Orphan At The Edge Of The World - 261 The Magician 19

The spectral bear raised up on hindquarters and roared at Orison and the woman both. “The witches demanded it when they threatened my life and the life of my descendants! Now you say no!? Stranger and familiar one alike, man-things are no good things at all! You have until sunset and then I no longer care. Live or die, I will hunt all man-things off my territory.”

The spectral bear lead their descendants away. Orison signaled to his group and started walking on. He didn’t bother to pacify his energy. The moment he did, he was certain that the witch or one of the handful of witches and ranger-like folks in the woods would kill him on the spot.

The owl masked woman said, “Stranger what do you do here? I demand you speak to me at once!”

The witch’s intent sunk into Orison’s inner space like a drop of rain into a well.

“I already told the annoying bear. Ask them. I don’t like repeating myself,” the young mage said as he plodded on, Cole and Adam sticking close and exuding nerve snapping tension.

As they walked, The small battalion of female casters and rangers kept a circle around them. The young mage could tell that there was a diviner among them trying to figure out the right course to subdue or kill him. He couldn’t be bothered. He just slowly kept adding conditions that would cause him to ‘nuke’. The first of which was to be stopped or lose consciousness.

During the tense two hour walk, his would be executioners ended up being unwilling bodyguards. At one point, a ranger took a weird attack from a dryad startled by the unstable energy into unleashing some kind of attack that killed with ‘beauty’ alone. Out of strange whimsy, Orison slowed down to resuscitate the ranger who shielded his sight. A touch of mixed healing and mending with a hard, intent augmented chest thump did the trick but it would take the man some time to fully recover.

During that time, pact shadows sent complaints that their ability to act as proxy patrons had temporarily been disabled but there was no helping that. To keep the status quo, he had to be a walking time-bomb or they would all die. When the shadowy sprite that Orison had slipped out to collect wild herbs during their trip, handed him another sprig of lavender, he was about to break the deadlock when a witch screamed out to widen the circle.

“Get off it and scry what I’m about to do instead of trying to find ways to kill me, you nasty c*nts,” the young mage growled at them.

At her wits end and on the verge of fainting, the owl masked witch did just that. For a moment, she looked like she was going to throw caution to the wind and order an attack before she paused and gasped into the dour silence.

Orison thought it over and asked, “How many are there?”

The owl masked woman said, “There are eighteen known. According to legend, there should be twenty-seven.”

“If you’ll get highest possible promises of safe passage, comfortable accommodations for the duration of our stay and all the books on magic theory your people possess, you have a deal for the eighteen that you know of,” the young mage said.

The whirlwind exchange of deals that commenced were epic. By the time he was done brokering them, Orison’s organs were on the verge of failing from the sheer amount of radical essence particles bombarding him internally. His brain was on the verge of metaphorically melting from all the assurances, promises and spiritually augmented oaths sworn on both sides to ensure peace. He hated it immensely.

Standing face to face with a withered old crone as he stabilized his energy, Orison said, “I truly feel pity for any enemy of this country if this is the treatment of a potential ally.”

With a bitter grimace that would teach Elder Liu a thing or two, she replied, “As you should. We don’t readily make allies because we do not need them. The Vrajitoare are custodians of this cursed land for a reason.”

After a badly needed day of recuperation in the field, cozy tent and rustic catering grudgingly provided, the young mage went to meet the guardian of the first ‘demon finger’. It wasn’t some mythical being, just an old man and his nearly adult son. The son’s soul rang a bell of familiarity and brought to mind the image of a horse. It took some soul searching but Orison placed it.

With a complex look in his eyes, the young mage said, “Would the two of you like to accompany us to see the end of your need to be tethered here?”

The son looked excited enough but the father frowned. The old man’s whole purpose was wrapped up into being the hereditary guardian of that monolith. Once it was gone, so was the pride it gave to his family.

Orison turned to the ancient witch who accompanied the group. “I would like to tithe a third of the vulgar wealth we have agreed upon to this young man here. He is the reason I was drawn to this place.”

Now, the father and son BOTH looked worried for several reasons.

The old witched raked her icy eyes over the father/son pair and said, “And why would this unassuming lad draw your attention?”

Orison sighed in a released sense of vaguely melancholy nostalgia. “In another life, another place, I knew him as my godson. He was the husband of my only daughter and she gave up following me on the path of ascension to be with him. I was devastated at the time but he was a good husband. They lived a fulfilling life in that branch of what ifs that never got to be.”

The young mage met eyes with the ‘almost’ young man. “The origin of your soul is tied to the spiritual symbol of the horse as it relates to the hunter. Anything related to them, you will have talent in. Internalizing the symbol through meditation will allow you to awaken the gifts belonging to the horse.”

