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The Cold Rain Beat Down In Sheets

 
The following is a sneak peek into a WIP I've been working on. Please enjoy!



The cold rain beat down in sheets. I lifted my head to the sky as my lip wobbled. I was glad no one could see the tears through the rain, but now I couldn’t see the way home through the tears.

Thankfully, my phone knew the way.

I was walking through the streets of rural Spain, head hung as tears streamed down my face, the GPS speaking the directions so I could lose myself in my misery. My breath shook as I tried my hardest to make it look as if I was alright, just looking at the ground when I walked like it was normal behavior for me. The only problem was that everyone in this town already knew me too well to fall for that. 

Señorita Cabanilla had told me I’m too proud for my own good.

Luck was on my side, however, as the only people outside in this dreary weather were shopkeepers, and farmers, all of whom were far too busy to stop and look at me, much less make small talk, ask if I was alright, yadda, yadda, boring, blah.

“Are you Alejandro Rodriguez?”

I stopped short at a masculine voice I had never heard before cutting through my self-loathing. 

About 10 feet ahead of me, there was an elderly man on the back of a pure white horse.

“Yo no hablo ingles.” Lie. Absolute lie. I’m fluent, according to my English teacher.

He nodded. “¿Conoces a Alejandro Rodrígues?” 

I squinted at him. “¿Por qué preguntas?”

He jumped off his horse, the ground shaking upon impact. He was lithe, almost to an unhealthy degree, it was weird to see on an Earth Power. Well, two could play at that game. I crouched into a slightly modified tiger stance, my hands further away from my face as they sparked. I begged God for even one of the sparks to stick well enough to catch flame.

“Calm, young Fire Power, I am not here to fight you." He took a step towards me, the earth quaking under his command. 

I took a step back. "Dije que no se ingles." 

Please let him buy the stupid act.

“Quit the bullshit, Alejandro. You’re angering me. I have been told to collect you.” Then the quaking wasn’t intentional, it was emotional. Even worse.

“‘Collect me’? For what? To enslave me? Enlist me in some war?”

"The war theory was closest. I have been informed you are the heir to St. Peter's sword." The world shuddered with him as he admitted to that.

"You don't mean the Sword of Saint Peter, do you?" My hands sparked harder. I prayed to Saint Michael they would catch, though I don’t think I got the prayer right, I’d only said it a handful of times for my buddies before they went off to join the army.

He nodded. "Yes. That sword." The earth heaved a sigh with him. How old was he that he was capable of feats such as these? 

My jaw went slack at the news, my hands no longer sparking. "No way!"

"Will you come willingly, or am I going to have to commit a felony?" 

“I need to speak with Señorita Cabanilla since she is my caregiver.” I allowed myself to relax enough to stand in a guarded, but no longer attack-ready pose. 

“Fair enough. When you cave and join me, pack light; this will be a multi-day-long trip. On horseback and foot. It won’t be some hike in the woods, we will be in the wintery woods of Russia.” He climbed back on his horse, the earth under him moving to accommodate him before reforming to its original shape. 

‘Someone come get your grandfather, he’s disturbing the emo and messing with the earth in unnatural ways.’ I tried not to laugh at my stupid thoughts.

“You may bring a significant other or a friend.” And with that, he was riding off to only God knows where.
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