Tomebound, a Litrpg Tower Climbing Adventure

"Don’t you see?

Sin was always our intention.

When we met them, and they us,

They approached with caution, wary of causing harm,

We showed kindness only for fear of retaliation."

~~Count Iren, Tales of the Beasttide

Evening came and went. Callam spent it seated at a small table under the aurelian oak tree, enjoying the last vestiges of the sun’s warmth before the nighttime fog rolled in. His eyes were glued to his new book—after some serious hemming and hawing, he’d bought A Seeker’s Guide to Early Translations on credit. Just thinking of all the money he now owed made him wince.

At least Hill was happy. Attendees received a commission on all sales, it turned out.

The deciding factor, in the end, was the week Callam had left until the Tower; he’d go stir-crazy without a means to expand his knowledge of magic between now and then. No, it was better he take on the debt and make his downtime meaningful. Besides, reading gave him a polite excuse to stay in his room, away from all the other orphans. He loved their cute little smiles and big, excited eyes, but was also certain they’d commandeer all of his attention if they could.

"Hot chocolate or water, dearie?" asked an older Ruddite lady, pushing the beverage trolley Callam had seen earlier. This was her second time coming around. Apparently, those who traded their life savings for paper received complimentary service until they left the shopping pavilion. Small wonder.

Eying the cart regretfully, Callam said, “I’d better not. I’ll be going soon.” Rejecting anything free still hurt in ways he struggled to describe.

“Better you have the coco, then,” the old woman said, her cheeks wrinkling into a smile. “Hot days and cold nights make for a sore throat and a stitcher’s cough.”

That was enough to coax a nod from Callam; he happily accepted the wooden mug she’d pulled for him, then almost burned his tongue on the first sip. While he waited for the liquid to cool, he returned to his book, propping it up so that it was better lit by the nearby streetlamps. He’d yet to figure out why his first spell did not follow iambic pentameter, but felt like he was getting close.

The Efficacy of Internal Magic Rhythms, Part II

Magic is of book and self—more than anything else, this holds true. Therefore, our “laws” associated with magic are no more than guidelines, and as with all guidelines, the exception proves the rule.

In my travels I’ve collected a few tellings of Scriptors who’ve found non-lyrical means to manifest their magic. Oftentimes, these mages struggle with incantations for circumstances outside of their control—indeed, for a copper and a meal, one young unbound shared with me the tale of a local Scriptor who’d been born without the gift of speech. The lad insisted, despite this scholar's disbelief, that the mage connected to his power through meditation. True or not, such a technique would undoubtedly require formidable mental fortitude. I can only assume that it would be much slower than singing, yet would afford the user the ability to skip the “outloud” stage of spellcraft.

That gave Callam pause. What had his grimoire said? He had ‘fifteen days to level the powersource in his heart, or he’d fail to find his start.’ There was no way of knowing exactly what that meant, but the implications alone made his mouth dry.

I’ll try meditating, he decided, then wet his mouth with a hesitant sip of chocolate. Finding it pleasantly warm, he drank readily—the liquid’s rich, sweet flavor soothed the knot that had been growing in Callam’s stomach all afternoon.

It helped make what he was about to do more digestible.

Within the hour, he would be visiting Docks End to fulfill his promises. His earlier heist at the Writ’s manor had required him to call in many favors. If he left for the Tower without settling those debts, it could be years before he was given leave to address them, and in his absence, the gangs were sure to go to the chapelward to collect.

Not that the gangs can handle the Sisters.

Closing his book, Callam started to pack his things. The plaza around him was noticeably louder than it had been thirty minutes ago—full of the chatter of Scriptors and nobles out on the town. Employees were already preparing for the night business, pulling floating lanterns across the tops of their stores’ terracotta ceilings. The lights swayed gently in the wind, bright halos against the fog.

That beauty was lost on Callam as he walked down the hill and through the entry gate. He knew that, while the Sisters were powerful enough to dissuade any direct confrontation, they could never protect the chapelward where it mattered most: recruitment.

The Sootskins only stopped enlisting orphans because of their loyalty to me—loyalty I suffered to earn.

At the age of ten, he’d been asked to pickpocket a wealthy pennypawner. Trouble was, the Sootskins hadn’t told him he was meant to be caught. Within seconds, Callam’s mark had trapped him against a snowbank, kicking him with such ferocity that he’d loosened a tooth and cracked a rib. So consumed with rage was the merchant that he failed to notice the other boys breaking into his shop—unbound who hadn’t bothered to offer their newest member a split afterward.