The father didn’t seem to care for that revelation much. Since his own house held the hart totem, that was no wonder. The horse held many similarities and different advantages that would make it a natural contender for attention. The old woman’s impatience and withering look kept things moving along anyway.

Under the father’s helpless gaze, his house’s claim to prestige was slowly crumbling away under Orison’s touch as his son gained insight on the art of meditation from the young mage. In the hour that it took to finish the process of turning the red veined monolith into another gray and ancient standing stone, Amos gained some appreciation for his one time godfather. Sadly, the old witch wasn’t sentimental in the slightest.

Using some form of druidic type understandings, the old witch traveled the young mage to five more locations before Orison had to enforce a rest. “I need a little less than a week to process what I’ve taken from these. Taking anymore today would be dangerous.”

The old witch said, ���Very well. I can expect the same amount at that time then.”

The young mage quickly protested. “No. Two, maybe three if they’re pretty much all the same. After another week, the third run will be large enough that the fourth will be quick. It’s an awfully large assumption to expect the situation to stay the same with no changes, though.”

“Should we be ‘expecting’ changes from you?” she said warily.

Orison shrugged helplessly. “I’m not capable of seeing the future. The past, I can to a minor degree.”

She snorted. “Anyone can see the past to a minor degree.”

Orison smirked. “Then a change of topic? How about the young man you had beaten for wasting materials on a magic item YOU caused him to ruin?”

Giving him a menacing smile, she said, “So, you admit to breaking the clause about scrying of secrets?”

The young mage gave her dead eyes right back. “You wish. It’s in the brightest of branches right before your arrival to hash out our contract. And if you tell me using spices in our food that lead to a more pliant disposition isn’t skirting malicious acts, I’ll spit in your face and kill us all right now. Keep the drugs out of our food.”

According to the agreement, only one of his two companions would be allowed to roam the settlement and the other would have to be cooped up with him in the male mage compound. It was severe discrimination but with good reason. Their neighbors and worst enemies were wizards primarily comprised of men who held similar yet slightly less extreme prejudice. Sadly, they were also slavers and magical elitists as well.

“Cole, since I need a little time to coach Adam in meditation, you get to be the free one for the next week. I’m going to soften my pattern. Go ahead and touch me… My HAND, Cole,” the young mage said right before they would be separated.

Several witches stopped in their tracks when Orison transformed into a tanned, icy faced beauty.

Adam’s slightly smiling face took a downturn. “Why did you do that?”

It was a question the witches escorting them wanted an answer to as well.

The young mage smirked. “The ladies in charge don’t respect men with magical talent. And you, I get the feeling that you have problems respecting personal boundaries. This way, I’m less annoyed by two sources for the next week.”

One of the witches laughed. “Goddess preserve you. Do you think so? I personally believe you only traded half of one kind of bothersome for a whole extra helping of another kind.”

Giving a saintly smile, the young mage said, “I’m sure Adam can handle some unruly mages intent on ruining my study time. Do you feel up to abusing your bodyguard position to make some special short-term friendships, Captain Rogers?”

Adam said, “I’m not into doughy little bread sticks, too fragile.”

Orison sighed. “Do what you want within reason but I don’t think the mages on the witches’ largess are going to be what you think they’ll be.”

The young mage ended up being more wrong than right. The witches didn’t warm up much at all and the cooped up mages were more of a hassle than Orison could have possibly imagined. There were a few of them that were more than happy to be friendly with Adam but they WERE the ‘doughy bread stick’ type. The men who put in the effort to look like the roving woodsman outside were hopeful of drawing a witch’s attention.

While in the compound, Orison received plenty of magic theory material to pour over, at least. And to his delight, they weren’t nearly as prized as the collection of practical magic and spell tomes that were watched over and hoarded like dragon gold. One thing was for sure, the young mage definitely didn’t plan on extending out time as a woman unless it was outside the compound.

The following week, while picking up two more monoliths, the old witch said, “If you are willing to maintain your feminine form, I’ll allow you to take your next week’s time of contemplation at the approved trader’s way rest. There are reasons why male mages are mistrusted here that go beyond what you think. You seem to be slightly aware or you’d know that your weak attempts to soften witch sentiments against you would be pointless.”

Orison nodded. “How badly do the night visits get for supernaturally sensitive men here? I know it’s not the monoliths.”

The old witch scowled. “Hags. For all I know, our gifts in magic might very well come from them but it’s coincidental at best. Those loathsome creatures have nothing but dark deeds brewing in their hearts.”

“How did Cole fare this week?” the young mage asked.

The old witch cackled. “I rather like the little churl. When it comes to foul spirits, your young charge is quite the mouser. He’s earned himself a sizable little nest of personal wealth and respect. There’s even been an initiate or two who’ve felt out if he had any interest in staying.”

