01 - The Magician
#3 of The 78
The Magician signifies mastery. It is the opposite of The Fool. Knowledge. Wisdom. And maturity. At its core, it can be used to signify the use of one's surroundings and knowledge to create change in the world. Furthermore, the elephant is a symbol of great wisdom and knowledge, thereby the reason for my choice as a species for Sage Sudhira.
The railships arrived. Students... of all kinds. Some making their return. Some coming for the first time. From all over, they came. From the north, from the south, and most certainly from the east and the west. Coming, as they were always wont to do, back to the universtrang.
Some, however, never left.
They were not students.
Not, at least, in a form recognizable to others.
Yes. Even the masters, were in many ways, students themselves. The sages, surely were.
Age and wear did not whittle down the capacity to learn, nor certainly the desire.
Though his eyes were weary, they were not dulled.
Though his body ached, it was not withered.
Though his mind was ancient, it was not slowed.
Elephantine, his daunting form demanded reverence from intellectual and muscle alike. And though many regarded him as a solemn and stern individual... watching, through the lance windows of his tower, the arrival of so many -- filled with such eagerness and merriment to learn -- coaxed a smile from him.
How could he not smile?
"Sage Sudhira?" a timid voice called out.
Sudhira remained silent, in contemplation of how to answer. He stroked his trunk, and then began to turn. His silver eyes laid upon a small caprid.
Under his gaze, she bowed. "Sage Sudhira, it is about time."
He nodded once. And raised his palm before himself. His eyes closed. He felt the flow of the elements and ushered them to his bidding.
The stalwart earth embraced him. Seeping upward, as he ebbed below. As stone wove over him, he felt movement. The thick tides of material roved around, gently. There was no sound. There was no air. Yet the earth drank of it, at his behest, so not to consume him.
Soon, beyond the turns and shifts, Sage Sudhira felt everything come to a stop. He willed it thus. And then the earth began to raise him forth. Air licked at his emerging head. The warm, grounded grip of stone lowered upon his great form.
At first, noise greeted his great ears. But the higher he rose, the more silence began to dominate.
Movement ceased.
He opened his eyes, rested his hand on the great golden lectern before himself.
A thousand faces looked back at him, from all corners of the Great Hall. Most were in awe. Most were reverence. Most of all, most were unblinkingly attentive.
Sage Sudhira spread out his arms. "Welcome!" His voice boomed. It resonated to every corner of the hall, bouncing off columns and reverberating all the way to the domed ceiling above. Sound obeyed him, and his voice so-conveyed.
"Students, new and old, you are seated in the halls of knowledge. Built by wisdom, driven by love of learning, and continuing -- ever more -- to open the gates of the future. For the future, for the dawn which we light in the lives of millions. What you come here to learn, in this following year, will lay the stones of the road on-which walks. Whether that road leads to great things, or to great ruin, rests SOLELY..."
He ceased for a moment, looking around at all those so raptly paying attention. His voice lowered slightly, "...upon your shoulders. And whether you, students -- heralds of tomorrow -- will treat these halls and these lessons which you learn, with the same sacrosanctity as all those who came before you."
Sage Sudhira gave a great, sweeping gesture, "For today, you are surely weary. Eat. Rest. Make merriment! Make friends. For tomorrow... you all begin a tremendously important journey, together. Into the dawn, of your own making!"
Silence only reigned, in a second.
Then shattered, in a deluge of applause. Sage Sudhira settled into a seat. He rested his arms on the throne-like sides and drew a great breath.
"Well spoken, Sage Sudhira."
"As moving as always, master."
"A pleasure. A pleasure, Sage Sudhira.
The Sage raised a hand, to still the praises of the teachers seated along with him. "Our work, begins tomorrow, as well," he reminded them, "No journey, yet, has come to an end. Even at this table, of ours."
He looked out at the cacophony of the students, clamoring for the food being brought them. Though their chatter should have been deafening, together, a whirling barrier of sound and air shimmered between the masters' table and those of the novices.
A barrier, he felt, which should not have existed. While food was brought to their own table, Sage Sudhira sat in contemplation. There is a divide between us, he surmised, So long as this barrier stands, the masters shall continue to forget that they -- too -- have much to learn.
He hummed. And let his eyes close. The warmth of darkness greeted him. He knew its presence always there, hidden just in sight, waiting to emerge.
No title, more than "master," blinded one to oneself.
And the darkness, which never left. No matter how enlightened one's strides.