The Book Of Dreams - Vol. IV
asanetargoss
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The Book Of Dreams - Vol. IV
by asanetargoss
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desires without my intervention, and from then, only a matter of time until my desires truly become your own."
With the weight of all my hopelessness, my ability to struggle against the nightmare collapses. The fear of the nightmare becomes real and
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inescapable. The Book is just like the man in the dream; it points at the inherent failure of my struggle, promising that I will become its slave. I am doomed to be naive of the Book's methods... but perhaps I may at least know its motives. It will
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likely do me no good – the knowledge of its plans will make me only more aware of its superior genius – but I can at least seek out the knowledge as an exercise in futility.
"What would motivate the Book to make me have that nightmare?" I
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wonder aloud.
Dan pushes his chair back, stands up, and lifts his plate. "I think that if I am going to make any progress with reducing the book's influence on you, that is one of the questions that will need to be answered."
At this point, I
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doubt that reducing the Book's influence is even possible. On the other hand, Dan seems so certain of his proposition... What could he possibly know that would help me?
I pick up my plate and follow Dan to the sink. That wasn't the only dream I had
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last night, was it? There was another, more peculiar dream. It wasn't exactly a nightmare, but it seemed to be a continuation of another, much more frightening dream, a dream where I fell into the void and felt its flames. The dream began in a
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library. There was a very old book that mentioned the WOC.
Dan sets his plate upon the counter, then starts to pump the wooden lever of the sink.
"I had another dream last night," I add.
A tiny stream of water begins to flow out from the faucet in
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spurts. I can hear the water's dripping echo as it enters the tub. "What sort of dream?" he asks.
"I'm not sure. I thought it was going to be a nightmare, but nothing happened. Well, at least, nothing scary happened. I was in a library, walking around,
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when I found an old book. It talked about crafting and the WOC. On the blank pages, a magician had written some harsh criticisms about the WOC. I'm not sure whether or not they're true... What do you know about the WOC?"
Dan is thoroughly scrubbing his
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plate with a yellow sponge. A firmness arrives to his jaw. "A bunch of pig-kissing scum, the lot of them," He replies, a sarcastic joy tapering off from his tone. "They'll yield to any politician that shakes their hand. But then again, I'm probably not
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the best person to ask." He sets his plate aside and steps away from the sink.
I submerge my plate into the tub of warm water and take the sponge from Dan. "What do you mean? What is it about the WOC and politics?"
"They try too hard to maintain their
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public image. If given a choice between supporting a radical new technology, and maintaining the status quo, they will always go with the latter."
I continue scrubbing. Dan's description sounds familiar. "It's interesting that you mention that. I
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remember the magician writing something similar about how the WOC is afraid of progress."
"Well, that isn't quite right. It's not that the WOC is afraid of progress in itself. I doubt the WOC would have any issue with, say, another dye for wool, or a
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new redstone gate. What they're more afraid of are altogether new technologies, especially if they clash significantly with cultural norms. The WOC was worried about enchantment, not too long ago. They feared that there would be no way to
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know how many enchantments exist, and that rare, powerful ones could be used to terrorize society."
I place my plate on top of Dan's, then step away from the sink, handing the sponge to Jonas. The WOC is probably the reason why void magic is
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illegal. That may explain why Dan despises them so much. "It seems like the WOC wouldn't think too favorably of magicians like you."
"No, most certainly not."
"Has the WOC ever tried to hunt you down?"
"Hunt me down?"
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Dan reacts with surprise. "No... I don't see how the WOC could do that. They don't have that kind of power."
"That's strange. I remember the magician saying something about how the WOC was waiting at his doorstep."
"I'm not sure why
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that is so."
Jonas places his clean plate upon our stack of plates. I start picking up the silverware.
"Perhaps it was just a dream, then," I reason, "or perhaps the magician was just crazy."
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Chapter 33: Qualia
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"I'm afraid you aren't going like what's about to happen," Dan admits,
sitting upon a stool, his hand resting upon a large, leather-bound tome.
The sole word "Qualia" is engraved into its binding.
We are back at the bottom of the great obsidian room.
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This time, Dan has halted the influence of the ward on the Book as well. I can feel its pressure within my back pocket. On the tables, most of the brewing stands are filled with vials of variably colored fluids, emanating grey smoke.
