By H. L. Davis

Cold air burns my throat as it rushes in and out of my lungs, my feet pounding across the snowy shore in rhythm with my heart. My eyes are locked on the lighthouse, on its strangely muted glow. Gemma would never let the stars outshine it.

Something is wrong.

Fear threatens to turn my breaths into suffocating gasps—the way it did when I was small and ran to Gemma because Da had hurt Ma again. Had locked me out in a drunken rage again. Our lightkeeper had always possessed a steadiness and warmth that drew troubled souls to her like moths to a flame. Even young souls like mine.

“I’ll be a haven while the sun shines, Lottie girl,” she would soothe, rocking me back and forth. “But when it sleeps or hides in a storm, then I must tend to the lighthouse.” Her aged eyes would meet mine solemnly. “It will always shine for you.”

So why is it faint now?

I race inside the lighthouse, sprint up the dozens of spiraling steps, and burst into the watch room. “Gemma!”

No one. Only supplies gathering dust.

Panic rising, I look toward the ladder that leads to the lantern room—a place I’ve been told never to venture. I scamper up. Throw open the hatch. Peer inside.

The lantern in the center of the room isn’t lit at all. But something, somewhere, is gently illuminating the dark. I climb into the confined, circular space, fighting a new wave of fear as I creep around the lantern.

There! Lying on the other side of the room is Gemma, eyes closed, perfectly still. Around her—no, somehow from her!—gleams a pale, silvery light.

“Gemma!” I hurry to her side and lift her head onto my lap, studying the weathered face I’ve known all my sixteen years. Its familiarity is now veiled with contradiction. Ancient yet youthful. Fragile yet strong. And that odd glow…

What is happening to her? I tap my shaking fingers against her cheek. “Gemma, please wake up!”

Her eyes flutter open and focus on me. They give the slightest sparkle.

“Lottie,” she murmurs. “You broke the rules. I’m… glad.”

Hearing her tease me when I thought she might be gone forever makes my anger swell. “What on earth is going on?” I snap. “And how are you glowing?”

A weak chuckle escapes Gemma’s lips. Then she winces as though in pain. My frustration melting, I squeeze her small, chilled hands.

“You need a doctor.”

“A doctor can’t help me, child. I’m glowing because… well… I’m a star.”

My mouth falls open.

“Yes, a star. Or at least… what’s left of one.” Her gaze wanders out the window to the clear winter sky, and she speaks in soft snatches. “I once dwelled in the heavens… a servant of the Lord of the Sky. I was called… the Jewel of the North then.”

The Jewel of the North. Every child on our shores knows the legend of that majestic star—the faithful guide of sailors at sea until she vanished many years ago.

“But I tried to leave my place. To inch higher than I was permitted.” Gemma closes her eyes again with a heavy sigh. “I… fell to Earth. And all these long years, I’ve called this lighthouse home. It’s where I could shine each night… in secret. Until I could find a way to go back home.”

Her light flickers. “But it is too late. My starlight is going out. And I don’t know what will become of me.”

The tremor in her voice makes my stomach flutter.

Gemma is afraid.

Those years before my father died, on the nights when my fears felt impossibly big, I’d sometimes glare at the lighthouse, resentful that Gemma was there and not with me. But I could never stay angry long. Its friendly beam would win me over, constant and comforting.

Now I know it was a light from her very being.

A tear shimmers down her cheek, and I blink my own back defiantly. “Gemma, the Lord of the Sky can raise you up again! He can give you new light. Have you asked him?”

“Every hour of every day… I’ve begged him to forgive me. To let me serve under his smile again.” Her eyes meet mine, solemn and sad. “But I don’t deserve it.”

Her light dims further, her hands growing colder by the second.

I force words around the lump in my throat. “You’ve been here for so long, giving comfort and light to those in need. Please don’t deny yourself comfort now. Hold onto hope that there is more light to come—a place in the heavens kept for you. I know the Lord of the Sky is kind.” I sniff and muster a smile. “After all, he gave me you.”

Gemma’s pale face softens. She stares wistfully back toward the stars.

And in a breath, her light goes out.

I cradle her tiny form in the icy, awful darkness of the lantern room. Grief squeezes my lungs, but I force myself to take a steadying breath and look northward.

There. In the black expanse, high above where sea and sky meet, is a star I’ve never seen. She shines bigger and brighter than her myriad twinkling companions. Her light is warm. Friendly. Familiar.

My heart leaps, and I beam back at the Jewel of the North.

She’s radiant. She’s home.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

H. L. Davis is a Christian, wife, and homeschool mom who calls the South home. She first discovered the joys of writing at ten years of age, and it is a craft she is delighted to pursue once again. She is particularly fond of fairy tales, whether it’s retelling old favorites or weaving magical stories of her own. You can follow her author journey on Substack and Instagram.

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