No matter how many stories you listen to until you wander the worlds, what you see, who you meet... Other people's words are woven with colored threads that suddenly become a whole picture. So I came to this gloomy shore.
The sea here was lead and violent. The waves were darkening and threateningly throwing white and yellow foam heads, biting the shore, crumbling rocks, and grinding them into fine gravel, which covered the coastal strip. The sky was darkened by dull, gloomy, immovable clouds, which could compete in density with the rocks.
Many talked about these inhospitable places. Someone came here in the hours of grief, admiring the gloomy world for a long time, and then, as if leaving all the sorrows here, he left free. Others tried to run away from here, barely seeing the edge of the cold beach, breathing heavily, and the cold and humid wind clenched a transparent hand and mouth, and nose, as if wishing to strangle. There were those who did not feel anything, called this coast boring and inexpressive ...
One thing that united all the stories was the lighthouse.
Now I was just looking at it. The old stone tower grew out of a rock, and between the shore and it was raging in the narrow strait of the sea. The glass dome was dusty, there was no light in it, and it was no wonder that nobody could get there but birds, and they couldn't light the fire.
The rocks fell into the water and there was no trail, even if we used a boat.
Beacons are my passion, and I wanted to get into this one. And not only to get in, but also to light it. But I don't have wings, so I looked at the tower for a long time, looking for some way to get closer to it.
Evening. The tower was built with a blade stuck in the rocks. They barely looked at the blue clouds of the glass lantern. With darkness, no magic made him light up.
What a pity!
Can't we make the heart of this lighthouse beat again?
I've been sitting on a cold stone for hours, but my mind couldn't solve the problem. I needed wings, but nothing here could give them to me.
I couldn't fold a bridge, weave a sorcerer's crossing out of the air. No, the lighthouse remained out of reach, no matter how I proposed it.
Only one story calmed me down and gave me hope that it wouldn't last forever. It was told by an old traveler at the campfire. How old was he, it was hard to say.
- Everyone knows how to do something different," he said. - Someone's destiny is to wander the worlds, and others to light the stars. Some people breathe life into the winds, while others awaken the oceans. And you'll never know what you're doing until the most important journey comes up - he'd start almost every story like that, and then shut up.
He started the story of the lighthouse as follows:
- It's been a long time since we could find ships in the lead sea because lighthouses are not burning... And lighthouses are not burning, because there is no one who lights them. It is one thing to watch when the fire in the heart of the lighthouse is already trembling and eager to point the way... It is quite another when the heart has cooled down. But there are those who light it again.
Nobody interrupted the old man, nobody asked his name... And he would hardly call him. And now, looking at the lighthouse, I thought I wouldn't refuse to know to whom in the whole universe the gift of waking up the hearts of lighthouses was opened.
Alas, not me.
We need to find someone gifted...
I'm upstairs. Once here, I could always find my way, and I wasn't embarrassed by the leaden weight of the sky, the gloomy sea, the cold stones, or the wild winds.
I turned away from the sea so I wouldn't see the dark tower again, stepped towards the dull sand dunes between which the trail was snaking, and suddenly a girl came out to meet me.
Her strong, even powerful figure seemed to cut through the night. Blond to white hair was spiking in my face, and my eyes were piercingly shining because of it.
- What are you doing here? - She asked.
- Looking for the history of the lighthouse," I nodded in the dark behind my back.
- Then you're on time.
Almost pushed me with her shoulder, she moved on, and all I had to do was watch for a pale splash of her hair in the dark.
A light suddenly broke out under her feet. The lunar path ran exactly from the shore to the lighthouse, calculating the area in front of it.
The sea seemed to be quiet, the silent lighthouse towered over the light figure, and it seemed so small next to him. And then she completely disappeared - she walked through an invisible door for me.
I went straight down to the sand and decided to wait. My heart was beating unbearably hard, meaning I was going to stay on that beach. Will I see it right now, as it happens? How does the lighthouse light up? For the first time or after years of hard sleep?
And finally, the night was finally cut through by a flat blueish beam. The foam waves in it shone, the darkness shone, and I realized that the clouds had disappeared, and the sky was full of stars. And the lighthouse was on fire. For the first time, and forever, his heart shone, giving hope to the gloomy world with a lead sea.
The story became a colored thread and wrapped around my wrist. I'll tell it to someone else, someone who will be looking for a lighthouse to light.