Day 3
Choosing was difficult. Beyond difficult.
In these first two days Reader had learned to tune out the constant sounds of narration that plagued him without end. Grim did not acknowledge hearing a voice that described their every action, and made no secret that inquiring as such was another point of evidence in favor of Reader being “a fucked up dipshit.” By and large, like our other protagonists, he had become skilled at tuning out the voice in the sky, though it most certainly wasn’t in the sky. There were moments when a phrase would reach his ears that caught his attention for some reason. And there were moments when he was in a state of particular agitation that the voice especially irked him.
This was one of those moments.
Grim was empty of books, save for the history tome he had just been fed. All that remained in Grim from his previous incarnation was the page of rules set out by his last master. Reader intended at some point to reveal these rules, but if the first rule was a prohibition against self-destruction, he deemed it likely that the rules were already a conscientious collection of necessary imperatives.
The reason for Reader’s current agitation was the task before him. There were uncountable books in the library. Thousands? Millions? He couldn’t really imagine. But in here somewhere, he hoped, were volumes that could help him escape the floating rock. By Grim’s suggestions it seemed that his engineering or spell-weaving sigils could be very useful, but that they required knowledge.
“Where do I even start…” he sighed to himself, staring up at the spiraling rows of books.
He knew it took a long time for a man to starve to death. To truly starve to death. He had discovered, as our other protagonists had, that his body was not the one familiar to him. He was already slimmer than he recalled, and a mirror showed a face somewhat slighter and more boyish than the one he’d lived with for his whole life to this point. Even this slimmer body would not starve to death in a few days. That certainty did absolutely nothing to relieve the gnawing hunger that affected him after these two days with nothing to consume but cold water.
Reader could make no sense of the layout of the library. On the bottom floor he found history texts next to spell-crafting, alchemy books sandwiched between mathematics and what seemed to be a recipe book for creatures called Clarrocks. None of the spell-crafting books he encountered seemed basic enough for beginners.
Grim chuckled darkly as Reader poked through one such book, “Oh yeah… You should definitely start with advanced fucking fire-weaving! That’s the fucking idea… Heh, heh, heh. Be funny as hell to see what happens when that goes fucking wrong.”
He wondered if maybe the bottom floor was for books frequently referred to and determined to ascend to see if the upper levels were more organized. So he started climbing the ladders to the upper levels.
He searched for maybe two more hours. The pressure of urgency weighed on him. The hunger distracted and weakened him. But there were too many books.
“What’s the fucking rush, bozo? You won’t starve to death this week.”
“I’m really hungry. Maybe I could chew on some of the leather bindings.”
“Heh. Gross. Don’t think that’ll keep you alive. Might be funny though. Still, what’s the panic?”
Reader said, “I need to go home. I have people who need me at home. I have a life.”
Grim said, “How the hell did you wind up here anyway? Didn’t even see you fall in that well. One minute I was trying to figure out if I could maybe accidentally fall off the edge, the next minute it was all splashing and gurgling. Takes a real dipshit to find a way to fall in a well on a floating island. Did you fall from somewhere higher? Fuck, if you did it was one hell of a shot.”
Reader shook his head, leafing through yet another book. “No. I don’t remember. I can’t remember where I was right before. Things are weird and murky. I can’t even remember my own real name.”
“Reader’s a bit on the fucking nose for a guy whose path is learning shit, I gotta say that.”
“Yeah…” Reader murmured, only partly paying attention. “I’ve been thinking. I can imagine an engineering skill being useful for finding a way to get down from here. Building a parachute or a hang glider or something like that. But there are no materials in this whole place. If this magic stuff is actually real then that’s got to be a better bet. I need to at least give that a try.”
“What the fuck do you mean actually real. You mightn’t have fucking noticed, but I’m a talking fucking book, numbnuts!”
“It’s just… It’s hard to believe I can cast spells.”
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“Aw, any dipshit can cast spells if they’ve got a sigil for it. It’s weaving spells that’s difficult. But rewarding as hell.”
“Wait…” Reader said, pausing as he turned the pages on another volume. “This… doesn’t seem so advanced? A lot of the spells in this one start with basic or initiate. See? Basic fire starting, initiate water manipulation, an introduction to weaving. Is this it? Did I find a beginner book?”
Grim, if anything, seemed annoyed. “Yeah… that’s a beginner book.”
“Why the hell do you seem so disappointed by that?”
Grim said nothing.
Reader stared at him. “Wait! Were you hoping I’d start with a book too complicated for me and what? Blow us up? Burn the place down?”
Grim grumbled, “Hey, a guy can fucking dream, can’t he.”
“Why are you so eager to die?”
Grim narrowed his horrible yellow eyes at him and said, “Have you ever spent eternity as a fucking book? You know how fucking long I’ve been up here on my own. I’m fucking bored. Got hopes and dreams, asshole? Fucking aspirations? I don’t! I can’t! I can aspire to be a fucking receptacle of knowledge for you, and whatever dipshit comes after you, forever. That’s it!”
