The Magic Book

by Fredric Shernoff

  Nathaniel was not about to let another guard shoot him with one of the accursed energy weapons. He tackled the guard and pulled the weapon from the man’s hand. He cracked it across the guard’s skull, knocking him out. Nathaniel took the weapon in both hands and bent it. It fizzled and crackled, and a small amount of smoke escaped where the side of the device had split open. He cast the broken weapon to the ground and looked at the unconscious guard.

  He thought of Achmis and Esther, and considered taking his revenge on the man at his feet. That man had nothing to do with what had happened. He was not one of Gustavus’s lackeys. And if this guard had committed similar atrocities in this new territory? Maybe that would be uncovered in time.

  Nathaniel walked on, leaving the guard behind. He wandered toward the center of the territory. He saw an enclave in the distance and ignored it. His goal was the heart of the world. This world, he thought. How many were there? How many had been lied to? And what, if anything, could he do about it?

  He saw light behind a pack of trees and pursued it. With his eyes facing forward, he missed seeing a root that had extended above the eroded soil. He tripped, but rolled through the fall and regained his footing, cursing himself as he did so.

  When he had ceased berating himself for his sloppiness, he looked around. He had stumbled into a familiar clearing. He turned to the center, holding his breath as he did so, and saw a stump, so deeply rotted its material barely qualified as wood.

  Nathaniel approached it cautiously. He nudged the stump with his foot, and his still-damp boot pushed right through the rotted surface. He poked around with the toe of his boot, digging into the soft material, until he connected with something hard. There was some kind of anchor, which the tree must have grown around, connecting it to the platform underneath.

  He sat on the ground and aimed his foot at the center of the stump. He kicked as hard as he could. The stump exploded around the impact, and he felt the anchor bend from the force of his kick, but the whole thing slid over several inches.

  Nathaniel placed his fingers in the opening and pushed it the rest of the way. He looked around him, scanning for signs of the Authority of this world. He saw and heard nothing, but in his own world the Authority had been able to evade his enhanced senses while spying on him. Whether through skill, technology or wizardry, he couldn’t say.

  Just as many believed the power of the Great Ones was a gift from the gods, so too did many think that the Authority had the ability to commune with those same gods and receive gifts from them. Nathaniel doubted it, but he had experienced things that were hard to explain. In many ways, he was a thing that was hard to explain.

  He looked eagerly into the hole. Just as in his dream, there was a wrapped bundle at the bottom of the opening. He grabbed it up, wondering for the first time about the materials that made up the object and its wrapping. The one Liam had shown him would have had to be ancient, but it was in fine condition. And here countless years had passed, enough to render this stump useless. But its bundle contained within still appeared brand new.

  Nathaniel felt hairs on the back of his neck prick up. There was something supernatural about these packages, and he hadn’t realized it as a child, nor when the vision of that experience had returned to him. He unwrapped the package with a slow deliberation. He had almost a respect for the bindings and what they might contain. One unexplainable ancient thing acknowledging another.

  Inside the bundle, as Nathaniel had expected, was one of the hide-bound objects, printed with the same symbols that his eyes couldn’t comprehend. The words seemed almost to glimmer, and he felt tension in his eyes as he tried to focus them. Someone had written the words that covered the object. Written them in a strange, forgotten language, it seemed.

  There was so little writing in the world Nathaniel knew. Bits and pieces of things, mostly, beyond the scrolls the Authority used. Traditions passed by teachings and word of mouth, while writing took the form of simple pictures.

  He fanned through the thin levels of the object, all covered in the same symbols. He closed the hide cover with disgust. Here he was, having found the very thing he sought. The thing that proved there was something the Authority wasn’t telling. And now, what? What could he do with something nobody could understand?

  He placed his palm on the surface, and suddenly he was no longer in the clearing. All around him was black space, save for a haggard man standing far in the distance.

  “Who are you?” Nathaniel called. He looked down and saw that he no longer held the object.

  “Looking for this?” the man said. He held the very same object in his hands that had seconds earlier been in Nathaniel’s. “Are you prepared for the secrets this book contains?”

  “Book? I don’t understand that word.”

  The man smiled. “I guess it’s been a while. Well, that’s the thing with enchanting something to last forever.”

  “Enchanting…you’re a warlock? Or a demon?” Nathaniel asked his questions with fascination, not fear. He wasn’t quite sure if the image before him was real or a hallucination.

  The man laughed. “No, no, none of that. I’m a remnant. A ghost, in a way. When Weber got all caught up in the supernatural, it made for some language that—”

  “The prophet? You speak of the prophet.”

  “No…there’s a lot you don’t know. Just know this…I am simply the form of the original man who had this appearance. That man wrote this book, and enchanted it to contain an element of himself, though he damned sure didn’t know he was doing it. Also, the enchantments made it last forever. Or, well, almost forever. Eternity is a fickle bitch, as I’m guessing you know. Magic too, for that matter. Anyhow, all the answers you seek are in the book.”

  “But I can’t read the language!”

