The Lantern

The night sky did not care for the earth. That was a fact that had remained constant, even as the rest of the myths surrounding it shifted with the centuries, trickling like water through the collective consciousness of mankind and smoothing the stones that made up their stories. While the sun and day regularly danced with those earthly creatures humans, the moon and stars were loath to notice them. It was considered improper for any child of the night sky to visit the planet.

Yet there was one daughter of the Moon who would sit in the sky and watch the earth bloom in the night. During sunrise and sunset she would go and bargain with the sunchildren, begging them for any trinkets they collected from their day on the planet. Occasionally they would give her some, tossing her the scraps from their visits while hoarding the jewels and pretty things to themselves. She didn’t care.

When she got home, she would run to her room and place the trinkets in a small box made of stone, handling the broken lanterns and burned lace as if her soul was stowed inside. And eventually, the moondaughter grew to be better friends with the broken glass in her box than the other children around her. It became a game of sorts, trying to sift through the neatly laid out pieces and guess what they were for. There was nothing like the thing she knew in the night sky. There, everything was made from ice and stone. Clothing was either abandoned or made of silk crafted from stardust, open windows instead of glass, food considered useless unless you were displaying wealth.

This made everything interesting to the moondaughter. The broken lantern might have been a cage for an imprisoned star, shattered when its captive harnessed enough power to break free and release chaos on the earth. The rusted hilt of a knife might’ve been a gem in the crown of an ancient king, the handkerchief dotted with blood a piece of cloth ripped from a dead queen’s robe.

But these games made the moondaughter even more curious. What were these things actually for? Despite the expanse of the sky, it was large and bland, and little knowledge found in the empty void usable. For the past nineteen years of her life she’d mused until the stories became the same thing repeated, noosed by the only world of stardust and ice that she knew. Turning away from the objects, she would sit at her window for hours, watching the green and blue and white planet turn under her until even that view had too many mysteries she couldn’t explain.

But one thing the moondaughter wished for even more than to see the stories of the earth was someone to talk to. Her siblings tried to be excited for her of course, ooh-ing and aah-ing whenever she brought home one more piece of trash. Yet there was always that little flicker of hesitation before they smiled, and that tiny snicker after she left. Eventually, she stopped trying, and she could tell they were grateful they didn’t have to pretend to enjoy her trinkets anymore.

The Moon was the same story. They only spared attention to the most gifted of their children, and even those lucky few were held at a distance. If anything, the moondaughter felt pity for all of the chosen. They always seemed too eager to please, jumping over each other for even a glance from the Moon. No, she had no interest in being a part of that court. She did her best to avoid her parent.

Yet the solution to these problems came in the form of Evangeline. Evangeline was a stardaughter, with hair that crackled and burst with white flame and eyes like supernovas. Steam fell out of her mouth whenever she spoke, and the air sizzled when she touched something cold. The moondaughter didn’t necessarily mind being her friend, but it was obvious Evangeline didn’t share her enthusiasm. She could hang on for a little as she ranted about the newest broken thing she’d found, but there would always come that moment when she lapsed into staring off, eyes blank. But they both had no one else to go to, so they stayed near each other.

The moondaughter had never realized how much Evangeline cared until the day she came running up, her usual head of white fire now limp and red, more like a pile of embers. She had something clutched in her hand, and a wide smile split across her face. The moondaughter looked up from her spot on the floor, the ground beneath her cold and rough. She was finnicking with a broken lantern, but she placed it on the ground and ran to greet her friend.

Evangeline stopped in front of her, panting hard. Without a word, she opened her hand and let the jagged necklace stationed on her palm glimmer in the moonlight. It was simple, with a drop of opal hanging in the center. Covered in a thin layer of frost, it filled the cracks in the chain and jewel and let it glow iridescent. A small white fire glinted in the middle of the opal.

The moondaughter’s eyes widened and she reached for the necklace, hands trembling. Evangeline nodded and thrust it out to her, grinning.

“This is what you’ve been talking about, right, Mara? Mix an opal with starfire and seal it with ice?” she said. Mara nodded, still fixated on the glowing gem in front of her.

While the children of day could cross between the boundaries of earth and sky as they pleased, moon and starchildren had no such luxury. The Moon was infamous for their proud nature, and had long ago sealed off the paths between night and earth, swearing that none of their children would be caught muddling with rats. Opals like these were the only way to pass through the atmosphere now, but the Moon had been confident that none of their children would wish to seek them out. For who would want to cross to earth when the sky was so perfect?