Reader said, “Maybe… maybe you could get a hobby?”
Grim just glowered at him.
Reader held his hands up. “Maybe there’s a way you could be let go? I don’t know. I need your help for now, but maybe later we could see if there’s a way to set you free?”
Grim said, “You mean fire?”
“No! Not that kind of set free. Christ, you’ve got a one-track mind.”
Grim produced another lit cigarette and started smoking.
Reader flicked through the pages of the spell-casting book and Grim’s eyes glowed faintly. Again, his mind was bombarded with thoughts and snippets of knowledge. They arose so suddenly and randomly that he couldn’t discern the real knowledge from imaginings.
Clutching his straining skull with one hand, he said, “How the hell am I meant to organize it?”
“I told you, if you were fucking listening, you’ll get better at it. For now, I suppose you could ask me. I’ve got it all organized in my head. My head’s not so fucking soft, I guess.”
“Okay, okay. Is there anything in there for getting down from here? Like flight? Or levitation or something?”
Grim popped the clasp on his side and swung open. It was bizarre and vaguely disturbing to watch him, standing on his own two spindly legs, just opening like that, pages turning rapidly on their own until a page presented itself.
Reader leaned forward, “Basic levitation. Yes! Only… I don’t understand any of this. How does weaving work?”
Grim spoke, his voice coming from behind the pages where his face was now positioned, “It’s a skill, dipshit. You’ve got the sigil. You, I dunno, it’s about pulling at the threads of existence or some shit.”
“Great, so you don’t know either.”
“Ah, fuck you. My old master was always doing it, I was watching. I don’t have no fucking weaving sigil like you do so I couldn’t see the fucking threads, okay? You need an instrument. A wand or a fucking staff or some shit.”
Reader sagged, “Why didn’t you say that before! Where am I going to find one of those? Shit, maybe I should be looking for an engineering book instead.”
Grim slammed shut. “Calm your shit down. There’s an old weaving staff up there.” He pointed a spindly finger at a deep balcony several floors up.
Reader said, “Okay. Thanks.”
Grim just rolled his eyes. Nevertheless, the little demonic creature followed Reader as he made his way around the edge of the tower and up the series of ladders. He had to pause halfway when a spell of dizziness overtook him.
Grim said, “What’s the fucking point of needing food anyway? Doesn’t seem to make you assholes any better when you’ve got it, and when you don’t you get all droopy and shit.”
Reader didn’t answer him. When the dizziness passed he continued climbing.
He reached the top of the ladder to the balcony in question. It was deeper than the other ones he had climbed to. There was a large table and several chairs arranged around it. Again, the wall of the balcony was completely filled by a tower bookcase. In the corner was a half barrel full of what looked like broom handles.
“Is it there? Are those what you’re talking about?” Reader asked, taking one of the items from the barrel. It was a staff, he guessed, rather than a broom handle.
“Yeah. Basic shit, but should get the job done for you.”
“Basic shit? What does that mean?”
“What does it sound like. Beginner staffs. What the fuck do you think?”
“So better staffs make for better spells or what?”
“Better staffs let you pull bigger threads, make more powerful fucking spells. I don’t want to fucking stop you, ’cause bigger spells go wrong then shit gets fucking funny faster. Don’t know if you noticed, but I’d be fucking stoked if you fucked up and made this place go fucking boom! But there aren’t any fucking better ones left in this fucking place. Them’s the breaks, dickhead.”
Reader held the staff in his hand. He discovered, with some disorienting shock, that just trying to remember the page Grim had showed him brought the image vividly back to his mind. He shook his head, startled by the suddenness and perfection of the memory. He glanced at Grim and saw that the little creature’s eyes were glowing faintly as he summoned the memory.
Grim said, “Fucking look at that. You figured something out. Woop-dee-fucking-doo. Well, give it a go already.”
Reader gripped the staff. He felt stupid. He could see the page before him. As he pictured it and held the staff, the weaving sigil glowed on his wrist and suddenly he could see a tangle of gold lines everywhere, all around him. The gold lines made up kind of a fabric, almost like a grid. It wasn’t perfectly uniform; there were tangles here and there, wide gaps in places, some of the lines ran in rows parallel to each other, almost touching, in other spots there were several inches between the rows. The image in his mind showed a complex pattern. He had the impression, maybe the instinct, that he could or should use the staff to pull the strings before him to match the shape of the pattern on the page.
He leaned forward, the tip of the staff suddenly glowing with its own golden light, forming something like a crochet hook. When he touched one of the threads he could feel the resistance, could see the thread moving as he tugged at it.
He glanced at Grim who was watching with an expression of wide-eyed excitement.
Reader paused, “Wait… If I mess this up can something bad happen?”
Grim deflated a little, “Yeah…”
“Like blow myself up or burn the place down?”
Grim sagged further, “Yeah…”
Reader nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay. Maybe I should try this outside.”