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"Will 'what's about to happen' involve ingesting various forms of potentially hazardous liquids?" I ask, still wary of the substances I encountered the last time Dan brought me here.
"Potentially hazardous? No. Some will taste quite
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bitter, though."
"Oh, joy..." I try not to think of what the various forms of potentially disgusting liquids will taste like. "I can't wait."
"Neither can I," Dan adds with a reserved smirk. He gazes blankly for a moment in thought, then stands up
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from his stool, and walks toward the left wall. He picks up a steaming vial gingerly from its rim; the liquid dancing in the glass is a dark, opaque purple. He tilts the vial in a circular motion to cool it off, then, to my surprise, lifts it to his own
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mouth to drink, pinching his nose as he capsizes the vial.
Dan then hovers the vial above the brewing table, but drops it prematurely as he lets out a sickly grunt. He clasps his hands upon his face, the intensity of his grimace on the border of
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disgust and pain. His back is hunched now. Is he choking?
"Are you alright?" I cry out, standing up from my stool.
Dan waves his hand slowly in dismissal. "I'm fine, ahh..." His hands migrate to the silver hair under his hood and clench at the scalp.
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"It will pass. None of your potions are quite as vile, I assure..." Dan lets out a groan of pain. With effort, he braces his weight against the table. He tilts his head in a futile attempt to escape the pain.
After a moment of bracing and
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heavy breathing, Dan sighs in resistance, and stands up silently. He sets the fallen vial upright, picks up another potion by its rim, and walks back to the center table. He tilts the potion in a circular motion, places the potion in front of me, then
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returns to his stool. This potion contains a transparent, teal liquid.
"What just happened?" I ask, concerned for Dan but also nervous of what the potion will do to me.
Dan turns open the tome and flips through its
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pages, his eyes flitting from one side to another. "I ingested that potion to increase my magic pool. The spells I intend to cast are quite costly."
"I thought you said that the potions aren't hazardous."
"I was referring to your potions, not
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mine," Dan clarifies, as his fingers trace the tiny text. He glances up at me for a moment before bending his head over the tome again, flipping through its pages. "Please drink it at once. The effects of my potion won't last long, and I will need the
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effects of both potions in order to cast this spell."
I behold the potion one last time, wary of what effects hide within the teal liquid, before lifting it to my lips. It is quite bitter, but far more bearable than I had anticipated. I feel the warm
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liquid sink down my throat and into my stomach. As I monitor its presence, I hope to Notch that whatever magical ingredients now inside of me do not cause intense pain. As the seconds pass, I feel nothing unusual. I wonder what Dan was
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trying to warn me about.
"Why do you say that I won't like what's about to happen?"
I watch Dan settle upon one thin slice of the thick brick of pages. He neatly moves it to the side and begins to read.
"It's the spell, isn't it?"
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"The spell is also harmless," Dan states vaguely. "At least, it is harmless in and of itself. They all are. However, some of the experiences that the spells create could provoke an emotional response. They could be extremely sad, unpleasant, or
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possibly even terrifying. It's hard to say how you will react, mentally and physically."
"Physically?" Now I wonder if the pain I've anticipated is not so far off after all.
"Well, you may act out in response to what you see. I don't have time to go
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into any more details, though. The bottom line is that I am trying to provoke the book, in order to understand its motivation. Now, let us begin..." Dan clears his throat with a raspy exhale.
"You're going to try to provoke the Book?" My heart
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begins to speed up, as Dan's magical dialect begins to echo in my ears. I feel like he's ignoring me. "You better know what you're doing. I've had too many bad experiences with the Book already."
The spell continues without pause. Dan's brows are
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locked in concentration.
My arm reaches behind my back and brings the Book in front of me; its open page is filled with script as the two competing voices in my head cancel in interference. "How dare you treat me as a mere
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inconvenience! It is a disgrace when compared to the level of trust that we have placed in one other. You know without a doubt that I have done so much to help you. The least you could do is be grateful, rather than make up stories about all these
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'bad experiences' you've never had."
The guilt of my denial becomes clear and painful. The worst part is that the Book is right about all of it.
Just as Dan's voice begins to strengthen in my ears, and between the moments where the words on the page
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have faded and new words are written to replace them, my vision begins to spin and flash. A sound like a stormy wind deafens me, and I am thrust into empty space.
