Wielders of Magic, Book 1: A Spell Binding Tale

Drusilla’s wings carried her far away from the town, further and further into lands she had never ventured into before. She didn't care anymore; all she cared about was getting away from anything that could set her off, anything that could get hurt. She needed the wild, were monsters weren't looked twice at.

Where she wouldn't be looked twice at.

Everywhere she went, there was death. She was a monster, a terrible being disguised as an angel. She had to run away, as her father told her before she disappeared. Use your wings to flee when you are in danger, when you are afraid. Run for your life, that is why you have them.

She was fed up with running, fed up with stale bread and fear. People died around her when she didn't even want them too, and she didn't want to see their horrified faces anymore. What person would?

She needed to find a home, or at least a place that someone could understand her. She needed someone to shelter her in his arms, for her to feel safe around; she needed someone to trust . . .

But she would never admit it. Never. That would be weak.

She dropped out of the sky from the cold and exhaustion, eventually, landing in a snow caked clearing in the middle of unknown woods. She still cried, her warm tears dripping into the snow and melting small holes in it, like acid through wood. She then sat up, pain wracking her brain, cold numbing her body, hate and regret flashing before her eyes, the bodies of those she had killed, the faces that stared at her with horror.

She screamed. No one could hear her here; no one could be harmed. She could finally get it out of her system without having any consequences. She could be the monster inside her.

A powerful blast as large as the town she had been in emanated from her, mowing down trees and blowing the snow away from her in a flash. She screamed again, this time setting the trees on fire, making rocks explode, wind rushing around her in a snowy curtain.

She had so much power, too much power, and she didn't want it. She didn't want to live another moment with it. She had to get rid of it somehow, but it was as inherent with her as fur is to a rodent. It was part of her, and without it, she was nothing.

Which would be better? Being nothing, or being a murderer? All she knew was that her mind was getting fuzzy, like it was being wrapped in cobwebs and her body was starting to give out. She felt week, the cold was finally catching up with her.

Drusilla flopped over in a haze, nothing but the snow against the dark sky appearing before her eyes. She felt the small flakes land on her pail face and wondered if she was dying. She couldn't move, she was too week, and all feeling in her hands and feet had left her.

Her eyes slowly faded out, and she saw nothing but blackness, falling unconscious in the middle of a crater of burning trees and snow. She didn't care anymore, if her life was ending, so be it.

So be it.

Jackson rode lazily through the snowy forest with a heavy pack on his back and a gallant steed under his legs. In his hand was an arrow that leads him to what he referred to as "home". It wasn't very far away, as he could see now, and excitement started to boil up inside him. He didn't use the arrow much, seeing that its power was limited, but he was desperate this time, and needed a place to go before winter really set in.

He flicked the rains of his black steed and galloped between trees, snow flying up behind them in a wave. His eyes were focused on the arrow, watching as he grew nearer and nearer to his destination with anticipation that was almost unbearable in his throat.

Suddenly he was right upon it. He pulled his horse to a stop and jumped off, throwing his things to the ground and running the few more steps it took. When he looked up he saw a burning tree fall right at him, which made him dive out of the way into a snowy bank. He gasped in horror and looked at his arrow again to make sure it was right.

"Yeah, this is the place." He got up and watched as the snow slowly put out the burning tree, he himself throwing on a pile in a spot that wasn't reachable. It fizzed for a moment before eventually going out.

Jackson stared at it with curiosity. Forest fires didn't start in the middle of winter. What had caused this, and why?

He gathered his things, and as he pulled his horse behind him, they slowly walked into a clearing. A lone figure sat in the middle of it, one with two large white wings draped over its form, and light red hair covering the rest of its body.

He left his horse behind, dropping his pack also and approached cautiously. When he had gotten within a foots radius of it, he slowly reached out and touched one of the white, feathery wings.

The figure started to move, flopping over sort of. He watched in fascination as the wing flopped down to the snow, showing a slender, almost perfect form that was hidden before. The long, strawberry hair was still covering the face of the unknown woman, and his hand reached out and took a strand of it, setting it to the side so he could see her face.

