Free The Dark Crystal by A. C. H. Smith

standing in the flames, which seemed not to touch them. He would soon be orbiting back down to them.
    At the farthest point of its trajectory, the planet passed by the high telescope gallery under the dome itself. Hanging on to the shaft, Jen swung his legs in readiness; then he propelled himself through the air and onto the gallery.
    The combined velocity of his jump and the forward motion of the shaft destroyed any chance Jen had of landing steadily on his feet, and he was hurled against the wall of the dome.
    The wall cracked open. Whatever material had been used to construct the dome was as brittle as an eggshell. Jen crashed through the wall and fell out of the Observatory, into the air. His momentum took him on, clear of the dome, and landed him on a hillside sloping steeply away. Terrified, with no control over his body, Jen rolled head over heels down the hill. He landed in a bush far below the Observatory, shuddering.
    It was some moments before the power to move his limbs returned to him. When it did, he moved them gingerly, in case they were no longer working. He winced with bruises but wept with relief to find that he was still alive, could still walk. Gradually he caught his breath.
    Above him he heard an explosion. He jerked his head in its direction and saw the entire dome go up in flames against the night sky. Above the roar of the fire and the clatter of smashing objects, he could make out Aughra’s high-pitched screaming.
    “Oh, Aughra!” Jen cried out in sympathy.
    He put his hand up to his breast. At least the crystal was still inside his tunic. His flute, too, had survived the ordeal.
    He turned away from the hill and fled headlong into the darkness.
    Far away, from across a deep ravine, Jen’s flight was observed by a scaly monster of primeval appearance, decked in rags. The Chamberlain glanced back at the distant Observatory. Against the blaze he could see the Garthim silhouetted. He turned and started to force his unwieldy body through the thick, jungly brush, taking the same direction as Jen had, into the wilderness.

A s soon as Jen had left the valley and the funeral rites for urSu had been completed, the urRu commenced another ritual ceremony. Indeed, the new ceremony was effectively a continuation of the funeral.

    UrSol the Chanter sounded a new, more staccato theme, which the rest took up as they moved out across the thalweg, under the rising suns. UrAc the Scribe fetched prepared pots of natural-colored sand; and, near the tallest of the Standing Stones, he spread it out over a circular area of which the radius was his own body length. He smoothed the sand over with a weaving batten.

    Meanwhile, the others staked out the valley floor with long lines of string, carefully measured and reckoned for intersections. All the strings crossed urAc’s sand circle and were plucked in turn, making both a sound and an indentation in the sand. The sound was incorporated into the chant. Each indentation urAc filled with turquoise-colored sand. As he worked, he never ceased to chant, and what he chanted was a narrative. He described the journey of a hero.

    UrAc had sand of four other colors: white, red, black, and a creamy, iridescent mother-of-pearl. He now began to use them to create his sand painting. The general form of the picture was a spiral, but across it urAc created long arcs, and at its head the icon of three concentric circles in a triangle. Along the journey of the spiral he represented some events with objects: a bird’s wing, an insect’s claw, a horn, a tooth, a burnt stick. He depicted twins, flames, and Jen’s flute. He added a number of symbols, such as the pentacle, the tetraktys, and the double helix. All the time he chanted, with the other urRu, while the suns crossed the sky and the three shadows of the Standing Stones began to converge, encroaching on the sand painting. Layer upon layer of description, prayer, anecdote, and song were laid down.

    Toward the end of the day, urAc