Reality Falling (The Book Wielder Saga 2)

by Davies, Sean

  “Sorry,” Winston said to the butler guiltily as he stepped inside after the Alt officer.

  “Don’t apologize to him,” Erin snapped. “He’s beneath you,”

  “Just out of interest,” Winston began quite angrily, “how are the slaves chosen out of everyone else here?”

  Erin glanced at him with a puzzled look on her stern face.

  “What made them slaves, and what made you an officer? How is the difference decided?” Winston elaborated.

  “Well... our clothes, of course!” Erin said, as if that statement justified everything, or even made sense.

  Winston just nodded slowly like he understood. Some things about the Gloom were just better off unanswered.

  Erin led him through the house, past several more worried looking waiting staff, several cleaners, and up what was probably the most intact and well-kept flight of wooden stairs in the entire Gloom. She took him to the main study and gestured to the door.

  Winston went to thank her but decided against it. He really did not like her. The way Erin looked at him in return made it obvious that the feeling was more than mutual. He opened the door to see the Commodore, dressed as smartly as ever in his blue and gold admiral’s garb and matching feathered hat. He was sitting behind his desk, sucking on a plastic straw full of sherbet and drinking lemonade from a wine glass. Two scantily dressed female slave Alts stood either side of him, poised ready to serve him more drinks or sweets before he could even demand it.

  “Hello Commodore,” Winston said politely. “It’s good to see you again, it’s been too long.”

  “It has been too long, Winston,” the Commodore said rudely. “You won me over during our trip to Flesh Mountain and I thought we would have a deal put in place quite quickly, a deal like the ones you made with Fatty and Rusty. Instead, I am left here with only the rarest of shipments from the others to tide me over. The amount of manpower I’ve had to ship out just to secure those few trades is ridiculously out of balance.”

  Winston did laugh inwardly at the way the Commodore considered the battle of Central Isle a mere ‘trip’, but did his best to sound deeply concerned about his shipments of sweets. “I truly am sorry, Commodore. We haven’t had a strong presence on our version of this continent, until now that is. If you remain patient just a little while longer, the two worlds will be one again, and then you won’t even need to make deals to get what you want.”

  The Commodore took a moment to digest his words. He took a sip of his lemonade and his face and head twitched randomly afterwards, before one of his puppet slave girls topped his glass back up immediately. “The Archmage said words to the same effect, but fine. I will wait a little while longer, Winston Reynolds. But know that my patient is wearing terribly thin!”

  “Thank you very much,” Winston said sincerely, but he couldn’t help thinking about how the Commodore wasn’t much use anymore. If Azalea had handed them the continent, why was it so important to keep the Alt leader happy? Not that Winston felt good about the idea of purposefully shunning someone he’d once agreed to do business with, but he did get the nasty feeling the trip to the Gloom mainly revolved around the Archmage’s desire to keep him out of the way until he was needed again.

  The Commodore sucked some more sherbet out of a straw before being quickly handed another. “Omniosis said that Toiler Town will go to your side before the rest, is that correct?”

  “Yes Commodore, but I’ll be able to merge everywhere straight after. You won’t be without Toiler Town for long.”

  “I’d better not be,” he replied harshly. “The continent will go barmy without its plentiful quantity of slaves at hand, and with most of my riflemen being trotted off around the world, I’ll be looking at a rebellion or slave uprising for sure!”

  “That would be awful,” Winston said disingenuously, looking at the poor scared slave Alts at his side. “During the merger of Toiler Town, it is important that no one gets hurt,” Winston reminded him. “We can’t have any conflict or bloodshed.”

  “That won’t be an issue,” the Commodore began. “I have removed my forces, as I’ve been told by you and the Archmage that your side is completely secure, so by now there should only be slaves residing in that decrepit bit of garbage that we generously allow them to call home. You won’t be getting any more riflemen or ships until I get my trade!” he added angrily.

  “Very well,” Winston said, pleased that the meeting was over. “I’ll head back now.”

