The Covenant of the Solstice

The winter solstice starts. Big things are about to happen.Writer's Cramp entry 993 words

“You’re going to tell them, then? This year?”

There aren’t many secrets Adam can keep from me anymore, try as he might. I’ve memorized every one of his looks. Or looks-away. Like this one.

My husband mumbles under his breath, looking anywhere but this side of the kitchen table where we sit for breakfast, like we’ve done every day since we moved to this lighthouse going on thirty-seven years now.

I take a sip of my coffee. Living on this spit of land for such a long time has taught me patience. I can out-wait him. I can out-wait just about anything. Except for time.

He mumbles again, then runs his fingers through the shock of greying hair that sits atop his head. We may both be getting old, but Adam’s lucky. He has all his hair. That makes me lucky too, since I get to look at his handsome face every day. Good genes, he says. I bless his mama and papa nightly.

“Yeah.” The one-word reply tells me everything I’ve been suspecting for a while. When I wake up at two in the morning eight times in a row and my husband is not next to me, holding me as we sleep, I know there’s something on his mind.

“So. How?” I sit back. “And to whom?”

Adam reaches into his back pocket, drawing out a folded page. “Mean to write a letter to the folk. Got it all down here.” He pushes the paper across the table. “You could type it up?” He asks with a sheepish smile. “Email it?”

Unfolding the page, I read through it silently. My hand shakes as I put the paper back down.

“Just like that, huh? No sugar-coating?” I tap the paper. “If you’re going to do it, it has to be tonight.” Midnight marks the beginning of the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. And our one chance.

Adam sighs, makes to pick up his cup, then instead pushes his hand through his hair again. “Yeah. Tonight. That’s why we’re talking about this now. All day to edit it and get my goddamned nerve up to let you send it off—.”

We both know what he’s thinking. Publishing this will mean the end of the world as others know it. And the end of the world as we know it, too.

When Adam signed the contract to be the keeper of this ancient lighthouse at Grey’s Reach, he was handed the knowledge of the secret of the winter solstice. Upon pain of death, he could tell me and no one else. He’s kept his word. We both have.

It’s been a burden. All these years. But I see his point of doing it now, instead of waiting until it might be too late. Even just another year might be too late.

We spend the remainder of the day preparing. First, the letter is honed. We read it so many times the words start to run together. Finally, it’s ready, queued in my email to be sent to the world’s largest newspapers at 12:02 a.m. No one will be there to open it, but the significance of the time stamp will become apparent soon enough.

We call our kids, first Samuel, then Caitlin. Not to say goodbye or anything maudlin. This is a time of celebration.

Adam takes a shower, then helps me in and out of the bath, my wheelchair nearby for when I am primped and dressed. Hair done. Makeup on. I insisted.

Close to midnight, we start the journey upstairs. Adam is strong, sure in his steps up the winding stairs. He wants to carry me. I say don’t be silly. He says how else do we get you up there? In the end, with my arms wound around his neck and my eyes closed, I cling to him as we make our way to the top floor, where the huge lens that has guided countless mariners stands sentinel. For all its quiet humming, it’s still imposing, taking up most of the floor and airspace in the small room.

Already, the glyphs etched into the long sides of the light’s housing have started to glow. I know what to expect. Sort of. It’s in the letter. Adam and I have talked about it.

He sets me down gently, just so, on the velvet pillow. Use of my legs has been the latest thing to go. We’re told my breathing would be the next to be affected.

Smiling encouragingly, I squeeze Adam’s hand. “Do your stuff. I’m ready.”

Nodding, he moves away to stand in front of the lens. If this doesn’t work, he’ll be blinded instantly when the light switches on.

It’ll work. It has to. For the sake of all mankind. And, selfishly, for us. Me.

The glyphs glow more brightly. The inner workings of the lamp start to wind up, a sound that is, in these close quarters, close to deafening.

Slowly, painfully, I drag myself closer to where my husband stands. He doesn’t notice until I tug on his pants leg. Jaw set, he reaches down for my hand just as the light switches on fully.

In that instant, the world is transformed. Dirty rivers run clear. Coral reefs, blighted with pollution, brighten and begin to grow. Long-extinct creatures take on new life. Rifts in the surface of the planet we call home heal all at once.

The earth exhales.

As do I. I climb to my feet, my legs steady beneath me. My entire body shines with good health, as does Adam’s. In return for revealing the secret, we shall never die.

Letter to the Editor: In accordance with the Covenant, the world has been made anew. This opportunity comes once in a lifetime. What you make of it now will be up to you. I heartily suggest you don’t screw it up this time. There are no third chances. Sincerely, Adam and Eve.


***
993 words

Prompt: The keeper of an ancient lighthouse has always known that the winter solstice holds a secret power. This year, they're ready to reveal it. What is the secret? And how does it change everything?