Dreamleaf Blues (The Book Wielder Saga)

by Sean Davies

  As he went to walk by the book store, he contemplated entering the quaint old building to waste some time browsing the massively varied selection of books that were mostly second-hand trade-ins. Winston always wondered how the kindly old man running the joint kept his profit margins in the black, and wondered if keeping the shop was more of a hobby than a business venture. He decided against it, facing the reality that his parents would have to find out about his latest bout of unemployment sooner or later, and that there really was no point delaying the inevitable. However, as soon as he’d passed by a display rack full of bargain spy novels, ghost stories, vampire love sagas, and a cheesy novel about an evil snowman named Dave, his feet came to a sudden halt. Winston suddenly felt as though his brain had been snagged on a fishing line, and he was filled with the undeniable urge to enter the store. For a moment Winston fought the foreign impulse, but something in the back of his mind assured him that what he’d been looking for his entire life was inside; a path to greatness, a life of significance, and most importantly, untold power. Before he knew it, he was pushing on the door and venturing inside.

  Winston was hit by the smell of old books the instant he was through the doorway. The musty familiar fragrance normally relaxed him, summoning memories of his favourite stories, but he didn’t stop to savour it this time. He stormed towards the back of the store, giving the elderly owner a quick wave as he was greeted warmly, and headed to a pile of decrepit old books piled untidily inside a large open-topped crate. Winston leant over into the messy assemblage of books and dug like a lunatic until he found the one that he had, on some mysteriously undefinable level, been looking for.

  The book he selected was large but surprisingly light, considering the size, and it glowed as though a strange green light was shining through its neat leather cover. Winston opened it up anxiously to see what was inside, and the green glow faded as he was presented with a truly wondrous sight. Ink ran across the pages, magically weaving strange illegible script and pictures of weird creatures and supernatural beings. Suddenly, the foreign letters and symbols seemed to spark something in his mind, and following a quick painless twitch and shudder, Winston could understand the information. The magical script still looked like gibberish, but through some fantastic feat, Winston’s mind could discern its mystifying meaning.

  Clutching the book to his chest, Winston eagerly approached the elderly man and carefully laid it down on the counter. The store’s owner scratched his bushy white beard and resettled his spectacles as he inspected the book. He looked at Winston, who was giddier than he’d ever been, and down at the book, letting out a curious humming sound. The old man lifted the cover and flicked through the pages, and Winston saw real life magic at work, but the owner merely raised an eyebrow critically.

  “You want this, sonny?” the kind old man asked dubiously.

  Winston nodded frantically, “Hell yes, why wouldn’t I?”

  The store owner’s bushy white eyebrow lifted even higher on his wrinkled forehead. “Because it’s empty?”

  Winston frowned and looked at the beautiful pages, panicking that his ticket out of mediocrity had vanished, but the pages were just as beautifully detailed as before. Winston looked the elderly man in the eye and could tell they weren’t seeing the same thing, which either meant Winston was losing his mind or that the strange magic was only visible to him. The brown-haired young man hoped it was the latter.

  “I’m planning on writing a book,” Winston lied. “I want it to have a rustic feel, right down to the pages.”

  “Good on ya, sonny,” the store owner beamed. “The world always needs more books! They’re like portals to whole new worlds, you know, for your imagination.”

  “They are indeed,” Winston smiled. “How much do I owe you?”

  “For an empty old book?” The old man scratched his beard again. “Nothing. I can’t charge you for that. Truth be told, I didn’t even know it was here!”

  “I have to give you something for it,” Winston said guiltily, knowing that the book was probably priceless.

  The old man chuckled. “Fine, give me one Imperial Credit for it. I won’t be taking a Credit more, and that’s final!”

  Winston smiled and handed over a single coin from his wallet. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You have fun writing that story of yours,” the owner said cheerfully, “and who knows? One day it might be lining my store!”

  Winston scooped up the magical book, carrying it delicately against his chest as though it was a new-born baby, and thanked the old gentleman once more before hurrying out of the musty old shop.

