Chapter One

All around him the large evergreen trees swayed. Their branches, spraying Trávn’s lithe form with a fine mist from their ferocious winds.

 

As if he weren't already soaked, Trávn thought glumly.

 

This outrageous rain had poured down from the heavens above for over four days without end. Even now, the unyielding fat droplets still hit the ground so forcefully they exploded back upwards from the muddy soil.

 

It hadn’t taken long for Trávn’s muddy pathway to become nothing more than a washed out stream of rain water.

 

In all his years, he'd never seen such a storm. Yet, feeling the prickle of heat against the nape of his neck, Trávn knew this was no coincidence.

 

The Witches were scrying.

 

He could feel it in the bolts of lightning that struck high in the sky, even in the rumbling thunder. This storm was as dense with the Witches' malicious intentions, as it was teeming with their vehemence.

 

It was all too clear they were aware of his movements.

 

Trávn's slight travel-worn form desperately huddled beneath the leather skins of his long jacket, feeling the chill seep into his very bones. Protectively, Trávn’s hands clung to the pouch tied around his neck by a long leather thong. He could feel the charm's magic guarding him; almost as vividly as the Witches' eyes that searched for him with every clap of light.

 

It wouldn't be long now, he assured himself. The thought kept his feet going. It kept him moving, despite his fear, his fatigue, and hunger.

 

The Coven had taken everything from him... his adoptive parents, his home, his family... his entire village... all gone. It was folly to try and convince himself his trembling was from the North’s chill alone.

 

Yet, hearing a waking hiss beside his ear Trávn found comfort. Pausing to pet the creature wrapped around his neck, Trávn attempted to control the unconscious flare of his magic, worried of his emotion’s effect.

 

In response the creature grumpily flexed its talon-like claws on Trávn's tender flesh, before it too settled back down to its slumber laying coiled beneath the wide brim of Trávn's weathered hat. For the past few days the creature had used the upturned collar of his coat to keep itself completely warm and dry from the rain's showers. Something Trávn envied with great annoyance.

 

Yet, he could find no fault in the creature's actions. Even as selfish as the being was, Trávn was thankful for the creature's presence throughout his long journey.

 

Save for Kalsilk's warm company, he was all alone in the world.

 

Though only for a little while longer, he swore to himself. After all, he would be seventeen for only two more days. He was only two mere days away from meeting his Chosen One. For an entire year he had searched for his Chosen, and now Trávn was finally so close to the fated day.

 

His journey had been both long and hard, and throughout the long year he had suffered many great losses along the way. His body, mind, and soul were all so undeniably fatigued, even to the point he almost wished to give up.

 

Feeling the heated breath of his serpentine companion spill upon his ear, Trávn shuddered all the more visibly from the aching chill. Struggling to keep his mind sharp, Trávn chanted his mantra.

 

Survive, he demanded from himself as he trudged along. His steps were shaky at best and often slick from the dampened mud of his path, but still he struggled onwards.

 

Never once looking back from where he had come, or into the distance in hopes he could see what lay ahead. To Trávn prioritizing meant he focused on the now, which left little for him to imagine. Stay vigilant of your surroundings, and put one foot before the other, he inwardly chanted.

 

With this in mind, he was able to keep his pace for quite some time, then hunger gnawed like a rabid beast within his gut, so strong Trávn stumbled in his steps. Hitting his knees, Trávn was left kneeled over as if he were in prayer. Trávn clutched his arms, wrapping them tightly around the grumbling mass of his cavernous middle.

 

He felt so weak... and so very tired, he was more than sure he would not be able to take another step, even if he tried. Then, a bolt of lightning struck just feet from where he sat and Trávn flinched wildly.

 

Jolted from his temporary lapse, Trávn glanced upwards. Where the sky seemed to scream with more anger than even his stomach. The rumbling thunder carried on with such a temperament it felt as if the ground beneath Trávn shook, its angry bellows vibrating through his very core.

 

Within him, Trávn’s magic stirred in recognition of the storm’s unnatural attributes.

 

Though his need for substance was great, even more so than his need for shelter, Trávn knew what he needed most. It was to distance himself from the Witches, if he had any hopes of surviving this ordeal.

 

Struggling back to his feet, Trávn walked in an unsteady gait, staggering forward until he neared a V in the road.

