Chapter 1

I like to read. It's one of my major hobbies, and the reason I spent most of the afternoon haunting three bookshops and filling most of my bike's fairly spacious luggage compartment with paper and binding. I can read most anything, from autobiographies and romances to science, thriller, mystery, horror, history and plain fiction. My favourite genre however, is fantasy and science fiction, and with the recent popularity of Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings and such like, the selection was growing by the week. The first book I ever read was Frank Herbert's celebrated Dune, the second Zelazny's Lord of Light; I suppose that explains it. I mostly eat by myself, and I can't even do that much without something to read. In desperation, I sometimes resort to TV and movie guides, or — horror of horrors — advertisement flyers and brochures. It's that or pace around, which is enough to annoy the hell out of anyone. Even me. I read very quickly, and mostly remember everything I read, which makes rereading a favoured book an unpleasant chore, at best. My reading habits shaped my life. Then they changed my life.

The third and last store of the day had a tiny opening to the city's major thoroughfare, but spanned three stories and a basement. It had a large section of used and bargain books, room to sit and browse, and a very large selection. I always like to leave the best for last, obviously.

It wasn't just the books, of course. It was also the people who buy and read them. You'd find it astonishing and quite stereotype shattering. I spent nearly an hour talking rapid fire fashion with a pair of black 13 year olds girls — I'm 16, by the by — about books, just today; which basically means, we talked about everything and anything. Many of the people I keep in touch with, I met in those not-really-dusty corners, picking up a book and then smiling, asking a question. Or remarking on the book they picked from the shelf. It was a different world, one all its own. Much of it was an exchange of 'you really need to read so-and-so' and the reasons for such recommendations, but the people who buy and read books are, in general, worth speaking with. It was a philosophy and debate class of a sort, an invisible stratum of society and a world of in-jokes and awful puns.

The only written thing I avoided like leprosy was poetry. My diatribes concerning the subject had almost brought tears to the eyes of my English teacher, a young woman and recent college graduate named Shirley, whose unpleasant job it was to beat appreciation of the wonders and insights ascribed to scribbled lines of inanity into hard-headed and hearted teens. We managed to reach a truce on the subject. I acknowledged my inability to 'get it', and she promised not to bother me in class about it. She's a small, pretty, blue-eyed blond girl; otherwise I'd have hounded her on the subject with a never-ending spate of sarcastic comments and puns, in all likelihood. I'm a guy and sixteen, so it's hardly surprising that pretty girls are a weakness of mine.

My bike is of the three-wheeled variety, two rear wheels keeping much better traction and stability. Sure, I could have bought something big, loud, noisy and fashionable, but I was much more concerned with safety and fuel efficiency. I hate to drive. Oh sure, there's an edge of adrenalin and almost physical pleasure in moving faster than the wind, weaving from lane to lane and getting there first. Unfortunately, a by-product of too much reading is the sickening realization of just how fragile the human body is, and the knowledge that it really can happen to you. No matter how cautious, smart and fast you are, there's always someone who's lucky day it isn't. Or someone who isn't quite as cautious, smart, and fast as you are; or drunk or stoned, for that matter. I'm not big on trusting people — I drive carefully. On the other hand it's a statistical fact that even paranoiacs die, so I don't take it to extremes. Slow isn't necessarily good, but helmets are mandatory. Anyone with brains also wears some sort of protective clothing when using one of the most dangerous implements invented by mankind. Jeans, heavy long-sleeved shirt and gloves are enough for me.

Home was twenty minutes away, a not so small walled villa by Stetting Park. You might call us 'comfortably well off' or 'upper middle class'. Mom was a former hot shot prosecutor turned judge, and my father was an upper executive in the Republic Bank. Which is to say, I didn't really see much of them. When they scrapped up vacation days, they usually spent them together abroad, anywhere from Prague to the Caribbean. I couldn't complain. They really deserved and needed some rest, and they couldn't get any at home, not really, not nowadays. Too much communication technology meant that you were always on call, and unfortunately, with their job descriptions they just couldn't set up an office at home.