“I’ve been looking for one for years, Evangeline, how did you get this?” the moondaughter said.

“I had to use a couple connections and drain a bit of my fire, but I’ll be fine in a few decades,” she said, gesturing to the rubble of what used to be long strands of white starfire on her head. “You, however, need to get down to earth. The necklace should work, but if you fail to return to the night sky by sunrise, the sun’s fire will melt the opal and you’ll be trapped there and lose your magic. So, go, quickly! You should have a few hours left.”

The moondaughter nodded and grabbed the necklace out of Evangeline’s hand, trying not to wince at the sting of ice on her neck as she draped it over her head. It felt like fire on her skin, so cold it froze the flesh it touched. She hugged Evangeline one last time and grabbed the broken lantern beside her before bounding into the floating veil of space, shooting down to the place she’d dreamed of for so long.

***

The moondaughter floated down, shaking the excess starlight from her skin as she gazed at the dirt beneath her. She let herself fall to the earth below, gasping at the way it shifted under her feet. The only solid ground she knew was that of the Moon’s palace, cold marble and ice.

She looked at her surroundings, letting the thick air stick into her throat. Around her was what she assumed must be a forest, thick with brown and green and small blades tickling her feet. She could see the stars and Moon above her. So that’s what the night sky looks like to humans, she mused, distant and dark.

The necklace had worked then, this was earth. Mara gave a short burst of laughter and shoved her feet into the dirt, relishing the squish of the soil between her toes. She’d seen a city nearby as she fell to the earth. Maybe there would be someone who could tell her about the broken lantern in her hands.

She trekked through the forest. This was even better than she had imagined. The dewdrops of spiderwebs caught in the moonlight, shooting faint rainbows across the path. She reached upwards to touch the leaves of an oak, picking one and rubbing the waxy texture against her palms. How could anyone say this place was terrible? There was so much more life here than in the night sky.

Soon the city came into view, a teetering pile of wood and dirt that screamed to be left alone. It was surrounded by a high stone wall covered in decrepit holes. All of the buildings and rooms were bricks of planks and stone, stuck on top of each other in uneven mashes. The city was covered in thick jumbles of moss and ivy, dotted with differently colored lanterns that had begun to compete with each other, giving the effect that the city was under a veil of rainbows even with the low light of the Moon.

Overall it looked like a seven year old’s attempt at making a town with bricks and some leaves they stole from their mother’s garden. And while Mara couldn’t name half of the things she saw, her heart swelled. She bounded the rest of the way, keeping a tight grip on her box. And after creeping through a hole in the wall, she finally got her first view of the inside.

She began to wander around, looking in awe at the bustling markets and colorful fabrics, the dust road and the music of chatter. Her mist gray braids and glowing pale skin looked like a lantern amongst the dark hair and dyed patterns of everyone else. She began to skim the signs of the stalls all around her, and spotted a greasy sign that screamed in bright yellow letters “PAWN SHOP.” There, that sounded familiar. One of the sunchildren said you exchange things for coins there. If their job was to look at “things,” they must be able to tell her about the broken glass and bronze bouncing in her hand.

Mara breezed up to the stall, to be greeted by a girl around her age, with skin that glimmered in the lantern light like brown tourmaline and coily black hair tied up in a loose bun. Even bored, she looked stunning. She did a double take of sorts when she saw the moondaughter, narrowing her eyes at the expensive looking robes draped around her figure and glowing violet eyes.

“What’s your name?” Mara blurted out. She straightened her posture and tried to smile, trying to fix the angles of her face to be what she thought was kind or welcoming. The girl behind the booth stepped back before righting herself.

“Corinth,” she said. “Now, do you have anything to sell?” Her eyes flicked downwards to the lantern in Mara’s hands.

“Sell? Oh, well, not sell, I suppose. I just wanted you to tell me what this is,” she rambled. She thrust the contraption latched in her fingers forwards. Corinth took it into her hands, running the broken glass over her fingers with a look of confusion. She looked back up at Mara.

“This is a lantern. It’s broken, but you can put fire in it to carry light around. Have you. . . never seen one before?” Corinth asked hesitantly. She seemed to be trying to gauge who the girl in front of her was. Mara nodded.

“Well, I have to show you how it works then,” Corinth said, rolling up her sleeves and heading to the back of the stall, rummaging through a stack of junk. “But I have to say,” she continued, “we don’t get many visitors from the night sky around here.” The moondaughter froze, locking her hands around the pendant on her neck. Corinth laughed and returned to the stall, lantern and matches in hand.