 

Surprised to find a wooden sign that pointed in two directions, Trávn came to a halt; opting to rest for a few moments as he deciphered what little information the sign offered the path’s wayward travelers. Unlike most in his social class Trávn could read, though he'd never learned. It was one of many advantages his magic presented, an inborn knack for languages un-native to his tongue.

 

Though he had never seen a language such as was carved before him, Trávn was able to translate that the garbled scratching of the wooden sign before him indicated two paths to which he could follow. In one direction lay a town he'd never once heard Wötensburough, and in the other lay the capital of Röthsburg.

 

At the name of the last township, Trávn’s face visibly flinched.

 

He'd traveled so far, each kingdom had seemed more dreaded than the last, yet finally he was here. No further North by land could he go, he was at the Ends. A place that struck fear into the hearts of the peaceful villagers of his homeland.

 

Barbarians, these Northern people were called.

 

They were Devils who plagued the seas and raided the southern bowels of the lower regions. Outsiders dared not wander into the territory of these Devils. They were a people who thought nothing of bloodshed and death. To them a kill was a conquest, a claim of worth before their peers.

 

Oh, how he willed his body to turn right, to climb the hilly trail that went to the unfamiliar township of Wötensburough. Yet, instead his feet were led to the leftward path, his magic drawing him to the correct predestined direction.

 

Clearly feeling the heated touch of magic in the air, Kalsilk awoke from around Trávn's neck. Interest glowed in the creature’s large yellow eyes as Trávn unwillingly turned to journey down the trail that lined the hilly slope's edges.

 

The creature stretched from his long nap, scraping the long spikes of his back lightly against Trávn's neck. It seemed the indolent creature was finally ready to awaken, after having slept for nearly the entire night’s journey.

 

Trávn tried, yet failed, to keep his irritation at his lazy companion from growing. It showed too plainly in his magic that his emotions were stretched thin by his indignation. Yet, if Kalsilk noticed he gave no indication, instead the serpentine creature opted to warily scan their surroundings.

 

It was obvious in the creature’s demeanor that something was amiss.

 

Seeing the seriousness that overcame his usually dull companion, Trávn became worried. Sometimes it was easy to forget Kalsilk's magic was as strong, if not stronger than his own.

 

The creature clearly felt the pull leading Trávn forward.

 

The very air around them had begun to still. Trávn’s magic had somehow began to freeze the rain around them with every step that he took. Trávn basked in awe, mystified by the beauty of the floating droplets of rain.

 

Even as the rain finally began to clear and the clouds parted above, the frozen raindrops stayed afloat. Their small orbs glimmering with a thousand colors in the rays of the waking dawn, which had now broke free from the eastern horizon.

 

For the first time in all his northbound travels, Trávn was greeted by the beauty of the harsh region. This was his Chosen’s homeland…

 

Fated, his magic supplied the word, and Trávn knew in this direction he would finally meet his Chosen. His magic was all knowing, there could be no way of refuting what he knew lay in store. Though, how he'd hoped and prayed to the Gods his journey would end before this moment!

 

Yet, here he was... about to venture into the very den of the Sea Devils.

 

To think that after everything he had suffered, he would be bound to a Devil as his Chosen... He had lived these long years in hopes of a great King, not some raider of the seas! He needed a warrior, a knightly man of courage and honor... not some Devil!

 

Yet, even at the thought Trávn's heart twisted painfully in his chest. More so than any bruise marring his already battered body, it physically hurt Trávn to think such things of his Chosen.

 

It seemed, though his mind fought, both his body and magic had already accepted the fact his Chosen was one of the long hated foes of his people. Trávn knew he should accept it as well, but his heart anguished at the thought. He'd grown up, since he was but a boy, surrounded in the warring raids of the Devils.

 

Often farmers, like his family, were left with nothing!

 

The raiders took riches, food, livestock, and even lives... They were nothing, save the Devils their title claimed them to be, and yet, now he knew without a doubt he was to search for one as his Chosen?

 

If not the Witches, than those of the raiders were his greatest enemy!

 

However, he was no longer a peasant... and neither was he a farmer.

 

He was a Wizard, free to do as he must. To follow his instinct and search for his Chosen just as his magic demanded. No longer was he to fear his village or even his parents, they were only humans. Humans who, by their nature, feared what his gifts could bring and abstemiously he understood.

 

They had been right to fear what would come from Witchcraft... the Witches.

