Different Perspective

RIFT

The climb up the ravine was difficult enough without the lantern. Yet Daron did not complain, nor doubt. The crone’s strange legend had proved true thus far, and faith is not served by distrust at the crest of completion. Somehow the added weight on his back balanced his careful stretch across the chimney of granite. Each breathless swing from hold to grasp was guided by knowledge beyond faith. There was a secret way in -- the amulet would be delivered in time -- his quest and pledge fulfilled. His left foot was secure in the chistled slot. His fingers curled confidently within the angled crack, finding there a matching unnatural cleft. As he whispered the chant his right toes counted knots bound along his calf to guage the leap. His secure support almost spat him out as he pushed away from the frozen wall -- reaching with pointed toes in the darkness. As his yearning foot entered the new tiny haven in the other cliff wall he pressed upwards -- his left fingers leaving the cleft behind. For an instant he was flying -- no fragile flesh in contact with the stone -- his right fingers slicing like a dagger into the hidden crack above. Yes! For an hour it had been so. Even if the sun had been high above the hidden holds would have passed unnoticed, carved to match the natural rills. So deep and narrow was this defile that part was always in black shadow. At this hour before dawn not even stars could be seen above -- and none would have assisted for Daron’s eyes where wrapped in silk. If he had seen where he had to go he never would have started. If he understood where he had been fear would have gripped his soul. Again! A new measured height and plan -- chant ,chant. He became the star -- a five pointed shape in an abyss of lonely flight. No man should have to climb in this way -- by faith alone. None did. Daron was but eleven years old -- at least before this night. This night he was a man.

The castle was impregnable -- and it had always been so. The Duke was arrogant -- and it had always been so. His greed and pride blinded all reason and compassion, and this too was accepted. It would change with the sunrise. The silver medalian would change all that. Daron did understand how this could be or of what power it held -- no matter. There was no wizard waiting there at the portal --- just another child as he -- one who knew where the disk must be placed -- or so he had been told!

He lay on his stomach now -- another hour passed -- another yard or two across the glacice. The patterned cloth on his back matched the blocks of stone. His movements were catlike and ever slow. It may not have mattered. The blazing fires on the parapets above were blinding in intensity, reflected from gigantic disks of bronze to probe every hidding spot or corner of the walls. His eye covering that had protected his fear now saved him from searing blindness. Yet soon he had to see -- to find the hole in the wall in a sea of pristine glaring white. He rested against the towering wall, knowing that he could not be seen from above. The assembled lantern also would appear only as another stone. Not that more light was needed. Daron opened the hinged door with silent care and reached within to find the candle wick -- and at last he understood!

All his life Daron had looked at lanterns as a source of light, a tool to fight off the darkness. He had never consider how the flickering tongue of flame was only possible because of the protecting shelter of the frame and mesh. While a little essential light crept out in a patterned beam, the lantern itself kept away all distracting glare and distracting beeze. He had once laughed at his reflection in the shining brass, possible only in the special sheltered view, even at the height of day. The lantern held nothing -- nothing at all! The boy would have to provide the flame. His own eyes would be the light! This lantern would cast a shadow that he could see!

His slender face fit easily within the metal frame and allowed the silken scarf to shift aside. The narrrow slits let in only filtered glare from the polished wall, but even then Daron had to squint and pan the stones in little sweeps of wonder. He found the hole where one had not been before, just large enough for his bundled fist. It was enough! His arm stretched into this well to above the elbo before he felt a brush of warmth -- a tiny kiss! His fingers opened and dropped the necklace and a tiny hand clasped his -- pressing briefly -- gone. It was done!

Daron could scarcely sleep bundled under his patterned cloak -- but did, for a day or more. He did not struggle against the arms that picked him up and carried him home. But he awoke to laughter -- and that is all that mattered.

faucon