  He power-walked down the street, looking forward to unlocking the book’s vast reservoir of magical knowledge. Winston had always felt different from other people, and now he seemed to realise why.

  The young man was so excited as he looked down at the leather-bound cover that he almost bumped into two people, a male and female in smart formal clothing, and as he apologised profusely to them he was suddenly drawn to their eyes.

  The woman was young and looked cute, but sported long white hair that contrasted with her black dress suit, and her eyes were a fascinating shade of purple. The man was a scruffy-haired giant stuffed into a black pinstriped suit with feral yellow eyes, and had a thick black, well-groomed beard.

  “Not at all,” the white-haired woman said kindly, eyeing his book with great interest.

  “You local, kid?” the well-dressed brute asked.

  For a moment Winston felt worried, but the look in the strangers’ eccentrically coloured eyes was far from threatening. If anything, the man and woman were gazing at him as though he was made of solid gold.

  “Yeah, I live in town,” Winston replied coolly.

  The big man nodded slowly. “Good to know. Do you ever visit the Open Vein club?”

  Winston was baffled by the odd question, but answered anyway. “I don’t go out much, but if I do then it’s usually there. It’s the only club in the area that doesn’t play shit music,” he answered honestly.

  The yellow-eyed beast of a man roared with laughter. “You got that right!”

  The purple eyed woman chuckled sweetly. “Well, guess we’ll be seeing you soon… sorry, what was your name?” she asked coyly, extending her hand towards him.

  “Winston Reynolds,” he said as he quickly reached out and shook her hand. All the while he kept one arm wrapped firmly around his new book, and tried not to blush, as the white-haired woman was rather good looking. “And you are?”

  “Come to the club sometime soon and buy me a drink, and I might just tell you…” she replied cheekily, and then performed an awkward wink that made it look like she had something stuck in her eye.

  Despite the strange gesture, Winston went as red as a tomato. “Okay… cool, guess I’ll see you soon then,” he said in what he hoped was a charming manner, trying to make up for his embarrassed face, and scurried back home to begin the first steps in his brand-new life.

  “How does Veronica do that wink?!” the female Mage asked exasperated. “You know, Felix, the one that makes girls and guys weak at the knees?”

  Her burly Werewolf comrade, Felix, chuckled gruffly as he pulled a bulky state-of-the-art mobile telephone out from his suit jacket. “Leave it to the professionals, Sabrina. Our Veronica would even give Marissa Aluniana, the queen of all babes, a run for her money when it comes to seduction skills. But you still got his name, so well done.”

  Sabrina pursed her lips. “Well, I still hope he buys me that drink.”

  Felix giggled behind the back of his hairy hand. “Seriously? That newbie?”

  “He’s a cutie,” Sabrina the Mage shrugged, “and a damn sight hotter than our primary, Dean Savies.”

  “That ain’t hard,” the Werewolf smirked as he tapped the plastic buttons on his phone with his thick fingers.

  “Just imagine the world-shattering wonder he’s experiencing right now…” the white-haired Mage said dreamily. “Remember when you first lear
nt about the Supernaturals, Felix?”

  The Werewolf pulled the phone away from his ear. “Yeah, after the agonising pain of being transformed, I spent three days in a wood-side tavern hunting, fighting, fucking, and drinking myself silly with my new bro’s and sisters. Real magical stuff, that,” he said, flashing her a toothy grin.

  Sabrina sighed. “Well, I spent weeks reading and practising spells, it was great. Except for when I set my wardrobe on fire. Clothes were so expensive before mass-production, weren’t they?”

  “They sure were. I just grew my body hair into a kilt,” Felix joked.

  The white-haired Mage laughed. “You jest, but I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  “Oh, he’s picked up – one sec,” Felix said, switching back to the phone. “Hey, boss-man Gregory. There’s a new Book Wielder in town, and he should be hitting up the club in the next few nights. His name is Winston Reynolds…”

  The Saga continues in Book 1 & 2: Gloom Rising and Reality Falling.

