This is no longer a vision. It is becoming a story.
We have a place, and a solitary narrator. That’s a start. But we need a lot more for a story to be interesting. We need characters, and motives, and a plot.
So who is wandering through the palace of stone?
First, there is the wizard who created it, a mage who used to be a dragon. Second, the prince he holds captive. Third, a servant girl enslaved by the wizard, who plots to free the prince. Fourth, there is the boy who tends the horses when they are flesh instead of stone. He also serves as the wizard’s apprentice.
There is also a wandering cat, who has the run of the palace. There is likely more to her story than is apparent.
The wizard is trying to create a world that is free from change, and stone seems the most promising medium. So far, his spell of petrifaction only extends to the palace, and is not infallible even there. At midnight, muttering spells, he stalks among the stone chairs and draperies, past statues that resemble people frozen in a moment.
His robes rustle on the stairs as he ascends. In his hand is an alabaster oil lamp, which he sets in a wall-niche at the top of the stairs. As he walks away, the flame quivers, and forms into a tiny phoenix.
A sleek black cat leaps into the niche and sniffs at the flame. She jerks away and shakes her head, then leaps to the polished floor with a gesture of disgust.
The stable boy approachees. He picks up the cat and scritches it behind the ears as he slips silently along the marble balcony. Below him, in the great hall, a scattering of candles burn like amethyst stars. The cat purrs against his shoulder.
The boy pauses outside the wizard’s study and listens at the door, which is slightly ajar. The cat squirms in his arms, and he sets her down. She slips through the crack into the study with a decisive tail-swish.
The boy continues silently to the door of the servants’ stair. He opens it, revealing a girl in a kitchen apron. The boy touches her hand, then reaches up to stroke her dark brown hair. Their eyes meet. They join hands again. A moment later, the boy descends the stair, leaving her alone on the balcony. She opens her hand to reveal a golden key, which she slips into her apron pocket.
The girl glides along the balcony, close to the marble balustrade. When she passes the wizard’s door, she moves slowly, careful to make no sound. She lifts the phoenix lamp from its niche, and the bird once again becomes a trembling flame. The girl carries the lamp down the stairs into the great hall. From there, she takes a side passage reserved for the mage and his servants. A turn, a door, and then another turn. The passage ends at a blank basalt wall decorated with a low relief of carved flowers.
The girl presses the center of a rose, and the wall slides back, revealing a door. She steps through.
The room holds a cell-like cage with bars of polished steel. Inside the cage are a wooden cot and a low table. On the table are an empty plate, a pitcher and a lighted candle. On the cot sits a young man, his face buried in this hands. The girl taps the key on the bars to get his attention.
The young man looks up and sees the girl. It is clear from his manner and raiment that he is a prince, although he has fallen on hard times and is now the mage’s captive. He looks at the girl with a pleading expression. She holds her finger to her lips, then points to the key. Moving silently, she opens the cage door. She pulls the door shut again, but gently, so it does not latch. After another hushing gesture, she slips away into the darkness, leaving the prince alone.
The prince waits, listening to the sounds of the castle. Footsteps pass and fade away. There is a distant sound of running water. The vast stone palace seems to be softly breathing.
After what seems to him like a very long time, the sounds of activity fall silent. The prince opens the cage door slowly and gazes at the darkness. He returns to the cage to retrieve his candle. Shielding the flame with his cupped hand, he creeps blindly through the polished marble passageways, seeking an exit.
The prince pushes open a door, and steps into the library.
He knows this room. It was here that he was captured. Everything is as he remembers it. The stone book still lies open on the table, a solid block of marble like a psalter in a knight’s hands on the lid of his tomb. The pages are patterned in a shifting network of blue and ochre.
The prince glances at the pages, but tears his eyes away. Even in that moment, he feels the questing snare of ensorcellment.
A door opens on the far side of the library. A boy in a servant’s tunic steps out, holding a golden bridle. He motions to the prince, then hands him the bridle and points to the French windows that open into the garden.
On the terrace, in the starlight, a horse is standing. It is so lifelike, it takes the prince a moment to realize that it is carved of stone. He turns to the boy, who points at the bridle and again toward the statue. The prince nods. He opens the window, steps through, and closes it carefully behind him.
The breeze from the midnight garden caresses him as he approaches the beautiful horse.
The horse is masterfully carved from veined black marble. Its mane is ruffled, its nostrils flared, and its ears are pricked forward in alert attention. The prince lays the bridle over its head, and the eyes roll toward him. The ears twitch, the fine head bows, and the lips open to receive the golden bit.
Now the horse is alive, a black stallion of flesh and bone, warm and vibrant under his touch. The prince steps onto a balustrade, grips the mane and throws his leg across the broad back. The stallion dances under him, pawing the pavement, eager to run.
The French window slams open, and the wizard bursts forth. His fingers flame red with wrathful magic. The prince grips the stallion’s flanks between his knees and kicks its sides with his soft shoes. A moment later, they are galloping across the lawn under the stars, toward the ivy-covered wall that surrounds the wizard’s castle.
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