  “You had better take bad care of those slaves before we cross over too,” the Commodore said.

  “Okay…” Winston had a very different idea in mind after his visit to The Colonies.

  The Commodore waved him away with his hand and that was that.

  On the long, unpleasantly silent drive back to Toiler Town, Winston wondered if the diversion he’d been sent on was a good sign or a bad one in regards to the safety of his wife. He didn’t know why but he got the feeling that she was definitely alive and well. But then, just as Azalea had said, if the Archmage knew he was having second thoughts then threatening to harm Veronica was an easy way to get him to do whatever he wanted. His mood began to pick up for no reason. He didn’t question it at first, but then realised that he’d been in Gloom for an awfully long time. Luckily, they had just passed a broken rusty sign to Toiler Town indicating that it wasn’t too far away. Winston smirked. Maybe the Archmage was hoping he’d succumb to Gloom exposure, like the poor Mage Robert had over in Gregory’s neck of the woods.

  He got out of the state car and thanked the Alt driver, to Erin’s blatant disgust, and made his way back up to the top of the dull rectangular tower of broken concrete. It was definitely a lot slower for the Book Wielder to make his way up than it had been to get down. Even assisted by mage light or the helpful advice from the slave Alts, it took him a very long time to get back up to his book on the top floor. By the time he did, the urge to stay in the Gloom was getting very strong and persuasive. He missed the simpler times when he went to the Gloom often and it was just about harvesting reagents and trying to stay alive, and not about diplomacy and deals. There was no Archmage, no back-stabbing Lewis, no people tugging him towards their side and filling his head with conflicting stories about this and that, and no wife to worry himself sick about. Everything seemed better in the Gloom.

  Winston shook his head rapidly, and even gave his own face a few slaps for good measure as he forced himself towards his book. He had been in the Gloom longer than this before, but it seemed that feeling down in the dumps, depressed and full of despair, fuelled the addictiveness of the Gloom exposure. Or maybe it was just because he knew that the biggest most dreaded challenge in his life was now dealing with the mad chain of events in the real world, rather than the reflection of it. Either way, he strangely missed the times before his empowerment, when staying in the Gloom meant extreme fatigue and death rather than a mind-altering addictive high that eventually lead to some sort of ‘demonization’.

  He knelt down and placed his shaking hands on the pages of his book. The bare dirty concrete started to spin around him and soon the whole world had accelerated around into nothing more than a mixture of dim colours. Brighter ones started to appear as the world slowed to a halt, and he was back in the centre of Queen Azalea’s throne room. He made his book smaller and put it in his inner suit jacket pocket alongside his golden quill.

  “How did it go?” Azalea asked from her throne. “You were gone for quite some time.”

  “About as well as can be expected,” Winston replied.

  “Come and join me,” Azalea said kindly. “I had some food brought up for you.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Winston said as he walked up the marble steps to the throne.

  Azalea patted a space on the stone bench next to her and Winston took a seat. She passed him a large plate that had a selection of cheeses, olives and slices of cooked fish from Tropica’s crystal clear waters. Winston picked at the selection as he told the Queen what happened.


  “So there won’t be any military amongst those crossing over?” Azalea asked pleased.

  Winston shook his head. “Nah, only the slaves that aren’t currently at work.”

  “At least the people will be safe,” Azalea replied.

  Winston finished the food. “Shall I begin, if you still want this to go ahead with this?”

  “Yes, this is Fate’s will,” she replied confidently.

  Winston put down the plate and walked back to the middle of the room. “I can do it here, if that’s okay?”

  Azalea nodded. “Begin whenever you’re ready, Winston.”