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I am back at my house, standing in the foyer. I am happy
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to be home, and relieved to be finished after a long day at the corral with Jonas. The dry warmth of the faintly oak-smelling air is the perfect luxury after running through the cold, autumn air. I walk towards the side room, relishing every step, in
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preparation to rest in one of the chairs.
My muscles sink in relief as I sit down. I have the weak feeling that there should be something in my back pocket, but when I reach inside of it, I feel nothing but the burlap fabric. I recall that whatever
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used to be in my back pocket represented some business I needed to attend to. Now that it's gone, the business it represented must have been taken care of.
I sigh as I look back upon my day. Somehow the details seem fuzzy, but I feel
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especially comfortable right now. I absorb the familiarity of my surroundings. In front of me is a small, square table with four chairs, all made of oak wood. One of these chairs, the closest to the foyer, I am sitting in. In my line of sight is a
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torch upon the table, followed by a chair, and beyond that a shelf, containing many month's worth of almanacs, various nonfiction books, and kitchen supplies. Below the shelves are closed drawers. To my right is a window, through which the lit windows
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of other homes can be seen. To my left is a sink, a stone counter, and a furnace.
I begin to consider plans for the rest of the night, thoughts which also seem fuzzy. I wonder why my thoughts are so disconnected, until I realize that this
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world does not exist. My body tumbles into a silver atmosphere, every part of me submerged in an unbearable heat; the world itself seems to burn around me, every perception and memory fuel for the flame. Then, the void, like my home, ceases to
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exist.
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My senses emerge from blindness into Dan's great room. The Book projects giddy relief.
"Fristad, I thought that I had lost you. I returned to the void, exposed to its all-consuming acid. I thought I would be
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trapped there forever. Thank Notch that it is not so."
I feel shock at the prospect of sharing my mind with the Book once more, longing for the solace of being alone at home. However, I suppress this idea, preferring to give it up than succumb to the
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Book's vindictive guilt. I pretend to be happy to see the Book again.
"What did you experience?" Dan asks, ending my train of thought.
"I was at my house. I went and sat in the chair. At the very end, I was burning in that
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Notch-forsaken void," I articulate the last word, 'void,' with difficulty. It now has an added weight on my tongue.
"Hmm..." Dan contemplates for a second. "That is a relatively predictable response. Let's move on, then."
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"Wait, that's it? I just felt the effects of incredibly painful, soul-shredding flames, and you say we're going to move on? Don't you think excruciating pain like that is noteworthy?"
"Given the fact that the book has likely spent thousands of years
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in the void, no."
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The process is repeated many times. Dan and I each drink a potion, and then Dan recites a spell. Unlike the first spell, the following experiences are consistent between the Book and I. We experience
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nature in its many forms, from forests and deserts to caves and oceans. Then, we are thrust into a variety of other worlds, from a cavern of lava and scarlet stone, whose heat makes me certain that it is the Nether, to an island of sandy clouds, to an
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ether of red shadows, to yet other things that I am incapable of describing. None of the environments seem to incite an emotional response in either of us, although they are all quite beautiful.
I drink another potion. This time, it
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is a milky white. Since the first potion, Dan has consistently drunk a translucent orange potion, without suffering any visible signs of pain. He drinks the same potion now.
Once again, Dan recites a spell, his voice reverberating off of unseen
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walls of magical energy. I wait as my senses fail me, plunging me into another world.
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Immediately, I feel a sense of uneasiness. It is cold and dark. As my eyes adjust, I observe that I am surrounded by a dense crowd
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of trees. It is completely silent. The moonlight rests faintly on the grass like a ghost.
I am dressed lightly for the weather and the circumstance. I wear only a shirt, pants, and shoes. There is no satchel hanging from my shoulder, no
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sword hanging from my waist, and no armor to protect me from the monsters that could be hiding behind any one of the nearby trees. They could ambush me at any moment.
I listen carefully for any sound of movement, wary that rushing to escape
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will only make me an easy target.
For a while, there is nothing but silence. Then I feel my shoulders jump as a twig snaps behind me. I crane my neck around.
