Tomebound, a Litrpg Tower Climbing Adventure

When you’ve written those histories,

You know the weight of them,

You know war is rarely so pretty,

As the page makes her out to be,

You know every tale of her holds many lies,

And by necessity, every lie bears as many truths.

~~On the Nature of War, 500 PB

Apparently, magic and words met on a cramped, wooden table in Lore and Leaf’s farthest corner, right between a pair of tall reading lamps. Eight books teetered atop one edge of the desk, kept in place by two smaller stacks of loose papers. Maps of all shapes and sizes were strewn across the wood, their pages bent and splayed in awkward angles. A cup of coffee still steamed from a recent pour.

“Sorry for the mess,” Hill said apologetically, sitting down in a leather armchair behind the desk. “So what can I help you with? Are you hoping to become a member? Or are you in the market for a novel? Let me guess. Mystery? Murder? Or does our young Seeker have a penchant for romance, perhaps?”

Callam sputtered, trying to stifle a laugh. “I’ll be fine on that, than—”

“Really, because we’ve a new title called ‘An Eye for an Eye.’ ” Hill cut in, his smile wide. “A striking tale of a young lady who loses herself in a piercing blue gaze, nearly going blind with lust. Then one of her suitors starts a war for revenge. Highly recommended for the love-struck man.”

This time Callam nearly snorted. “You know, I think I’ll stick to more actionable topics. I’ve… uh, some specific requests.”

“Do tell. I’ll seek them out readily.” Hill’s eyes flashed with a wicked gleam.

“I’m hoping for something on early magic, and on Seedlings—more than wishtales, if you can,” Callam said, his heart speeding up. No one should mind his curiosity, yet he was used to having all his intentions questioned. “I’ll take anything you’ve got on Archives as well.”

"Ahh..." Hill sighed, his disappointment palpable as he pushed back from his desk and stood. "Aiming to be one of the greats, I see. Well, it's good to get ahead on your education. I have some elementary works on magic translations here, if you're interested," he offered, nodding towards a stack of dusty books on the counter. "But if it's anything on Seedlings and Archives you're after, those would be in the stacks. Make yourself at home—I'll go check for you."

With that, the young man left. Make myself at home? How? There were dozens of people browsing the bookstore and talking, yet there wasn't another empty seat in sight.

Shrugging, Callam seized one of the thick books and made for Hill’s chair—he wasn’t about to wait for a reading hole to free up, and it sure looked comfortable. “Infer Atrea Intus,” he whispered as he plopped down. Hopefully, this volume would help him decipher the first spell in his grimoire, or at least explain to him why he’d understood the elder’s hex during the fight with the Broken the night before.

Can all Seekers do that? Or is it because of my Seedling? He’d have his answers.

Balancing the book on his lap, Callam flipped over the cover. Words faded in, then stuck to the paper.

A Seeker’s Guide to Early Translations

Preface

Esteemed Readers,

It is my firm belief that magic, by its very nature, is an extension of language. It is not, as some would lead you to believe, an extension of the tangible senses, in the way you touch, smell, or taste. Instead, magic, by its very nature articulates a universal sensation felt by all humans. Who among you has not visited a chapel and felt at home among those sacred pews? Or climbed a hill and felt small among the grand trees? When you stare upon the stars, why do you seek to touch them? Name them, and build them in your image? When darkness falls and all goes quiet, why do the very hairs on your neck warn of violence?

These are the questions that define all magics—the words in our grimoires give meaning to these feelings. It is my sincere hope that this book will give you an early mastery of this secret language and help you take the first steps on your journey to dominion over scripture.

Callam blinked twice, then reread the first few sentences, heart pounding. ‘Stare at the stars?’ ‘Raised hair?’ For years, he’d yearned to uncover all he could of Scriptors and grimoires, but he’d never had a clear mental image of why magic worked. Oh, he’d understood the unfairness of grimoires—how scripted ones were easier to bind and hoarded by the rich. Yet the inner workings of how magic functioned had remained a mystery.

Now things were clearer. It seemed the language of tomes tied together everything indescribable and made it tangible. Nearly nicking himself in his haste to turn the page, he read on:

All* first spells follow an iambic pentameter, as this is the easiest type of magic for a tomebound to master.

Callam frowned at the unfamiliar term. Resolving to ask Hill about it later, he returned his attention to the book.

The reason for this pattern is simple: the body’s rhythms work in cycles, so a spell done in meter rolls off the tongue and comes more naturally to the reader.

