Burning Arcanum

By F. Zhang

Gideon Artenel, known on Earth as Ian Reeves, is finally living his dream of a peaceful existence. Working in a specialty bookstore in a Detroit suburb, he is far away from the mysterious, supernatural world he hopes he has permanently left behind. But all of that is about to change when he is suddenly confronted by a water fae from his previous life who tells him a powerful artifact is missing and it is his job to report back to the King if he chances upon it.

Momentarily shaken by the unexpected encounter, Ian arrives at work only to learn that his trusted employer has been murdered. Now Ian must come out of hiding and reveal himself to the very monsters he once escaped, join an organization he fears, and return to his pastall so he can avenge the death of his friend and locate the thief who stole an artifact of unimaginable strength. But little does he know that finding the perpetrators behind the crimes is only the beginning of his journey.

In this gripping fantasy tale, a man trapped between two lives is pulled back into a hidden world where he must face past mistakes, form allies, and tread new paths in order discover the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Jun 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781458209757

F. Zhang

F. Zhang is currently a master’s student in counseling. He enjoys reading urban fantasy novels and lives with his wife in Detroit, Michigan. This is his first novel.

Book preview

Prologue

S omething odd was going on. That was all Gregory could think about. A mystery of seemingly epic proportions confounding even his spectacular mind. The only clues he had were the weird weather patterns and his inability to perform summonings of the fae. The latter of which was just strange and definitely not a fault of his since he was perfectly able to perform those summonings on prior occasions. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought that the fae courts were at war again. But they weren’t, at least-

…that Apprentice Laurens was getting ahead of herself. Hey. HEY! GREG! Landis nearly shouted with an accompanying finger snap in Gregory’s face. Are you listening to me?

Yes, yes, yes. You were saying that Ms. Laurens was advancing too quickly in the Fourth Arcanum and becoming too confident, Gregory replied with a sigh as he removed his reading glasses.

Landis snorted in response. Not only that, she’s been using her training to play tricks on the staff. That girl needs disciplining.

As if this was anything new. Gwen Laurens, an exceptional first year apprentice of the Fourth Arcanum of magic, mind, had been playing tricks on her fellow students and the faculty ever since she first enrolled. What she needed wasn’t discipline, but rather a challenge. But Gregory had already voiced his opinion to her supervisor who will no doubt take care of the situation.

So there was no need to talk about this any further. Gregory said as much to Landis and after some more pleasantries, he left Gregory to his own devices.

Finally, he was alone in the library, free to pursue the cause behind the strange weather patterns without interruptions. It was here, in the main library of the Somnium, that the world’s greatest collection of arcane knowledge was stored.

Sitting in the dim confines between the enormous stacks of books was almost a religious experience for Gregory. Surrounded on all sides by the knowledge of humankind dating back to the start of written language, with the only source of light from a small oil lamp that barely penetrated the gloom of the countless eons. But even with all this knowledge at his fingertips, he was no closer to solving the mystery.

The Intricacies of the Fae Courts: An In-Depth Look, Myths and Legends Vol. 15, From Whence Came Magic, and other such tomes littered the desk before Gregory, but none offered the information that would illuminate the mystery. Well there were other more detailed sources of written information within the Somnium but those fell strictly under the prohibited section of the library. To access it would require permission from the head librarian who in turn would need to consult with the Council. In the past century, there has been only a handful of times when a wizard had been granted access to the prohibited section. So the chances of Gregory being allowed were slim to nil. Not exactly a surprise since those book in the wrong hands could spell disaster for the entire world.

There were other ways of getting information about the fae, like summoning one of them or actually going into their realms but that was potentially even more dangerous, not to the world but to the individual. So that was to be a last resort.

Before pursuing that course of action, it would probably be wise to eliminate all other possibilities that might also influence the weather on such a massive scale. If Gregory had asked the human authorities on weather, they would no doubt attribute it to climate change, the term global warming being thoroughly misleading, and to some small degree they might be correct. But the extremely selective nature of the incidents could not be so easily explained away.

The only option left was to seek outside help. There were few significant sources of supernatural information outside the jurisdiction of the Council, but those that did exist were hard to find not to mention not entirely legal. Thus seeking them out would be looked down upon for high-ranking wizards such as Gregory. Considering the impossibility of the alternatives, though, he had little choice.

