(Text, voice and illustrations are my own)
The sun was sinking in the horizon as Mirk was walking through the hills. Beautiful, changing colours ran over the landscape, making it all intense and alive. In a far he could see the old house on the mountaintop. He was supposed to continue his studies there. It didn’t look like much.
-It’s a lot better than the university in town, his uncle had said. -You’ll see.
Mirk wondered how that little house could be better than the old majestic faculty he came from.
He was a good student, dedicated and intelligent, and had become one of the best pupils on the mathematics course. Meta-mathematics was his favourite. How it all worked, why it came together like it did. Logic. The most intriguing part of it all.
He climbed the innumerous stairs up towards the house. Strange birds were flying around the tall, almost cylindrical mountain as the landscape spread out underneath. In the shadows of the falling night he saw lakes, forests and hills. To the east he saw his town, far, far away. What was beyond the cliffs in the west, he did not know.
He arrived at the top and stretched his back. His rucksack wasn’t really that heavy, but the walk had been long. The house was bigger than it seemed from below. It had a tower on one side, and a huge front door. A metal dragon attached to it held a big ring in its mouth. He lifted the ring. Let it fall. He could hear the knock echo through the halls on the other side.
He waited. He knocked again, this time twice. Nothing happened. He slid down on the ground with his back to the the door.
-All this walk for nothing, he said to himself.
He heard something. Somewhere deep inside the house a door was opened. Footsteps were coming closer. He jumped up, straightened his clothes. He heard keys turning in the door. A moment of silence. Slowly the heavy door opened.
A little old man was standing there. Very old and very little. He glared up on him with a curious look, examining him for a while.
-H… Hello! Mirk said nervously. The old man said nothing, just kept looking at him, at his clothes and his little bag. -My uncle…
The old man turned around and disappeared into the darkness of the house.
-Come, apprentice. Please, come in.
It seemed even bigger on the inside. There were corners and crevices all over. Candle lights and fire torches. Mirk followed the old man up a big staircase to the second floor. At the end of the hall there was a door.
-This will be your room.
It was a small chamber, scarcely furnished with a bed, a small desk and some drawers. It was dusty, spiderwebs covered the corners.
-You might want to clean a bit, the old man said. I’ll be waiting in the library for your first class.
-Where’s the librar… y?
The old man was gone. Mirk cleaned his room and got his things out of his bag. He sat down on the bed for a moment, he really felt like going to sleep, but the old man had said he would be waiting.
He walked down the stairs. A bat flew out from the ceiling, some mice ran for cover in the wall. A cat was waching him from upon a shelf. Further down he could see a light. From an open door came a warm, yellow glow.
The library was huge, a lot bigger than the house was from the outside, challenging any concept of geometry he’d ever known. Winding stairways seemed to go on forever. So many books. Big books, small books. Books of every colour he’d seen and more. There was one lying on a table, bigger than himself. Slowly he walked over, looked at it. Stroke the paper. Sparks followed his fingers as he touched it. He saw strange formulas, symbols he’d never seen before, signs he couldn’t even understand how was drawn.
-So you found it.
Mirk spun around. He felt like an intruder, but the old man was smiling.
-What… what is it? Mirk looked back at the big book.
-There are numbers in this world beyond counting, the old man answered. Numbers we cannot understand. A set of symbols, another system, where inexplicable things are explained. Outside our reason and logic, deeper than philosophy and science. Far more real than any religion. This is what you will study. They are the structure of reality. Some call them… Magic.
As the old man said the last word the book’s sheets flapped, as in the wind, but there weren’t even a draft. Mirk looked at the symbols. They were shining.
He turned the page to see more. This was going to be a good semester.
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