A Bewitching Rain 1

“P-Please. I am s-sorry. I beg of you to spare me,” he begged. “Please, spare me. I’ll do anything.”

The weak loved to beg. They always did. It never failed. Sage would be a liar if he said he hated this part. He loved the begging, could live off it. The cries of hopelessness and desperation as a person’s soul crumpled like ancient brick beneath his will gave him the ultimate high. Man. Woman. Child. High Lord or slave. Good or evil. He was no bigot. One person was no more important to him than the other. All would fall to his feet for no one would stand against the Dark Mage.

“Take m-my land. My wealth. Anything. You can have it all,” he cried. I’ve seven offspring. F-f-four are boys. They’ll serve you well.”

“Your daughters?” Sage’s deep voice rumbled beneath the hood of his cloak. He had no interest in the man’s whelp. He simply enjoyed hearing his victim’s agony as they willingly sacrificed their own blood and kin to save their pathetic excuse of a life.  

Lifting his head, St. Patrick peeked at the mage. “One is of age. You can take her. The other two have years before they are able to wed or produce, but you are free to them as well.” His eyes drifted back to the ground.

Completely pathetic. To betray your own children, serve them up on a slab to the big bad wolf in hopes to escape unharmed. Animals were better. Hell, Siti had been better than that. It didn’t matter. Mankind, both mortal and immortal, was all equally selfish. So easy to get whatever he desired from them. And Sage desired the world. It was such an easy object to grab since he possessed the power to destroy and person, army and kingdom with the blank of an eye. Only one item stood in his way. One dark magic spell. If the man suspected his weak human children could be of any gain he was sadly mistaken. 

Sage held his head high, the wind whipping at his cloak. Storm clouds rushed further with deadly winds, lightening that split the ground upon strike, and turned trees to ash. Behind him the village the cowering man was Lord of burned, fire raging, smoke rising to meet the clouds. An hour ago screams from the villagers, all the villagers, traveled far. Those screams were no longer, nor were the villagers. 

It was the fifth village Sage destroyed in three days. His desire to gain that spell boiled in his blood. He needed that spell the way that vampire sister of his needed to drank blood, the way she needed to be a constant pain in his ass. With each town he ravaged he was no closer to finding the key to reaching the spell. Why would his goddess put such a powerful spell out of his reach? She knew he needed it. He deserved it. No one worshipped her greater than he. Without him, she’d be just another weak goddess caving under the power of her king. But she wasn’t. Because he was Sage the Black Mage, and every village burned, every sacrifice, every spell casted was in her honor. Yet, it was she who prevented him from reaching the one weapon that could stop his mother, protect him and his family from all her manipulative ways. And he would stop his mother even if he had to destroy a thousand kingdoms over and over.

The problem was one of the layers guarding the spell was almost impossible to get through. How do you get around something when you don’t know what it is? It’s invisible to all sense yet tangible enough that he couldn’t even enter the room. No spell, charm, or ruin protected the area. He couldn’t open a portal on the other side, into the room. 

“How to pass what cannot be passed?” he mumbled. Ashes floated down like snowflakes landing on his beard.  “To see what cannot be seen? To gain what is protected?”

A his feet, St. Patrick stuttered, “se-seek out t-the p-pr-protector.”

Cold eyes burned into the man’s skull. “Repeat that.” 

St. Patrick stuttered his response. 

Yes. “That’s it.” Since he was unable to get to what was protected, he’d just have to get to the protector. Kill the protector. Gain the item. Simple. A raindrop smacked his cheek. Sage had enough of this game for today. He had more pressing matters to attend to. He would find the one who could help him achieve his endgame. 

Turning his back he stalked away. A wave of his hand opened a travel portal. He could just as easily whisk himself anywhere he wished, but Sage loved the convenience of a travel portal. It required no energy and hardly a speck of magic on his part. 

A sigh of relief escaped from his captive. Sage smirked wickedly beneath the hood of his cloak. He believed himself safe. His demised escaped. 

Not one for grandeur, all the time, a finger flick set Lord St. Patrick into a blaze of fire. His screams shattered that silence, but Sage heard nothing after he stepped through the portal in hopes of finding that which guards.

Sage loathed wooded areas. It didn’t matter how big or small the land. A park had too many trees. Villages hidden deep within a forest mountain was going overboard, and he burned them to the ground on general principle. Rumor had it that the tribe whom dwelled in the forest near Mt Paiute was guarded by spirits. Talk was that few tribe members were in contact with the other side. 

