“Do you have any idea what I must do to dissolve your pig-headed anathema? And daily, at that.”
“Ah, but were it not for my pig-headedness, dearest Zalem, what on earth would you do all day?”
“Pah! I have far higher callings, boy, even in the day. Even,” he says, gesturing smally with an open palm, one nostril curled in disdain, “here.”
“Is that so? Name them.”
“Cosmic order, for one.”
“Now it is my turn to say pah, Zal. What is that but a name for some idea you have squirreled away in that many-chambered skull of yours?”
“So he grasps the tool of language at last! Yet as a novice, holding it not at the grip but at the sharpened edge. Just so. Do be careful, boy, wouldn’t want you to cut yourself. More for me to clean up. Gah!” He yells that last exclamation, throwing up his hand at some unidentified annoyance.
“There really is no reasoning with you, is there?”
“To use a tired, so tired an analogy (the tool is moving now at the hand of one properly grasping, try to keep up) as the ant sees no reason in the speech of man, so you fail to detect reason of a higher order. The least you could do… actually, come to think of it, the most you could do, for which you are still held responsible, is to have some humility about it. Now, do come in. As much as I delight in the branching optimistic upward striving of your local flora, our ends require a more purposeful setting.”
The creature, the wizard, hovered minutely off the ground, and with the wave of a hand, opened a door from nowhere. It was an arch in the air, extending to the ground, and set with glyphs streaming down its face like a string of beads. Though he didn’t like to admit it, Jun felt better when the wizard was near. Safer. He always found himself a bit tantalized by the itinerant creature. While he seemed to be quite capable of appearing whenever and wherever he wanted, and always seemed to have circumstances well at hand, there were needs which drove him to disappear for indefinite lengths of time. Jun found himself awaiting another appearance each time, believing for some reason that it would happen soon, though it never did, not until he was as good as forgotten. What compelled him to leave, this being that for all he knew could be all places, all times, all at once. What enticed him to return? Jun never knew, and this bothered him like food insecurity, like termites in the center beam, like a backache that is spontaneously relieved by an unknown cause only to resurface by an equally unknown cause.
“Coming?”
Zal’s hand led inward. He waited patiently outside the door, though there was something nervous, something urgent about him that couldn’t quite be placed. Jun walked in.
A window to a stormy vista of wind-blown tress. My God, what a window, like something sharp and Gothic, but wrought by that very spirit which the goths were eager to induce: awe not lacking fear, horror not lacking beauty. It stood elevated behind a bannister and some curving stairs. On either side, shelves. Books bound by hefty spines, curved and straight. These lay, some open to pages of unrecognizable languages and diagrams of foreign geometries, amidst arcane instruments begging to be inspected. The entryway, now portalless, was wall-papered. Small tables featuring porcelain and obsidian busts sat in relief against many-patterned, many-lined walls. The rug was complicated.
The space was ornate and fascinating to be sure, but opulence was not quite the mode. Purpose. It was a place of purpose.
Jun eyed the walls and dimly-lit corners, seeing no doors. “Nice place you have here. Is it just the one room?”
“Oh, it’s not mine, really. Just borrowing it from a friend.”
The rain splattered in great sheaves against the window panels, making muted smacks as clouds began to roll and churn overhead.
“Wind’s picking up.”