The moment Fort Lasthall finally appeared at the far end of the dirt road, Jak halted with his barrow full of books.

For all his childhood, Jak had drifted from village to village. He’d slept beneath trees or in haylofts or sheltered ditches. He’d been a helper to a bootblack, a fetcher, and a costermonger, and all that before he was ten winters. He’d stayed in so many places, but he’d never thought them as home. His books were his only possessions, and with them he’d wandered.<. .>

So, the best place to start this story is probably the day after my friend "died". His name is not important, but you can call him Albest. He is kind of weird and stands on a fine line between pure stupidity and genius. If divine providence really exists in this world; Albest would be what happens when one such being had simply gave up in humanity and resorted to filling his entire personality with overused clichés and unhealthy obsessions. 

Albest had earned a living by weaseling it fro. . .