I keyed the gate open, keyed the garage open, and spent nearly an hour carrying and arranging the books. The library room, unfortunately, was on the second floor. There was enough room, if barely, as I regularly donated books to libraries or just 'loaned' them to people. It was very difficult, but the parentals finally broke through my stubborn resistance last year. They were adamant, and probably correct, pointing out that there just wasn't any more room, and kindly offered to remove a few computers to make some more. I resigned myself to the status of collector-emeritus, gritted my teeth, and got rid of some books. It was almost physically painful. Computers are not only another major hobby; they're also my job. Or jobs, rather, so clearing space in the computer room was quite impossible.

Fortunately, my annoying little sister and her pack of simpering friends were away at summer camp. A camp whose central theme was horses, of all things. Big, smelly, dangerous creatures. I couldn't help but smile at the thought of all those spoiled little girls shovelling horse manure. I remember trying to explain to her that not everything that looked 'cute' on TV or in magazines was something you particularly wanted to meet in person. Her response was less than polite. At dinner with our parents... which cost her the weekend and the party she'd babbled about for nearly the entire week. Icy politeness was the best I got from her before she disappeared into equine land. The blessed quiet at home was truly welcome.

Air conditioning or no, I was feeling a mite ripe, so I took a quick shower, tossed my clothes into the 'dirty' hamper and put on a pair of shorts. Then it was time for the kitchen, damn but was I hungry. It was quite startling, the sheer amount of food I managed to shovel into a seemingly bottomless stomach, without gaining an ounce of weight. Privately, I was starting to doubt the conservation of energy and mass physics. With the parents in Australia and Lee, my fourteen year old bitch of a little sister, in camp, I had no one to moan, tease and groan over the platefuls I consumed. Three fairly big meals a day and the occasional snack were only just enough to keep me functioning.

Sometimes it was take-out, usually Chinese or Indian. More often, I felt like cooking. No, I didn't particularly enjoy the work, but I did enjoy the results — I was, quite simply, a better cook. I still had some chicken breast in a marinade of honey, wine, soy sauce, garlic and spices in the fridge, so I put a few slices on the hot plate, added a salad, and cooked some rice with a blend of spices, cut carrots, peas and some brown sugar in the wok. Divine... and there was enough left for tomorrow morning or lunch. I left a wrapped up plate in the fridge, washed the dishes and utensils and tossed them — lightly — into the dishwasher.

Picking up the book I'd been reading (Dave Duncan's 'the Cursed'), I put in a marker and returned to the library. I'd been a bit rushed there at the end of the shopping spree, since I truly didn't like to drive in the dark, and hadn't really looked at everything I'd bought. At least, not beyond the title, and I'd picked most of them from the used section, so some were quite battered. I used to be a real fanatic on the subject of taking proper care of books, but I'd mellowed quite a bit since having to let so many of them leave my clutches. I was still real tight assed about taking care of most other things.

Putting the book aside, I picked up the first pair of new ones, sat down in front of the library computer, and clicked to Amazon. 'Crystal Warriors' and 'Crystal Sorcerers', paperbacks in not too terrible a shape, and more importantly, the only ones in the series. Looked readable if not inspiring, fairly standard 'people sucked into fantasy dimension granted powers and fighting it out'. This was going to take quite a bit of time, as I'd bought over eighty books, stocking up for the summer vacation.

After a while, I got a bit blurry. Rising, I stretched and did a few high kicks. I studied Jiujitsu, twice a week like clockwork for almost eight years now, and I should be ready to test for black belt before the school year, so I was quite limber. I trudged down the stairs, filled a beer-mug sized glass with coke, and went back to 'work'. The next book had nothing but 'Wizardry' written on the black leather cover, and looked old and a bit ratty. Strange, there was no mention of author, and the only Wizardry I could think of offhand was an old computer role-playing game.

The first page was blank. I jumped a few pages forward, and blank white paper was all there was to it. The first thing that leaped to mind was some sort of cheat on the part of the store, but that didn't make sense, seeing as folks usually looked at a book before paying. I looked at it again, quizzically, and saw that there was something written there. Raise your hand, point your index finger up and say 'Hadriax Varsshath', was written in the middle of the page. I blinked. "What the heck?!"

