The Lights Will Guide You Home

Jeanne had been warned not to go out alone in the dark. There were dangers in the woods: beasts and bandits, neither of which would be kind to a small girl. Jeanne would argue that it hadn’t been dark when she left, and anyway it wasn’t her fault that the pig refused to come home with her, as though it knew the fate that awaited it. Both child and swine were on their way now, though, and surely Maman would not be too angry once Jeanne had explained the situation.

Six short legs tramped on, crunching through the thin, icy layer of snow that had filtered through the trees, until they eventually slowed to a hesitant stop. Jeanne scanned the ground about her worriedly, realising that she’d lost track of the footprints she’d made on her way into the woods. While panic crept up her throat, Jeanne pulled the pig closer to her, seeking reassurance from its warmth. It was just a bulky shadow in the darkness, shaded from the moonlight.

If Jeanne didn’t get back to the village, she would surely die of the cold. And if she didn’t bring back the pig, Maman and Henri and Marie and Jacques wouldn’t have any meat for the winter, which was too serious a consequence to even consider. Jeanne needed to bring home the pig. All she had to do was find her way. Wherever it was. She choked back sobs and rubbed away the hot tears pricking her eyes.

When she looked up again, Jeanne thought she could see something shining ahead of her. At first, she thought it could be the eyes of a wolf. But wolves had yellow eyes, didn’t they? And whatever this was, it shimmered like a stream, not like a yellow eye. Jeanne sniffed and watched the light warily. It brightened a little, hovering about her eye level, and wobbled in what could have resembled a beckoning motion. Still she hesitated, unsure whether mysterious floating lights could be trusted. A breeze blew through her then, and Jeanne decided that she had nothing to lose. She staggered stiffly towards the light, tugging the reluctant pig behind her. The light danced ahead of her, moving forward between the trees.

They trudged through the woods together, with only the crunch of their steps and the puff of Jeanne’s breath breaking the silence. Even the owls had stopped hooting. All of Jeanne’s muscles ached, and she was ready to collapse from exhaustion, but she kept following the light.

It seemed like hours that they walked, but eventually Jeanne heard a sound. She picked up her head, suddenly alert. There! The most beautiful sound in the world: Maman calling her name. Jeanne called back, her voice rasping but clear, and she hauled the pig in her mother’s direction. Home was near, and the light twinkled behind Jeanne, forgotten.

*

Robert fled from cannonfire, hurtling into the dusk. The Spanish had swept through his regiment like the plague, cutting down his comrades right and left with their cavalry. The battle was winding down behind him, but Robert wasn’t about to go back. What was waiting for him there? More marching, and fighting, and mealy rations, if he was lucky. If he wasn’t, the Spanish might cut him down too.

After what seemed like enough time that he wouldn’t be caught, Robert slowed to catch his breath. The cannons had stopped thundering, but his pulse hadn’t. Now that the immediate danger was passed, Robert needed to figure out what he was going to do. He could still turn back now without being branded a deserter—but no. He wasn’t going to fight anymore, that was certain. So decided, Robert threw his musket, expensive as it was, into the nearby bushes.

Of course, he mused as he continued walking, he couldn’t go home either. Everyone in town would know what he’d done, what he was. He would miss Eloise, of course, but she would have no difficulty finding someone else to marry. Perhaps someone in a nearby settlement could take him on, let him work for his keep and not ask a lot of questions.

The light was fading fast now, though, and Robert needed to find someplace to sleep. He could sleep in the open if he had to, but would prefer some shelter, especially if those rain clouds that had threatened the area all day finally blew in. Robert examined the sky with some concern, and when he brought his eyes down to earth again he was startled to see a light floating in the air ahead of him. It looked a bit like a star, but in miniature; as he reached out for it the light hopped a little further out of his grasp. Robert moved towards it, and it glid away an equal distance. It was strange, for sure, but if it wanted to hover in front of Robert it was welcome to do so.

As darkness descended around Robert, he could see that the light had accompanied him—or led him?—to a dirt road. It zipped ahead faster then, impatient for Robert to follow along. Alright then, he knew how to follow directions. On the flat road, Robert picked up his pace a little, letting the light show him his way. He had no better place to go, after all. Off in the distance, pinpricks of warm light, human light, appeared over the horizon.

*

The fog enveloped Émile like a smothering blanket. Beneath him, the fishing boat creaked unhappily. Constance had told him not to go out today. After being married to her for 26 years, he ought to have learned to listen to her by now. When she says the weather is going to turn, it will. Their sons had listened, and were probably rugged up by the fire now. But Émile had wanted to get one more catch in, hadn’t he? And now look at him. Lost at sea, alone.

It was just his luck that the fog had set in while he was still a ways out, with only a loose sense of his bearings. No landmarks were visible enough for Émile to guide himself by; indeed, he could hardly see beyond his own prow. Nor could he hear the tell-tale sound of waves on dangerous rocks, as the fog muffled everything beyond the gentle lapping against the hull.

There wasn’t really anything for Émile to do about his situation, and that was the worst bit. His compass would tell him where he was facing, but it wouldn’t show him how to avoid ripping great big holes in his hull if he set off in what he thought was the right direction. Yet the current was moving him on regardless of where he wanted to be, so holding steady was just as unhelpful.

Just as he was wondering if he’d stashed away enough money for the boys to put towards a fancy new steam trawler like they wanted, Émile saw the light. It glimmered, fishlike, just off his starboard. He remembered the stories of his grandmother, who had followed what she’d called a fallen star north to Normandy after Paris fell to the Revolution. The light twinkled invitingly at him, and Émile swung the wheel after it.

*

Éléonore stumbled out of the discotheque, trading one set of thrumming noise and dizzying lights for another. New York City was ablaze with neon in every colour imaginable, and after all of the liquor she’d drunk it was beginning to give Éléonore a headache. She wished she’d brought her bag with her from the hotel after all, with her sunglasses nestled inside.

Where was her hotel, anyway? New York geography was a complete mystery to Éléonore, who had to translate it all in her head to make sense of all the numbered streets. It didn’t help that she’d gotten completely turned around sometime during the evening as she bounced from one establishment to another. The city, which had seemed so lively and thrilling when she arrived, now took on an air of menace.

She saw something out of the corner of her eye, winking around the corner of the block. Éléonore followed it, curious and wanting a closer look. As she rounded the corner, she could see that what she’d seen was a light: not bright and neon, but soft and homelike. No-one else seemed to notice it. Wondering if this was a sign of something neurologically unpleasant, Éléonore took a few steps toward it. The light nudged forward and hovered in place, waiting. Without questioning it, Éléonore followed after it.