  Now in one complete edition, which has been rewritten to include new and previously omitted content. Read on for the first chapter:

  Gloom Rising Chapter 1

  Gloom City

  Winston Reynolds arrived in the Gloom, just as he had done several dozen times before, but this time he was ‘auditioning’ for the primary Book Wielder position in the Shadow Circle; one of the most powerful organised crime gangs in his home nation of Imperia. Winston was already an official member of the Circle, but currently he only aided the smaller chapters nearby his home town. If he succeeded in his appointed task then he would work directly underneath the gang’s vampiric leader Lucius, who was based in the Capital City of the continent. As such, it was a highly promising promotion prospect. However, if he failed then he would face his own death, not due to the Shadow Circle’s wrath (as no decent gang would ever kill their own valuable Book Wielders simply for retreating from the murderous dangers of the Gloom) but because Winston wasn’t prepared to leave the dark dimension until he had passed Lucius’ test. Before embarking on his audition Winston had readied himself for the possibility of death. He would succeed where his long-appointed predecessor had unexpectedly failed, or he would die trying, and that was that.

  It had only been a few months since the book had chosen Winston as its new owner, and looking back it felt to him as though the hand of Fate had plucked him from his mundane life and flung him into the deep end of two supernatural worlds, one hidden in plain sight and another lurking in the shadowy depths beneath reality. One cloudy day, as he strolled down the street of his home town of Woodsholme, Winston had been possessed with the undeniable urge to enter a small used bookstore and rummage through a pile of dusty old tomes until he had found the magical book that had been calling to him. It seemed to glow as if an eerie green light was permeating through its worn brown leather cover, and as he picked it up he was surprised at how light it was for a book of such a size. Each page came to life as Winston flicked through them, the ink slithering and racing across the pages like a swarm of tiny snakes leaving detailed illegible script and symbols, filling his mind with mysterious knowledge as though he could read them like any old plain text. He bought the book for just one Imperial Credit from the kindly old man who owned the shop, who was quite confused as to why Winston was interested in a dirty, musty book with blank pages. Upon his arrival home, after slamming the door on his moaning parents, Winston had eagerly sifted through the pages and the Supernatural world had been revealed to him, and it wasn’t long before he was revealed to those who inhabited it. As a Book Wielder, Winston had been welcomed with open arms, a feeling he had never truly experienced before, and he loved it.

  The room Winston now stood in had the same basic layout that the Autocrat suite of the Hotel Noir had back in the real world, but it was darker, deteriorated, and decayed. To state the obvious, it was 'gloomier'. The furniture was battered, worn, and rotten. The paintings in the room had changed from beautiful landscapes and noble portraits to disgusting depictions of misery, degradation, and horror. To Winston, none of it was new. Every area of the Gloom he’d seen looked like this, a twisted reflection of reality, a darkened copy of the world he called home. However, the grim surroundings and unpleasant decor were not the worst things about the Gloom. It was the Freaks and the Demons.

  Freaks were the reflection of humanity. They varied in size and appearance from life-sized creepy dolls to hulking axe-wielding psychopaths. Usually the larger the population on the real side, the more civilised the Freaks were in that area of the Gloom. The Freaks in the reflection of Winston's country town would almost always kill on sight, but the ones in The Capital would be open to negotiation and would make an agreement that would give him some degree of free roaming. That's why Winston had brought the sack.

  Demons, which Winston had never yet encountered, were just terrifying.

  In addition to the sack, he carried within his best suit (which was guaranteed to be ruined in the audition) two lighters, a pocket knife, a small alchemist’s collection kit, a fully loaded 9mm pistol with two spare clips, and a couple of chocolate bars.

  He had learnt early on in his experiences within the Gloom that real forces, such as fire, were more effective against Freaks than forces created by spells and other magic-based attacks. Living in a magically saturated plain of existence unsurprisingly seemed to give them a natural resistance to magic.

  The light alchemist’s collection kit was roughly the size of a cigar tin and was used for storing the valuable herbs and chemicals that were only found in the Gloom, and the knife was to help gather them. Winston found that within the Gloom, you never knew when you were about to stumble onto something valuable, and it always paid to be prepared.

