Chapter 10: She Fell from the Void

Wait. Before, in the dean’s office, the only text on the page was READER BEWARE.

Bewildered, I took a closer look at the page. Securing the flap on the envelope was a thin, red wax seal embossed with the same symbol as the dedication.

I don’t remember this fancy seal. Wasn’t the envelope open? I mean, not open, but definitely not sealed.

I paused, turned off the app light, and sat in the dark, reviewing my thoughts. When I leafed through the pages earlier, I was highly paranoid, possibly drugged, and full of curiosity. Considering all those factors, I concluded that I was misremembering. The text and seal had to have been there.

I brushed away the confusion, turned on the cell light, and repositioned it back over the page. Despite the gimmicky fun, I ignored breaking the seal and continued reading. But when I tried, somehow I couldn’t turn the page.

What gives? I know, one hundred percent, that I’ve looked past this point at least twice, and I even caught my friends flipping through it. Why can’t I turn the pages now? Magnets?

Again, I attempted to pry the book open. I rubbed my fingers along several spots beyond the page with the seal. Nope, the pages felt stuck together. I rotated the heavy volume several times looking for clues—thin magnets, a device, something, anything to explain why it wouldn’t open.

The book’s creator went above and beyond to make reading Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users a real interactive experience.

I distinctly recalled initially browsing from back to front, then randomly somewhere in the middle. Color this mystery solved.

Following my hunch, I slowly scrutinized the accessible pages for something that could have activated the unturnable pages. Sadly, my search ended in disappointment.

Okay. I liked to pride myself on being a puzzle master, but this li’l hindrance stumped me. So I decided to give in to the best course of action and follow the damn instructions.

Besides, I was interested in seeing this play out. Maybe there was a hidden button under the seal.

I set the book squarely back in my lap, turned to the seal’s location, and hovered my thumb over it.

Ha. Let’s see what happens.

I pressed my thumb into the red seal, expecting to feel a button underneath.

“Ouch.”

I immediately jerked my thumb back and examined it. A small trickle of blood pooled on the surface of my skin. I instinctively placed my thumb on my lips and lightly sucked the blood away.

I then used my fingernail to brush away the crumbled remains of the wax seal. Fortunately, my blood hadn’t gotten on the book, but I couldn’t find a button or whatever the hell had poked me. No matter. I was still curious to see if the pages were released. They weren’t, probably because I hadn’t followed the instructions. There were two more steps that I had to perform.

“Open the envelope.”

I lifted the flap. A white card was inside.

“Read the card.”

I pulled the card out and lifted it close to my face to read the tiny, embossed words.

“‘One to open to the many, and many to open to the multitude. —T’nio P. Evas'”

Interestingly, the author signed his strange quote but didn’t add an author page to the book. I didn’t understand it. I guessed it would make more sense once I read more. So, I completed the steps. Could I continue reading? Had conforming to the instructions worked?

Checking, I easily shuffled the edges of the pages under my thumb. Admittedly, it felt somewhat neat. Frustrating, because I couldn’t figure it out, but neat. I wondered what other surprises the book had within its pages.

Snap and crunch echoed in the distance.

I instinctively swiveled my cell’s light into the darkness and scoured the area. It sounded like someone walking out there in the woods.

It better not be any of my friends, slithered into my thoughts.

Even though I had let my anger go, I hadn’t forgiven them, and I especially had no interest in talking to them yet.

“Who’s out there? If it’s any of my so-called friends, go away,” I icily shouted into the night.

I felt myself getting upset again. Then, in one of those little life coincidences, a cool breeze flowed across the area; it reminded me to stay calm. Although my search yielded nothing, I noticed the branches flapping more vigorously. The leaves and twigs had rustled too. I shifted my eyes toward the night sky. Dark clouds had rolled over—a storm was coming.

Maybe it was time to pack it in, head home, and sleep. But I couldn’t sleep because I still hadn’t thought of my sociology project. And besides, I wasn’t ready to return, so I decided to wait until the rain started. Hell, maybe it wouldn’t come.

I returned my attention and the light back to Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users. But before I could see what was on the next page, a strong wind pushed through, causing the pages to flip forward and flutter. I slapped my hand down into the book to hold the pages still. Then, after the gust faded, I removed my hand.

“What’s this? ‘A Spellcaster’s Steadfast Companion.'”

I laughed so hard that it made my stomach hurt. I exiled myself to escape from my friends, and here I am, looking at a chapter on companions. There was no escaping it.

I began reading the text half-heartedly, but after consuming a page or so, I realized I was drinking the Kool-Aid of its narrative. Companions were painted as having your back, being loyal, and being shields against loneliness or depression. But the essential pillar of their existence resided in their immeasurable support against adversaries and the world’s tribulations.