Shrugging, I raised my left hand, pointed the index finger up and said the words. I had a bit of trouble pronouncing the 'sshath' sound, naturally. The third time I tried it, a column of blue fire as thick as my finger shot up into the air, bubbling like a fountain. I froze in shock. My mouth dropped open. My mind went blank. There was no heat... in fact, I was growing colder. Movement drew my eyes, as the text on the open page shifted. Release the spell by lowering your index finger, it said. I didn't think about it, but when I looked up my fists were clenched, the fire gone. I clenched my teeth, hard, and broke into sudden sweat. "What... ?" I coughed, "what happened?"

Reflexively, I looked down at the book. This time, I was not terribly surprised to see new words inscribed upon the paper.

You cast your first spell, a first circle energy manipulation cantrip.

"Will you answer my questions?" I asked. I winced at the plaintive, quavering sound of my voice, drew in a deep breath and wiped the sweat from my forehead.

Yes, within the limits of what you are permitted to know and what is contained in the book of wizardry appeared on the page.

"What questions would I be best served by asking? Write the answer immediately below the question," I ordered in a much calmer voice. The resulting flood of information left me reading with feverish intensity until 4 am. Despite that, I was so excited I had trouble falling asleep. I didn't... well, hadn't believed in magic or the supernatural. Believe it when I see it... and see it I had.

What I learned was astonishing, if true. I felt it best to retain a healthy modicum of skepticism. Trusting an enchanted book too far did not strike me as the smartest thing a would-be wizard should do. Oh yes, that is exactly what I was, now. I'd cast my first spell, and there was no going back.

The list of questions was enormous, but most of it was technical information, telling me how to learn quickly and what I needed to do in order to pronounce the throat-twisting syllables and perform the gestures that unleashed spells with perfect accuracy. The rest...

A student of wizardry drew all the power for a spell from himself. That was why I'd felt myself growing colder, physically weaker. Trying the wrong spell could kill me. No, it WOULD kill me. The more experienced I got, the less energy each spell would require. A real wizard could imbue talismanic objects with his own power, effectively creating a magical reservoir. The archwizard could actually draw on other sources to power his spells — the elements themselves.

How did one graduate from student to wizard? Restricted information. One had to master the tenth circle of spells from the schools of life magic, transmutation and energy control, as well as the second circle of mind magic, before having to pass a test of some sort. Archwizard? Attain the fifteenth circle of life, which contained the spells of rejuvenation, learn how to become one with the elements, and master the fifth circles of spirit and mind. Whatever 'becoming one with the elements' meant.

The elements? Surprise, I'd always thought there were four: fire, air, earth and water, in the classic Greek tradition of Plato, Aristotle and their brethren. The Buddhists added void or aether, and the Chinese mythos contained the elements of wood and metal, while neglecting air. The book cited six — the classic four as well as wood and spirit. But there was much more to the elements than mere natural forces and the currents that ran through the world. A large portion of 'what is dangerous or potentially dangerous to me' dealt with the elemental courts and the bewildering variety of creatures that made their homes there. These courts apparently regulated the weather, tectonic activity and many other natural and supernatural phenomena... and even chaos theory was of limited use in predicting their behavior. The elementals normally dwelt apart and avoided humanity... only wizards, by their count, did not count as part of humanity. The circle of binding allowed wizards to control or extract services from elementals, which made them generally hostile to wizards, leaving a lone student such as I especially vulnerable. There were also a lot of exceptions to the rule of elemental reclusiveness, and a tremendous body of protocol regarding their modes of address. An angry storm giant or firedrake were not something even experienced wizards wanted to face, so it was etiquette school and learning languages humans weren't meant to pronounce. Sheesh, but I did not find that particularly appealing.

Of course, all that information was suspect. The book could provide nothing of the internal politics, methods and views of today's courts, for it was last updated in 1911, and even then only partial information had been provided.