Spellbinders head tilted in curiosity as he stared at her features. Her eyes were closed, but they had deep ebony lashes that were long and as fine as Elvin lace, and her lips were a soft pink, a little redder than her hair, but still soft and gentle, like a rose petal. She had a milky white complexion, smooth and blemish-less, perfect and captivating.

"Who is this angel that I have stumbled upon?" He whispered to himself. He found that talking to himself had become something normal for him over the years of his life, which he did not find in any way disturbing. "Why have you fallen from your perch?"

Obviously, she did not answer.

His eyes floated down to her hands, which were turning a light shade of blue. He sucked in his breath fearfully and quickly slipped his arms under her lifeless form. She was breathing, at least, but he didn't know if she would ever wake up.

He put a heavy woolen blanket around her and carried her over to his horse, putting her up on the saddle. He jumped up behind her and wrapped one arm around her waist to keep her steady as he flicked the rains of his horse. They rode like the wind, Jackson looking at his arrow for directions. It was pointing to the right of where he was coming before, and he followed without hesitation. He didn't know why it had been pointing to the stranger with wings; maybe it was telling him of a friend of companion that he could find.

It hadn't mentioned that in the spell.

Deep into the woods, there stood a cottage, one with moss that grew on the side of it in spring through autumn. There was none present at this time of year, only warm gray smoke puffing out of its chimney. An old lady named Grevich lived in this particular cottage, a recluse that didn't like the life style of dealing with youngsters. She liked them yes, but dealing with them every single day, seeing their dismissive gestures and hurrying nature made her tired. The woods kept her young, in a way, and she loved them more than the town she had lived in before.

She sat in her rocking chair, reading a book she had found a while back but never had the time to read it until now. She was enjoying it too, with enough food in her cupboards and enough fire wood in her hearth; she hadn't a care in the world.

There was a knocking at her door which startled her, one of desperate fingers that tapped quickly and without mercy. She ran to the door and flung it open, seeing the strangest sight she had ever seen.

A young man with silvery gray hair and chocolate brown eyes stood in her doorway with a winged woman draped over his arms.

"Please, she is slipping away as we speak!" He said in desperation, fear in his voice.

"Yes come in most defiantly!" She moved out of the way and pointed to a door across the room. He ran inside as she shut the door behind him, kicking the next door down and quickly setting the woman down on the bed inside, covering her with blankets and furs.

"Leave the room; I will make sure she is taken care of." Grevich shooed him out, telling him also to get her some hot water from the kettle on the stove and bring her a cloth. He would find everything she asked for in the kitchen, and he almost tripped over a gray striped cat as he did so, catching his balance on an oaken table.

Jackson stopped for a moment, catching his breath, before riffling through her drawers and cupboards, looking for what she told him to retrieve. He had to save her, someone so beautiful and pure had to be preserved! Things like her didn't happen anymore in the world, and now she was slipping through his fingers.

I will save her. I will. I cannot let her die.

Spellbinder found what he was looking for and threw it all into a large bowl, pouring the steaming hot water over it and bringing it to the old woman.

"Quickly now my child!" She gestured for him to hurry, pointing to a table beside the bed. He set the bowl down and handed her the cloth, which she than shooed him out of the room again.

"Go sit down by the fire, take your boots off. I don't care just get out of here!" She shut the door behind him, ignoring his questions of if she would survive or not.

"Now, we both have to be strong here, girl. All I ask is that you come back to me, I will help you all that I can, but the effort must be yours." Grevich took a deep breath than started to perform her healing ritual.

Time would tell whether the Red Witch would survive or not.

She felt . . . warm. Very warm. Like a fever was strong in her brow and in her heart. Her eyes fluttered for a moment before opening all the way, the ceiling of a wooden cottage staring back at her.

Where am I?

Drusilla slowly sat up, the furs and blankets falling off of her chest and down into her lap. She looked around the room, groggily, seeing no signs of life that she could register.

