The Wizard – After truth

Silence. It was the first time he noticed it. Sitting at his desk, books and ancient tomes lay strewn across the floor, the desk a mess of ink and papers, of pieces of carbon and feather.

Where was the magic?

Gone and gone with the wind it was. Wasteful, broken. The wizard slammed his fist on the desk, spilling more ink than before and sending paper and feather flying. He had no idea how long he had been kneeling at the top of the Tower.

It should have been a glorious spectacle, he at the top of the Tower, the top of the world, finally able to lift the veil and see it all, understand it all. Only to find himself at the top, alone, with nothing but the wind and then nothingness.

How heavy and how terrible is the void indeed. Many teachers and mentors had taught him that, or they tried to. Old stories, old tales warning of it. But in his pride, he hadn’t heeded it, in his blindness, he had turned into this.

A room full of books, his achievements and nothingness. How is it possible to have nothing while having everything you had wanted? How much had he failed, had he failed?

Biting his lower lip, gripped by anxiety as he was, he got up from his chair. The effort of which made him dizzy.

Why was he so weak?

He touched his own body. Thin, weak. What had happened? Stumbling, he went to the storage room. It always had something, it always provided. But this time it was empty, the magic was gone, the emptiness was absolute. Empty racks, empty barrels. He rummaged across it, found a barrel filled with some dried seeds. Better than nothing. Going to the kitchen, he found a saucepan, old, almost rusty, grabbing it, his hands shaking from the weight, he went back to the storage room and carefully picked up some seeds. He didn’t know what they were, nor what they would produce if planted. But he had nothing else. Grabbing the full pan with both hands, walking with extreme care as to not drop a single one, he filled from the stone faucet, thne he placed it over the wood stove, grabbed a few discarded pieces and lit them on fire. He made sure that there was plenty enough and then sat on the kitchen table. Panting.

What was happening? What had happened? Just yesterday he had sat down at that very table, eating a hearty meal, looking out the window to the veil that he wanted to pierce, the barrier between him and understanding. Now he remembered that the barrier was down and he looked out the window. Thick green foliage was blocking the sunlight, it was much like the veil itself. Only that this time he didn’t have the tools nor the resources to pierce it from the Tower.

He got lost in his contemplation when he heard a hissing noise. The pan had boiled and was spilling over its contents. With a shriek, he rushed to it, getting burned a bit he managed to save most of it. He placed the pan on the cool counter surface and waited for it to cool down. He saw a few seeds had fallen to the ground and wondered whether to eat them.

That was when he saw a roach approach the spilled seeds, softened now that they had been boiled. It started to eat the seed. With a lurch, he realized that it was eating his food and darted to eat the bean. He pushed the insect aside and started to eat the seed. It was oily, and it had dirt sticking to it. But he had nothing else. From the heights to eating what a bug had nibbled

What had happened to the magic?

Again, he had been warned, not just on a personal level but on a field level. Many sages and magic teachers had warned him that magic was dying, that fewer and fewer people were practicing it. But he trudged through, from his tower he received many messages and letters, many knowledge exchanges. Until they started to dwindle and he had stopped receiving them altogether. He had ignored it, he had continued on with his research. He hadn’t noticed that he was alone. His grumbling stomach returned him to the present. He grabbed a spoon and started to eat. He managed to do so in silence, the efforts to silence his mind enough to keep the doubts and the sorrow at bay. But with the final clank of the spoon, they all returned. He approached the washing basin, opening the water faucet but no water came. Furrowing his brow, he tried to close and open it several times. But to no avail. It would have looked comical from the outside.

In the end, he gave up, arm falling limp by his side, he looked at it dumbfounded.

Where had the magic gone? He had to find out.

He went back to his study, closed the door, and as night fell, the cold settled in. He tried to study, he tried to do what he had always done, but no topic piqued his interest, no subject captivated him. He knew the answer were in the books but he had read them all, several times over, he had written a few of them even. So he knew, even though he tried to not think about it, there was nothing inside that room. Only the needs that he was going to have to face. He had some food but not enough, he had no water and no way to cook it. He had nothing. He had what he had always wanted but he had nothing. He had lost it all. The realization hit hard.

How had he lost the magic?

He had to go out, he had to leave the Tower. Unthinkable, how can I abandon her… but she wasn’t there now. She used to be there, a presence, the presence of the tower, always there to take care of the troubles and enable his research, water and food, but not anymore. Now only he remained. Alone, this realization, he started to sweat, wasting precious water that he didn’t have. Fear, panic, they froze him on the spot; he was unable to move over his desk, over an empty piece of paper. He saw drops falling from his forehead. He had to go out, he had achieved everything and he had lost everything. Had he lost the magic?

Did he ever have the magic?

Stumbling, he decided that he would just take a little peek, a little look. It wouldn’t be dangerous now, would it?