  The man tilted his head and frowned. “Really…that’s interesting. You speak the language just fine, though I can’t figure out what the hell is going on with your accent. Never encountered an Elite in all the worlds who spoke in that particular mix. Like a Viking tripped over an Englishman at a country music festival.”

  Nathaniel opened his mouth but closed it before speaking. He was filled with too many questions, too many jumbled thoughts and emotions.

  “Lucky for you, this is a problem we can handle.” The man tossed the book to Nathaniel, who took it and looked at the symbols on the cover. Where once there had been an unintelligible gibberish, now he saw a word he understood instantly, though he had never seen it written before.

  DIVIDED

  “Divided?” Nathaniel asked. “What does that imply?”

  “The answers are all in there,” the man said. “More and more on every page.”

  He sounded quieter. When Nathaniel looked up, he saw the man was fading into the darkness.

  “Remember,” the man said, “what you see in there is just the beginning of your journey. The man who wrote that book intended for someone to make the world right again. Its enchantments are many and go far beyond preservation and allowing a reader to understand its words.”

  “What does that mean? What do I need to do?”

  “For now, read the book. You’ll figure it out from there.”

  The world rushed back in. Nathaniel looked down at the book. That one word, “DIVIDED,” still made sense to him. He flipped through the pages—that was what the man had called them—and saw words that he suddenly could read. The man had mentioned the prophet…could it be possible such a being had existed? Could he be behind the magic that Nathaniel was witnessing?

  Nathaniel turned to the first page. “They say that spring is a season of renewal or new beginnings. I always took that to mean new life, like a baby chick pecking its way out of an egg and experiencing the world for the first time. I’m not sure if the same can be said about the spring of 2026, though it was surely the beginning of something.”

  He closed the book. He understood the concept of spring and the writer’s way of relating it to a bird being born, but the numb
er…it was the spring of two thousand and twenty-six of what?

  He thought he heard a rustle in the trees. Time to move on. He wasn’t safe within this territory, as much as he wanted to explore. What mattered was what was contained within the book. Those answers could change everything for the people in this territory and his own.

  He rewrapped the book, placed the package under his arm, and bolted into the woods the way he had come. It was easy to follow his own path of destruction through the heavy growth.

  He moved as quickly as he could, motivated by a desire to be clear of the foreign territory as much as a want to explore what the book had to tell him as soon as possible.

  7

  He journeyed back through the woods and across the moving water. There were no signs of the frightening dogs, though thinking of them did remind him he hadn’t eaten in a long time. His powers were operating better than they had in a very long while, and he was incredibly grateful.

  I won’t waste this opportunity or my abilities, he vowed. I will make this right.

  Whether he made the promise to himself or to those who had fallen or to those still alive, it didn’t matter. Maybe he made it to everyone.

  After a long and, thankfully, uneventful journey, Opellius’s house came into view. He approached the building, and saw the old man emerge from the door.

  “Nathaniel! The hive mind saw you heading this way. I didn’t expect your return!”

  “I needed a safe haven,” Nathaniel said. “And I needed to talk to you. There’s much to discuss.”

  “You have answers?” Opellius asked as Nathaniel reached the door.

  Nathaniel shook his head, then realized his error and spoke. “Nay. Well…maybe answers, but they come with multitudinous new questions.”

  “You have me intrigued,” Opellius said. “Come inside and sit with me.”

  Nathaniel followed Opellius into the house.

  “I found another of the territories,” Nathaniel said. “It was much the same as my own on the surface, but the garb worn by a man I encountered was different.”

  “It makes sense,” Opellius said. “Would you care for something to eat?”

  “Aye. Thank you.”

  Opellius whistled, and spoke in the strange, dancing language of the hive mind. Two of the creatures left the room.

  “You said it makes sense for their clothing to be different than mine,” Nathaniel said. “How do you mean?”

  “The dialect is different in different territories, or so it’s been reported to me. It makes me shift my thinking to believe I’m not from your homeland after all. It’s why I speak slightly differently than you do. You have a preference for ‘aye,’ while I learned ‘yes’ a time long ago, and so ‘yes’ it remains. Imagine two or more nearly identical worlds, isolated for thousands of years and left to grow independently of the others, but with simple guidelines to follow.”

  “The rules of the Authority.”

  “Indeed. It stands to reason that these populations would develop variations.”

  “You assume much, old man,” Nathaniel said. “But what you say rings true.”

  Opellius nodded. “Thank you. But I’ll assume further that you have not come here to flatter my theories.”

  Nathaniel brought out the package. “I’m presenting you with an item I found in the woods in the foreign territory. It’s similar if not identical to the one I knew long ago.”

  Opellius reached out and touched the cloth. “There’s something inside?”

  “Aye.” Nathaniel unwrapped the book. “It’s called a ‘book.’”

  “Funny word,” Opellius said. He touched the surface of the cover with his fingers. “A tough hide, though even toughened deerkin would weather away from—”

  He jumped, as if stung or shocked.

  “What is it?” Nathaniel asked. “Are you—” He stopped, as he saw the old man’s eyes had rolled back in his head.