“How did you know?” Mara asked, watching with intrigue as Corinth began fidgeting with the brass and matches.

“Do you see anyone else glowing?” Corinth looked up and smiled before returning her attention to the lamp. She lit a match, held it up to the inside, and-

“It’s amazing!” Mara gasped, leaning closer to the large white glow in front of her. The heat felt slick on her face, and she pulled back when she felt the necklace melting against her throat. Corinth looked almost amused, a lighter edge tinting her voice when she spoke.

“If you think that’s great, wait until you see the sun. The sunrises are the only pretty thing here. Especially with the lanterns lit,” she said. The fire crackled between them.

“Is the city even prettier than it is now?” Mara asked, looking into Corinth’s eyes. Corinth laughed and turned back to the lantern.

“I guess you could say that. But hey, you should come back tomorrow. And if you want, I can fix your lantern for you. I like messing around with broken things,” Corinth said, twisting a strand of hair through her finger. Mara nodded, a smile beaming across her face. And before the moment could be ruined, she ran back through town and shot herself into the sky. She was surprised to find she already missed the dusty road.

And things went on like that for months. Evangeline would keep her company in the frigid night, but the second the sun would set, the moondaughter would shoot off for earth. Corinth had made it her job to tell her the “mysteries” of earth, and then some. Once there wasn’t anything left in Mara’s box to fix, they just found peace in the crackles of the lanterns and each other’s voices. It was one such quiet evening when Corinth leaned in for the first time and kissed Mara on the lips.

And yet there was one thing the moondaughter couldn’t understand: the sun. She knew about small fires and lanterns and had met the sunchildren. She’d spent years around Evangeline’s flames. Mara had badgered Corinth again and again, soaking in the dew of her descriptions. She’d tried to imagine the sun somewhat like Corinth, pretty and warm. But it all rang false, wrong in her eyes and ears accustomed to the Moon’s silence.

Every day Mara began to stay just a little bit later, waiting to finish kissing Corinth on the lips right as the sun began to rise. The idea of never returning to the sky tickled the back of her neck, climbing into her ear and growing louder and louder as each night passed. But despite all the earth held, the sky was still her home. And what would all of her siblings say, or even the Moon? They’d all stopped talking to her after her visits, and abandoning them for humans, of all things, was the highest form of betrayal. And even more pressing, Mara didn’t want to leave Evangeline alone in the night sky. Mara was her closest friend, and it felt wrong to take off like that. Until the day Evangeline pulled her aside to a corner of the Moon’s palace.

It was a room they often frequented, small and covered in gray tapestries and safe from the snickers of the other moon and starchildren around them. They sat in quiet, staring through the open windows at the swirls of galaxies and pinpricks of starlight strewn before them. Mara tried to avoid the desolate look in Evangeline’s eyes, as if someone had splashed gray paint in a puddle of violet and red watercolors. Her hair was longer now, but still black and covered in low steam.

“You know, I keep on thinking why I got you that necklace,” she murmured. Her tone was mourning, like she had spent the hour before this crying and was trying to muffle the sadness in her voice with calm. “It took a while, but I think it's because I like making you happy.” She paused for a moment, sucking in a deep breath and turning to face Mara. “And I also think Corinth is what will make you happiest.”

***

The moondaughter thought of Evangeline’s words for the rest of the night, sitting by Corinth’s booth on a rickety stool. The light of the lanterns floated on her skin and dazzled on Corinth’s. It colored them both in rainbows against the black of the night sky above them. The sun began to rise, and Mara hadn’t said a word since she had arrived on earth. Corinth sat herself on top of the wooden both and patted her lap. Mara sighed and placed her head on Corinth’s legs, grateful for the comfort. The sky began to lighten.

“I see why you like this view,” Mara said, looking up at Corinth. She smiled down at the glowing figure on her lap and began to run her fingers through her hair. They stayed like that for a while, watching the Moon shift lower in the sky as the pendant on Mara’s neck grew warmer and warmer. And just as the sun began to rise, she undid the clasp and held the jagged opal in her hands, watching the growing sunbeams bore into its cracks.

The sun hit its full ascent, it’s beams of liquid gold throwing shadows across the city, the silhouettes breaking into the rainbows that now shot even higher into the air. The entire city was tinted in purple and marigold, the two colors swirling, an ocean of foam and reflections.

“Corinth,” Mara said. Corinth looked down at the necklace in surprise, watching as the ice melted to liquid silver in her hands. It sizzled on her skin, the iridescence trickling off of her palms. “I think I’m going to have to stay a little while.”