The Witch's Hunt, Misty Cogburn [best ereader for pdf txt] 📗

some mistake, he wondered.

 

His magic had never once led him astray before, Trávn rebuked himself for even thinking such a thing. For who could he trust, if not his magic?

 

Exhaustion weighed heavily on Trávn’s shoulders. Even still, though he was tired from the night’s long journey, he knew better than to stray from his path.

 

How easy it would be to camp within the shelter of those evergreens, he longed. Yet, he knew the Weefolk never took kindly for trespassers within their borders, even if the criminal wasn't human.

 

The sun had risen to sit at the far edges of the seaboard horizon, its rays giving an ethereal glow to the woodlands around his person. The greens seemed brighter, the browns seemed darker, and everything from the grass to the trees, even the rocks had gained an otherworldly glow.

 

It would have been beautiful, maybe even more so than the scene he had witnessed just moments before, if not for the dry streaking blows of lightning and bangs of thunder echoing from the darkening sky above him...

 

Though the rain still creased its torrent, it seemed the unyielding storm was determined to cast itself overhead. Coming from the angry bellows above, the wind began to rage. Causing waves from the sea-bed to crash heavily upon the sheer cliff of the rocky trail Trávn followed.

 

All around him, lightning struck down to earth like long arms searching both the land and sea. Yet, somehow, Trávn knew he was safe from the peering eyes of the Coven's Witches. At least for now, his magic promised.

 

Bombarded by the scent of drying rain and the taste of salt in the air, Trávn gazed into the blue-black depths of the sea. The path he traveled was nothing more than a jutting edge of cliff that plummeted down to the sea-floor.

 

A fall from this height would surely kill him.

 

Yet, his magic felt the pull of the mystic sea, something within him urged him to step closer to the cliff’s edge. Though, for once in his life, it was not solely his magic’s will at fault. There was something, both old and powerful, that laid masked beneath the dark waves of the ever churning sea.

 

Troubled, Trávn’s mind began to race as he thought over his situation.

 

If the sign he'd read had given any correct indication, he was still days away from Röthsburg. It filled him with dread to think he would be unable to meet his Chosen on his given day. Yet, what was he to do? His powers were drained, his body exhausted... had he traveled all for naught?

 

His gaze seemed trapped within the sea's white spray, mesmerized even, until Trávn felt his feet inch closer to the cliff's edge. At his actions, Kalsilk's claws dug into Trávn’s neck, yet his magic dimmed the pain.

 

Suddenly it wasn’t just the will of the obscured creature lurking beneath the waves that urged him forward. With a jolt, Trávn’s magic awoke inside his gut as he was hit with a horrific revelation.

 

One does not travel to the Edge's regions, one sails...

 

Trávn’s weathered hat fell from his head to his feet as the waves began to steadily grow. Floored, Trávn could only stare in silent shock at his realization.

 

This cliff was no trail that led to Röthsburg. It was a trap for the foolish, he could see it even before his magic had warned. The pitiful skulls that lined the cliffs rugged edges gave all the notice he needed.

 

It seemed whatever deadly creature it was, lurking beneath the sea's dark depths, feasted on the wayward travelers that took this damned pathway.

 

Horrified, Trávn’s fear gave him the strength to step backwards, yet he had already heard the call. Even as Kalsilk hissed in his ear, Trávn was paralyzed. His soul entrapped by the beauty of their song, and his thoughts darkened by his lust.

 

They rose from the sea with the crashing waves, each reaching their pale arms out beckoning him to follow. In their figures, he saw what man would see, the eerie beauty of the bare women.

 

The flowing waves of their long hair, cascading down their slim forms much like the sea’s own waves. He saw the loveliness of their pert breasts, the paleness of their cream colored skin, and the want in their beseeching eyes.

 

They wanted him, begged for him, and Trávn found their offer hard to refuse.

 

Gazing at the beautiful creatures’ chests, Trávn’s jaw slackened in admiration of what he saw, having never seen a woman’s bare form he found it hard to look away. It was impossible even, for the Sirens' breasts stole his eyes with their ample roundness and coral color peaks.

 

How could he tear his gaze from such beauty?

 

Yet, Trávn saw what man would never see, not until death came from the Siren's calls.

 

Beneath those plump red lips, which begged to be kissed, lay rows of sharp teeth meant to sever flesh from bone. Their hands, though slim and delicate to the eye, had claws meant to sink into and hold down their prey.

 

He could see the slits on their necks, and he assumed they were gills meant to let the Sirens breathe beneath the sea’s dark depths. He noticed many things about their wonderful forms, and some things he vowed he would never willingly forget.

 

Yet, their most descriptive feature was their short slender ears. Trávn was stunned to see the resemblance between the Siren’s ears and those of the Weefolk he had encountered on his many travels northward.

 

It told him more than he could ever ask.

 

Every fiber in his body urged him forward to take the Sirens' outstretched hand. To take what they offered him in their songs, for he was a man... A being driven by nature to be consumed by both greed and lust.

 

Yet, his magic kept him grounded.

 

In these creatures, he saw the same flaw of the Weefolk.