  He pulled his book and quill out again, held one in each hand, and thrust the quill upwards towards the ceiling. The guards along the carpet backed off to the sides of the room as white and black energy surged up through the ceiling and into the sky. Despite the intensity of the strange magic, there was no damage to the roof or to the rest of the building. Winston struggled to push all of his available energy into the merger whilst also keeping the throne room intact. Shockwaves of light and power emanated from him, but he had come to realise that most of the strange ancient magic that he’d dabbled in since his empowerment were primarily fuelled from the mind, and not raw physical or magical power. So he pictured the merged city in his mind and focused on that, imagining the two cities existing as one, and before he knew it the merger was done. It had been quicker, easier and far less knackering than the previous two by far. Faint white light rose upwards from the very top of the tower, towards Tropica’s new dark sky.

  The Queen of Tropica ran to one of the room-sized windows and then to the other, shaking her head. “Oh no, no, no – this is even worse than I’d pictured it!”

  Winston pocketed his book and quill, and then went to join Azalea by the window. He could instantly see what she meant. The sleek glass skyscrapers and quaint stone buildings of Tropica had been combined randomly with the horrid blank and broken concrete structures of Toiler Town, making the tall buildings look as if they had been covered with giant grey scabs. The sky above was the usual post-merger plate of dark purple and black clouds, and the tropical waters by the harbour now looked dull and uninviting.

  “It’s okay, the Archmage will be here to fix it up soon,” Winston said consolingly.

  Azalea’s mismatched eyes flickered into the back of her head momentarily. “No he won’t. He’s busy with other things.”

  Winston’s heart sunk. He’d been left in Tropica, miles and miles away from wherever Veronica was.

  “You’ll have to fix it for me,” Azalea said happily, “with that quill of yours.”

  “I can’t do that,” Winston replied confused. “I’ve made a bullet disappear and a painting appear, but remodelling an entire city is another thing all together!”

  Azalea smiled. “Of course you can, Winston, it’s all up here,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “You did a pretty good job of keeping my tower intact.”

  Winston looked around at the unblemished room, “I didn’t really mean to-”

  “But you did,” she added with a grin.

  “Okay… I’ll try, but no promises,” Winston said unconfidently.

  “Don’t forget to fix the sea and the sky. My lover James will go spare if his flowers suffer out of all this.”

  Once again, Winston held his quill in one hand and his book in the other, before looking at the beautiful Queen for guidance.

  “Just close your eyes and picture the city like it was when you got here. I know you didn’t see much of it, but just try to imagine it without the ugly crumbling concrete monstrosities messing the place up.”

  “I have one condition before I start,” Winston hedged.

  “And what would that be?”

  “Look after the slave Alternatives when they arrive. They’ve been through quite a lot and they’re not that much different from us; well, apart from their looks and a little bit of strangeness. They deserve better than the lives they’ve had so far.”

  “Very well, you have yourself a deal Winston Reynolds.” She paused to shake his hand. “I didn’t get to be the unopposed Queen of Tropica by treating my subjects poorly, after all.”

  Winston smiled and then closed his eyes. He tried to picture the city before the merger. Diving deep into his imagination, he pictured the blue skies, crystal clear tropical waters, and tall spotless glass skyscrapers. Winston held the image in his head and shut out all other thoughts. He imagined walking down the streets with the modern skyscrapers towering high above him, with the hot sun beaming down upon his face, and buying souvenirs from the little white and beige stone shops. He imagined how it would feel swimming in the warm water amongst the little multi-coloured fishes, under the beautiful clear skies, and sunbathing on the long luxurious beaches with Veronica close by his side. In his fantasy she was wearing a tiny red string bikini and staring passionately into his eyes.

  “Winston, Winston, open your eyes,” Azalea nudged him eagerly. “You did it, it worked!”

  He opened his eyes, untightened his grip on his quill, and stared out of the window with Azalea. The city beyond the throne room looked just as it had when he’d first arrived.

  “Incredible, I hardly felt a thing,” Winston gasped, realising just how powerful the quill truly was, and he suddenly felt like it had an important part to play in the events yet to come.

  “I am glad you restored the city,” Azalea said chirpily. “Demon magic is so fickle, it only lasts as long as they do. Now, I hate to kick you out so soon but I have a lot of public appearances to make. I need to convince everyone, human and otherwise, to see that I truly do have their best interests at heart. I believe you would like to return to the Capital as quickly as possible, yes?”