Please let it be a stray chicken. I strain my neck to keep an eye on all
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the gaps between the trees where the sound may have come from. My heart jumps as I hear loud footsteps in front of me. I swing my neck around and lock eyes with a creeper, two meters away. It is even more terrifying in the dim black and white. Its
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permanent scowl mirrors the tragedy of my fate. Its beady eyes barely shine in the moonlight. It is too late to escape. I hear it begin to hiss.
Then the illusion ends, only to be replaced by another. I am in a dimly lit library. Facing me is a man in
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a full body cloak, not just any man, but one capable of great magical power. I try to focus on his face, but it is fleeting and blurred, like an incomplete memory. Somehow the magician terrifies me even more than the creeper. I am afraid of not just the
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abrupt end of my life, but a fate worse than death.
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Finally, that frightening illusion ends as well. Dan appears in my vision once more. He seems to be worried, aware that this illusion was different from the others.
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"What did you experience this time?" Dan asks with a tone of sincerity.
"I was standing in a dense forest, where I was ambushed by a creeper. Afterwards, I saw a magician in a library."
"A magician?" Dan raises an eyebrow. "What did they
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look like?"
"I didn't see much. All I saw was that the magician was wearing a long, hooded robe, but..."
As I look into Dan's eyes, I notice something distinct about him, the same distinct feeling that I experienced in the presence of the
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magician in the illusion.
"...I could almost swear that the magician I saw was you."
At those words, Dan's face turns pale.
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Chapter 34: Nobody's on Trial Here
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What was that feeling I felt, in that short illusion? The distinct
feeling ricocheted into my memories as if I had never experienced it to
begin with; somehow the memory continued to construct itself after the
illusion had ended, before being covered
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under the fog of the past.
I subject the memory to a cognitive interrogation. Why was it that the distinct feeling made me so afraid? What was I afraid of? Where did the feeling come from? How did I become aware of that distinct feeling in
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the first place?
The confusing barrier, which prevents me from satisfying that last question, was the feeling's lack of a connection to any distinct physical sense or any concrete thought. The distinct feeling was a solitary
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idea, an emotion without a purpose. It could have been, according to the title of Dan's spellbook, a qualia. Perhaps that is why I was afraid?
That still doesn't explain why I briefly felt that same feeling when I began looking into Dan's eyes.
Dan's
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face has recovered from a white paste to his unusually-pale-yet-healthy complexion. He leans forward over the table as if to say something, his extended palms held flat upon the wood surface as his wrists bend his draped arms upward. His blue
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eyes cast a silver sheen which travels from one iris to another. I am struck with the suspicion that he is peering deep inside of me, a terrible guilt that he is sifting for sins which I have tried so hard to keep secret. It is a just punishment for my
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terrible ways. As he breaks eye contact, I feel my shoulders slump down a little in relief. An ignored knot in my neck subsides.
Dan's brows slump in confusion and intrigue for a moment, before they are nullified by Dan's neutral, skeptical
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tone. "What makes you so sure that the magician you saw was me?"
I doubt myself as I recall the lack of clarity in the magician's face, the contrast of the firm knowledge of seeing the eyes, nose, and mouth, with the lack of knowledge about
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their appearance. Still, it's difficult to disregard that distinct feeling that I felt, looking at Dan, at that one moment. "Somehow, when I looked into your eyes, I felt the same sensation that I did when I looked at that magician in the illusion.
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It's difficult to explain the feeling. I suppose you'd call it a qualia."
Dan leans back again. "A quale, you mean?" He briefly shakes his head. "I'm not so certain that a quale alone could explain the connection between the magician in your vision and
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I. It's just... too specific."
"What do you mean?"
"A single quale would not be enough identify me. Qualia aren't even thoughts, but empty molds upon which thoughts may grow. I especially can't find any reason why the quale that I
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induced would be connected to me."
"Why not? What was it?"
"It was the quale of fear."
I feel the temperature of my face drop a few degrees as well. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would I be afraid of
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you? I've just met you."
"You're right; it doesn't make sense. The only good explanation would be that the book was responsible. Exactly where that line of reasoning leads, I don't know, but every possible turn seems foul..." Dan stands
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up from his stool. His lips stretch in a slight grin. "Of course, that's assuming that the magician you saw in the dream was me, which I highly doubt."
The Book's voice rises up again. I feel its restrained suspicion. "It seems that Dan is hiding
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something from us. Don't you find it odd whenever Dan smiles like that? That same grin was on his face when he offered to enchant the armor for you, and yet again when he said that he didn't get any sleep last night."
