The Spirit Wilds: Magic of the Green Sage (Fall of the Sages Book 1), стр. 3
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