  He nodded. “Please, I need to find my wife, whether the Archmage has her or not, and then I need to figure out what the hell to do next.”

  “I’ll have you flown back on a private jet,” Azalea said. “It will get you there quicker than airship. Just remember that it is Fate’s will that the two worlds should be returned back into one, so follow your instincts and your heart, and everything will turn out exactly as it must.”

  “Thank you, Azalea. I really do hope that we meet again,” Winston said sincerely.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Azalea said pointing to her eyes. “We will definitely meet again, Winston Reynolds.”

  - - -

  Alice and Veronica had finally arrived at the port city of Tidussex on the western most point of the continent of Rura. Despite their differences, the two had actually got on quite well during their hasty journey, as they both had the same shared goal.

  The thick forest had eventually thinned and led to vast fields of crops, as the pair had headed down from the hills and mountains in the north to the southern coastal region. They kept themselves to themselves as they had walked extremely quickly to their destination, barely stopping for a rest. The two determined heroines had kept themselves going with plentiful amounts of energy potion, which Alice had stocked up on from the mansion before their departure, along with blood and Sunshield Potion for Veronica. The feisty Vampire femme fatale had asked Alice if she’d brought some ‘Rushdust’ along too, saying that she preferred it to bland energy potions, but the Lord Inquisitor didn’t even know what it was. When Veronica explained that it was a ‘really good’ drug, Alice had given her a filthy look and was glad that she didn’t pack any by mistake.

  On the journey, Alice and Veronica had noticed that the vein-like purple clouds that originated from the Capital’s sky had grown considerably. The strange thin cloud formations now spread far into the horizon, and occasionally, if they were quick enough to notice it, the entire sky would flicker for a split second showing the dark purple misty Gloom sky. The pair already knew that Tropica had fallen, even before Jonathan had contacted Alice via the communication stone.

  Apart from being very concerned and apologetic to Alice, Jonathan had told them of Azalea’s apparent betrayal and how
Winston had successfully merged Tropica City with its Gloom reflection. Alice had almost crushed the stone in her hand when he told her the news, but she did her best to keep a level head and react in an appropriate manner. She had ordered all civilian and non-essential military personnel off of Central Isle and into the Catacombs. If Winston made it to the Isle before they did then there wouldn’t be an Isle left anymore.

  Veronica had taken the news quite badly, and she assumed that Winston was being forced to do the Omniosis’ bidding, or that Lewis and the Archmage had him believing that her safety depended on it. Although Veronica was convinced that whatever mysterious instinct she followed was telling her that the merger was the right thing to do, the Vampire Bloodmage was afraid that her husband was in dire peril and wanted to be reunited with him as soon as possible. The news about Tropica had only exacerbated the feeling.

  As they reached the edge of Tidussex, the pair of travellers slowed their pace to a casual walk and tried to look inconspicuous as they walked down the streets towards the harbour. There were more trucks on the roads than cars, and the vast majority were carrying supplies straight to the harbour. The town had sustained no damage over the course of the unusual war, but most of the residents were still sticking to their homes and only venturing out when they absolutely needed to. Instead, there were Alternatives from the Gloom, Supernaturals and Military Peace Keepers dawdling around the city, but they all looked so bored from an extreme lack of action that they barely took any notice of Alice and Veronica as they casually strolled by. Just to be extra cautious, Veronica swiped two pairs of sunglasses from outside a deserted clothes shop to help conceal their Supernatural eyes.

  When Alice and Veronica got to the harbour, there was only one ship large enough to make the journey to Central Isle. It was a medium-sized tanker being loaded up with metal cargo containers by a dock crane and large crates by fork trucks. The Captain was not hard to find; it was an old rough looking grey-haired man, wearing a shabby dark grey overcoat and red and black Imperian military captain’s cap from the Great War. He was standing at the harbour smoking a cigarette as he watched his ship being loaded up.