Orison declared, “If the road to fulfillment brought him here and he desires to go no further, I won’t stand in the way of that. He’s had a hard start to life. I and another were equally moved by his troubles and want him to have a little happiness wherever he can find it.

“Because of that, I’m going to take a few minutes to go back to my original pattern. This form will only confuse and tempt him to follow. A couple more weeks of maximum security shelter aren’t that bad. Ruining someone’s chance at happiness by teasing them with a false offer would make me a villain in that tale, wouldn’t it?”

The old witch blinked owlishly while Orison converted back into the athletic young redheaded man that the witch first saw. “Such a queer ability for one who does not carry fiendish taint.”

The young mage smiled faintly. “Only the tip of a very large iceberg, large enough to drive the wise to madness trying to understand.”

Conversation dried up after that. It was time for business and he made short business out of the first target of the day. Halfway through the second, Orison was about to confirm that a third would be no problem when a scaly hand reached through the monolith to grab him. Before any could stop it, the young mage found himself in an abyssal realm of immense size facing a creature that was tremendous and intimidating.

With a fraction of time too short for even Orison’s brain to fully register, one arm had been completely ripped from socket and ribs mostly broken before instinct turned him into a living cutout of the void. With a flicker, the young mage had made a person shaped hole right through the spine and most crucial organs of the demon.

Even that wouldn’t have killed the creature but the key within Orison used its power to draw the rest of the demon into the multiple grinding inner layers of the young mage’s space. With an exercise of magic, he pushed himself back out of the temporary crack that was already sealing as a small horde of large demons reached for him.

It was painful and damaging but he pulled for all he was worth to unravel the exotic essence that maintained the dimensional breach. His key bulged absurdly and felt sluggish as his life’s blood continued to pump out of his missing arm. The old witch wouldn’t draw near until the monolith was completely dead. And by then, Orison wasn’t too far from completely dead himself.

It wasn’t just the arm. Ribs punctured his lungs and more organs were ruptured than not. The only thing that kept him clinging to life was the steady trickle of healing and a soul capable of filling in for an oxygen starved brain. That was, until the demon’s soul pounced on his own.

Without the inner realm, the demon might have won and devoured him. Without the inner realm, even if he had won, the demon soul would have been too much and he would have turned demonic himself. But because of the inner realm, he experienced next to no enrichment for taking the soul either.

As it did every time Orison received a massive amount of resources all at once, it dragged him in along with anything nearby it could lay claim to. That included a young witch protected with the best enchantments and illusion spells the old witch could grant her. Seeing her protegee getting dragged into the pull of Orison’s ‘gravity’ the old woman tried to latch onto the girl with the most powerful of magics she was capable of in a short second. All that did was give herself a tie to what was happening.

A few minutes later, a physically restored but weak Orison and two young women were surrounded by angry witches and tribesmen alike. While they expelled the ‘wet clay’, the ‘old’ witch called out to a ‘sister’ to inspect them for signs of being physically or spiritually compromised. There were none.

Two days of observation under intense scrutiny were given to the three of them. During that time, they had been separated and Orison’s place was in a warded cell. An intense debate over his fate nearly caused a schism within the witches’ ranks. Honor and pride barely managed to overcome greed and fear by a slim margin.

Orison addressed the inner circle. “I’ve explained this five times in different ways. I can’t just ‘reset’ someone’s pattern to its best moment. That’s triggered by an intake of a massive amount of resources. The loss in resources is vastly beyond the benefit. A supernatural being on the verge of minor god level power was consumed in self defense.

“It was dangerous and not entirely a good thing. Even if I could recreate the event with another couple of your people primed to benefit with me, I wouldn’t. It’s going to take time to release spiritual impurities. If I threw a large chunk of demon juice in there again so soon, I’d run the risk of turning into an abyssal creature or worse.”

The witch queen personally spoke. “Explain the situation with witch maiden… Oleander. I want to hear it directly from you.”

The young mage sighed. “In an alternative branch of events, I was her father. The young man known as Amos was her husband. Their presence was the reason I was drawn here. I have no other purpose than to enrich their lives in a way that is within their free will and will not disrupt the course that they desire.

“The awakening of Oleander’s memories of that alternative life was not… would not have been something I would have chosen to do. I didn’t know she was there and would have excluded her from the drawing if I could. That being said, I can only draw up alternate or past life memories for people I’m strongly entangled with and only for the time that I was.”

That was the end of what he would answer. If a method would be attempted that would remove his freedom or coerce his obedience in any way, magical or mundane, a diviner would immediately stop the proceedings in a cold sweat or terrified face.