For all his power, his desire to win it all, there was one thing Sage did not and would not do and that was to be directly, personally involved with the other side. Spirits. Gods. Hecate was all the goddess he needed, thank you very much, and he was perfectly content with leaving their interactions down to sacrifices. 

What he wasn’t content with was the muddy snow mucking his boots, the uprooted roots tripping him, and the branches smacking him from all angels leaving scrapes and bruises, tattering his cloak, dumping piles of snow upon his head. He’d burn the entire stinking America to ground if not for the spirits that protected these lands. He knew all about vengeful spirits. His home had been protected by them as well, until his mother pissed one off and it almost costed a very young Sage his life, still immature in his power, to defeat it. He learned early that it would best to leave celestial beings in their own little world, dimension, plane. Where ever the hell they lived. While the land itself may have been spared, the creatures that crossed his path weren’t so lucky. 

The further he walked the more dense the trees became, the canopy a shield. He no longer knew whether it snowed. Through the cracks of space, he watched the setting sun turn the sky pink. Hopefully the weather would be warmer  the next day. However, Sage had to get through the night, to find a village his magic couldn’t just whisk him to. He’d never seen it before, had no knowledge of its location or people besides the rumors he’d heard during his search. He better find them by morning sun or to hell with the land and it’s guardians. America would feel the rage the kingdoms in Europe feared and the clans of Africa cursed.  

Ahead he spied a tree so large its trunk took up his entire line of sight. Ten times larger than the ones surrounding. There was a hole at its base. Shelter. He trudged the rest of the way to his temporarily relief only to find it inhibited by a black bear and three cubs. He stared at what he assumed was the mother. The cubs took one look at him, yelped, and hightailed it out of there running for their life with their mother right behind them. Good. It would have been nothing for him to get rid of them, but Sage didn’t always kill everything that stood in his way. Most stuff. 97% of all things, but that 3% counted for something. 

The inside of the tree was hallowed out. He wondered if it happened naturally or did someone gut it. He sat opposite the opening to get away from the cold and snow that drifted from the canopy. Tugging the hood of his cloak over his head, he allowed himself to relax for the first time in days. A momentary reprieve. Getting through the first five stages of protection surrounding the spell had been easy. The monsters stationed on levels two and three were as tough as domesticated cats, tamed horses. The sixth level had been more difficult. The  seventh took longer and required more magic and patiences. It’d taken him four days without a single break to get through it. It was the eighth stage that stomped him, the one in which he currently sought help, something his wasn’t used to doing. It burned inside like lava through his veins to seek help, but Sage would never let his pride stand in his own way.

The forest outside the tree darkened until there was no light. He conjured a ball of blue flame to provide light and warmth.  Silently he sat. Thinking. He sent out a feeler spell in hope of finding some sigh of the tribe. Nothing. They hid well. 

Never one to idle too long, Sage doused the ball of fire and was about to stand when he heard a twig snap in the distance. Leaves ruffled. Feet pounded the ground rapidly. The snarling was the loudest sound. Wolves. Apparently chasing someone if he judged how fast the feet hit the ground. 

Hidden in the darkness of the tree cave, he searched in the direction of the noise that grew closer and closer. The steps grew closer but they held no weight. A little boy playing where he shouldn’t most likely. He’d wait until the boy passed. 3%. 

Laughter bounced off the trees into his little alcove. Soft. Musical. Feminine. A girl. From what he’d witness with the other tribes he’d searched their female species were protected, guarded, restricted. They didn’t roam freely in the woods attracting canine attention. But the joyful sound that bounced around him couldn’t be mistaken for anything except glee. 

Small feet covered in bear fur leaped over a fallen log landing with grace a cat would envy. She turned to look over her shoulder at her pursuers. In a language he’d never heard before the fur covered girl no more than sixteen winters, judging from her size since her face was concealed by a hood, taunt the predators, three wolves who bound through the snow. She let them close in before she spin on her heels and ran off merrily. 

Sage waited until the girl with the wolves was out of sight, her foot steps and growls no more before he stepped out of the tree. 

There was one thing to gain now. A village was close by. And if he judged from the direction whence she came he was heading the correct way. He looked at the way they ran and noticed something strange. There were no foot prints. Human or Wolf. 

Many hours later after walking all night, Sage spotted the village a mile below. Smoke rose from many of the little tipi homes. The snow had stopped hours ago but what was left on the ground of the uncovered area was enough to hinder his movement. He tossed a spell surrounding his person to reflect what the wind drifted his way and to melt what lay before his feet. 

He assumed this village would belong to No-Prints. Because of the dark and snow Sage wasn’t able to make out the pattern of her clothing. He learned from other tribes that he encountered each tribe had a distinct pattern, and certain families had their own symbol added. Without that to go by Sage would have to find No-Print by physique alone. Not that it was impossible. 

