Lyra's Lantern

The Wayward Traveler. Dinner. Treasure Hunting. Righting a Wrong.

“There it is,” Lyra rocked on her heels. “The Grinning Goose. Most comfortable place in town.”

Corven Reaver squinted. “Well, not much to it, is there?” He glanced down at the girl over his beak-like nose. “You’re sure they accommodate Gaelwyn Men?”

“Positive. Osmo caters to all in Mosshollow.” Lyra craned her neck. “He makes a keen leek-rabbit stew.” She side-glanced the door before speaking into her fist. “Don’t trust the turtle eggs.”

Corven grunted. “Fine. A bargain’s a bargain.” He unhooked the lantern dangling from his pack and crouched to meet Lyra in the eye. “It’s magicked, as promised. Light a tallow candle within, and it’ll guide you to your deepest desires. I swear it.”

Lyra happily accepted the iron lantern at its base with both hands. “Treasure? Abandoned mines? Giant finches?” Her eyes filled with the wonder of endless possibilities. “It’ll show me the way?”

“Yep,” Corven said, rising. “Lost buttons. Keys. Fresh water. Hopes an’ wishes, too, if you keep at it.”

Lyra beamed as she inspected its rusted interior. “I ain’t never met anyone from Taemorden before. That’s so far away!”

“Not far enough.” Corven took to the stone stairs on aged knees. “My thanks, Lyra, er, your surname—”

“Greenbelly.” She lifted the lantern and curtsied. “Have a good rest.”

Corven climbed the stairs to the Grinning Goose’s door and waved her off, making a sound not unlike a bird's caw.

Spinning on her heels, Lyra dashed down the street to race through the busy market and — so enamored with her prize — collided with a hunched-over halfling woman leaning on a crooked juniperwood staff.

“Great Mother,” the woman groaned, catching her balance. “What’s chasing you, child?”

“Sorry,” Lyra said, edging around the crone.

She had knotted her gray hair into long strands of box braids interlaced with beads, bones, and living flowers. Brushing her braids from her eyes, she shook the tip of her staff at Lyra and mumbled, “Show respect for your—”

Her tongue caught in her throat as her wizened eyes narrowed on the lantern. She then glowered at Lyra.

“Late! Almost supper! I’ve got to get home! Bye!” Lyra cried, hugging the rickety lantern as she plunged into the crowd.

* * *

Lyra wolfed down a slice of buttered rye bread.

“Two candles.” Rhoswen placed them beside the lantern while lifting her empty dinner plate. “Use them wisely. They’re all you get.”

She swallowed hard. “Thank you, Uncle.” Snatching the candles, Lyra bounded from the table to fetch the flint and steal near the hearth.

“The river ought to be nice,” Rhoswen said, bringing the plate into the kitchen. Limping on his hobbled knee, he washed it with a rag retrieved from a basin of hot water. “There’ll be fireflies out this time of year. A cool breeze. Wear your—”

“I will!” Lyra wrapped a mud-colored wool shawl about her shoulders and pinned it with a ceramic broach painted like a ripe green tomato.

Rhoswen left the kitchen to stare wistfully out the window. “I’d wander the riverside for days when I was your age.” Nostalgia lingered in his eyes as he dried the plate with a towel. “Seemed like the whole world was waiting for me back then.”

“I didn’t say for days.” Lyra rushed to embrace him, accidentally disturbing a collection of carved wooden figurines on a cedar wall table. A few toppled over.

“Precious girl,” Uncle Rhoswen said, patting her hair.

Lyra swooped the lantern into her arms. “I’ll be back before dawn, Uncle.” She turned to go.

“Well, take what’s left of the bread.” After returning the cleaned plate to the cupboard, Rhoswen uprighted the felled figurines of his brother and wife. “Just in case.”

Lyra smirked at him from behind a face full of sunkissed freckles, then stuffed the quarter-loaf of rye into her pocket. “Before dawn.”

“Follow your toes,” he said, wriggling his at Lyra from the floor. “Now’s your time. Go and see.”

She raced to the door.

* * *

Twilight.

The sleepy summer sun retreated behind a grove of rhododendron trees.

Lyra held the lantern before her, gripping its brass ring with both hands. A decorative iron-worked grille lined its top and sides, and its base — rusted and corroded along its edges — depicted curled leafy plants. The lantern's warm light surrounded Lyra, uplighting her face as the night closed in.

Her heart fluttered with excitement. The lantern was a promise, a light to uncover hidden paths and unspoken secrets. She couldn’t wait.

