Of Spellbooks and Thieves | SAMPLE

Prologue

12/2/T/xx-80

Someone once told me people are not to be judged by what they look like on the outside, for it is the heart that truly matters in the end.

He should have known this better than anyone as this lesson was a nightmare he lived. With scars that covered every inch of his body, and eyes that mirrored the look of a starving beast, he could be called a monster. Even so, I trusted him—as foolish as it may seem.

Pausing in his writing to look out the window, Tobias released a deep sigh. The last golden rays of sunlight streamed through the open curtains, painting the pages he wrote on a warm yellow. Black ink had smeared across his hand, and his fingers were starting to cramp. His chair at the desk had been comfortable when he first sat down, but now he couldn't stop shifting in it.

He had promised them a record of the events, but introductions were so frustratingly difficult. Once he got past the hard part, he knew the story would flow easily. It still sat at the forefront of his mind, even after all the years that had gone by.

He shook himself and tilted his head downward to face the scribbled words once more.

"Don't judge a book by its cover" is something we are often told, but the ones that tell us are usually the ones that ignore their own advice.

Maybe it is fear that drives us to make these choices. Maybe it is a cruelty we all deny we have. We think ourselves to be above things that are different and therefore look down upon those things. Is it, perhaps, our need to conquer? As humans, do we feel insignificant and require something to suppress this?

He stopped to stare at the words. Muttering to himself, he resisted the urge to tear the page into a million pieces and start all over again. The record had to be written, lest the whole ordeal happen again.

Whatever it may be, he wrote, I was challenged to see past it. I found allies within my enemies and enemies within my allies. That is the twisted way of life, is it not?

Ah, but my story does not have an exciting beginning like some do. It began just as any other day would: with clear, autumn skies—the season called Xenah in Calistie. My story started with a book I could not understand, a tree, and a woman I'd go so far as to call annoying.