Having decided upon what needs to be done, Gregory stacked the twenty-some books he managed to peruse on the corner of the desk, leaving them for the spectral librarians to reshelve. He started down the aisle between the enormous shelves, leaving the light of the oil lamp. Soon he was surrounded by the darkness with not a speck of light to be seen, not even the lamp he left behind. Until he passed another table when the lamp on that one spontaneously light up, then extinguished as he too left it behind. Yet even between the lights, he could still see clearly through the gloom as if an unseen full moon bathed the entire library in a shadowless glow. It was like this everywhere in the Somnium in the absence of light, much like one would expect from a place given the name dream. He could not help but contemplate just how this sourceless light was brought about, making for an interesting line of inquiry into the nature of the realm that the wizard headquarters occupied. Alas, there were more pressing concerns that needed his undivided attention.

So Gregory continued through the darkness, taking a right then a left then another left. After a few more minutes of walking through much the same atmosphere where he was researching, he finally arrived at a small clearing within the forest of bookshelves.

At the center of the dark polished wooden floor of the clearing was a large symbol of three concentric circles surrounding a pentagram. If one took a ruler to it, it would measure precisely two meters in diameter. At first glance, it might have seemed that the lines making up the symbol were indistinct as if faded with age. But upon closer inspection, one would realize that the lines were actually a form of script, the flowing script of the denizens of the Aether to be more precise, which was almost impossible for untrained eyes to read. Suffice it to say that the symbol served as a very secure gate to the main library allowing in only those qualified.

Gregory, being one of the qualified, stepped onto the center of the symbol, closed his eyes, muttered a single word, and was engulfed in a pillar of blinding white light that banished the gloom of the library for a brief second. When the light faded, he was gone.

Chapter 1

T he snows of winter came a little late this year in Wellsprings. Well into February in fact. But as if to make up for the delay, they came down especially hard, forcing the residents of this town located in the metros of Detroit to seek the warmth of home and family in lieu of the office and the slippery roads they must now travel to get there.

After a cloud-laden thirty-some hours, the sun finally shone again, glistening off the snow covered world that both greeted and blinded the people of Wellsprings as they opened their front doors and tried to venture outside. A rather difficult task now that their town was covered in nearly two feet of snow. Cars parked outside were almost completely buried. Roads, sidewalks, and lawns becomes indistinguishable. And snapped power lines left tens of thousands of residents in the metro area without access to modern conveniences. There were even reports of old roofs that had collapsed from the weight of the snow.

Of course, none of that mattered to me. I was safe and sound, warm and cozy in the confines of my small apartment. The problems of the outside world were nothing more than an illusion briefly glimpsed through misted windows and the occasional news program on TV. But even that was something that was far from my mind at the moment.

Wrapped in a mass of blankets, potato chips and remote control at my side, the TV flashing the newest episode of the latest sitcom, I was content … and mildly drowsy. There was nothing else to do. Normally on this Wednesday at this particular hour, I would be working at a small specialty bookstore that dealt in rare and obscure books that had a limited audience, whether intentional or due to ignorance. But instead, the heavy snows had made the trek to the store mostly pointless. Business would be pretty much non-existent for these few days while the roads were dangerous and unusable. In fact, Walt, the proprietor of the bookstore and my employer, had called earlier this morning to inform me of the situation. I didn’t have come in today. Thus my current state of relaxation.

So I sat here, pushed down into the cushions of the couch, the warmth of the blankets keeping away the chill of the sixty-six degree apartment air, and not a care in my mind. The lull of the TV pulled at my consciousness, dispersing any thoughts that might have formed. My eyelids drooped as I slowly drifted into the dreamscape.

AAAAAWWRRROOOOooooooo … A sudden howl to my left jerked me awake. I bolted up into a sitting position. Adrenaline shot through my system and my heart raced in response. Was it a monster? Had something snuck into my apartment and sought to ambush me? Whatever it was would find me no easy prey. My mind focused as a reflex, shutting out every stray thought, I pulled at the mana that flowed through the veins of my soul and readied myself to lash out at anything that might attack. My sight changed ever so slightly in reaction to the power, augmented to perceive the flows of magic … But there was nothing out of the ordinary in my apartment. For a second, I reveled in the mana I held, will and power given substance, augmenting my mind. My senses seemed to sharpen and with it, I peered at the shadows of apartment, seeking the source of the disturbance.