  Lucius had given him the pistol and the ammunition, as he would most likely be encountering Demons on this trip. Winston wasn’t sure how effective it would be against them, but he was still glad to have it.

  Being in the Gloom was physically draining for human Book Wielders. Food from the real world was the best remedy, hence the chocolate bars Winston had brought along. There were ways to make what the Gloom had to offer beneficial but it took time and effort, and in a life or death situation, quick and easy was always better.

  The sack Winston had brought was filled with fresh fruit. The Freaks went crazy for anything fresh and it was a tradition of sorts to trade fruit for safe passage. He still had to be extra careful however, as the Freak’s desire for fresh food also applied to living flesh.

  He braced himself and headed to one of the room's dirty shattered windows to look out at what awaited him. The Gloom Capital was a menacing sight, with tall buildings reaching for the misty dark purple sky like the blackened fingers of a giant monster. The structures resembled evil forts, sinister towers, and worn, tattered, decrepit versions of the skyscrapers that were in the regular Capital City. Sickly green witchlight glowed here and there, indicating signs of Freak habitation. Down in the streets, four-legged Spidercars, rusty brass-coloured machines with big glowing witchlight lamp eyes, creaked and vented steam as they ferried Freaks about the city. Others danced and jumped about like a parade of puppets, or even climbed up the side of buildings as if there was no gravity at all. Winston had never seen so many of them before and wondered if he had been given enough fruit to trade.

  In the distance, a building soared above the rest. It was a neat shadowy obelisk silhouetted against the skyline, and it radiated with a tyrannical aura as it watched over the rest of the Gloom City. It was the copy of the World Government building from Winston’s reality. A bright white light radiated from the top of the tower; this was Winston’s target, a rare and powerful item that his far more experienced predecessor had died trying to procure for Lucius. For a moment Winston thought he could make out the silhouette of something massive in the deep purple mists far above the tower, but it was impossible for him to tell for sure through the dirty window pane.

  After a deep calming breath, he left the room. The
corridor outside was almost pitch black, so he summoned an orb of light that would follow him. The enchanted sphere of magelight flared into existence and purged away the darkness. Rat-like creatures scuttled out of the brightness before they could be properly revealed, and their small red eyes glared towards Winston at the edge of the sphere’s illumination. Walking slowly and warily across the bared creaking floorboards, dragging the sack of fruit behind him, he made his way towards the staircase. He didn't even want to entertain the idea of using an elevator in the Gloom. Making his way through an empty doorframe, Winston came to a set of stairs that were, luckily for him, made of concrete and not wood. It felt as though he had been plunged into a whole new level of darkness, but he was not sure if it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He risked steadying himself on the rusty guardrail for a peek downwards, but his light orb revealed only more concrete stairs descending around the chamber, and the darkness of the void in the centre.

  Small Blightmoths were drawn to the light and flickered upwards. They were translucent violet coloured insects with an average wingspan of three inches. They weren’t hostile but could be very annoying, so Winston made his way down unhindered. A short while down, a larger blood-red moth flew past his face and skittered around the light orb with his smaller kindred. Winston stopped dead in his tracks. He carefully reached for his Alchemists Kit, selected a thin silver pin that slyly elongated itself into a long deadly needle, and held it between his shaking fingers. He raised the needle and cautiously moved it closer to the red moth’s direction.

  The creature was a Crimson Blightmoth. It was the female of its species and had an impressive five-inch wingspan, and it was also the carrier and administrator of a poison that boiled the blood. It was a highly valuable specimen, but not because of its poison; a well skilled Vampire Bloodmage could boil a victim's blood if they so wished. It was valuable because of an enchanted chemical in its wings, a chemical that allowed the creature to be highly resistant to flames and high temperatures. If utilised properly, mixed with the right ingredients and brewed into a potion, it would grant its drinker the same properties. It would even allow a Vampire to walk in daylight unharmed, for as long as the potion's duration at least.