When the lantern illuminated a green patch of wood sorrel, Lyra left the forest trail to inspect it. She picked through the underbrush, hoping to find a smattering of gold coins nested in its roots, but found nothing.

After she passed a curious-looking rock covered in moss that cast a dark shadow.

A cave, she thought. The entrance to a troll’s lair!

Excited, Lyra approached it with the lantern only to reveal the rock’s smooth underbelly, leading nowhere.

Moving on, it wasn’t long before Lyra caught a glint along the side of a tree. Yet sadly, an owl flew away as she neared. 

Encountering a fork in the trail, a breeze licked at the candle’s wick to push the flame to her right, and, believing that to be a sign, Lyra stuck to the right-most path, taking her away from the river and deeper into the woods.

Night settled. The dense canopy obscured the moon, and the light from Lyra’s lantern extended only ten feet ahead of her. A mist rolled in, shadows saturated the trees, and a hush fell over the forest, accentuating the sound of her crunching footfalls as she trampled leaves and brambles. Lyra’s grip on the brass ring tightened as if holding the lantern harder would pull her desires closer.

“Girl—”

Her heart leaped out of her chest when a shadow emerged from behind a pine tree.

“You’d do well to blow that out.”

Lyra’s lantern revealed the wrinkled face of the woman from the market.

“Oh, merry evening,” Lyra curtsied, recognizing the woman. She brought the lantern closer to her face. “It’s magicked! It’ll lead me to—”

“I know what it does.” The crone loured at it. “Where you goin’?”

Lyra paused, taken aback by the question.

The old woman grunted before stepping into the light. “That’s what I thought.”

“I’m Lyra, a Greenbelly.”

“Maedrey,” the old woman replied, tipping her chin. “A Puck, an’ probably the last of them at that.”

A nagging concern bubbled to Lyra’s surface. “How’d you find me?”

“Hmm. Isn’t it obvious?” Maedrey gestured at the dark with the tip of her staff. “You’re the only light around.”

Lyra stiffened her lip and held the lantern higher to examine the beads woven into the crone’s hair. “You’re a Child of Yondalla?”

“Aye,” Maedrey Puck confirmed before stepping aside. “Mind if I join you? It’s dark, and your candle lights the way.”

“Please do,” Lyra exclaimed, resuming a slower pace. Maedrey walked alongside her. “You’ll make for good company. I’ve never met a priestess!”

Maedrey wobbled her head. “Nor I. Mother sends us where we’re needed. There’s only so many of us to go around.”

Lyra gasped and lifted the lantern higher, directing its light. “See that? There? In the ivy?”

Maedrey snorted.

“Looks like a chest!” Lyra stumbled off the trail to traipse through the groundcover.

“Like I said,” Maedrey called from the trail. Her eyes scanned the trees. “You’d be better off snuffing that out.”

Lyra frowned, encountering a mushroom-covered log. She sighed and backed away from the log to return to the trail. “Why?

“‘Cause I said.” Maedrey shook her head before jutting her staff toward the girl. Lyra gripped it to pull herself out of the foliage. “Elders, child!”

Lyra’s expression turned stern and resolute. “The lantern will lead me to riches.”

Maedrey shrugged. “Of that, I’ve no doubt.”

“My uncle, he’s—” Lyra stopped herself. “He’s unwell. His burrow is in an awful state. It needs repairs.”

Lyra continued into the forest. Maedrey followed, calling out, “Kind souls will help your uncle. Why not ask them?”

“Mosshollow isn’t like that,” Lyra said, holding her lantern to the dark. “People here aren’t like Pondaroak or Amberglen. Uncle must pay for a carpenter’s time.”

Child Puck spat to the ground. “Gaelwyn Men.”

“I’ll find a treasure to help him.” Lyra smiled while the shadow of an animal moved between the trees behind her. “It’ll show me the way.”

“Your heart’s in the right place,” Maedrey sighed as her gaze lingered watchfully over Lyra’s shoulder, then added, “if your head isn’t.”

Lyra, perplexed, asked, “What’s that mean?”

Maedrey crushed a bead braided in her hair. “Hold still.” She gripped the girl’s chin to smear silver dust from the center of Lyra’s brow to her forehead and whispered, “Protect.”

No sooner had Maedrey’s thumb crested Lyra’s hairline than Lyra gasped, “What’s there?” Bearing her lantern, Lyra bolted around Maedrey to approach a gnarled rhododendron tree with low bent boughs. Lyra raised her lantern as she gripped the trunk to climb. “Do you see it?”