The circles of magic were basically arbitrary groupings of techniques and spells, dealing with a single overarching subject matter. The largest of them was the circle of energy manipulation, which included everything from lighting a fire, to illusions, weather control and telekinesis. The circle of life dealt with living things, how to take them apart and put them together... and a lot more. Many of the techniques student wizards had to learn dealt with manipulating one's vocal chords and physical self. Perfect memory and wizard sleep, only requiring two hours of sleep a night, were two of the first things I needed to study. Transmutation dealt with objects and changes thereof, and required major study of chemistry and physics, as the more advanced life magics required considerably more than a medical degree did — to heal a broken bone you had to know exactly where you wanted each little thing, were every capillary went... damn.

The two most complicated circles were those of mind and spirit. I would have thought that memory and sleep would be part of these, but evidently such minor things were part of the physical body: brains, hormones, and such. The book did not offer any real explanation, beyond the initial comment on the arbitrary nature of the groupings. Nor would it answer my question on whether wizardry was an art or a science. Mind magic dealt with sensing and influencing emotions, thoughts, memories and attitudes, while the spirit dealt with the world beyond the world, whatever that meant. Some wizards could not master even the first circle of spirit, sensing the immaterial, but the book assured me that I'd manage it... eventually. Only those with strong archwizard potential could see the book.

Potential dangers, now there was a long list. Naturally, the first danger was overusing magic and killing myself, either directly or through exhaustion in deleterious circumstances (shit happens, and then you die). Strangely, there was no mention of human authorities, and the book refused to comment on the matter — suspicious, to say the least. Or maybe not... if it had last been updated in 1911, it was hardly up to date. The next danger mentioned was other wizards.

The third danger was religion. Knock me over with a spoon... religion? The danger, apparently, was twofold. First the gods themselves. Yes, gods plural, and no — it wouldn't elaborate beyond telling me that the gods had been imprisoned in the sun five millennia ago. If they were gods, what had the power to do that, for god's sake? I laughed hysterically for a couple of minutes after reading that. I'd always been somewhat skeptical about religion, but I hadn't rejected it outright. I just didn't know what to think — it was one subject my parents had never mentioned so much as once. I managed to learn that Alex, my father, came from a strict Catholic home, and bore a great deal of ill will towards anything religious. Mom was more opaque on the subject, and I'd never been interested enough to actually ask. I'd only seen the inside of a church in movies. But to read, in an undeniably magic book, that there were gods, and that they were imprisoned... skeptic or not, it sort of shook my world. If not quite as much as the existence of magic did.

The gods were dangerous, because imprisoned or not, they still possessed power beyond reckoning, and could be reached with the correct rituals. I was warned that doing so would not be wise. The second aspect to the danger religion posed was those individuals and orders that had pledged themselves to the gods and channeled their powers. Some were benign, but several were apocalyptic or merely insane. Presumably reflecting their patrons. After millennia of jail time, I suppose I wouldn't feel too kindly inclined towards anything and anyone free, either. I had trouble enough with boredom while masticating.

Beyond this were the demons — not from hell, of which there was no mention — but the general name for anything from another dimension. The book admitted that it did not contain information that would directly permit passage between dimensions, nor did it contain any information on the nature of existence. The indirect means to travel between dimensions lay in the circle of spirit. It directed me to another text, the Eidola Incarnate, if I wished to investigate further, and indicated that there were copies of the text within the elemental courts and others in the possession of wizards.

Wizards; I wasn't too eager to make contact with them. Supposedly, about three thousand years ago, the organization to which all wizards had belonged by force of law had shattered, most of its members perishing in a desperate war to stop an invasion of demons. Since then, the elemental courts had acted in unison, despite their incessant bickering, to prevent the formation of another such organization. So nowadays there were lone wizards, small groups and cabals, and hidden societies. There was no predicting what their reactions would be, beyond basing them upon the foundations of humanity in general, which meant that they would probably not react in a favorable manner.

It seems that while supernatural forces are no longer actively hunting down wizards, it was not a safe occupation. North Korean peasants had a better life expectancy than a wizard who didn't take security seriously.