That's unusual. I don't think I've
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ever heard the Book utter words so specific. I contemplate those events for a moment. I suppose it is a bit strange that Dan would smile in those situations. At the same time, perhaps he simply enjoys talking about magic. Actually, now that
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I think about it, Dan could have easily smiled before the enchantment as a matter of benevolence.... but that's not the only reason he smiled, was it?
I remember that moment in the enchantment room, right after Dan
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put an arm on my shoulder, at the very moment that I turned around. There was a silver glint in his eyes, wasn't there? That same silver glint made me feel that same burning, condemning guilt. Greyfeld was right.
"You were reading my mind, weren't
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you?" I slide my stool away from the table with my feet, and stand up to meet my eyes with Dan's horizon.
Dan's lids perk wider open. "What makes you think that?"
"I saw a silver sheen in your eyes, just a moment ago. The look gave me a nagging
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feeling of guilt, as if you were searching for something inside of me. I also know that you were reading my mind back in the enchantment room, right after you caught me."
"Well, you aren't wrong that I have searched through your thoughts, at
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one point or another," Dan admits, "although you should know that I haven't done so without good reason."
"Don't try to evade the question. You know exactly when you invaded my mind. So, tell me: why did you do it?" Part of me feels frustrated
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that the privacy of my mind has succumbed to another being. Yet another part of me feels exited from the thrill of the questioning, encouraged by the Book to press harder.
"Fristad, for your own safety, I simply cannot tell you
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when the mind-reading occurred, or my reasoning behind it. If I did, then the book could use that knowledge to its advantage."
"So it's only about the Book now, is it? It has nothing to do with you, how the intimate knowledge of
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another being might benefit you?" I smile as I cast a watchful gaze at this cloaked void magician. My heart races at the possibility of cornering Dan's logic, exposing his evil.
"Perhaps we should talk about this when you are less
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heated? We might as well eat some lunch." Without waiting for my response, Dan walks around the table and begins climbing the stone brick stairs behind me.
Wait, why is he leaving? How dare he ignore me again! "Fine, then. But keep in mind that
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avoiding the questions only makes you look more suspicious."
"Nobody's on trial here." Dan's voice echoes richly against the obsidian walls, along with his footsteps. He stops halfway between the bottom and the first level, and leans
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his head over the unprotected inner edge, looking down at me. He beckons with his hand. "Come on, aren't you hungry?"
I sigh in exacerbation. As I walk toward the stairs, I become aware of my shriveled stomach releasing small
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jolts of pain. My mind feels tired, finally responding to the toll of creating so many worlds. As my foot falls upon the first stone brick slab, and then the next few dozen, I look down upon Dan's crafting room. Our short, birch stools stand slanted.
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Some empty vials lay upon the right edge of the table. A few vials, filled with strangely colored liquids, still rest within the brewing stands, although the steam and grey smoke has since ceased.
I turn my head the other way, and see shelves crammed
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with books, chests, jars, and artifacts. The sheer amount of books makes me unusually joyful. There are so many. The amount of information that they contain must be humbling. Wouldn't it be wonderful to read all of them?
"Hey Dan, how is it
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that you have so many books?" I ask.
"Time," he answers briefly.
I wonder exactly how long, but I've probably asked too many questions at this point.
After many flights of stairs, past many levels of wooden flooring, we
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arrive at the top, where an obsidian wall opens up to a stone passageway. Dan walks through the exit first. As I follow him into the narrow neck of stone, I feel as if I have exited a fog.
After a long moment of wandering down the hallway, we
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come back to the center room, where a book and quill sit upon a large table. We pass by the table, and enter the kitchen on the other side. Jonas is sitting at the dining table in the chair on the right, reading a book with a green binding. As we walk
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closer, I notice that the book is titled "The Diamond Factory." It's a dystopian fiction novel. I remember Jonas talking about it earlier.
"Hello, Jonas," Dan greets. "How was your morning?"
"It was swell. I miss the sheep, though.
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How did it go with Fristad and the book?"
"We made some good progress, actually," Dan replies with a dose of optimism.
"Is that so?"
"Yes. After some tests, I am relatively certain that the spirit influencing Fristad is indeed
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human."
The Book reacts with anger and shock.