 

Terror snaked down his spine at the thought of the Witches’ ghastly deeds. He had never known fear before the Coven had attacked his village. Even within him, his magic quivered, haunted by the memory of what had happen on that night, which now seemed so long ago.

 

In a rare show of affection, Kalsilk rubbed his head against the underside of Trávn's jaw in a transparent attempt to soothe the boy. Yet, even as appreciative as he was, the gesture gave Trávn no comfort.

 

He was in danger from the Witches, and nothing Kalsilk did could prevent that... He wouldn't be safe, not until his twentieth year.

 

So, no matter what kind of devilish fiend he was, Trávn needed his Chosen... especially now that he had been marked by the Witches.

 

He would not be safe until his Chosen was found. He could not risk the possibility of being captured. There was no comfort or repose for him. He had to keep moving, for Trávn could not risk being spotted, not if he wished to stay alive.

 

Reaching the apex of the high slope his path had followed, Trávn stopped briefly to catch his breath. Staring ahead in a rare moment of hope, Trávn looked before the sea side cliff, expecting to see how far his path continued on. Yet, instead he found himself surrounded by nothing but a sheer drop and a forest of ancient trees.

 

Nothing could be seen for miles. His path just vanished, disappearing at the end of the cliff. Had there been 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 he seen such pure beauty!

 

It was only then, that Trávn realized the Sirens had never smelled a flower.

 

All around him each of the Sirens followed suit. Mimicking the actions of their Queen, the Sirens’ melodies began to hum as each of the fair maidens basked in the scent of the earthly blooms.

 

Their songs carried no words, only high beautiful pitches that expressed their emotions; yet from which, Trávn could tell that he had pleased them.

 

Satisfied he had done his best, Trávn once again lowered his face. Even as he gently replied, "I'm happy the gift pleases you. Yet, no flower could match the beauty of your smiles." The Sirens began to coo once more as he shamelessly flattered them. Yet, Trávn found he meant each word with the deepest sincerity.

 

They were the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen, yet he wasn't foolish enough not to fear them...

 

Feeling the Queen kneel before him, Trávn dared to glance upwards. Only to find his head bowed between the parted thighs of the bare Siren. Eyes locked, he found it impossible to break his gaze, even as his face burned. He bore witness to every womanly curve the Siren's body had to offer.

 

Finding the power to meet the teasing gaze of her silver eyes, Trávn's face flushed as he looked down abashed at what he had done.

 

"Wizard...," a voice sung with such raw beauty, it quelled his unease enough to where Trávn could look back into the Siren Queen’s eyes.

 

The Queen's lush lips hadn't moved from the smirk partially hidden behind the jasmine's vine, but Trávn knew it was the voice of the Queen. For no other on Earth could have such a beautiful voice...

 

"... you please my kind. –And as a reward, we will take you to what you seek. Yet, be warned. For enemies lurk within the storm," the being's melody continued.

 

"We will deliver you from their reach."

 

At their Queen’s words, happy melodies began to fill the air, and the younger Sirens approached him without any hesitation. In response, Trávn slumped gratefully down to the earth, thanking them repeatedly. Within him, his magic hummed with his relief, playing in tune with the Siren's now peaceful melodies.

 

They flocked to him unabashed by their nudity, pulling at his strange clothing and working together to unravel his potion's bindings. It took three of them to accomplish the task, and soon all of the dried plants he had gathered from his journey began to be passed around from Siren to Siren.

 

They stripped him bare, their eager eyes and hands roaming over everything he owned... even parts of his body he noted with a jump! Gingerly he rubbed at his backside where a Siren's claws had dug into his rump.

 

As he stood before them nude as day, with only his hands to hide himself from their prying eyes, Trávn couldn’t help but think it should be impossible for his face to burn this brightly. Yet, the creatures were undeterred, all around him the Sirens pilfered through his belongings, smelling his things, and trying on his clothing to model before the others with gleeful expressions.

 

One beauty had stolen his coat and slid it on, its sleeves going past her hands and its length below her knees, swallowing her tiny form. His hat did nearly the same...

 

Trávn had never been a large man, but seeing his clothes envelop the beautiful Sirens brought a manly sense of pride to his heart; until another tried on his trousers and they fit perfectly... as well as his boots.

 

However, he wouldn't let his slight form bother him, not when the Sirens seemed so excited by his strange belongings. Overtime their songs had lost their eerie tune, and had become more chirping as the moments drew longer.

