Chapter Four: The Seasons and He Who Harnesses Them

The description of magic in Casted

Chapter Four: The Seasons and He Who Harnesses Them

The fire reflected against their skin as a type of twilight. The flames were appropriately fed and Athena had already begun resting. While the fire crackled, Primine looked to the sleeping girl. How could she be so confused about what is happening? He wondered deeply. He watched the frost cover his hand and admired the glimmer that sparkled in front of his eyes. 

The truth about Athena was that she did not live the life of the mage. She knew not what Primine did, and expected her to. Athena had not been raised in the life of magic as Primine had. She knew not what it offered and what it took from one. But the Order would not care. They would test anyone they were suspicious of and Athena would certainly relinquish restraint of her control over her powers once her emotions took hold. The Order would slaughter her, whether she was the princess or not… Or would they? 

As Primine sat there, watching the frost flakes fall around his hands, he contemplated deeply. Would they have killed the princess of Septire or would they have spared her life, learning that mages are not tools of destruction. They have minds that think just like any others. They have ideals, they have morals, and they have thought processes. They were people, only with unique qualities, like a young lady with fiery red hair or a young man with ice blue eyes. It was all a matter of perspective. 

Thought was back upon Athena. Had he made a mistake? Would the Order have slain her? She was the princess of a fair kingdom and perhaps her being revealed would have granted mercy upon all mages. The thought angered him.  He could have brought justice to all of his kind. 

Mages were not to be mistreated. They were not cursed! Magic was decision. The truth was that the acceptance of magic itself was the evil. What was done with the magic was purely choice.  Magic was not inherited, as commonly believed.  Magic was accessed and accepted by those in times of grief, desperation, or incomprehensible or foolish outrage. The initial accessibility all depended upon influence. Where magic was in the hearts of the certain people and where their moral standards were, declared how susceptible they were to the dark arts. 

As that child Primine was, he grew out of immature yet venomous outrage. His father, being a dabbler in the dark arts of witchcraft, was the influence that gave him way to magic. When that stone expelled from his hand so did the fires of wrath from his veins. That bird fell and from that moment Primine became curious. It was such curiosity that wrought on his intertwining with the magic. But does mystery not always captivate the hearts of the innocent?

As any other gift, it can be used or abused. Magic is either captured and used as a tool, just as a sword or any other weapon or abused and used to the content of the evil heart. Magic is evil, but it can be used for good.  

As Primine grew he perfected it. He learned how to hone the elements and bend them to his will. It was a gift he encountered and at first used as a source of entertainment, then a tool. Soon he began reaping his own benefits, forcefully. He had the dominant hand on any one person that crossed him, besides a more powerful mage which only happened once in his life. Now as a twenty four year old man whom had kidnapped a nineteen year old princess, he was perhaps the most powerful mage of his time. He had done nothing, extracurricular, rather than practice magic.

Primine could encase anything in a shell of ice, produce fire from his fingers, or even capes of flames from his arms, and allow water forth from thin air to douse the flames. Primine could close a door at the lift of the hand; he could as well read the thoughts of the blatantly confused. He could sift through the elements beneath the earth and force a man to be swallowed into an early grave. There was one thing that Primine could not perform and that was, as all of the other mages he had met in his life, free-o-hands. Primine was still a pointer, as others mocked. All of his castings had to be physically performed. If he did not lift a finger, the command would not cast.

And there he was… Allowing the frost to thicken on his hand. It was gentle and eased his mind, to watch the frost flakes fall so leisurely. The illumination that the fire reflected across the iced-over hand was magnificently admirable. Primine sighed, thawing his hand and shaking the wetness from it. He then dried it with the heat from an arising flame. His hand began to glow red hot, but the flames never came forth. The fire was not necessary, he already used it tonight. 

He was restless that night. He had to entertain himself. He clinched his hand closed. He felt the cool energy leave his chest and as his hand opened a cool blue mist lifted upward. It glowed against the dark and seemed to soothe him as it evaporated into the atmosphere. In the palm of his hand was the ice blue sphere. The sphere was founded around heat. It was a type of plasmid energy, eons beyond his time period’s level of comprehension. Even to the mage, it was an advanced fire casting. 

He threw the ball into the sky and watched it bounce from cloud to cloud in bolts of lightning. Through each cloud it hit, it separated and forced images into them. This is how Primine lulled himself to sleep. It was this level of magic that soothed his restless soul. He knotted his hands behind his head and watched the bolt reproduce among the heavens. It split into several bolts striking the sleeping clouds simultaneously.

Athena was awakened by unforgiving rain. The good news was that it was morning and the world was lit well enough to be seen. Athena was immediately angered upon being so brutally awakened. As she stood to her feet, she realized that her dress now added to her weight, for it carried much water.

