TKC 120
As I head forward, the lantern serves to animate other light
sources, from amazing chandeliers overhead to twirling orbs at floor level.
Clearly the lantern is a device and, while I am uncomfortable carrying a
magical object, I hold on. I prefer the light to darkness, here.
After a time I realise I am in a circular space. The base of
the Spire? Other than the imposing doors I entered through, I see no other
means of egress. If this is the beginning of a narrowing tower into the clouds
of Arc, how then do I ascend? Where is the exit leading to stairs?
Wandering, I note various friezes along the perimeter. All are
of hands. A fist, a finger, splayed, waving, pointing. At first the purpose escapes
me and then I understand the hands are captured in sorcery’s poses. A sombre
sensation overcomes me. If someone adds a rendition of one of my hand’s here,
will it reveal how it glows?
Exhausted, I sit on the ebony floor. I am stymied. Here there
are no guides and my human eyes do not see how to continue. Ah. Understanding
blossoms. I must use the other kind of sight.
Withdrawing my water from my pack, I think about it. Nothing
in this place follows the usual rules; therefore I need to act outside of what
is considered normal. Sipping, I sit in silence, keeping my eyes open. This is
respite. I need to gather my wits before I employ the other sight.
Eventually the inactivity frustrates me. I stand, shove my
water into its recess … and close my eyes.
Instantly a spiral stairway appears in the centre of the
space. It appears made of cobwebs and I shudder. It vanishes into darkness
above.
I set foot to this spidery device, clutching the lantern, my
eyes closed. Feeling solidity underfoot, my eyes snap open. The cobwebs seen
behind eyelids transform into bannisters and steps of real white stone.
I climb.
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