 

They seemed enthralled by his many things, and somehow they developed a habit of smelling them as well, Trávn noted, wincing as one Siren sniffed inside his boot only to recoil in disgust. Turning his head like he had not saw, Trávn hoped the beautiful creature was okay.

 

It wasn't until he recognized the chill seeping into his bare flesh and heard the surprised hiss from a nearby Siren that Trávn even realized Kalsilk was missing.

 

Slithering from his stolen coattail like a snake, the dragon ran to him. Causing the, women to erupt in ear piercing screeches as the creature fled. Clutching his ears, Trávn cringed from the horrid sound.

 

Even as Kalsilk clawed up his leg like a cat would a tree, his ears hurt worse than the marks left behind by the small dragon’s talons.

 

Yet, Kalsilk ignored Trávn’s distress.

 

Upon, reaching his usual perch the tiny Dragon coiled around Trávn's neck with a bruising force, choking Trávn, as he glared at the Sirens to stay away.

 

Tugging at the dragon’s coils, Trávn fought for air. Instead of showing his ire at his small companion’s actions, Trávn smiled sheepishly at the Sirens, apologizing generously for the small dragon's impolite behavior.

 

Turning his back on the many glowering eyes that watched the dragon, Trávn leaned towards the creature. "Coward," he hissed sourly at Kalsilk, knowing the Dragon had disappeared from sight as soon as the Sirens had appeared.

 

A forked tongue flicked in his direction, but that was the only indication Kalsilk cared about the accusation. Huffing gruffly, Trávn turned back to the surrounding Sirens, more than willing to apologize once more... However, the appearance of the Dragon seemed to have snapped the Sirens from their odd behavior.

 

Almost instantly they began to return his belongings to him, their beautiful eyes downcast and faces seemingly sorry for their actions.

 

He was thankful for his clothing, grateful even when they returned his potions binding. Yet, when they began to return the jasmine blooms, Trávn blatantly refused to accept them. "Keep them," he replied to their ardent attempts.

 

"Flowers shall always be a tribute to your beauty," he smiled as he dressed, and coos rained down all around him from the sated Sirens. Even their Queen seemed pleased by his sincere words.

 

Yet the serene moment was cut short as the rolling thunder began to pick up. Lightning cracked in the darkening sky above them as they dallied.

 

He could tell the Sirens wished to return to the sea in the midst of such a storm.

 

Trávn had long since noticed the longer the Sirens strayed from the water the more pallor their looks became. Their bodies must not be equipped to remain outside the waters for long, he noted.

 

By their own control a large wave washed up into the bluff, solidly enough for the Sirens to step into the water and swim out to sea. One by one they left the cliff, until Trávn stood on the sheer bluff alone with only Kalsilk in his company.

 

From beneath the cliff the Sirens swam, once more beckoning him to leap into the waters below. Yet, Trávn feared he could not. Even staring down into the sea's dark depths of rolling waves brought a terror like he'd never known.

 

He stood morbidly at the edge of the staggering bluff.

 

Too weak and cowardly to move from where his feet seemed firmly placed. To jump from such a height would be suicide, but that's just what his magic bid him to do… One moment he sat comfortably debating if it was worth the risk and in the next moment his feet blasted off the cliff's edge with no heed or warning.

 

One would think what with magic, came choices... Yet, they'd be wrong.

 

Magic has a will of its own... Yet, somehow, Trávn thought murderously, the will of his magic always seemed to supersede his own.

 

As he fell ever downwards, Trávn screamed wildly, failing through the air. He wished with his entire core he could fly, even as he hit the water with a solid thunk. He hadn't dove, like anyone with any intelligence would have, but instead landed flat on his rear. The pain was instant, as if he had been flogged by the placid waters.

 

For a moment everything was dark, as he clutched at his rear, he had sunk far into the sea’s depths. So deep he was blind within the dark waters, yet his magic reacted to his sudden panic, giving him sight beneath the sea’s waves.

 

Yet, his sight only made his situation worse. Gagging, Trávn’s frightened eyes burned from the sea’s salt and what he saw lay under the cliff's watery edge.

 

Centuries of stockpiled bones lay littered around the sea floor.

 

More Sirens than he could ever hope to count swarmed around him with sing-song voices. Both ships and treasure littered the sea around them, and briefly Trávn wondered if he'd been tricked.

 

Yet, no attack came, instead a girl Siren in a child's form swam to him. Just like the other Sirens, her long black hair surrounded her like a halo of ethereal beauty. The girl, he noticed, was unfamiliar to him...