He was 100 yards out when someone spotted him, the lone tall dark figure in a land of white. Quickly, they sent a scouter to meet him, to find out who the strange man was, and to kill him if he posed danger. Sage had no interest in a meet and greet, especially with this man for he was just that. A man. And Sage was searching for a girl. 

As the man grew closer he spoke in a language Sage did no know. A warning to stop maybe. There was always a warning to stop. He kept walking. The guy drew a weapon, bow and arrow, and aimed at him.

“Lunpe.” 

The scouter rocket backwards, flipping through the air, landing with a loud thud some dozen feet away. Nice Sage was over. He’d spare a bear cub, but he’d never spare a man. Men who stood in his way perished. 

A collective gasp, cry, yadda yadda yadda sounded from the watching villages. Alarm cries were sounded and the vulnerable where rushed off to safety. He’d been through this so many times he could write the playbook. However, today Sage wouldn’t bask in their terror. He was so close to reaching his end game, the one who could help him within his reach, he could enjoy this later.

With a way of his hand he stopped all movement. Theirs. Not his. Eyes widened in horror. Choked out sobs and cries came from women and children. Walking the remaining distance that separated him from the tribe, Sage survey all who were within his view. One man, old, weathered, and obviously the Shaman remained seated patiently. Calm. Tobacco steadily blowing from his pipe. 

“Where is the one that runs with wolves?” Sage asked the man. 

The old man responded but whatever he said was a lost. But he didn’t look afraid. In fact, he appeared expectant, as if he was waiting to see if Sage would disappoint him or not. 

With another wave, he sent their homes flying into the distances, exposing everyone. And that’s when he saw her sitting on the ground, sheltering a child. She noticed his stare, her slanted eyes clouded in fear and trembled. He beckoned a finger and she flew to him stopping a foot away. Raking his eyes from the crown of her head to the tip of her toes, he checked to make sure she was indeed the one to get him closer to the spell. Indeed she was.

Magically, a gag tied around her mouth, ropes binding her hands and feet. She struggled but to no avail. 

Now that he had the girl, he could get back to the portal deep in the forest that would take him back to the labyrinth.  Sage released his hold over the tribesmen. He bent and tossed his captive over his shoulder and started back on the path to the forest. Out of the corner of his eye and looked at the shaman who now appeared pleased. 

A portal to the one he used to arrive in this part of the Americas would’ve made for much faster traveling. However, no matter how desperately he wanted that spell, he’d wanted the little cantankerous brat willing. As willing as one can be when forced into something. That way he’d have no worry that she’d do something stupid, like hinder his process. But first, the irritating brat had to do something other than cry, her sounds muffled behind the gag, stumble, because of loosely bound feet, and cry some more. He was a hair trigger away from strangle her. The idea had merits. He was almost certain it’d speed the process up much faster if he attempted to strangle her. 

He stopped to give the mortal a break before she broke her legs. In the snow, she sat with her clothing bunched around her, her hair a wild mess, twigs and leaves sticking out of it, whining. Begging him to release her. At least that’s what it sounded like. Beneath his breath he mutter an incantation, one that would bridge that gap of their language barrier. 

Save me. Please save me. 

Her words remained foreign, but now he knew what was spoken. On and on she went until he lost all patiences. He thrust his hand out. “Shut up,” he bit out. She flew back and smacked into the nearest tree where she collapsed over with a cry of pain and shock. 

It took a few moments for her to regain her bearings. Sage glaring at her the entire time. His captive didn’t look at him. Her eyes were straight, looking only forward. A soft voice mumbled. More cries and pleas for help. Furiously she started to fight at her binds unaware that there was no way she could break the magical bind. Still, she fought, staring into the darkness, begging for help.

Sage turned away and leaned against the tree he sat before. Closing his eyes he relaxed. She’d tire out soon and come to accept her fate. 

The wind shifted and with it the temperature felt like it dropped ten degrees. It was only ten degrees to begin with.  A chill ran down the spine of his back. Sage shivered, but kept his eyes closed. As long as she thought he wasn’t paying attention, things would go the way he planned. 

He felt her. Sitting across from him on a fallen log, her legs crossed at the knee. Patient she seemed. As if she had all day, nothing better to do. One fur clade foot swinging away. When he opened his eyes he didn’t look at her. Eyes averted, he turned to his captive. With a silent double spell, he sent the crying teenager back to her tribe at the same time he threw a shield around himself and his guest. Now he could look at her.

The hood hung so low over her face the only thing he could see was her mouth which curved at the corners in a smile. 