… Then it dawned on me. It was the new ringtone on my iPhone. Dammit. That sound had scared the shit out of me. I was ready to defend myself against something completely imaginary. A complete waste of a massive amount of effort for something so entirely inconsequential. Setting it as a wolf’s howl wasn’t meant to frighten me. But the combination of the suddenness of it and the sleepy state I was in did just that. It was a good thing I was home alone though I still felt my face burn with embarrassment.

At the second howl, my hand snaked out from under the blankets and I picked up. Y’ello? I answered, my voice still laced with the aftereffects of sleep.

Ian, you need to get down here, a calm rasping voice answered, at odds with the words spoken. It was my boss, a Mr. Walter Coleman, owner and proprietor of Redstone Books.

Walt? Is something wrong?

Oh nothing serious. I just need your help with a rare book I’m trying to find for a customer, he answered in that distinctive voice. The last word was punctuated by the sound of a book hitting the floor, making me flinch. This was not good. Walt had a habit of careless disregard for the health of the books that he perused. Though I did my best to prevent too much damage to the book by doing most of the shelving, which resulted in an unsurpassed familiarity with the locations of books. Thus Walt’s request for my help.

Still, it was odd that someone would be at the store at this hour … and in this weather. I just had to ask. Now?

Yes. He’s here with me right now.

I thought the store was closed, y’know, ’cause of the weather.

Well, it is, but he’s an important customer and he’s in a hurry. So stop being lazy and get down here already. The sound of another book dropping to the floor sounded in the background and I flinched again. There was no way around it if I wanted to stop Walt’s indiscriminate slaughter of book bindings.

I sighed. Alright, I’m on my way. Hanging up, I jumped out from under my blankets and shivered, goosebumps pebbling my skin as I stood there for a brief second only in my boxers. Then I rushed to the bedroom, I checked myself in the mirror hanging from the wall, examining the plain unremarkable face that looked back, a face that was easily lost in a crowd. I straightened my short dark hair that’s been slightly messed up and pulled on a pair of slacks and shirt, got my keys, wallet, iPhone, and coat. After turning off the TV, I pulled open the door and was greeted by a small landslide of snow that buried my feet. Shit. I’d have to clear a path through the snow eventually … but not right now.

I stepped out into the cold outdoors, shivering at the knee-deep snow that instantly went through my pants, and was greeted by a world of gray. The view before me was nothing more than a plain, cast into shadows by the setting sun, with the occasional bump that marked cars unfortunate enough to be caught outside, which included mine. The air was clear and silent dampened by the white blanket. Though the snow had stopped earlier this morning and despite the sun during the day, the road before me was still indistinguishable from parking lots and lawns. There were no tracks of cars or footprints that marked the passage of people since it seemed that everyone was still indoors, avoiding the cold and snow as evidenced by the lit windows of the apartments around me. Everyone, except for me. I sighed and a plume of warm misted breath puffed out in front of my face.

I pulled the door closed behind me, straining at the blockage and began pushing my way towards the bookstore.

The walk that normally would have taken only twenty minutes took more than double that with the snow that I now had to plow through. Within a dozen steps, my pants and loafers were soaked through and my legs were numb from the resulting ice water. But there were no alternatives. My own car having been buried back in the parking lot of my apartment. Even if I could dig it out, the roads were unusable until the city deigned to clean it up, which rarely happened in a timely manner.

When I finally did arrive at the strip mall that housed Redstone Books, the sun had completed its descent and had been replaced by the white disc of the moon and its accompanying twinkling stars. A clear sky gave the plain of snow a silver cast, interrupted at regular intervals by the yellow glare of streetlights. But immediately before me, the smooth surface vanished in a small cliff surrounded by small mountains of compact snow. It seemed that some enterprising individual had already cleared the mall parking lot and its nearby sidewalks, for which I was immensely grateful as I stepped onto dry pavement.

It took a few seconds to clear the crust of frozen ice that still clung to the outside of my pants and shoes, but it was necessary for my circulation to return some warmth and feeling to my lower extremities. Warmth that I was in dire need of as I then hurried towards the store.