  A moment later, Opellius blinked and stared at the book again, then at Nathaniel. “By the prophet.”

  “What is it?”

  Opellius held his hand in front of his face and his eyes grew wide. “I can see!”

  “The book is enchanted,” Nathaniel said. “I was going to explain, but I didn’t imagine…”

  Opellius looked around the room and grinned. The hive mind reentered the room carrying bowls of the mush they had offered Nathaniel when he’d been bound in bed.

  “I see you, my friends! Ranti planta!” Opellius greeted the hive mind. They seemed neither shocked nor particularly excited about the recent development, but simply set down the bowls and left the room.

  “What happened?” Nathaniel asked.

  “This totem, this ‘book,’ it carried me away from here. I spoke to a spirit who told me this powerful object holds the answers we seek. And then the symbols on it were suddenly legible to me, as if I had studied and known them all my life. And when I awoke, my vision had returned in a way.”

  “In a way?”

  “Everything moves as if in a rainbow fog,” Opellius said.

  “I had the same visions,” Nathaniel said. “A spirit appearing as a man told me the book would tell me what I needed to know. And then I could read the words.”

  “Magic,” Opellius said quietly. “Magic vision.” He thumbed through the pages of the book and handed it back to Nathaniel.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not seeing with my eyes the way you do, or the way I used to, Nathaniel. I’m seeing the world through magical vision. The same way you can understand the script of the book. Just on a grander scale.”

  “This book…I began to read it before I left the territory. But I thought it would be best to read it with you. So we both could grok its meaning. I suppose you no longer need me to read it to you.”

  “I enjoy listening to a story.” Opellius smiled. “And while this restored sight is magnificent, it swims in a way that makes the text in this book considerably hard to focus on.”

  “Very well,” Nathaniel said. “Then I shall read.” He looked once more at the cover, with the large printed word, “DIVIDED,” then turned to the first page and began to read.

  III

  The Book

  8

  They say that spring is a season of renewal or new beginnings. I always took that to mean new life, like a baby chick pecking its way out of an egg and experiencing the world for the first time. I’m not sure if the same can be said about the spring of 2026, though it was surely the beginning of something.

  To say it was a time of chaos would be to give it too much uniqueness in the scope of human history, or even in the history of the past decade. Chaos has reigned for at least as long as I’ve been around and, God knows, probably a hell of a lot longer than that.

  One of the things that was unique to the spring of 2026 was the ten-year anniversary celebration of the new Confederacy. Of course, those of us living in what had been the United States of America didn’t consider that a fact worthy of celebrating. Let those redneck motherfuckers throw their bacchanals. For us, it was a time of mourning. A time to take stock of everything that had happened since the election of 2016 and think about everything and everyone we had lost.

  To be honest, the story begins before that election. I mean, if I wanted to get real crazy about it, I could trace the whole thing back to probably the beginning of recorded history. You know, in that vague sense that everything builds on what came before. Or at least I could go back to the founding of the country and George Washington’s warning about political parties that went utterly unheeded.

  Or maybe it was the turmoil of the 20th century that led to the dichotomous early 21st. Civil rights, women’s rights, gay rights, transgender, all those things that to some should have been common sense but to many people weren’t, finally inched toward cultural norms. And in the process, a bitter underbelly of the country developed, comprised of the so-called “forgotten,” those who saw progress as an attack on the lives they
’d always enjoyed.

  I don’t know. I’m not a great student of history, and my dad always taught me to question the given truth and figure out the bias of the people telling it to me. So I’m not necessarily the best person to lay out all the details of how the hell we got here, but I’ll try.

  If you’re reading this, that means that some good has come from all the darkness the black evil of Weber brought to the world. The world has chosen to preserve this book and this story for your eyes, and so I’ll try to make it a story worthy of preservation, as I sit here and write in a hotel room.

  Anyway, all of that progressivism and corresponding resentment built up to the election of 2012, which seems like fucking forever ago. Well, however long ago it was, it happened that though there were a number of fairly good candidates, when the US populace entered the voting booths, they elected President Wolfgang T. Weber. It always looks to me like his name should have a Roman numeral after it, like IV or V, but ol’ Wolfy T. was the first.

  “Weber,” Nathaniel said in awe. “The prophet?”

  “Seems likely,” said Opellius.

  “But to hear how this scribe speaks of him…I never was sure he existed, but this Weber was just a man! And I don’t know so much of what the writer describes. These words mean little to me, even if they appear to be in our language. This George Washington…perhaps another man-prophet? Why would he be lost from our world?”

  “I suggest you read on,” Opellius said. “These mysteries are meant for ears to hear them and eyes to see them. It’s time for them to be shared.”

  Weber was an unusual politician with very little actual political experience. He came to us from a town outside Rochester, New York, where he had reigned over those forty thousand or so souls as the duly elected Town Supervisor. Before that? Nobody knew. He was from Montana, supposedly. That was it. Even his Wikipedia article was short on facts. He was a nobody who could give a good speech.