 

She wasn't one of the Sirens he had already met. Trávn had only one jasmine blossom left, and in an offer of peace he held it out towards the child, almost tentatively.

 

However, the girl's eyes never once looked towards the offered blossom. Instead her blue eyes focused on the flesh of his arm.

 

Then in a flash of fangs and claws the tiny Siren bit into the meat of Trávn's forearm. The reaction was instant, as his blood flowed from both his arm and the little Siren's mouth the others began to circle them like sharks in a feeding frenzy.

 

Realizing what was about to happen, Trávn's heart thudded wildly.

 

In a foolish move, Trávn tore his arm from the child's mouth, ripping his arm open against her deadly sharp teeth and filling the sea around them with his blood.

 

Cradling his wounded arm, Trávn kicked desperately, fleeing the swimming Sirens in an attempt to reach the surface of the water. Yet, knowing all the while, even without the heavy weight of his clothing the sheer cliff that awaited him outside the sea’s waves would be impossible to climb.

 

Though even before he could break the surface of the sea’s black depths, Trávn flinched as another Siren dove towards him. His magic was rushed, the spell was weak, but he threw up a shield to protect himself from the creature's claws.

 

Unaware that another was circling behind him to attack his throat. Trávn cringed as he felt her claws sink into his arm and side, catching a glimpse of her fanged filled mouth over his shoulder. Trávn wondered if this would be how he would die, just before the beautiful creature lunged at his throat.

 

It happened in a whirling moment of pain and agony.

 

He clutched at his ears, alongside every Siren beneath the sea's watery depths. His chest had long since begun to burn from his lack of air. Yet, suddenly Trávn found it was no longer a problem.

 

Trávn now felt the absence of the sea’s chill and the burning ache in his lungs; to his surprise, he was breathing while under water! He was locked within a swirling bubble of contained air that separated him from the sea, and thankfully, the Siren's from him.

 

Trávn coughed up what little water he had inhaled under his attack. He looked up sharply as his prison of swirling air began to drift towards the angered form of the Sirens’ Queen. He knew it had been by her command that his attack was halted, and it was by her power he now sat dry and warm beneath the sea's waves.

 

Once more he was stunned by the Siren, completely unsure of her motives.

 

Yet, even still he was bewitched by her beauty, …it was all the more remarkable under the sea's currents, he noted with a soft smile in her direction.

 

As the beautiful Queen returned his smile with a deadly grin, Trávn was once again reminded of his danger. Beautiful or not, the lethalness of the Queens teeth was surely much greater than the small mouth of the child Siren, he gulped.

 

"I hope you are well," she murmured in her rich song.

 

Fighting back his ire as he clutched his bleeding arm, Trávn nodded. He knew it was not in the nature of most creatures to apologize... that was a human trait. To these immortals it wasn't about blame, but acceptance.

 

Once again he was broke from his thoughts by the Queen’s voice.

 

"Trávn of Cornwell, the Red Wizard of Röth," she sung in a low key, "I wish you safe passage. –And bestow a gift. For we'll meet again.”

 

“Young friend of the Siren."

 

He wanted to ask what she meant. How did she know his name? His village? What did she mean 'Red Wizard of Roth'? What gift? Trávn was filled with so many questions, but as he listened to the Siren's he felt their magic on him.

 

"Train well young Wizard...," those beautiful eyes urged.

 

Trávn had so many questions he wanted to ask the Siren, yet his eyes were growing heavier. The world seemed to spin around him with no axis, until eventually he lost sight of the Sirens and his vision faded to black...

Chapter Two

 Trávn groaned in pain as consciousness came to him in the gentle laps of chilling waters slicing away against his heated skin. His senses awoke one by one, first in his sense of touch. Then, gradually, in the soft murmurs of a crowd surrounding him...

 

Even before Trávn could open his eyes, he knew something was horribly wrong. He felt weak, he felt sore... and so very tired.

 

The last memory he had was of the Sirens and their promise to see him safely to the Devils' shore. Yet, had he known the pain he would feel from his slumbering travels, he would have refused such an obviously too generous offer.

 

What had the beautiful Sirens done to him as he lay out of sorts? He wondered pitifully with another pained moan passing between his cracked lips.

 

His body felt as if it had been beaten, and briefly he wondered if any visible damage had been done to his person. Yet, he was too weak to open his eyes, let alone to sit up and take inventory of his own form.