 

Instead of gazing longingly at their enchanting beauty, Trávn fell to his face before them. With his forehead pressed firmly to the ground, he shut his eyes tightly, and ignored their pleas to gaze upon them.

 

"Forgive me...," he groveled before the women.

 

Yet, instead of feeling appeased by his actions, the Sirens' songs grew enraged at his disregard and the sea’s waves became all the more violent. A tension began to fill the air around them, and where there had been only four Sirens just moments before; Trávn’s magic now warned many more had ascended from the sea.

 

They surrounded him, their long wet hair drizzling seawater over his already soaked form. He could hear the pitter-patter of their wet feet on the jagged rock of the cliff’s trail. He could feel their ire grow, even as some reached out to stroke his groveling form. Trávn knew they wished to coax his lust, to get him to gaze upon them, yet he apologized once more.

 

"I cannot," he supplied, "... to look upon such beauty will surely damn me."

 

Hisses rose in the Siren's songs in remark of his words, but Trávn was unflinching before their rage. "If I were to look upon you, I could never give my heart to another," he said apologetically to the Sirens.

 

"For your beauty would captivate my very soul... till the end of my days," he swore in earnest. At his words, the angry hisses softened to pleased coos, as Trávn poetically declined to look at the Sirens.

 

It seemed his words had won the Sirens’ favor, but Trávn knew the worst was yet to come. For he could feel it approaching from the sea, even before any of the Sirens gave warning that something was amiss.

 

Trávn knew not what it was, but felt it land before his prone form. Then a hand, softer than anything he'd ever felt before, cupped his cheek to force his gaze upward.

 

Ancient, his magic supplied, as he met the beauty's mirror-like eyes.

 

Though nothing in the Siren's face gave tell to her age, Trávn could feel with his very being, this creature was something to fear. He could see it in the way the other Siren's revered her as if she were the mother to their kind, or even their Queen.

 

He felt fear begin to claw away at his throat, and in response his magic coiled tightly within his belly. Fighting to control the rampant power, Trávn kept his magic from lashing outwards. Yet, as a few of the beautiful Sirens jumped back, he knew the unconscious reaction of his eyes had given him away.

 

It was an inevitable response to his magic, from beneath his pale hair Trávn's eyes now glowed in an unnatural fashion. His normally brown eyes, now shone a blue-silver from his fear and aftereffects of magic.

 

In most supernatural circles, Wizards were regarded with a great deal of reverence, yet others saw a mixed creature, such as he, to be an abomination. To the Weefolk he had encountered in the past his nature had mattered not, and Trávn could only hope the same could be said for the Sirens.

 

It had always been in his nature to be wary when dealing with the many mystic creatures he had encountered on his journey. Yet, when the beautiful red-haired Siren before him smiled so warmly, he could all but feel his defenses eroding away.

 

Unsure of what was happening, Trávn forced his gaze to look away from the Siren's enchanting eyes. As he quickly fumbled to apologize for looking upon her, he was hit by the sudden need to present her an offering.

 

Though he had nothing to his name, Trávn’s magic urged him to present a gift to the many Sirens. It took only a moment’s thought, before he came up with an idea. With a slow and deliberate movement, to prevent the fair women from attacking, Trávn cautiously reached into his coat.

 

Grateful that none had lunged at him, Trávn slowly pulled out a binding-roll that had been pulled tightly and pressed between two cuts of wood. From all around, the Sirens stood watching him curiously as he took the package in his hands.

 

Their songs had ceased to haunt his ears, and now he was left in utter silence as they stared at him pointedly. Unraveling the binding that held his gift, Trávn took the pressed jasmine blooms he had gathered days before; then to each of the fair maidens he gave a bloom, and to their Queen he gave a vine.

 

He had kept his eyes downcast from their forms, yet after receiving his gifts the Sirens made no sound. With fear growing deep in his gut, Trávn began to worry as the silence of the Sirens lasted.

 

Did they not like his gift, he wondered apprehensively.

 

Had the jasmine's scent faded?

 

He was left with only a single bloom, to which he brought to his nose to inhale, yet almost instantly the sweet scent of the flower filled his nostrils. Giving a dejected sigh at the scent, Trávn guessed there was no problem with the blooms, but with the gift itself. Daring to gaze up at the Sirens, Trávn flinched.

 

All eyes were upon him as he looked upwards. Even the Queen's gaze was staring hard at him, with her head cocked in slight confusion. Then her beautifully reflective eyes flickered between the vine she held in her hand and the blossom in Trávn's own.

 

It was a apprehensive moment as each of the beautiful Sirens did the same, before the Queen's gaze locked with Trávn's own. Then, she gingerly brought the vine up to her face to scent at the flower’s petals as well.

 

Trávn stared at the Queen, truly looking at her for the first time of their encounter; before, he hadn't noticed the outrageous length of the Sirens' hair.

 

On most it reached only to their milky thighs, yet the Queen's radiant red-locks grew well past her knees. Their hair was beautiful …everything about the Sirens was beautiful, Trávn inwardly admitted with a sigh.

 

However, the blissful look the Queen gave as she closed her eyes to inhale the scent of the jasmine vine, and the wondrous smile that broke across her face left Trávn breathless. Never had