In my own scholarly journey, I’ve found examples to be most helpful when learning quickly. Here are some early spells and their meanings. Notice how your mind glides over each word and finds meaning in the syllables.

‘Vocis ventis, maren calmaque stat,’ Callam read, then quickly repeated aloud. His eyes went wide. It was as if his mind knew the words even as he spoke them, translating them to common tongue: Give voice to the winds, keep all else calm. Maybe it was his imagination that he suddenly felt more at ease.

Skimming the page, he quickly spoke the next line, ‘Luxis veni, umbrae vanesce.’ Light comes, shadows vanish. This go-round, everything looked slightly brighter, he was sure of it. Breath quickening, he inspected the text. Are the words impacting my sens—?

“Ooof,” Hill cut in, dropping a massive stack of books on the desk with a thud. “Now where am I supposed to sit?”

Engrossed as he was, Callam didn’t respond.

“Excellent. The floor it is. Always felt an affinity for the hunchbacked. Posture is for princes, anyways.”

That was enough to draw Callam away from his book. Stretching against the soft leather, he yawned. “Doing you a favor, really. Becoming shorter has its advantages. Cheaper clothes, fewer girls. Think about the copper you’ll save.”

“Savings I’ll have to pass onto you, if you’re to afford any of these,” Hill said, pointing to the books he’d brought. “I had to pull them from the restricted section—no more than one per family. And I’m still not positive I got anything of real value to you.”

A beggar takes what’s given. Putting the hard-cover aside and standing up, Callam asked, “What’s there for me to read?”

“Oh, so much.” Hill started piling Callam up with volumes. “This one should give you an early history of Seedlings and the World Tree, while this,” he said, placing a book thick enough to stop a door onto the stack in Callam’s arms, “will contradict everything written in that one.”

“Excellent.” Callam grimaced under the literal and figurative weight of everything he did not know—his education was not what most would call ‘robust.’

“Yeah, problem is, they won’t let you out of the store with any of these. This information is kept on lock and key.”

“That’s fine, I’ll take a peek—”

"You can’t yet, I'm afraid. See the spirals on the edges? These are spellwarded—you'll need access to your mana in order to unlock them. But Don’t fret,” he said before Callam could interrupt. “We'll take them to the front and ask that they make a note of them. This way they will be ready for you at our sister location near the Roots, once you can control your mana."

Folly and fire! Callam swore silently. To think he’d actually hoped to learn something about his Seedling before he arrived at the Tower and had to register it…

One step back for every two forward.

Following Hill, he trudged back through the store’s many hallways, his arms straining under the stack of hardcovers nearly reaching his chin. “Hill,” he asked when the man came to a stop in front of a bookshelf. “What’s iambic pentameter?”

“Only the most boring side of magic: language, rules, and such,” Hill said, pulling free a volume and adding it to Callam’s load. “Delve too much into this stuff and you’ll end up toting books throughout the Tower, like me.”

“Right… but how exactly does it work?”

“Pretty simply, really,” Hill answered a moment later, once they’d found their place at the back of a long line of shoppers—buying customers, it seemed, were given priority. “Iambic pentameter is a type of phrase where the stresses fall on every other syllable, starting with the second. Think of the Sermon’s teachings. Remember those first few lines?

“ ‘The Prophet speaks. His voice, both grim and grand, reveals a fate that few can understand,’ ” Callam grunted instinctively, looking around. Crow’s foot, he needed to find somewhere to place these books.

“They’ll make a Brother of you yet.”

It was said in jest, yet Callam’s skin prickled in protest. Years had healed the scars on his back, but no amount of time could erase the cuts the reed had left on his mind. To change the subject, he asked, “If I were to put A Seeker’s Guide to Early Translations on credit, how much would it be?”

“About five rymers, give or take.”

Callam balked, suddenly immensely grateful he hadn’t dropped anything. That was an ungodly amount of money—more than most would see in a year.

“What’s that stanza again?” he asked. “Those who leave riches unread…”

“...become starving men?”

“Yeah. Clearly they never bought one of these.”

Laughter filled the room; in that moment, Callam knew he could be friends with Hill. It wasn’t lost on him, however, that no other attendant had their arms free.

Hill was supposed to be the one carrying the damn books.

Callam sighed. At least he’d learned something vital about his grimoire today: whatever pattern first spells were said to follow, his didn’t.