Of Spellbooks and Thieves | SAMPLE

1 ~ Stolen

7/3/D/xx-68

The old door creaked on its hinges as Tobias pulled it shut. He lingered outside of it for a moment, staring down at the key tightly clenched in his fingers. A sigh slipped through his lips.

Another day under the tree, huh? He twisted the key, satisfied as the locks clicked in place. Dad and Talia should hurry back before my eyes turn into an old man's. The trail of thought withered as quickly as it had come. He stayed behind of his own choice, but he never imagined how lonely it could get at home while they were away.

The carvings in the mahogany door greeted him as his gaze traveled away from the lock. In the early morning light, the red highlights buried deep within the wood seemed brighter, as if the door were bathed in flames. It was warm and comforting, like the hearth when he could sit around it with his family during the cold season of Sefah.

When the house was empty—as it had been for the last several weeks—it was suffocating to sit there alone. Though outside, surrounded by the winds of the changing seasons and the distant cries of the dragonborn people, the tree provided a moment of peace for Tobias that the empty house would only snuff out.

Standing up straighter, he dropped the cord that bound the key over his head and tucked the cold metal into his shirt. Once he was certain that the small key had been safely hidden away, he gripped the strap of his satchel and spun on his heel. The grass rustled beneath his boots as he walked away, trekking down the slight slope from the house to the old oak in the distance.

The monotonous walk drowned away beneath the buzz of Tobias's thoughts. It was the same thing every morning: wake up, pack, head out to the tree. After repeating the routine for the umpteenth time, the excitement and curiosity had dulled, swaying more into frustration. The only reason he began his morning in such a way was to avoid the work he knew would be waiting for him at his desk when he returned.

If I have to choose between staring at words I can't read, and staring at words I wish I couldn't read, I'd choose the first any day. There were only so many unedited manuscripts he could skim in a day before he began to long for the mystery that occupied his mornings.

Dropping his bag beside the roots of the oak tree, Tobias sifted through the contents until he dug up the source of it all: the curiosity, the excitement, the frustration, and the scolding from Talia had come from this. His fingers brushed against its spine, feeling the ridges along the middle from where the book had been bent a little too far back.

A blank, white cover met him as he turned it over. The empty, fingerprint-stained face mocked him.

Another day under the tree, attempting to uncover the mysteries of the stubbornly confusing script between the stained covers.

Tobias frowned at the white leather-bound book in his hands. The weathered pages, turning yellow at the edges, taunted him. The neatly-formed letters were beautiful to stare at—crafted with a steady yet graceful flow—but the words they created were gibberish to him.

He knew one thing for certain: he hated the white leather-bound book. Its gold embellishments shone too brightly in the early morning sunlight that filtered through the auburn leaves above him. Flipping the page only revealed another set of words and symbols that meant nothing to him.

He had been staring at the same stupid book on and off for six years whenever he got the chance, yet not one person he had consulted had been able to tell him what it was or what the words meant. Not even his older sister, despite all her wisdom and knowledge. The confusion etched into her face when he showed it to her for the first time was something he could never forget.