The Lantern in the Well

In the village of Bellweather, every household kept a lantern burning on the night of the first frost. People said its light guided lost travellers home. One year, the village well swallowed every flame. The lamps went dark, and a blue mist crept between the houses. Mara, a potter’s apprentice, carried the only unlit lantern to the well. At its rim she heard a voice below: “Give me a name, and I will return your light.” Mara remembered that the well had once been called Old Rowan, after the tree that stood beside it. “Your name is Rowan,” she said. The mist stopped moving. A pale hand rose from the water, holding a spark. “You have remembered what the village forgot,” said the well. “Take this, but you must share it.” Mara carried the spark to the village square. She lit one lantern, then another. Each flame passed on without growing smaller, until every home shone again. The next morning, the villagers planted a young rowan tree beside the well. From then on, they told its story whenever the first frost arrived.