by Jada Fisher
The Spirit Wilds: Magic of the Green Sage
Fall of the Sages, Book 1
Jada Fisher
Copyright © 2020 Jada Fisher
All Rights Reserved
Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All people, places, names, and events are products of the author’s imagination and / or used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by J Caleb Design
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Thank You
1
Bishta
The air along the Silvine Road sent chills down the spine of Bishta the Black. The cold mountain air continuously descended from the Halendales and kept the region in a perpetual state of winter, even though it was the peak of summer. Bishta did her best to ignore the temperature. She hadn’t dressed for it in the slightest, but she knew that warmth was coming since the Silvine Road would soon converge with the Galvine Road that ran all along the Red Cliffs and down to the Bridge of Memories.
In a few days’ time, she would cross that bridge and her search for justice would truly begin.
A particularly nasty gust of wind blew against Bishta’s back and bit at her exposed, pale skin. She glanced at her slender arms and saw that they were covered with goosebumps. With one hand holding her black iron staff, she struggled to pull her gray cloak more tightly around her. It didn’t do much good as her legs were still mostly exposed to the elements.
Cursing, she pressed forward. She couldn’t believe that with the thousands of lifetimes of her sage memories, not one of them contained a spell or charm for warmth or fire. Several millennia of knowledge and none of it was any use in keeping her warm.
I bet Reshni has plenty of spells to keep her warm on that pretty little throne of hers.
It was no matter. Bishta was comforted in the warming fact that her long journey would soon be at an end, and she, Bishta the Black, Sage of the Dark would have the paradise she desired.
Several more hours of relentless cold passed and Bishta didn’t know how much longer she could handle it, but by the grace of the old gods, the road curved around a particularly dense thicket of trees and then revealed a quaint little inn tucked in a small clearing. The brick-and-wood structure looked fairly new and nice and most importantly, warm. Thick gray smoke billowed from the chimney that rose high above the second floor.
Bishta was hesitant, though. She wanted—no, craved—the warmth that the inn provided, but there were six horses tied up in front of the inn, which meant that there were at least six other patrons present. There could be even more, and Bishta was not keen on drawing any undue attention. She always drew unwanted attention. Still, her growling stomach and shivering arms propelled her forward. She could handle who or whatever was inside, for she was a sage and all before her were nothing but ants.
As she approached the entrance, she could hear a lot of loud, rowdy voices coming from within. Plenty of laughing, too, and what sounded like the clanging of glass against glass. A bunch of drunken men was something that Bishta would rather not deal with, but again, she would deal with them if the need arose.
She pushed open the wooden door and entered the humble inn. All the noise ceased. The room was dimly lit by the occasional candle, and the air was hazy with smoke from a henshen pipe. The sweet aroma of hena smoke wafted up Bishta’s nostrils. It was a pleasant smell, but it was lost on her as she surveyed the room. Nine very large, very drunk men stared hungrily at her from their messy assortment of tables on the far side of the room.
Bishta wished that she had dressed more appropriately. Her exposed arms and legs and bare feet made her look vulnerable. She pulled her cloak as tightly as she could around herself to hide her naked flesh. She grabbed a table close to the entrance and waved the innkeeper over.
The room remained in heavy silence as the skinny young innkeeper sauntered over to Bishta’s table. He looked nervous for her, as he kept glancing back at the nine drunks and his body shook slightly as he did so.
He cleared his throat before speaking and then ran his hand through his thinning black hair. “What can I get for you?” He had a boy’s voice. Bishta guessed that he was maybe a decade and eight.
“Get me a hot bowl of soup and the warmest drink you have.”
“Okay.” He looked back at the nine men and then back at her. “I don’t think you should stay here, miss. It isn’t safe.” Bishta could certainly understand why he would think that. She looked no older than he was, and she had a lot of exposed skin so anyone would look at her and see a very weak little girl. But she was the farthest thing from that.
She shook her head. “I thank you for your concern, but I can handle myself.” He didn’t seem the least bit convinced, but he didn’t push her further. He retreated to the kitchen to fish up some soup. She could see the big black crock from her seat.
The men didn’t stop staring at her and their silence remained. Bishta could see them whisper amongst themselves and point at her on several occasions. They were going to try something, and it wasn’t a matter of if but of when. She welcomed them to try. They would make the mistake in thinking she was weak and alone.
The boy didn’t return to give Bishta her soup, a girl came instead. She was definitely the boy’s little sister for they had the same green eyes and pinched noses. Even her cheekbones were just as angular and prominent as her brother’s. She placed the wooden bowl on the table along with a hot cup of what smelled like coffee. The rich smell nearly intoxicated Bishta. It had been a very long time since she’d enjoyed the luxury of coffee.