Yet, when guards had searched the dockside for the culprits behind the pennypawner robbery, Callam had kept his mouth shut. And when the Sootskins had needed a thief skilled in lock-picking, he’d volunteered, understanding his beating to have been his initiation. His only condition was that the gang keep away from the younger orphans. They agreed—at least until the kids turned thirteen and outgrew the chapel’s care.

Sand sifted into Callam’s sandals, so he stopped to shake it loose. He’d arrived back at Docks End, and was mere minutes from Pier Seven, the first step on the route to his destination. Beggars were already fighting over the best spots to settle in for the night; the thick, wooden pier sheltered them from both the elements and the city guards. No one wanted to be visible when a drunk constable made his rounds.

After reaching the pier, Callam jumped across the creaking and broken planks, then quickly came to what was left of his old bed. As expected, his belongings had been ransacked—his blanket taken and the rope he’d fashioned into a pillow pillaged.

Those things he could part with. The rest… Please still be here. Kneeling, he wrapped an arm under the dock’s edge, leaning so far over the water a stiff wind would have sent him swimming. A tense moment of groping around later, his fingers brushed on brittle twine. Callam breathed a sigh of relief—no one had discovered the small box he’d hidden under the pier. After tugging it free, he settled into a more comfortable position on the dock and opened the lid.

Inside were three treasures of immense value to him. The first was a small shiv, crafted by his own hand at the age of twelve. Protection in case things went astray tonight. Second was his coin bag, six coppers heavy. All he’d had to his name prior to binding—and while money would soon be no object, he’d risked his life for this coin.

Lastly, he retrieved a grass bracelet, his most prized possession prior to binding. Siela had tied it around his wrist only weeks before she passed, to commemorate him memorizing all of the Sermon’s stanzas. Callam stared at it for a long while, his mind full of sweet memories. Then he slipped the woven band into his bag. Whatever happened next, he could leave Port Cardica in peace.

Pocketing the dagger, he returned to the beach, then made for one of the beggar camps underneath the docks. Small fires peppered the sand; around one, he spotted several teens and Ruddites huddled for warmth. A particular woman sitting aside from the rest caught his attention. Dark skinned and frail, she was racked by the stitchers’ cough every other second.

“Which harbor tonight?” he asked quietly, fishing his spare food from his bag. Seeing the poor lady always tugged at his heartstrings.

“Third…And first boat…” she rasped, stretching out a hand to accept the small meal.

With a hurried “thanks,” Callam was on his way—he would have given the woman some copper, but knew anything she couldn’t eat would be stolen by morning.

The trip to the Sootskin’s boats took over half an hour. Normally, he would have traveled with his hackles raised, but tonight, as a Seeker among unbound and stitchers, he appeared more predator than prey. In his head, though, Callam worried. As a four-star tomebound, he was an extremely valuable asset to the Sootskins—and with the chapelward as leverage, he was at their whims until he became powerful enough to burn them all to the ground.

Another gang will just rise in their place. Callam sighed. Better the demon you know…

His best option was to figure out how to secure his total freedom, while also keeping the children safe. A tall order, but it was that or abandon the orphans, and the very thought of the kids being coerced into violence made him recoil, Yet he also refused to spend his time at the Tower looking over his shoulder, wondering when the Sootskins would call on him to repay his favors owed.

“Nothing casts so great a shadow as a history unresolved,” Callam whispered. That stanza had never carried more weight with him than it did now.

Spellwarded shiplights illuminated the petty-harbor shared by the Sootskins and local fishermen. Ten red-and-black sloops were barely visible in the sea, each connected to the other and the shore by wooden gangplanks. Callam walked up to the first boat, then carefully stepped inside and sat down. Such was protocol.

A second later, he heard the creaking of the cabin’s door.

“What skulks and creeps, though never seen, in shadows dark, or 'neath the sheen. Across the border, goods I bring,” said a young, cold voice.

“Silent as a bird on wing. What am I, who takes and gives, treading where no lawman lives?” Callam replied in kind.

“Smuggler.”

“Thief.” Callam had anticipated this song and knew the proper response.

What he hadn't anticipated was the tip of the knife in his back.

We are sooo close to the tower I can almost taste it! Just three chapters to go!!!! If you have read this far and are loving the story, please consider dropping a review! Also patreon is 3 chapters ahead and every dollar goes back into editing.