandmother was so wise that it had a way of humbling her instantly.
She adjusted her course again and continued to row toward the fog. The young lady felt the sea breeze brush against her cheeks, glistening them with salt, before it heaved against the stern of her craft; it was as if the wind itself was urging her onward. A glimmer of intuition sparkled a confirmation inside her heart. She reflected a moment about how it must’ve been her imagination because she was heading west; due to the constant direction of airflow over Hyrendell, she should be encountering a headwind, not a tailwind. Curious…
But the thought of her grandmother crept into her mind once more. Again, she recalled her visit.
The day after learning about fairies, Lythina had helped Hildabrand tidy up the Inn. That night, she noticed her grandmother pulling an old book from one of the dusty shelves that lined the living room. They sat down in their two favorite over-stuffed rocking chairs near the fireplace and sipped some tea as Hildabrand explained further about the sealight, as she now called it, and how she had documented its appearances. The book contained several drawings that Hildabrand had made, marking the light’s location relative to the sunset, the moon’s position, and the stars. There were inscriptions and diagrams plotting the moon’s path, and sky charts so in-depth that it almost looked like the night sky itself. Lythina remembered being extremely impressed at the detail that her grandmother had put into the pictures.
“Here we are,” her grandmother began. “I’ve been tracking the sealight for so long that I’ve noticed a pattern in its appearance. See here,” and she moved closer so Lythina could better view her charts. “This was the very first year that the light arrived.”
Hildabrand pointed to a long chronological chart that was broken into months. Each month looked like the night sky, with the stars slowly rotating their position throughout the year. The full moons each had a different location in the sky, and in the center of each month, balanced on a thin, straight line, was a small pictogram of fire, some larger than others.
Hildabrand continued, “as you can see, the light never moves relative to the horizon, but it does vary in intensity. Although it follows the full moon exactly, approximately every eleven years it repeats the same cycle.” She flipped to a page near the end of the book. It showed a graphic timeline of all the maps that she had made. Each year was placed in ascending order, with an obvious trend in the sealight’s luminescence; together, all of the years tracked the light’s intensity in the shape of a large W. “The brightness of the sealight peaked when it first appeared, then again about eleven years ago, and it will again sometime during this year.”
Following the curve with her finger, Lythina began when the light first appeared, gliding to its trough, then back up again to where it peaked. She followed the trend back down again, and up to the end of the map, to the current year they were in.
“This peaks later this year, sometime in autumn,” she noted. “If your observations are accurate, and I’m sure they are, then it would crest in October, near my birthday!” She studied the curve again, just in case she had made a mistake.
Hildabrand, however, was wide eyed and quiet. She glanced at the map, up at Lythina, then back at the map. Suddenly, she yanked the book from Lythina’s lap.
“Hey, but —,” Lythina began, but she stopped when she saw Hildabrand’s expression.
Flipping to the first map in the book, Hildabrand brushed her hand over her notes, mumbling something inaudible.
“What’s your birth date, dear,” she asked, still huddled over the book.
“October 10th.”
Hildabrand gasped.
“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad of a day to be born on,” Lythina defended. “Sure, it’s no New Years, but…,”
“Quiet, please,” Hildabrand whispered. Her hands stopped moving over the map, and she gradually lifted her gaze to meet Lythina’s curious eyes.
“You’re in your twenties, right, love?,” Hildabrand asked carefully.
“Right, I’ll be twenty two this year,” Lythina answered. Just then, she gasped as her intuition spiked. “No way, that can’t be —.”
But Hildabrand jumped on it. “The light appeared roughly twenty one years ago, I’ve got it all here. According to the stars, the moon, and the sun, this year, the light will have come every full moon for exactly twenty two years. I thought it had something to do with the old calendar, the one that people of the ancient religion use, which ends on the last day of October, but that’s not it at all. Lythina, dear, it began when you were born.”
“Impossible,” Lythina huffed. It was impossible, right? “Why would it just… show up when… when I was born.” This wasn’t happening, there was no way! First a prophecy, now this?! She was starting to hyperventilate. “It’s… probably just… a… coincidence.”
“Possibly, but the stars never lie,” Hildabrand countered.
“Sure they do,” Lythina panicked, “what day did it appear?”
Hildabrand pointed a long, thin finger at the start of the map. “October 10th.”
Lythina squeaked, and dropped her tea cup, shattering the mug and sending tea flying into the mantle to hiss inside the fire.
Continuing to row her little boat, Lythina’s face flushed with embarrassment. How could she lose her composure like that? She recalled how she apologized to her grandmother and quickly cleaned up the mess. Hildabrand, however, had only giggled. Afterward, they had sat for a while going over Hildabrand’s notes, scrutinizing her drawings for any indication of an alternate cause, yet the only conclusion they felt was true was that the appearance of the sealight had something to do with Lythina’s birth. They didn’t know what that was, but it was written in the stars, as her grandmother had put it. Undoubtedly, Lythina’s anxiety had doubled since she had first learned of the sealight.
Glancing once again to ensure her heading, Lythina noticed that she was almost to the wall of fog. She could see the sun shining dimly through the mist as she gazed up at the towering grey mass of moisture. It was intimidating,
