Tomebound, a Litrpg Tower Climbing Adventure

“Have you wondered why they exist, though?

Two beacons touching the heavens. One tree, taller than both.

Whose paths are they lighting?

What ships have they seen?”

~~ Musings of the Fourth Poet on the nature of Titans

“L-lift your hands. Slowly.” Each syllable was accentuated by the pressure of steel against him.

Callam already had no intention of doing as he was told, so the speaker’s stutter gave him the confidence he needed to act. Instead of following directions, he coughed—a hacking thing that instinctively drove him to cover his mouth with one hand. With the other, he palmed his shiv from pocket to sleeve, trusting both his improvised misdirection and the sloop’s dim lighting to conceal his movements.

Pain seared his back as metal cut through linen and grazed skin.

“Don’t doubt I’ll pierce that stitcher's lung, Seeker,” the young voice behind him spat.

No hesitation. Callam clenched his teeth against the sting. The earlier stammer had clearly been a ruse.

Not stupid, then. Yet too green to recognize my sleight of hand.

“I’m here to pay my respects and settle debts.” His years on the streets had taught him to be direct. Besides, he was too worn out from Binding Day to feel truly afraid in a situation like this. He leaned into that sense of apathy, turning his exhaustion into bravery.

Let the Sootskin think him fearless; they might not realize how desperately he wanted to protect the orphans.

“The Cinderthief knows why you’ve come. I’m to separate you from it.” The boy nudged at Callam’s bookbag with his foot. “Pass it over.”

“No.” While the passphrase was an easy way to deter outsiders, this was the real test—if Callam folded now, he’d be dealt no further hands. He’d be allowed to leave, alright, but as a lackey, not an equal.

More pain punished his refusal. Callam nearly screamed—this time the knife drew blood, and within seconds he felt the harsh linen of his shirt begin to dampen.

“Give it. Here.”

“Not… on my… life.” The words came out more labored than Callam would have liked, and for a moment, he considered throwing himself to the waves and swimming to shore. Yet he stayed, knowing this sham would be over soon.

After all, there was no way they’d assigned the removal of his tome to one Sootskin. Not while the sloop was still moored and escape was so easy.

The clacking of boots on wood proved him right. By the sound of it, three more Sootskins were making their way over the gangplanks. Then the boat shuddered, and Callam guessed another two were climbing on board—a full house, their standard infiltration technique.

“So it's true what they say. There are still men with pebbles you can’t break.” Green eyes sparkled in the harbor gloom, and a wolfish smile came into view. A step later, the pale white visage and dark brown hair of Merra, the Sootskin’s Cinderthief, became visible.

Perfectly manicured brows furrowed as she inspected Callam.

He blanched, working hard to keep his face impassive. To some, Merra was simply beautiful; to him, everything about her appearance seemed carefully crafted to accentuate her features. Striking looks were just another weapon in her arsenal.

Fitting for a woman who’s made a habit of turning street kids into killers.

“Merra.” Callam nodded, trying to ignore how cramped the sloop felt with five unbound around him. “Stabbings are Docks End’s new ‘hello’?”

“Only for my favorite Seekers.”

“Hate to be on bad terms, then.”

“I’d say we’ve passed that point already.” With graceful ease, she sat on the crosspiece at the prow of the boat, her bookbag laying at her side. A dull, three-star grimoire peeked out from under a leather flap. “News being what it is.”

What? Callam was beyond confused now. “News of the Broken, or my book?”

Anger flashed in those emerald eyes. “Of the Writs. You think me a fool?”

Nothing clicked.

“Answer th’ lady,” growled a massive Sootskin to Callam’s left, brandishing a knife. The boy crept closer, nearly throwing the stationary ship off balance.

“Careful, lackwits. You’ll tip us!” Merra snapped, then pointed to the oars. “Sit down and row. You too, Hawk.”

