3. The Mage of the Tower

Sharon connected the final wire and suddenly an unbearable sound, like a deafening choir of angels, rose from the walls.

There!

It was dawn. She had done it.

Working through the night, with naps right on the floor here and there, Sharon had skillfully and patiently canvassed the other three walls for the diamond switches.

She found that the walls next to the first had plugs for the switch, while the opposite wall had wires that connected to the plugs.

I’m all geometried out now, she thought, exhausted.

But there was no time to be exhausted because soon there was a chirring and a whirring of gears, and the floor itself began to move as though carried by a thousand birds. Sharon watched with awe as the marble tiles of the center neatly detached from the wooden paneling, panels that slid back into carved recesses in the walls and that Sharon had always assumed was merely decorative.

The enchantment of the spectacle was such that Sharon forgot to be afraid.

They descended, deeper and deeper. As they descended a thin platform slid out from somewhere, slowly blocking the light and promising pitch dark.

“Dracrys?” Sharon whispered.

As though revived by her words, the dragonfly began to glitter green, and when it flew off Sharon’s shoulder iridescent green powder lit its way. When they had settled onto earth again, Sharon followed Dracrys’ trail.

Soon she began to hear a sound, the familiar rocking noise which had comforted her since she was a baby. Light gradually filtered down through the tunnel and finally Sharon was stepping through to a large, airy living space not unlike her own, with a large bay window facing the sea.

The sea was immense and rock-gray, and Sharon was stunned by how much foam each wave produced.

So this is the sea! This noise I’ve heard since as far back as I can remember… it was the sound of the sea…

It was bizarre and shocking to realize that half the tower faced green rolling hills, and the other half a craggy sea, and that she had always been living on just one side of the split.

It’s like that famous album, Dark Side of the Moon.

But which side had Sharon been living on? The dark or bright side?

Dracrys stayed put on Sharon’s shoulder. Sharon thought she almost caught a sense of reluctance, caution even, but she couldn’t understand why, not in this beautiful, open space. She raised her hands to the window bars and pulled, but as always they stayed locked.

“Like magic,” she murmured, continuing to take in the space.

There was a breeze, but it wasn’t the sea breeze. It was from a beautiful fan mounted to the ceiling. Six silver blades gently spun. Sharon pulled the cord, which had a teardrop crystal pendant at the end, and the fan began to spin so quickly it looked liked spinning blades on the wall, much longer than they really were because of the long shadows cast on the ceiling from each blade.

Walking around, Sharon saw traces of delicate whimsy everywhere from the previous owner. Sharon bent over to admire a simple, pared down model of a bird with just gold pipes and a curved steel wing, made of one piece. There were the diamonds she had seen in the library, but now tiny glass meshwork of it, so intricate she wondered if the last occupant – she was starting to form a picture of him – had done it with pliers and a magnifying glass. Elsewhere Sharon found a button on a stand and pressed it, and laughed with delight when a small sun and moon mobile on the opposite side of the room began to twirl, its thin metal orbits moving and shimmering as well. The movement was so entrancing Sharon came over to watch.

What’s this? The sun seemed to be stuck on its path, colliding into a thin piece of metal that jutted out from the orbit.

Sharon reached out to smooth it and it clicked under her fingers.

Some premonition told her to look to her left, where she’d came from.

Sharon gasped. In her distress her hands flew to her mouth and the delicate mobile crashed to the floor, jangling.

In a flash the boy in other room strode to Sharon.

“Who are you and why are you here? And how long have you been watching?”

He was wearing a velvety black robe that looked heavy, expensive, and elegant, and somehow out of place with the rest of the chamber. He was pale, with black hair that fell over his eyes, and he could have been called handsome except for the shock Sharon was still reeling from.

His eyes narrowed like a cat’s.

“Come,” he roughly took her wrist and took her to the room which just opened.

Dracrys flew at the boy’s face, trying to stop him or at least deter him, but he paid no attention.

“See, it’s just the standard procedure for any old love potion… cask of sea water on a blue day, day old pepper, and six roses of Sharon.”

And indeed, in the glass vials and cauldron so familiar to Sharon from the equipment in her kitchen back in her side of the tower, lay sparkling blue water, pungent peppercorns, and the sweet white and purple flowers she was used to seeing around her bedroom and library. Six measuring spoons lay on a clean, spotless work table.

“And,” the boy said, speaking so quickly he was almost stumbling over her words, “this is the drawing in the mirror. Which you might have seen. But – maybe you didn’t. So – ”

The boy practically dragged her to the other corner of the room, where a drawing, familiar to Sharon from her long days in the library, was pinned.

“This is the Vitruvian man, by Leonardo da Vinci. It’s his representation of the beauty of the cosmos, made perfect by the beauty of man. Da Vinci may have been a mage, we don’t know.”

Just as he said, it was the Vitruvian man, a drawing of a man with arms and legs outstretched in two ways, the first to create a perfect square and the second to create a perfect circle.

The boy’s eyes narrowed further. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Speak!”

Sharon found her voice.

“I… I was just surprised to see someone here. And, I never knew these flowers called rose of Sharon. I’m Sharon.”

The boy stared. “Your name is Sharon? But that’s not a mage’s name… Then… you’re a human?”

Sharon stared at the boy.

The boy suddenly took a step back and looked her up and down, and when he turned his face back to her his expression was much more open.

For a heartbeat they simply looked at each other’s eyes.

What is this feeling? This feeling of being noticed… This feeling of being seen…

Is it just because he’s the first person I’ve ever met?

Then the moment passed.

“You’re a… mage? A wizard?” Sharon asked.

The boy snorted. “A wizard?” he mocked Sharon’s lilting voice, but still gazing deeply at her features.

The boy seemed to recognize his rudeness, because then he said, “Sorry, it’s just… it’s my first time meeting a human. My name is Rainer.”

“Rainer,” Sharon said, heart pounding, but willing her voice to sound natural, “will you excuse me for a second? I’m not feeling well.”

Rainer took a closer look at her. “No kidding. A human like you in a place like this – ” he abruptly shut his mouth. After a moment he said, “I’ll just get back to work. But, I hope to see you around, Sharon.”

Sharon nearly ran outside, all the way back to the platform where she’d come from. When she had her wits about her again and sensed no one was there, she whispered, “I didn’t just imagine it, did I, Dracrys?”

The dragonfly closed its wings in sympathy.

Sharon’s breath came out in frightened gasps.

When the door first opened, what she had seen in the vials weren’t rose petals, and what she had seen on the desk weren’t spoons.

In the vials were hacked off bird parts – wings, heads, torsos – categorized by anatomical group. And on the desk were tongs, pliers, wires, and six silver knives.

In the mirror was a poster of the Vitruvian man, but affixed with real wings, glorious, beautiful, resplendent wings with white-grey feathers, just like the bloody white-grey feathers strewn across the table. A dove head was mounted to the wall, its gaze unseeing.

Next Chapter: 4. The Exit of the Tower

Previous Chapter: 2. The Dragonfly in the Tower

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