Chapter 9
I cannot define the library’s size. It seems small at first, and yet, when I let my eyes run along the bookshelves, bottom to top, I realize they’re endless.
There’s a solid oak table in the middle of the library, and I take a seat. A strange sense of comfort pervades me as I plunge on a cushioned chair.
Arthur moves along the perimeter of the place, brushing the books with his hands as he walks, as if trying to connect with the place by making physical contact with its material essence.
I look around instead, trying to capture the feelings the place inspires in me.
At a point Arthur stops, his fingers tracing the profile of a book, lingering on it. My eyes transfixed on it, I suddenly picture myself in front of an ampoule filled with a bubbling rosy fluid, as filaments of smoke evolve from its neck.
Why?
“Take the book, Arthur,” I say.
Arthur turns around, slowly, and nods. He brings me the book, but when he is about to place it on the table his hands shake.
I observe his unsettled movements with apprehension, unable to intervene.
The book drops on the table and opens with a muffled thump, puffing clouds of dust from the yellowed pages.
Arcane characters from a long gone past cover the large, thick pages. Standing behind me, Arthur leans forward and our eyes meet on the first line of page 999.
In the year 1850 Iris Sigurdsson departed for a perilous expedition to find
“To find something you are forbidden to learn,” a voice thunders, shattering the muffled silence of the library.