“Took you long enough to show up,” Sage said. He wasn’t sure if she spoke his language, but thanks to the spell her worked earlier, she’d be able to understand what he said the same way he could understand her. He was no idiot. The moment he saw that there were no foot prints left in the snow by either person or animal he knew exactly who had just ran past him. A spirit between worlds. Someone who was there but wasn’t. Could be seen, but not at the same time. His key. 

Sage was a smart worker, not a hard one. Trying to track her, he would have never found her. So, he let her find him, but  threatening the safety of the tribe she protected. And, here she was. Not the least bit alarmed at being held within a shield that even she could not get out without him. He didn’t think she’d be. 

“Life is too precious a gift to handle without care,” she said. This close, her voice was soft, but mature, with that deep effect heard when a God spoke. Or a guardian spirit. “So reckless you are.”

“Everyday life is born. Everyday life must end,” Sage replied. “I tend not to walk on eggshells over the unavoidable.”  

She laughed merrily. “You have no clue about the unavoidable, Sage.”

He didn’t show his surprise that she knew his name. His facial expression remained blanked. “Is that so?”

Leaning forward she rested her arms on her knees. “Let’s not walk in circles. You need something from me.” She tapped her head. “I had the vision. A man cloaked in darkness would travel through Paiute lands in search of he who could help him complete his quest.”

“That he will be you. In this case a she.”

“Figuratively. Your path was to cross mine. The unavoidable. My kind like to call it destiny or fate.”

“Your version means nothing to me. I choose my own destiny.” 

“I know that. Yet, you need me literally. With my help, you will reach your destiny, but you need me willingly. So, what are you willing to sacrifice or do for me to gain my cooperation, and with the right price I will cooperate to the bitter end?”

Bartering. She was bartering with him. The last time anyone bartered with him was nearly a century ago and it was his sister. Jime, who tried. And her she was, this little sprite of a spirit who he believed he was luring into a trap had in fact been waiting for him because she had a vision. Because she wanted something from him. This could turn out to be far more interesting than Sage ever imagined. 

“What is it that you want of me?” he asked. 

“I’ll help you, and once your goal is complete you shall do something for me.

“That would be?”

“You want magic that was never yours. Magic that will make you stronger. I want…,” she shook her head spilling long dark hair from beneath the hood, “no, I need magic that was once mine, stripped from me, locking me out of the spirit world. The magic that will make me complete once more. You will return what was once mine for me. Promise this and you have my will.” 

She spook calmly, but Sage could feel the tension rolling off her in waves. Her desperation choked the air. To promise and agree would tie him to this spirit going completely against his rule to never tie himself to the other side. Except he was so close. So close to gaining what he wanted that at the moment he would agree to almost anything. Almost.

“Exactly how did you lose what was once yours?” he asked, because no way in hell would he walk himself into some of this nature blindly. That would just be stupid. 

“That is not an important factor.”

“Who stripped your power?” He held up his hand to silence her. “And that is an important factor. I must know who it is you wish me to go against.”

She betrayed nothing she felt, the perfect guardian, still and composed when she said. “Wolf. Brother of my mother. If it soothes your nerves, I’ll tell you all you need to know about Wolf.”

“And you are who?”

“She Who Dances in White, Wolf Runner, Guardian of the tribe you so terrorized.”

“You have a better name?” he deadpanned.

“My name’s are perfectly fine…” He was sure she glared beneath that hood. “Angelica. You may call me Angelica.”

Nothing about her said “angelic”, but who was he to cast stones with one of the “others”. 

Honestly, it didn’t require much thought at all to decide what he would do, so he made his promise, because in the end, nothing stood in his path to become stronger. Not even himself or a tiny spirit seer girl.

“And you may even consult with my father about Wolf,” she said after they made their deal. “Although he is willy and old and smokes too much. Possibly insane. Should have died centuries ago, but the mortal just won’t call it quits. He’s probably sitting back at the village inside of his little tipi, pipe in mouth, chuckling it up to the sky.”

Ah! She spoke of the shaman. That would be why he appeared pleased. He must have had a vision, discussed it with the sprite, Angelica. 

Done with wasting time, Sage stood up, dispersed the spell and opened a portal that would take them to the one on the other side of the mountain. “Can you cross?” he asked before stepping in. 

Raising from the log she shrugged. “There is only one way to find out.” 

Standing, she came just at his shoulder. Sage was tall, so she was tall for a woman, not a sprite, but he felt like a giant next to her, even with the waves of power that cascaded from her. And her powers had been stripped? Very interesting indeed. 

He stepped through.