Redstone Books had the smallest lot of the strip, nestled in between a laundromat and a Dairy Queen, both of which saw significantly more customers on a regular basis. It wasn’t that business was bad. It was simply that most of the customers never came to the store to pick up their orders. Rather, most purchases were made online, which was handled by Walt, and then given to me to fill from the shelves. This method of running the business always made me wonder why he needed a store in the first place but I never got around to asking him about it. Oh well.

As I stepped up to the clear glass door of Redstone Books, I noted the closed sign that still hung in plain view, which made me question who this customer was that it was necessary to open the store at this time just for him. I paused with my hand on the cold doorknob, the skin of my palm freezing while a momentary sense of unease flitted through me. And I shivered from a chill that had nothing to do with the outside temperatures. Rather, memories of my past on the run flooded my mind and revived a paranoia that still gripped my soul despite the many years that had already passed. No, I reassured myself. That voice was definitely Walt’s and he wouldn’t do anything like that. That thought eased my fears somewhat and I finally moved, opening the door and walking inside.

The door swung closed behind me and the bell hanging above the door rang with a clear chime that echoed between the shelves. To the right of the door was a cash register sitting beside the single massive window that spanned the length of the store giving a generous view of the night outside. Other than the cash register, every other available space was occupied by rows upon rows of bookshelves that held a variety of genres ranging from autobiographies on obscure individuals to collections of science fiction shorts. Rare books that were found nowhere else.

I was still a bit worried so I strained my senses, doing my best to discern any dangers that might lurk in the small confines of the store, which was more difficult than it should have been. The interior of the store was dim, lit by a proliferation of yellow bulbs that, while numerous, did little to alleviate the darkness, making prolonged reading of the texts painful on the eyes. I had once asked Walt why he made the store so dark and he said something about bright lights being damaging to the older books. But personally, I figured that he just wanted to discourage browsing.

From what I could tell there was no one in the front of the store, but from the back I could hear the periodic thumps of books hitting the floor.

Ian, that you? We’re in the back, came a shout in Walt’s distinctive voice.

Threading my way between the shelves, I arrived at the back of the store where the storeroom was located. It was here that the very rare and limited edition books were housed. Some were worth a pretty penny, necessitating a sturdy lock on the door which was useless at this particular point in time since the door was wide open. Inside was Walt with his back to me as he browsed the shelves that lined the walls, periodically taking out a book and dropping it on the floor as he peered deeper to those further in the back.

Walt stood a few inches shorter than me though in his prime he may have actually been taller. The shrinkage likely a result of diet. He sported a head of thinning gray hair, neatly combed and gelled to stay in place. Even now with his back to me, I could see the rims of the glasses that he always wore on the tip of his nose as he browsed the books on the shelves. He had on a brown sweater vest over a blue dress shirt and tie, which happens to be his usual attire, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of a senior college professor, a professor with a classroom of one, namely me. As I spied Walt standing amidst the wreckage of scattered books, I always wondered why the tidiness of his attire never extended to the rest of his life. The times I had spent in his house had shown to me that other than his appearance, nothing else about him was so ordered. Every free space was clutter with random mementos, meaningless to anyone but him, the older ones partially organized with the newer placed haphazardly around them. It almost seemed as if the passage of time had worn away at the part of him that had sought order in his life, until finally, an ordered appearance was all that remained, resisting, unwilling to surrender.

Walt?

Ah Ian, there you are, a lined and weathered face partially turned to face me. Now help me find the book that Mr. Alister there is looking for.

Walking into the room, my gaze followed Walt’s thumb to the man dressed in black leaning against one of the shelves to my left. Completely at ease. He was a tall man, wearing a black fur-lined trench coat. He also wore a matching black fur hat with earflaps, an ushanka, covering a head of pure white hair that reached down and surrounded an unlined face. But in that face, something made me pause, unease fluttering through me.

It was those steel blue eyes that returned my gaze. Not so much the disinterest that they showed but rather what was behind them. For just the briefest moment, I saw a flash of white within those dark pupils to which my only response was fear. My heart jumped at the realization that this Mr. Alister was no ordinary patron of the store. No. That light behind the window into his soul was a flash of the mana that flowed through it, a mighty river revealed no doubt in a second of carelessness. No. This man was a wizard.

