The Lantern Maker

Awakening

1. Awakening

He awoke to absolute darkness. The kind of inky black that makes one see shadows within shadows. There was no sound at first, but he could feel the ground beneath him, cold and damp. Wet Twigs and leaves of some sort stuck to his body, clinging to him as his mind began to awake. He lay on soft yielding earth, curled into a ball. 

 A trembling weakness was in his limbs, like that of something newly born, and he could remember nothing of before. For a while he did not move, trying to see something other than the black that surrounded him, or hear something through the shadow.

He he ran his hand over his chest, it was covered in some form of rough cloth. The cloak, such as it was, barely extended like a ragged poncho to his knees. He could feel his waist and thighs were wound in similarly rough cloth, tied off loosely at the hip.

The cloth slid roughly on his shoulders as he turned and sat up, trying instinctively to see or hear anything at all. But the the silence remained unbroken by all but his own movements, and the darkness sat heavy and still over his eyes. The air smelled of mold and rotten wood, with the pungent earthy smell of upturned dirt.

Where am I? He wondered, feeling around himself with outstretched hands. An afterthought fluttered through his mind weakly, who or what am I? He couldn't even remeber his own name, if he had one.

Frustratedly, he wondered why he could not see. He felt that he ought to be able to perform the simple task of sight, however nothing touched his eyes but the surrounding dark. It was as though all his instincts where telling him that his eyes should be able to pierce the darkness around him. The lack of vision made him uneasy. 

 He rose unsteadily to his feet and drew a shaking breath. His body felt weak, untested. Thoughts continued to flit through his mind, most of them questions. Underneath it all was a current of frustration with his blindness, was it dark? Or was he blind? There were no answers to be found among his own thoughts. If there was anything in his past to recall it stayed hidden. No memories, faint or otherwise, sprang to mind. 

Feeling around himself, his hands met rough bark, slightly damp like the ground. Bits of lichen and moss dropped to join the leaves beneath his toes as his fingertips began to grip the surface next to him. He clutched what felt like the rough trunk of a tree as he stood, his breath sounding unsteadily in his ears.

Other than the sound of his own breathing, which was becoming more steady, nothing broke the silence. Then the dripping sound of water began to join his heartbeat and breath, breaking the numbing quiet. A light rain started, dripping on his head and pattering on what sounded like leaves around him. His rough clothing stopped none of the moisture from reaching him, and he began to feel cold.

His eyes ached desperately to see something, straining against the shadows as if he could pierce them by force of will.

He took a careful step forward, his foot finding mud and roots. With one hand on the tree trunk he began to feel his way forward. The ground was soft and uneven beneath him. Mud and leaves began to coat his feet like a poor attempt at shoes. Roots stabbed at the bottoms of his feet causing him to step slowly, moving with both hands extended before him.

His hands found another tree trunk, covered in the same rough bark, a few more steps to his left and he found another. he turned to his right and his forehead promptly made contact with a low hanging branch. He rubbed his head trying to take the sting away, and began to make his way through what he assumed was a wood. His arms were barely enough to encircle the smallest trunk, and some of the trees were too large to place his arms around. The branches that hung through the air were thick and twisted, and he felt few leaves on them.