Blight

Witchcraft.

The ancient word hangs in my mind as I kneel in the dirt. My fingers, chalky with dust, working slowly. Carefully. I can't afford another mistake. Already the rocky ground is littered with broken bits of metal, cracked cogs and de-twined springs. Here and there, peppering the mess, shiny bits of white glass reflect the low green glow from outside.

It is forbidden, what I am doing. Only the great god Bask has the right to create light. If I am caught, I will be punished severely.

I shiver at the thought.

No. It doesn't matter. Keep going. Time is running out.

I have to save them, even if they take my life for doing it.