Before the girl retreated, she gave Bishta one last pleading glance. The girl was no older than a decade and four and looked absolutely terrified. Bishta couldn’t decide if she was fearful for Bishta’s safety or for her own. She suspected that it was a bit of both. Bishta started to fear for the girl, but then remembered that if her quest was successful, the girl’s safety wouldn’t matter in the slightest. No one’s safety will matter in the end, not when I’m finished.
Bishta took her time and savored her food and coffee. She enjoyed the incredible feeling of the vegetable soup as the hot liquid poured down her throat. The coffee was good, not great, and was a little too bitter, but she was still thankful to be able to enjoy such a rare drink. Well, it wasn’t rare in cities like Ita-Ku and Al-Sevara, but out here in untamed lands, it was a luxury few could afford.
When he saw that Bishta had finished her meal, the skinny boy came back and picked up her plate, and she handed him ten copper coins as payment. He thanked her and insisted that she leave immediately. She intended to. She glanced one last time at the men as she walked through the door. They were all getting up.
Bishta didn’t get ten yards from the inn before she heard the door slam open, followed by the sound of two dozen heavy boots against the hard dirt ground.
“Where do you think you’re going, little miss?” asked a gruff voice from behind her. Bishta turned and faced the drunks. They all stared back at her, their eyes drunk and droopy, wicked
smiles cut into their faces. A particularly fat man with a fat nose and fat cheeks and fat ears stepped forward.
“Yer a purty little lass, aren’t ye?”
Another man stepped forward. He was actually fairly handsome, but that didn’t lessen Bishta’s disgust for him. “Won’t you come and play with us a bit? It’d be dangerous for a girl like you to travel all alone.”
“Whoever told you that I was alone?”
The men suddenly looked nervous and started to look around in every direction. The handsome man spoke again, but this time with an uncertain tinge in his voice. “I don’t see anyone one else out here, miss.”
Bishta smiled wickedly and simply said one word, “Munla.”
The air behind her rippled and suddenly, her spirit companion Munla appeared before them all. The men shrieked with fear like little girls and recoiled from her. Bishta turned her back on the men and faced her friend. Munla was an immensely huge nature spirit from deep within the Spirit Wilds in the South. He was half the height of the inn and nearly as wide. His round body could destroy anything in its path if he picked up enough speed.
She rubbed his large mossy stomach. “Greetings, friend.”
“Ush culla tor nalasha?”
“No, it’s okay. I just need you to look all scary.” Bishta faced the men one last time. “Don’t try to follow me. Munla will be watching.”
She didn’t wait to hear their response. She turned and walked boldly forward, her grip on her cold iron staff tighter than it should have been.
That night, Bishta came to the Galvine Road, and the following day, she found the coast.
It was sunny and warm and Bishta loved it. She loathed the cold. Her feet were thankfully nice and hot as she walked along the dirt road. Did she need shoes? Probably, but she’d gone her whole life without them, and she could manage to keep going just the same. Besides, her feet were tough, so they could handle most of the abuse she put them through.
To her left was an endless forest with leaves of brown and orange. To her right was the ocean and the Red Cliffs, so named for the color of the rock, and for the fact that many men had died upon the sharp rocks below.
It took her another couple days of walking before the endless sea on the horizon gave way to land, the continent of Paralea—a densely-forested land dominated by the Forest of the Forgotten, a wild place where humans didn’t go. Civilized humans at least. There were human tribes scattered through the continent, but they were far outnumbered by the spirits that dwelt within.
Bishta scowled. Spirits, humans; she didn’t care for either.
Paralea and Halla, the land she currently walked, met at one singular spot, a very narrow strait that cut between the two continents. Paralea was a tall, rocky place on all sides, just sheer cliffs all around, so the only feasible ways to access it were to fly in on a dragon, which wasn’t recommended, or cross the Bridge of Memories.
And for regular humans, both were near impossible, because an ancient confusion ward shrouded the entire continent. People that tried to enter became confused and wondered what they were doing there, so they’d turn around. Hence why Paralea was still shrouded in mystery. Of course, being a sage, Bishta wouldn’t have that trouble.
Eventually, the Galvine Road curved back north toward the Halendales and Ita-Ku, so she had to make her way through the dirt paths that led to the southern point of Halla and the Bridge of Memories.
It was sunset when she arrived.
She stood upon the cliffs, the sheer red surface dropping straight down to churning, choppy waters, crags of rocks jutting dangerously out of the surf. Just south of where she stood was the opposing cliff face of Paralea, and the immediate wall of spruce and pines that stood vigil over the cliffside. It looked so close, but it was still a hundred paces across open air over the water. That was where the bridge came in.