“The power of friendship,” I sarcastically whispered.

In The Lords of Omni, I chose a familiar over a companion. Companions were risky. They possessed free will, which could be troublesome and annoying, to say the least. Instead, my familiar served as a utility.

Get in, get out, and go away.

But then I visualized Myles and Gene, who played with companions. They were usually more jokey, spirited, and overall happier when their companions joined us on a quest. Personally, I found their companions a nuisance, but there was no denying the joy it added to my friends’ game.

Maybe I should explore having a companion.

Using The Awakening to create a companion was noted as one of the most accessible spells in the guidebook.

The key to that simplicity read, “All people, even more so for magic users, were born with a dormant but ceaseless desire for companionship. That craving, if tapped into properly, makes manifesting the most compatible companion simple.”

“Manifesting Your Companion” was the following paragraph’s header. It delved into what I had summed up as the character creation process. Pen and paper typically worked for me, but trying this method would definitely be more visual than writing text.

Sometimes, while reading, I quietly read aloud when I discovered a mesmerizing part. I liked hearing the words. It intensified the experience, so I subtly slipped out the words. First in a whisper, then naturally rising to a soft and soothing tone.

“‘Close your eyes. Let your mind flow. It will be chaotic. But be patient. Wait until it fades away and there is stillness. Once you feel a floating sensation, you will know you are in the Void. It’s okay to recognize your feelings, but don’t stay with them. Let them wash away. After a short period, the shape of your companion will form from the Void. Once you identify the form, say, “I am Awakening,” and open your eyes.'”

After that point, I would write down the traits of my new companion. The process sounded easy enough and very much like meditation. That was one of the advantages of having a New Age mother; she taught me the value of meditation—mental training—and yoga—physical training—at an early age.

First, I placed my cell in the book as a weight in case the wind kicked up again. Then I relaxed and closed my eyes. After that, I sat in darkness, aware of the wind touching my skin and the sounds of fluttering leaves, but as forewarned, my thoughts made a maddening dash through me.

The burden of the day, the silliness of what I was doing, and the woes of just being myself thrashed around, but I ignored them. I allowed them to exist, but I didn’t interact with them. After a while, I neither felt nor heard any signs of the physical world, and my mind was calm and quiet.

Is this stillness?

I didn’t wait long for the answer. Soon, I felt weightless, like hovering over another plane of existence. I knew this was what the book described. Excitement welled in me, but I let it fade, as I had done earlier with my thoughts.

I can’t describe how long I just existed there; it seemed like I had faded away. It wasn’t until the shapes started forming in the Void that I had a thought.

Nightshade and Shellie Allaire.

For some reason, it felt difficult to move my lips, and when I finally spoke, the words tumbled out in slow motion: “I am Awakening.”

Then, as I opened my eyes, it was like being snapped into my body. All my five senses boomed at me as if the intensity dialed up to times ten.

I jumped off the rock, screaming, holding my ears. My eyes were pulsating. Then, suddenly, everything returned to normal. I dropped my hands to my knees, winded and achy. I looked over at the sitting stones, and Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users was lying on its edge, slumped against the rock.

What the hell? I’ve been meditating for years and have never experienced anything like that.

Before I could catch my breath, the rain started to pour. I quickly snatched my book off the ground, taking the time to seal the latches. Then I huddled down and pulled the book close to my body to protect it from getting wet. A burning headache still overwhelmed me, but I bolted through the woods to escape the torrential weather.

Racing to get home, I heard something ripping through the trees, and it sounded as if it was closing in on me.

The snapping of large branches overhead jolted me and made me stop. From the sounds of the accompanying debris, I knew something heavy and fast was about to come crashing down.

A booming thud fell short of me by a few inches.

What laid at my feet made me gasp and seemed utterly crazy. Rain pelted at the skin of a fully nude woman who had fallen from the trees. Her body twisted among scattered branches, and her long, raven-black hair completely obscured her face. Yet, miraculously, I saw no visible wounds or scrapes from the impact.

I dropped my book and knelt to her side, unconcerned with the mystery and more worried if she was still alive. I took her limp wrist and tried to check for a pulse, but the downpour made the task difficult. I paused for a second and gently moved her hair to check for breathing—any signs of life.

After I brushed her hair away and gazed at her face, I immediately fell dumbstruck because I knew this woman. Seeing her defied nature. She died when I was a child, but there she was, unconscious and looking exactly the way I remembered her.

This couldn’t be her, could it?

“Shellie?”

Almost as if she heard me say her name, the woman opened her eyes; they were glowing and stared directly at me.

Hyperventilating, I fell back onto the drenched ground and kicked away from her, digging my heels and hands into the mud. Horror held my breathing captive.