In the face of that calm gaze, it was all I could do to project a false air of indifference as I turned to examine the book-littered storeroom. My heart pounded, stomach clenched, and mouth suddenly dry. In truth, I saw nothing of what passed before my eyes. Memories of running, always running from those monsters that chased me, unstoppable, unrelenting, once again crowded my mind. In response to that deep-rooted fear, that paranoia that griped me, I instinctively reached out to take hold of mana, the life of my soul, but hiding it so that I might surprise him when he pounced. My sight changed in response to the mana I now held in my physical body. Eyes slightly unfocused, I saw the tiniest glow of magic about him that confirmed my suspicions. It was so weak that I had almost mistaken it for a trick of the light. But even weak as his magic was, he was still a wizard.

So I waited as seconds passed, watching Mr. Alister out of the corner of my eyes as I pretended to scan to shelves and waiting for him to make his move. But he never did. He stayed there, relaxed, unmoving, attention barely focused on the world around him, as if everything was beneath his notice.

Walt’s voice reminded me of the task at hand. "The book’s Various Treatises on the Denizens of the Aether by a Matthias Johnson. Right?"

Yes, the customer replied in confirmation, the first word out of his mouth since my arrival.

I glanced again at Mr. Alister, who still hasn’t moved, as I stepped forward to the shelves. Matthias Johnson, huh? I think his specialty was in fairy tales. I did my best to play the part of a regular store employee, hoping that he would remain ignorant of my magical proficiencies … if he was indeed ignorant of it.

Let’s see … fables and fairy tales are near the science fiction section so … I continued my inner monologue as I stepped over the discarded books on the floor and past Walt. The section that I finally settled upon had yet to suffer the destruction that had gripped half the storeroom, which is probably why Walt had not yet found it. How fortunate.

Ah here we are. Andersen, Barrie, Berechiah, Fontaine, Grimm, Henrysen. And here it is. Johnson, Matthias. With some effort I carefully pulled out a massive encyclopedic tome that was nearly half a foot thick. The book sported a plain hard leather cover with gold embossed letters maintained in good condition though the style of the printing indicated that it was written some time ago. Its weight was enough that I had to carry it in both hands as I turned back to the customer. Mr. Alister, that’ll be … let’s see … six hundred twenty five dollars. Hey, rare books ain’t cheap. So if you’ll follow me to the register.

As I began to turn my back to him, against my better judgment, and head to the front of the store, Walt spoke up. No need Ian. He already paid for it in advance.

Alright then. I halted in mid-step and turned to face him, mentally relieved that I would not have him behind me. Is there anything else we can help you with?

No, the customer replied in another monosyllabic word.

Would you like a bag for that, then?

No.

There was nothing else to say so I handed him the book. Without another word, he easily tucked it under one arm and headed to the front of the store with Walt a step behind.

Paranoia still in effect, my gaze followed him to the door where he stopped and seemed to speak to Walt though I couldn’t hear what they said. After a minute and a handshake, he walked out the front, not towards any particular vehicle but onto the sidewalk where he disappeared from view once out from under the street lights, his black attire melting into the darkness of the night.

So it seemed that this Mr. Alister’s visit was entirely inconsequential and his ability was apparently a coincidence. Nothing to do with me. I sighed with relief at the self-reassurance and finally released my hold on my mana. A sense of invigoration flowed through me as it returned to my soul. My mind eased, I turned to the mess that Walt had made of the storeroom and began the tedious task of checking the books for any damage, noting which ones needed repair, and reshelving those that were undamaged.

Ian, you can save the cleanup for tomorrow. It’s late enough today as it is and I’m heading home, Walt shouted from the front of the store.

Okay. I’ll close up. See you tomorrow.

G’night Ian. The bell rang as the door closed behind him and silence of the night enveloped the place.

It seemed that I was done for the day. Leaving the books as they are, I turned off the lights, locked the door and headed out into the night, eager to forget the events of the past hour that still made my heart beat faster than normal.

Chapter 2

I t was dark and raining, the ground wet and muddy. The raindrops seemed to hover and pause as they passed near my eyes and in them I saw the reflection of a terrified teenager staring back. I huddled behind a dumpster, shaking with fear and the cold. I did my best to remain still and listened, hoping to