The Bridge of Memories spanned the space, ancient and majestic. Nothing in her vast sage knowledge told her why it was called that—one of those names with a meaning lost to time—but it was certainly something to look at. Perpetually polished pink stone maintained its eternal shine by some ancient warding magic that Bishta had no explanation for. The bridge was only wide enough for a simple cart to cross, and even then, it would be a close fit. No railing, either—just a path of stone suspended hundreds of feet in the air over the black waters below.
It was dramatic, Bishta would give it that.
She took a breath and crossed the fabled Bridge of Memories. The stone was sunbaked and warm beneath her feet. She paused to sigh and wriggle her toes at the feeling as a sunny breeze blew over the bridge. This was more like it.
It didn’t take her long to cross the ravine between the two landmasses. Halfway across, Bishta felt a strong weight press down on her and try to disorient her. It did make her slightly dizzy, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through. With her eyes pinched shut, she held her staff out in front of her and chanted in the language of the old gods.
“Ish kek cool por goleq.”
The wall is meant to be climbed. A simple charm used to break through defensive wards, on the rare occasions that she encountered one. Only the sages and the most ancient spirits and dragons used magic anymore, so an old powerful ward like this wasn’t common. Hence why the continent was still so wild.
It was very strong and took all of Bishta’s will to break through. She had to admit that she’d been cocky coming here, thinking it would be simple to push through without much trouble. It took almost a minute, and by the end, she was out of breath. Her heart raced, her arms shook, and a little blood trickled from her nose. Finally, with a gasp, the weight of the ward dissipated and she was through so suddenly that she stumbled forward onto her knees and scraped them against the edge of the pink stone. She cursed.
“Ow,” she said. But then she laughed and wiped the sweat from her brow. Bishta was through to Paralea. She’d crossed the Bridge of Memories and walked along the worn dirt path that led into the dark, dense Forest of the Forgotten. A terrifying place, to be sure. But I am the Sage of the Dark, Guardian of the Lost and the Forgotten, she thought. This is my domain if it belongs to anyone.
Bishta smiled. There was nothing in here that would stop her. The first obstacle of her quest was through. Now it was on to the ancient Library of Anganar, where lost, forbidden knowledge awaited her.
Soon, I will have the solution.
2
Bishta
The Forest of the Forgotten had a strange way of playing with time and pulling tricks on the mind. Even for Bishta, a sage, it was hard to tell how long she’d been walking. The canopy above blocked out almost all light save for the occasional sliver that trickled through. She kept walking until those rays were gone and the air was still, and she was sure it was night and nocturnal spirits came out—some were menacing, dark things skulking in her peripheries while others glowed and floated through the air.
None messed with her, benevolent or otherwise. She was glad. Her dislike of spirits was immense, and she didn’t want to deal with any. Aside from Munla, who trailed her silently.
Even when it was night, she didn’t stop. She couldn’t, not when she was so close to her goal. She’d planned and waited for so long to enact her final scheme and finally, she could begin. So, it didn’t matter that her legs ached, and her bare feet were blistered and cut and dirty, and her stomach rumbled. None of that mattered. All that mattered was ahead.
Morning came, a dull orange glow in the distance that slowly ascended the sky until bits of sunshine crept through. And then night again, and then day again. Bishta kept going. She muttered spells that kept her awake, no matter how exhausted she felt. She picked out a loaf of bread she had and some dried potato skins. Still, she kept going.
Nothing would stop her. She’d sooner collapse from hunger than stop of her own volition.
Thankfully, that didn’t happen. On what she judged to be the third day into the forest, she cleared a thicket of mossy curtains and spider webs
to enter a clearing of manicured grass and old stone walkways. Walkways that led to one spot. There it was—a beacon of knowledge, ancient and forgotten. One last vestige of civilization in a wild, wild place.
The Library of Anganar.
The ruins loomed over the forest floor, though the trees still dwarfed it. The cold, gray stonework was covered in moss and vines, rendering the intricate stone murals almost impossible to make out, but Bishta could see a snake, a lion, and some other animals carved into the walls above the main doors.
Those same doors were massive, black iron, and inexplicably shiny—impossibly so. Magic, she thought. The place reeked of it, old and strong, pulsing, aching for her to come in. and oh how she wanted to. The library seemed to stretch out for a mile in either direction. Who knew how deep it may go? The knowledge that could be stored in there… Bishta would have loved to spend her immortal life in those walls, forever poring over the books and scrolls, but alas, she had a mission.
Perhaps when this is all done, I will come back. Wishful thinking.
Tightly gripping her staff, she closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. Then she took her first steps toward the knowledge she sought.
The doors were cold to the touch and beautiful, with designs of leaves and vines and flowers welded into the iron, as if the creators knew that someday they would blend in with the actual plants that tried to cover the library. With the amount of magic in this place, it wouldn’t have surprised Bishta in the slightest to learn that they’d been clairvoyant.
Perhaps one of the forgotten magics that she could learn today, though that wasn’t her goal.
