Nia Climbs Down to the Star in the Well

Nia was on the roof when the star fell. She had climbed up to watch the night, because the night was the only thing in the village that never hurried. Below her, the lanes lay quiet. Every doorway held a lantern, and every lantern held a small, steady flame.

Then the sky moved.

A white streak tore across the dark, silent as a thrown stone, and dropped behind the roofs. Nia scrambled to the edge and looked down. Far below, past the apple trees, the old well stood alone in the field. A faint glow rose from its mouth, pale and trembling, like a candle underwater.

One by one, the lanterns in the village dimmed. Not out. Just tired. The light sank low in every glass, as if the whole village had closed its eyes.

Nia ran down the ladder, three rungs at a time. “Grandmother!” she called. “The well is glowing!”

Her grandmother came to the door with a shawl around her shoulders. She looked past Nia at the field, and her face went still. “So it is,” she said quietly. “Go and wake Elder Mire.”

By the time Nia returned with the elder, half the village stood in the lane. The lanterns guttered and shrank. The night pressed in close, and it was darker than any night Nia had known.

“What is it?” someone asked.

Elder Mire walked to the well and peered down. His lantern lit only the first few stones, then the dark swallowed the rest. “A fallen star,” he said. “It fell into our well, and its light is fading.”

“Then let it fade,” said a man at the back. “We have our own lanterns.”

“Our lanterns borrow their light from the sky,” said Elder Mire. “Every flame in this village was lit from a star, long ago. If this one goes out before morning, ours go out with it.”

A murmur ran through the crowd. Nia looked at the lantern above her own door. Its flame was no bigger than a seed now, and shivering.

“Someone must go down and fetch it,” said Elder Mire. “Before the last of it fades.”

Nobody spoke. The well was deep, and the stones were wet, and the dark below had no floor anyone could see.

Nia’s hands were cold. Her heart knocked hard against her ribs. But she thought of every lantern in the village going dark, and every doorway going black, and every child waking to a night with no light in it at all.

She swallowed. “I’ll go,” she said.

Her voice came out smaller than she wanted. But it came out.

Elder Mire looked at her for a long moment. Then he nodded, slow and serious, as if she had said something much larger than two words.

“Then we must hurry,” he said. “The star is fading, and morning is far away.”

Elder Mire led Nia to the well and put a rope in her hands. It was rough and heavy, and smelled of rain.

“Tie it around your waist,” he said. “We will hold the other end. When you reach the bottom, tug twice, and we will know you are safe.”

Nia’s fingers shook as she made the knot. The well mouth was a black circle, and cold air breathed out of it. Someone pushed a small lantern into her hand. Its flame was no bigger than a thumbprint.

“Keep it close,” said Elder Mire. “Your light is yours. Do not let the dark take it.”

Nia nodded. She sat on the edge, her legs dangling over nothing. For a moment she could not move. Then she thought of her little brother, asleep under a lantern that was already dim. She gripped the rope and slid over the edge.

The stones were slimy with moss. Her feet found cracks and ledges, and she went down hand over hand. The lantern swung and threw dancing shadows. Above her, the circle of night sky grew smaller. Below, there was only dark, and a faint silver glimmer far down.

“I’m all right!” she called up, and her voice echoed weirdly.

“We hear you!” came Elder Mire’s voice. “Keep going!”

Her arms ached. The rope bit into her waist. Twice her foot slipped, and she gasped and clung. But the glimmer grew brighter, and at last her feet touched wet stone. She stood at the bottom of the well.

***

The bottom of the well was a small round room of wet stone. Water dripped somewhere. In the middle, a star lay wedged in a crack. It was no bigger than a loaf of bread, and its light was pale and flickering like a candle about to die.

Nia set her lantern down and knelt. “Hello,” she whispered. “I came to get you.”

The star pulsed once, weak and blue. It was stuck fast, its points caught between two stones. Nia tugged, but it would not move. She needed both hands to pull it free.

But her lantern was the only other light. If she set it down and it went out, she would be alone in the dark. Her heart beat fast. She could already feel the cold creeping in.

“You can do this,” she said out loud. Her voice sounded braver than she felt.

She took a deep breath and wedged the lantern between two rocks, close to her knee. Its flame wavered but held. Then she gripped the star with both hands and pulled.

At first nothing. Then a shift. The star came loose with a soft pop, and its light flared bright, then dimmed again. Nia held it against her chest. It was warm, like a fresh loaf.

She looked at her lantern. The flame was tiny now. She had used too much time. “We have to go,” she told the star. “Hold on to me.”

The star’s light wrapped around her fingers like a thread. Nia tucked it under her arm and stood. The rope still hung above her, and the long climb waited. She put her foot on the first stone.

The first stone was slick with moss. Nia felt it give under her toe, and she grabbed the rope with her free hand. The star was tucked under her arm, warm and steady. Its light was small now, a soft glow like a candle behind a curtain. “Just a little farther,” she whispered. Above her, the well mouth was a circle of dark blue. The lantern on the stones below had almost gone out. She climbed one step, then another. Her foot slipped, and she banged her knee. “Ow.” She held tighter to the rope. The star pulsed, and for a moment the wall lit up. She saw a handhold she had missed, a deep crack just wide enough for her fingers. She reached for it. The stones were cold and wet. Her breath came in short puffs. “You’re doing fine,” she told herself. The star’s light flickered, as if it were listening. She pulled herself up. Her arms ached. The circle of sky grew bigger. She could hear voices now, far above. “Nia?” someone called. It was her friend Tomas. “I’m here!” she shouted back. “I’ve got it!” The rope went tight. Someone was pulling from the top. She held on and let them help. The star’s glow grew a little brighter.

***

Hands reached down and caught her arms. Nia tumbled over the edge of the well and lay on the grass, gasping. The star rolled out from under her arm and sat on the ground, dim as a dying ember. “You did it,” Tomas said. His eyes were wide. The elder knelt beside her. “Quick,” she said. “The sky is waiting.” Nia sat up. The star was so faint now she could barely see it. She scooped it into her hands. It felt lighter than before, like a soap bubble. “How do I put it back?” she asked. “Lift it up,” the elder said. “And let go.” Nia stood. Her legs shook. She raised her hands above her head. The star trembled. “Go on,” Tomas whispered. She opened her fingers. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the star shot upward like a spark from a fire. It climbed higher and higher, a trail of light behind it. It reached the dark sky and stuck there, twinkling. All around the village, the lanterns flared bright again. People cheered. Nia looked at her hands. They were still warm. “I was scared,” she said. “But you did it anyway,” said the elder. Nia smiled. She had never felt so tall. The night was full of stars, and one of them was hers.