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The Lightsmith The Maze
Part 4
*****

The lightsmith fell several bodylengths before hitting a solid floor.
He lay stunned for a moment tangled in the rug.
Finally, groaning, he stirred.
His left arm hurt abominably, and his right hand had been cut by shards of crystal.
It was pitch dark here, and the man found that light could not be summoned.
He paused to listen.
Distantly, and somewhere below, water dripped slowly.
The sound echoed through a large chamber in which he lay.
There were no other sounds.
Standing shakily, he felt around him.
He quickly ascertained that he stood on a small platform with a parapet
and a vertical drop on three sides.
On the forth were a set of narrow descending steps.
He felt dizzy and weak.
It was cold here.
He retreated from the open side of his cage, and wrapped the rug around him.
Lying back against the opposite wall, the man dozed.

                                                *

Driven by thirst, the lightsmith descended the stairway.
The room was thrown into a series of narrow platforms and stairways, surrounded
with precipitous drops.
He found his way to water by touch.
Drinking deeply from a stone basin made him feel better.
After washing his wounded hand, he reascended the crooked path.
Finally, he could climb no further.
He had reached what seemed the highest point of the chamber.
Standing on a large flat floor, he felt his way to the rear wall.
Somewhere in the darkness he had passed the stairs up to his platform.
But he did not care because, inset in the wall of the great room, was a doorway.

Beyond was a staircase, lit by torches in sconces,
which spiralled to the top of the tower.
Crossing a narrow bridge between two turrets, the lightsmith entered a domain of
hanging muslin and delicate scents.
The air around him seemed bouy him up.
With an effort he made it to a turquoise chaise longue, where he fashioned
roses of light feebly.
The air weaver was here, indistinct in a halo of vapour.

With delicate touches, she healed his wounds, and drew him to a bed of satin.


Later, she whispered a heresy in his ear.

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Auckland All images and designs on this page copyright © 1993, 2000, 2002, 2008 by Vyvy Lewis, Christopher Harrod and Paola Morelli.
All words copyright 1993, 2002 by Christopher J Harrod
All rights reserved.

Page last modified on 30 March 2008

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