At her command, the burly boys grumbled, then obeyed. Another Seeker might have laughed at their sullenness, yet Callam would not waste time on such stupidities. He was far too preoccupied with thinking of a backup plan in case things here went south.

Unfortunately, he was surrounded and bleeding. Worse, they’d soon be too far out at sea for him to swim back.

“What of the Writs?” he asked, trying to sound calm. It was easier said than done—his heart had started to pound like a bellow.

“Don’t play coy, Callam. I helped you plan your heist, yet your Grimoire is not dull like mine.” Venom filled those words. “Tell me, which of my secrets did you sell to be allowed to bind?”

At once, everything made sense. The aggression, the lack of interest in negotiation… Merra thought him a bought man.

“They took me to Binding Day.” Even as Callam said the words, he knew how they would sound. So, he acted. In one movement he came to his feet and lunged across the boat’s width, shiv in hand. Two soaked Sootskins stood along the boat’s edge, both stumbling as the sloop pitched. One recovered quickly, dodging to Callam’s left. The other was not fast enough.

“Don’t move,” Callam shouted, his free hand grabbing the boy’s wet shirt and pulling him close. Heat built up behind them, whispered words hinting that Merra was priming a spell. Acting on instinct, Callam put the unbound between himself and the magic, then placed his weapon against the boy’s neck.

“Listen to what I’ve to say!”

No luck. All around, the Sootskin had pulled out weapons and were approaching, the boat swaying under their weight. Merra held fire in her hands, which flickered orange and blue. “I’ll have my revenge, Quill. If you don’t think I’ll burn him to get to you…”

For a long second, Callam believed her. He saw the malice on her face, felt the immense warmth of her flame, and thought Merra a monster akin to the Broken.

Then he realized she’d tipped her hand. If she was really willing to kill one of her own in cold blood, she would never just threaten it. She’d do it. Demonstrating such callous indifference would serve to both reinforce her authority and ensure his cooperation.

Likewise, if she were solely a shrewd kingpin, she would have noticed how his offhand trembled, even as he fought to keep his weapon-hand still. She also would have noted the water at his feet, and how it made any further retreat treacherous.

No, as he tried to ignore the rush of blood in his ears, Callam concluded that Merra was lying through her teeth.

He just had to call her bluff.

Forgive me, Siela. Applying a bit of pressure, Callam pushed down on his blade until he’d nicked the captive boy’s neck. It was a disdainful thing to do to a child, and an action his sister would have taken issue with, but he didn’t have a better option.

“Listen, Merra,” he said again, more forcefully. “Why would I come here a traitor?”

A simple question, yet the right one, and it hung in the air for a tense moment.

“Stand down,” Merra finally said, though she did not quell her flame. Turning to Callam, her eyes flashed. “Explain.”

“Parts still elude me. When I was caught, I was certain I’d be killed. Tortured for sport… you know how those families that frequent the port are. Yet the next morning, they were healing me. I was told that Mrs. Writ is a real bleeding heart. Devoted, believes the Few are truly Fated…”

“She thought you had the makings of a great Ruddite, then? Destined to serve at her feet?”

“Something to that effect—careful,” Callam warned, tightening his grip on his Sootskin prisoner’s collar. The enterprising unbound had tried to take advantage of a rogue wave to wriggle away. “I was too wrapped up in Binding Day to care. I’m guessing she felt the Prophet should decide if I live or die.”

“Fitting,” Merra said, finally releasing her spell and returning to the ship's prow. There, she lit little flames on her fingertips, then doused them in turn. “They’d have us believe it charity, letting a ceremony define our lot. Why do the dirty work of enslaving us, when they can simply leave it to the Gods?”

For the first time since boarding the boat, Callam felt himself relax. Merra seemed to be truly invested in his story, and if his hunch was right, she wouldn’t threaten him again. However, the same couldn’t be said for her crew. While most of them seemed bright enough, the two who’d been manning the oars did not.

They look like they can’t tell a noose from a rope if it hangs at the gallows.