Magical artifacts were another deadly danger to a novice. The book of wizardry was one of the old teaching tools, but almost every other enchanted item was protected in some way. Wizards in general were paranoid, and cultists were even worse. Wizard's first rule — if it's magical, don't touch it.

Beyond dimensional travel, there were other things the book did not contain. The arts of divination were contained in the Book of Omens. Transportation spells were forbidden knowledge for some reason the book would not divulge. Knowledge of battle magic was taught by the Codex of Yarim and Aluthia's Analects, contained in magical gems or weapons, or the warscepters that were the personal regalia and status marker of the archwizards of old. The circle of energy manipulation contained some useful things, but if it came to a serious fight, I was basically cooked.

Waking up, the first thing I did was repeat the firefinger cantrip. I watched the flames fountain, licked my lips, and was alternately afraid and elated. This was serious shit. I'd never before faced any real problems in my life. I was lucky that way, and well did I realize it. Rich parents who were good people, serious smarts, reasonable health (barring allergies)... life was basically good. If I was too moral to seduce a girl I didn't much care about, that was my fault. Yes, still a virgin. A year ago, I'd decided to take care of it. I was a geek, but I was a good looking — if relatively short — smart, and rich geek. I had plenty of self-confidence, too.

I found a nice looking girl, made sure she was single, asked her out, kept dating and entertaining for a couple of weeks, and had her naked in bed in short order. She was reluctant to go through, though I'm not certain how much of that was genuine, but I could have pressured her... easily. If not then, the next time, or the next one after that. I had condoms ready and all. But it felt... I don't know, empty. I wanted to get my rocks off, and nothing more. Oh, I had no intention of dumping her immediately, or even at all. I'd picked her as seducible and pretty, and for no other reason. I didn't particularly enjoy her company. We had no interests in common. Saying the 'love' thing made my throat twist. She was pleasant enough, if far from brilliant, tiny, dark-haired and somewhat plump, with spectacular breasts and a cute face. Fuck-worthy, as any testosterone laden teen would say, and certainly not a girl you'd kick out of bed.

But that's basically what I did. I felt nothing for her, and just couldn't go through with it. I managed to avoid her for a week, and we broke it up amicably enough. Call me stupid. I certainly did, plenty of times, as I masturbated a minimum of twice a day. Stupid romance books, infecting me with the need for that elusive 'spark'. Stupid fantasy books, infecting me with the do-gooder syndrome. I really hoped I'd meet someone who attracted me for a reason other than aesthetics, or rather, in addition to her appearance, next year — and it had to be next year at the earliest, because the months of summer were suddenly filled. No, overfilled — I still had my jobs and money business to take care of.

Thinking of work, I rolled out of bed, put on a pair of shorts (I sleep in underwear), slipped my feet into my comfortable old slippers and hurried to the computer room. Or began hurrying, rather... I caught the doorjamb and spun, running right back. I opened the book, and asked, "Do bullets work on elementals and demons? Can I lose you?"

Bullets will work on most demons, but will not harm elementals. A transmutation of the seventh order can enchant bullets against all elementals other than spirit creatures. Spirit spells of the second circle are required to harm such beings, and bullets will be of no use against them.

Scrolling down, new words appeared.

This book cannot be stolen or lost. You will always find it when you look for it.

"Damn!" I said out loud, "one hell of a spell. Hmmm," I considered for a moment, and added another question, "how do I create new spells?"

The information is not contained in this tome. There is no one single comprehensive review of spell research techniques, rather several thousand journals and academic texts exist. Only archwizards may try to research new spells with realistic chances of success and survival. An isolated location is recommended.

So much for that idea. Still, bullets would work on most demons, wizards and religious fanatics. That was better than nothing. I'd move a shotgun to my room, and start carrying a pistol when outside. Better than nothing. We're not firearm mad, but neither are we gun-shy. Most burglars and robbers carry, so it behooved us to be acquire the minimum capacity to protect ourselves. The police, afterwards, just aren't enough. Ellen, my mother, is the one who'd insisted on us having weapons at home. As a former prosecutor and judge, she saw too much scum, and the police recommended as much. We'd all been trained, and I was a fairly good shot. One of the things a student of wizardry must learn is absolute control over his own physical functions, so before long I'd probably be a crack shot.