Ignoring Lyra, Maedrey focused on the snarling dire wolf approaching the path. Head lowered, it bared its teeth, and wet, sappy drool hung from its maul.

Brows furrowed, Maedrey growled back at the creature to become a steadfast bulwark between Lyra and the monster.

Setting the lantern on the ground, Lyra scaled the tree. “I think it’s metal!”

Tendrils of ivy snaked past the lantern to wrap around the trunk while a skeletal hand burst out of the soil, followed by an arm, a shoulder, and a skull. Animated, a skeleton climbed out of the earth to glare longingly at the lantern before gazing up at Lyra in the branches.

Maedrey maintained eye contact with the wolf, then hissed, “Flee,” planting the butt of her staff into the ground. Upon command, the dire wolf backed away. It whimpered, flattened its ears, and tucked its tail to dash into the shadows.

Behind Maedrey, a bed of ivy enveloped the rhododendron tree and wrapped itself around the branch just feet away from Lyra as the skeletal remains assembled, and the creature rose to its feet. Reaching above its head, it threatened to grasp Lyra.

Lyra exclaimed, “It’s a tunic! Chain armor!” Sitting upright on the branch, she brought it into her hands to drape it over her chest. “See? I told you it’d lead me to treasure!”

“Aye, never said it wouldn’t,” Maedrey grumbled. “It just makes you a beacon for evil in the process.” She flung her palm at the skeleton and shouted, “Undead vermin!”

The skeleton wrenched its bony neck toward Maedrey.

“Be gone, in the name of Yondalla, our Mother, defender of Hearth and Home!” Maedrey clenched her fist.

Gaping its jaw to elicit a shrill scream of the damned, the skeleton’s bones vaporized to collapse in a heap of dust.

“Do you think it’d fit?” Lyra asked, throwing the tunic over her head while ivy vines crept up the branch behind her, only to recoil from the girl like a cautious snake.

Grunting, Maedrey drove the head of her staff into the ivy. “Dissolvo,” she commanded, causing its leaves to wither and brown. The vines decomposed.

Lyra climbed down the tree and held out her arms, drooping with ungainly chainmail sleeves. “I think it’s too big.” She wriggled out from underneath the armored tunic. “Maybe we can find something else farther up the trail—”

“Lyra!” Maedrey Puck used the end of her staff to lever the lantern by its brass ring. It wobbled back and forth. She curled her lip at it. “Can’t you see it for what it is? The lantern will show you a path, but followin’ the damn thing invites ruin!”

Lyra snatched it into her hands. “But it works!” She kicked at the chainmail vest. “I was just unlucky.” Upturning her nose, she stomped off, taking the lantern to guide her way.

Maedrey, slackjawed, watched the brave little halfling march deeper into the dark woods, seemingly astonished by the girl’s boundless optimism. “Jinxed trinket,” she mumbled. She pumped her staff into the air and shouted, “It’s gonna get you killed, Lyra!”

“Come or not, I don’t care,” Lyra called out. “I need to help my uncle!”

Shaking her head, Maedrey muttered, “Now I remember why I took a vow of celibacy.”

Lyra glanced over her shoulder. “What?”

“The chill’s aggravatin’ my palsy,” Maedrey grumbled, gripping her staff to follow after the girl while keeping a weary eye on the shadowy treeline.

Ahead, Lyra’s lantern rocked and bobbed to send light swaying over the trail as she ascended a steep knoll. Her heart filled with anticipation as she raced ahead to hold her lantern high to investigate the exposed roots of a dead oak tree. She leaned in to dig at the dirt.

Maedrey approached her on stiff legs, struggling to recapture her breath.

“Look!” Lyra showed Maedrey a smattering of silver coins. “Moneys!” Setting the lantern down, her eyes gleamed in the light. “There’s a bunch, too!”

More than a dozen small, square coins sparkled from within. Reaching in, Maedrey recovered a tattered leather pouch. “A cutpurse’s bounty, no doubt. Probably pursued. Hid it in the tree, thinkin’ he’d come back for it.”

Lyra raked at the soil to rip at a tangle of roots. “It’s a fortune!”

“It’s a pittance,” Maedrey corrected, tossing the coin at the girl. “Hardly enough to buy nails.”

Lyra frowned and looked mournfully at her feet. “I-I want to help.”