Her sharp, slightly pointed ears picked up the sound of voices talking, one a man, and the other an old woman. She had spent most of her time as a child listening to others, at parties, or special gatherings, never being invited herself. She could hear and single out anything she wanted, but it was never as good as talking to another person. No one ever did.

Getting up, she found her feet were missing her white boots, replaced with some sort of warm wraps. She carefully took them off and wiggled her toes, wondering why her feet had always been so small. She slowly walked across the hard, wooden floor to the door, opening it slightly to pear out into the next room. She saw the old lady she had heard with a dagger in her hands, slowly cutting the silvery hair of the man.

"You’re not cutting it too short are you, because I don't like it too short-?"

"Be quiet and sit still!"

They didn't sound terrible. Just in case, she grabbed a vase in the corner and broke it under a pillow, taking one of the sharp ceramic pieces and hiding it behind her back. "H-Hello?" Drusilla said softly, opening the door the rest of the way.

The two whipped around, their eyes wide and surprised.

"Ha! I told you she would awaken!" The man got up from the stool he was sitting on and ran to her. The Red Witch quickly stepped to the side; dodging his embrace and almost making him trip. He regained his balance, and turned back around, seeing the sharp piece of ceramic in her hand, pointed towards him.

"Alright, tell me where I am." She said in a dark tone, her eyes large and fiery, reminding him of the warm hearth behind her.

"You are in my humble cottage, Angel, and you should be thanking this young man for saving your life." The old woman came up behind her, walking slowly in front of the man. "My name is Grevich, and this is Jackson Spellbinder. You are among friends."

Gingerly, Drusilla put the ceramic piece down, setting it on a table beside a chair. "I thank you Mr. Spellbinder, for saving my life. I will not cause either of you anymore trouble and leave before I outstay my welcome. Again, I thank you both for helping me." She didn't smile, only walked back into the bed room to get her boots. She noticed that her shoes were scrubbed clean, white as the snow outside, and that is when a small smile cracked her lips.

What nice people they are . . .

"You don't have to leave," Grevich entered the room. "You still have a fever, and I think it would be best if you stayed till it was gone."

She thought for a moment. This woman had a warm house, plenty of food - she bet - and a nice fluffy bed for her to sleep in. She wanted to say yes, she really did, but she would do something terrible, she knew it.

"I am sorry, but I can't." She looked into the forest green eyes of the old woman, lined with wrinkles of the years she had lived. "I have a certain power that could kill you with a single, unhinged finger, and I am sorry to say that my control is not very keen." She swallowed, wondering how she would reply.

"Ah, what a coincidence!" Grevich ran out of the room for a moment, before running back with the young man beside her. "This man is a warlock, one of great power if I may say so!"

"Now Grevich . . ." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I wouldn't say great . . . maybe." He laughed a little, not meeting Drusilla's hard, unmerciful gaze. She had been taught as a child to look people in the eye, not to fidget, and to always be a little intense. She came on like strong brandy to some people, but she never regretted it.

"He can teach you to control it, right?" The old woman looked over at Jackson, as did the winged woman.

"Yes, I think so. I have had some students, only they didn't stay very long . . ." His face twisted a little, but he soon had it back in its normal, half smile position. "All I can say is that it takes a lot of work and practice-"

"Yes, teach me!" She jumped up and walked two steps towards him, about a foot away. "I beg of you! I don't care how long it takes, or how hard it is, I will do it!"

"Well, alright, that's good." Jackson backed away a little, startled by her earnest pleading.

"But for now," Grevich pushed her back into the bed, taking her boots off for her. "Sleep Angel." She touched Drusilla's forehead, sending sleep into her system and watching as her eyes quickly closed, her body relaxing into sleep.

"How do you do that?" Jackson shook his head, amazed.

"Eh, I have my ways." She slowly walked by him as he gazed at the winged woman, still wondering what her name was.

"What are you doing!?" Grevich snapped at him. "Get out of that room!"

"Oh yes, sorry." He ran, almost jumped, out of the doorway as her old, wrinkled hand slowly shut the door without a squeak, a single phrase lingering in the air even after it was shut.

Sleep well, Angel.