“Your face is so ugly, it’s beautiful.”
She stiffened when she heard that voice.
The baritone rang even deeper and those words echoed around her.
Then she remembered the last moment before she fell into the river and opened her eyes.
The Sorcerer sat on a massive chair. A throne carved from gold and cushioned with blood red velvet. He was watching her, a smile in the wizened shadows of his face.
The girl shuddered and looked away, but all she saw was stone and fire.
The walls were black and gleaming from the light of torches.
Her flesh prickled and her stomach was in knots when she realized the Sorcerer had her. She must be in the Caverns.
She pulled herself up. She rested on a sofa that matched the Sorcerer’s throne, made of gold and velvet pillows the shade of blood.
The girl closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe slowly, trying to quell the panic rising inside her.
There had to be a way out.
The Sorcerer couldn’t force her to stay. That she knew from the stories she heard.
She opened her eyes and searched among the walls for hidden corridors, darker spaces that would take her back to the world outside.
When her gaze brushed over the Sorcerer, one finger pointed over her head.
The girl followed his lead and gasped when she saw what rose above her.
She was at the bottom of a tunnel carved deep in the earth.
The descent of black stone glistened from the torches spiraling with the staircase falling into the Caverns.
But it was the colors that riveted her.
Thousands of crystals were embedded in the tunnel walls, and the light from the torches bounced off the facets and set their essence free.
The colors made the most of their captive freedom.
The essence of the crystals swirled in an orgy of coupling and rebirth, a vivid provocation dancing and whirling in the empty space.
Every shade of the spectrum came together and apart, transformed into other hues, their progeny bouncing off the walls before rising to the bright blue sky.
The girl stared into the cyclone of color. Her terror on waking lifted and was gone.
“Go on, Miss,” the Sorcerer said. “Go on up the stairs until you find one you like. You can take it as a gift.”
Without looking at him, she drifted from the sofa to climb the staircase.
She’d never felt so light in her life, her feet seemingly hovering above the steps. She caressed the wall, hand trailing behind her, scarcely touching the cool stone, her fingertips gliding over the mounds of crystals.
Then her fingers clung.
At first, she struggled to go on. She was halfway up the spiral, her gaze fixed on the circle of blue above her. She would be free if she could get to where the sky was infinite.
She pulled harder and the stone surrendered.
The girl stared into her hand at a crystal shaped like a star with eight tiers stretching around her palm.
Then she waved it before the nearest torch, and the crystal exploded a whirlwind of color. The vivid cyclone took her breath away and surrounded her with a disconnected rainbow.
“Excellent choice! Nobody has ever taken a stargaze before.”
The girl started when she heard the voice.
She couldn’t remember where she was.
Looking down, she saw a kindly old man smiling at her from the bottom of the steps.
“You must be hungry,” he called. “Why don’t you come down, get something to eat?”
The girl blinked slowly, tempted to let her eyes rest from the heaviness of her lids.
This must be a dream. She must be immersed in a beautiful vision. She heard a faint voice inside imploring her to beware and to keep going up the stairs.
But she had no desire to obey.
She rubbed her hand over her belly. She was more than hungry; she was empty.
And the old man seemed so gentle.
“I would love something to eat,” she answered. “Thank you.”
Her host snapped his fingers.
Of course this was a dream.
It was impossible that shadows could pour from the walls, carrying heavy golden platters and piling them on the round table.
The wood was dark and the girl suspected the table was carved from the trees in the Ancient Grove.
She floated down the spiral like a specter while a feast fit for a banquet of kings was readied just for her.
Her nostrils fluttered from the aromas rising to meet her, savory, pungent, bitter, sweet, spice, hints of the flavors to come.
The girl took her seat, her eyes wide looking up the mountain of platters towering over her.
Closest to her were the desserts, fragile cake layers held together with ribbons of silken frosting, steam rising from soufflés, while berries of blue, black and red bulged from the delicate confection of mousse, making a perfect marriage of sweet and tart.
This wasn’t a mere supper. This was a festival of the senses.
“Go on,” the old man murmured. “You can have whatever you want. As much as you want.”