Maedrey crouched on the trail behind her. “It knows that,” she said, tapping the top of the lantern with her staff. She narrowed an eye at Lyra. “It’ll give you enough to keep goin’, but never enough to quit. It fulfills its purpose by drainin’ yours.”

Lyra’s face soured at the coins in her hands. “Uncle Rhoswen’s got nothing. This is at least something.”

Maedrey Puck fished a canvas bag from her waist and poured its contents into her hand. “Dried cranberries. Nuts.” She popped a handful into her mouth. She offered the bag to Lyra.

“I have bread.” Lyra patted her shawl pocket. “And I ate earlier.”

“Have some anyway,” Maedrey insisted, pouring the rest into Lyra’s hand. “Sweet. Salty. Good for the tongue.”

The girl reluctantly accepted the snack and nibbled first on the cranberries.

Maedrey nodded while she chewed. “You don’t need to prove yourself capable to anyone, the least of all your uncle. You’ve already found what you need.” She shrugged. “So what’re you doin’, riskin’ your life out here for?”

A pack of wolves howled in the distance. Maedrey watched the trail as Lyra stared at the lantern. “I thought it’d take me to treasure. Corven said it’d help me find what I wanted.”

“Oh, it will.” Maedrey rolled her eyes. “It’s a trick, though, an addiction. More and more, you’ll want to spend time in these woods at night, usin’ its cursed light to find your way, but there’s a price, a sacrifice.” Maedrey rose. “It’ll draw the most vile things after you.”

Lyra ate a few of the nuts and glanced back down the trail. “Like the skeleton? And the ivy?”

Maedrey grinned and pressed the side of her nose with her finger. “Now you’re comin’ ‘round.” She gestured behind her with her thumb. “Wolves, too, but you may not have noticed that when you were treasure huntin’.”

Lyra stumbled to brace herself against the roots. Woozy, she gathered her wool shawl around her neck. “It’s so cold.”

“Uh-huh, come on,” Maedrey said, lifting the lantern again with her staff. She wrapped her arm around Lyra’s shoulder. “Blow it out, an’ let’s take you back home.”

* * *

“Lyra?” Uncle Rhoswen used a crutch to descend the stairs from the porch. “Lyra, is that you? Who’s with you?”

“Child Puck,” Lyra replied, smiling up at Maedrey. “She found me in the woods.”

“Nonsense,” Maedrey countered, allowing the lantern to slip off her staff and onto the ground. After planting her walking staff, she gripped it with two hands. “She found me first.”

Lyra embraced her uncle and then surrendered the silver coins. “These are for you.”

“Lyra.” Rhoswen shook the pouch to hear the coins rattle and clink before peeking inside. “Nodderton Sterling?” A smile played at the corners of Uncle Rhoswen’s lips, and his eyes greedily turned to Maedrey’s feet. “That lantern showed you where to find silver?”

“No,” Maedrey said, stepping before the lantern. “Lyra found them all on her own. Diligent, that one.”

Lyra glanced up at her uncle. “I found them in the roots of a tree. Maybe it’s not enough, but it’s something,” she admitted, hugging him.

“Well, it’s enough.” Rhoswen tussled Lyra’s red hair and kissed her forehead. “More than enough.” His eyes fell upon the streak of silver powder Maedrey smeared there. “What’s this?”

Maedrey grinned sheepishly. “‘Twas a blessing I bestowed, to drive away the darkness.” Abruptly, she whacked her staff into Uncle Rhoswen’s injured shin.

Surprised, the halfling released Lyra to drop his crutch. Stepping back out of his way, Lyra’s eyes widened, and she gasped, “Uncle!”

Miraculously, Rhoswen bounded back and forth, finding his legs, and exclaimed, “My leg! I … I can walk! Lyra, I can walk!”

“Bah, you could always walk.” She spun around to grasp the lantern’s brass ring. “Y’just convinced yourself you couldn’t.”

He bent at his waist to rub his leg and gestured towards the porch. “It’s like … like I never fell down those steps!”

Lyra rested her hand on her uncle’s arm, covered her mouth, and grinned, hiking up her shoulders. “Maedrey! It worked!”

“Of course, it worked,” Maedrey mumbled, lifting the lantern in farewell. “Daft child. Never said it didn’t.”

Uncle Rhoswen slowed his bouncing. “Wait — wait a minute. Where are you going with it?”

“The Grinning Goose,” Maedrey Puck sneered before limping away into the darkness. “I’m gonna reunite it with its proper owner.”