Still thinking about guns, I walked into the computer room. It wasn't much of a room — more a large closet, brimful of computer equipment and flats-screens, with a single exceedingly comfortable (and expensive) manager-type chair.

Computers are another hobby of mine. Like everyone younger than 20, I grew up with them. When other kids were watching TV, the electronic babysitter, I was reading or playing on the computer — or programming. My parents sent me to private lessons on computer programming when I was in second grade, after I whined too much over piano lessons. Like swimming and martial arts, it was something you tried on your kid. Though I'm probably being uncharitable... they meant well, and most things took. By the time they got down the list to soccer and dance, my schedule was mostly full. Come to think of it... dance. Good place to meet girls out of school. Bears thinking on, certainly, but not now.

Now was the time to check my e-mail and document taps. My parents would absolutely explode if they ever found out, but I'm basically a criminal, an electronic pirate. I took three part time jobs in three different computer labs under three different identities as a software engineer, not for the admittedly nice pay, but for the chance to plant backdoors. I'd had to give up one job, the least useful, because I was running out of free time, but I was basically making out like a bandit. The real moneymakers were the stock and exchange markets. If you knew what was coming up, you had a license to print money, assuming you knew what the ramifications were and how the investors, blind herd of buffalo that they were, would react.

When I wanted to start college early, my parents were co-operative, but they insisted on remote learning, and I'd just finished the second year of a bachelor's degree in mathematics and economics. It was that old promise I'd had to make, that I'd finish high school. My father insisted on extracting it when he loaned me $10,000 when I was twelve, for the express purpose of playing the market. I still haven't managed to figure out the reason behind it. But I definitely had the education required to take advantage of the information I managed to sift from the dross, though I probably would have made out well even without it — or so I'd like to think, at least. If you don't cheat, you're not really playing. Those are the rules in the world of sharks.

There was nothing new, but the calendar program was flashing. It was time to pick out a position on ActiTron, as the substantially improved results and new contracts were to be announced this weekend. I sent the buy order after taking another look at things, and then checked the daily To Do list. There were a couple of programming jobs to work on, but they weren't flagged with bonus for an early finish, and there were four days on the deadline. If I managed the magical tricks that allowed for reduced need for sleep, sharpened concentration and perfect recall, I'd finish them in a snap, especially since I'd mapped everything on the projects out yesterday morning.

Damn, but as soon as I stopped concentrating, it hit me. A black hole in my stomach, a wave of weakness and blurred vision accompanied by the shocked understanding of what using magic and drawing upon my body's energy really meant. I was going to have to stuff myself like a bear preparing for hibernation, each and every day. The more you use it, the better you get, so I was going to cast as many spells as I could, and with the need to study, work, play and replenish energy — the time demands and sheer amount of food I'd have to consume meant that there was no chance of enjoying my cooking... and five take-out orders a day would be suspicious. Not to mention silly.

After eating so much that even I had trouble believing it, I decided to take care of the food situation first thing. There was plenty of room in the fridge and freezer, and while I like variety it seemed that quantity and nutritive value were far more important. I prepared three huge takeaway orders, from Chinese, Indian and Thai restaurants, things I could toss in the microwave later, and used the internet to order in a humongous amount of groceries and frozen things. Perhaps I was being overly optimistic, but that much food really should keep me functioning for at least a week. Taking another look at the orders, I bit my lip and shook my head. I'd just spent nearly a $1000 on food, which I expected to last me for no more than a week. How did poor student wizards survive? Well, perhaps they rationed the use of power, or used the spells they learned practically — as in, to steal or make money legitimately. Come to think of it, the tiniest bit of telekinesis would take care of dice or roulette gambling, and easily, so long as it was accomplished circumspectly. It might... no almost certainly could influence gambling machines and ATMs.