“Primine!” Athena attempted to shout over the rolling of clouds and the tumbling of thunder.

There was no response to the dry body. She then took note of how dry his body actually was. He had not been hit by rain at all; in fact, upon closer observation and the strenuous squinting of her eyes, she noticed the rain was being deterred from his body. There could have been a line drawn where it stopped and slid off as if he was encased in glass.

Athena yelled his name once more, her darkened blonde hair dangling by separate wet strands over her eyes. The water dripped eagerly over all her body. It was cold, and it chilled her to the bone. She was immediately afraid of falling ill, and since she could not grasp his unconscious state and throw him into consciousness, she fell to her knees aside him. She shook his body, but immediately noticed the lukewarm atmosphere without the rain. She loved it.

Primine’s eyes were forcefully opened. He rose to see the rains sliding down the invisible barrier before him. His eyes were just as surprised as Athena’s. 

“Primine,” Athena started, “Why did you not cover me as well?”

His eyes studied the barrier as he stood, assuring Athena was in his grasp. “I am not doing this.”

Upon Athena’s moment of discombobulation, the barrier fell. “Oh, goodness.” The cold rain violated them both. “Well, now that doesn’t matter! Where can we go?”

Primine thought for a moment. The rain dripped from her wet hair onto his robed chest. He unbelted the rope at his waist and slipped out of his robe. He wrapped her in it, whispering promises of finding some type of shelter. They ran among the raining world for hours it seemed to Athena. Primine clutched her tightly against him as they ran. It was difficult to see in the distance. Fog and the clouds of rain encumbered the ground lowly. Their visions pursued a goal onward that seemed unreachable.  

Athena was tired of the rain and it was upon this aggravation she actually began pondering the metaphorical road ahead. How easy would this be to travel ahead with Primine? She could admit, at this point, that she was a bit spoiled… only a bit. She was not accustomed to the life of a nomadic refugee as she suspected Primine had once lived. She needed the refined essences of life. It was the type of refined lifestyle she had lived for years and she knew not of the ruffian’s style. Could she bear such a life? Knowing Primine, would he even attempt to console her about such situations? Primine was very blunt and matter-of-fact. He knew emotions but chose to ignore them.

Athena’s highly soaked blonde hair was dried with a towel by the lamplight. Primine undressed himself and laid his clothes by the fireplace. The kind farmer had laid him a fresh pair on the nightstand by the novice’s handcrafted bed. It was definitely in a condition to be considered a guest bed: two blankets on the thrown together single bed. It was so quickly thrown together that the wooden frame was still branches from the pine tree with a bit of twine to hold it together.

Primine eyed the bed in disgust. Then, he finally decided to speak to Athena. “Don’t worry,” His tone was a bit misinterpretively resentful. He was angered by such a small bed, but thankful for the hospitality. “I will take the floor.”

“No,” Her tone felt concerned yet defeated. “I cannot let you do that, Primine.”

“I will be fine Athena.” 

She had turned because he had dressed himself.

He laughed to himself at her innocence. “You know, you don’t have to turn away from me when I undress as you do. You have seen me before.”

She blushed, her pale skin glowing against the flames. “Well,” she nervously stuttered, “that was such a while ago. I am only being polite.” Then she turned, adjusting her knees into the bed and sitting on edge as he stood a few meters away from the foot of the bed. “Are you inviting me to look?”

He laughed again, except this time out of amusement. He dressed himself in a loose fitting long-sleeved wool shirt. The collar was loosely stitched, exposing his collar bones and a bit of his chest. “I would not mind.”

She was speechless. It was an unfortunately ungentlemanly thing to say, but that was not what baffled her. She was bemused by her own temptation toward such a man. He was a very odd man, but she was oddly attracted to the devilishly sly character. 

“I hate to admit this, but I am very apathetic about the rainfall.” He apologized.

“Oh hush, I was only angry because I was rudely awakened.”

“Still… There was no reason for us to roam in the downpour for four hours… I know you’re famished.”

“No, no. I am fine. That man’s meals were very filling.”

“Yes…”

“Indeed.”

And it was there that the conversation died. At times, Athena’s eyes wandered onto the pondering handsome face of Primine. He locked his eyes onto the fire and thought of the farmer who had hospitably taken Athena and himself in. It was an act of kindness, but the thought quickly turned to how quickly the man would slay either one of them if he discovered that he was in the company of a very powerful mage. 

Primine also thought of Athena and the beginning of the abusive journey they partook. It even scared him. He had compassion, especially for the innocent. He was empathetic about innocence being undeservingly abused.