Black Mountain by Greig Beck

campus, and the bright blue midmorning.
    ‘Now this is stress relief.’
    He pushed open the door, which gave a protesting squeal of hinges crying out for oil, and stepped down from the cabin just as two girls in tight, light blue university T-shirts went past. He afforded them a wide smile and ran his hand up through his shoulder-length hair. ‘Go the Bulldogs,’ he said, and made a bat-swinging motion in the air.
    One of the girls giggled and flashed a set of the whitest teeth he’d ever seen outside of a toothpaste commercial. He continued watching them as they disappeared around the corner. Yep, still got it , he thought, as he put both hands on the centre of his back and stretched, breathing in the clear air.
    Matt looked around at the campus – some new buildings in amongst the old, but still recognisable. Given its focus on liberal arts, it was hard to call the university traditional – it was more progressive, more . . . fun. Not academically as rigorous as Harvard, of course, but a different, freer atmosphere. Did anyone not look back on their university days fondly, he wondered.
    He smiled. Standing here in the sunshine, he felt an almost physical lightness, as though the warmth and clean air were scouring the dark corners of his soul. It had been several years now since he’d assisted in a joint scientific–military mission below the Antarctic ice. He’d survived, but many hadn’t. His comfortable life had been devastated by the revelation of another world, an ancient place where monsters slithered in the dark and people, people he’d loved, had died horribly. He hadn’t coped well. His relationships fell away, his work suffered. Though Harvard had extended his time off on compassionate grounds, he knew he’d never be able to remain there, trapped by wretched memories. He’d been looking for a fresh start, and when his old linguistics professor had sent him a message telling him he had retired, Matt had asked for his job.
    Asheville had jumped at the opportunity – and why not? Matt was a big fish – internationally respected, many papers published, Harvard pedigree, and references from leading public and private officials. Even from senior military figures – though these he’d kept in his top drawer. If he never saw a military uniform again, he’d die happy.
    The job had been formally offered, and now he was down here to meet the faculty. Fact was, he needed this job, not for the money, but for his sanity. He suddenly felt like he had a future again.
    Ahh . He tilted his head skyward and let the sunshine bathe his face. It had been nearly a dozen years since he’d left Asheville, but the place that held the best memories for him was the centre of the campus universe – the library. Matt sauntered across the quadrangle, his longish hair and boyish looks allowing him to blend smoothly amongst the milling students. The Ramsey Library loomed before him, still able to evoke in him feelings of excitement and anticipation. It was an impressive structure, with square columns giving it an aloof, presidential appearance. Inside it was a different, warmer place, rich with information.
    He walked through the front doors and resisted the urge to turn into Cafe Ramsey, still tucked just inside the doorway. As in his day, students sat there sipping coffee, heads down over the books open on their tables. What had changed, though, was that most of them took notes on tablets or computers.
    Matt tutted his disappointment when he noticed another change – the automated donut maker had been replaced by an enormous pay coffee machine. That’s progress , he thought.
    He continued through to the library, taking a well-remembered path to his favourite hangout – the Research Centre. It was there that his languages professor, Henry van Levin, had imbued in him a sense of wonder at how ancient civilisations could still speak to scholars today through languages that were, in some cases, more works of art than