 

Just what had they done to him, he questioned tersely. Though his pain wasn’t stabbing, more of a dull ache, Trávn’s mind was consumed with different scenarios involving the Sirens’ claws and teeth.

 

His body felt as if it were numbed by ice, yet his head throbbed from what felt like a heated blow from a blacksmith's great hammer.

 

Wading through the pain, Trávn struggled to focus as the voices surrounding him steadily grew louder and even more agitated.

 

Mustering together what little strength he could gather, Trávn fought to wake himself fully. Finally able to crack open his eyes, Trávn winced as he met the sun. The very light of the day burned away at his eyes.

 

Only once before had he felt such agony upon awakening, he remembered it even still, it had been the aftereffects of a Carcadian brew much too strong for his liking.

 

However, this was much worse than the pain he could remember of a spirit's curse.

 

He squinted sorely into a sea of red, surrounding him in a blurring close knitting of moving faces. As his eyes slowly adjusted, Trávn saw the red to be hair, and the faces towering figures of people.

 

They were men of enormous sizes and girths, all leaning downwards to peer at Trávn.

 

In the light of the day, he saw the many blinking glares of murderous weapons and the threateningly sharp teeth of the Sea Devils. In appearance, the people were everything rumors had told, right down to the jutting lips of their snarling frowns.

 

He was obviously over taken with fever, to be surrounded by these beasts and pressed against their weapons, yet, to feel no fear. In fact, his first rational thought was only that he'd never seen a Devil before...

 

Yet, now he was surrounded by at least a hundred of the Sea Devils.

 

They were all large brawny men, stocky in size. Each had flaming red hair and long burly beards, braided in strange designs down their fronts. They were cloaked in thick furs of hunted game and colorful cloths made of many lines and shades.

 

The Devils were aweing to look at... Even when he knew he should fear them Trávn's battered mind did not comply. Instead he stared blankly at them, observing their strange appearance.

 

From what little skin their forearms showed, Trávn could distinctly make out the ancient designs of light blue, inked into their fleshy arms. They each had many different traits among their own, but all shared distinctive features that separated them from any race of people Trávn had ever seen.

 

Trávn laid reclined back in the rock gravel of the sea's chilling shore, his brown eyes absorbing all he saw of the strange new people with open awe. Half dazed, in pain and eyes heavy with exhaustion, it took him a while to realize his composed mood was only an aftereffect of the Sirens' spell.

 

His head throbbed painfully as he warred within himself to wake fully from the Sirens' influences. He looked at the people, at their weapons, and felt his hackles rise.

 

These people weren't awing, they were murders... each of them.

 

Each of them stood in an aggressive stance, seemingly ready to spear him through at any moment with their long curved knives.

 

He should fear them, not revere them... As his mind finally woke, Trávn could feel his horror grow to the point it was far ahead of what his body could manage in its current state. To move seemed near impossible, but as the crowd of Devils began to inch closer, Trávn's body finally reacted.

 

With a frightened whimper Trávn scrambled backwards, back into the sea.

 

In all those long moments he had blatantly stared, he had never once thought of how he was to escape them...

 

Now aware, he fled clumsily on awkward limbs. Ignoring the chill of the sea's icy waters against his fevered skin, he inched away, unconsciously shivering as the water rose up his back and along his legs.

 

Oh, how he wished to run, yet his body protested such actions. His head pounded hard enough to make him sway. Kalsilk was either gone or hiding... and he was laid supine, strangely powerless, before this dangerous crowd of Sea Devils.

 

All around him voices murmured in a language he had never heard. It wasn't beautiful, like that of the musical Elves or even the Sirens. It was thick with snorts and grunts, the very words seemed growled together by the Sea Devils' taunt snarling lips.

 

Somehow, in the repressed regions of his mind Trávn couldn't help but think how the rugged language fit the Sea Devils.

 

The language was like nothing Trávn had ever encountered before, even with his many travels across the nine kingdoms he had roamed. Even with his magic, Trávn was doubtful he could have understood any of the Devils' language.

 

Their words only seemed to blend together in Trávn's mind in a way that made the garble both painful and completely incomprehensible inside the pounding ache of his skull. As the crowds voices began to rise in anger directed towards him, Trávn flinched back. He couldn't answer their demanding questions...

 

He could barely hear their words. His head felt nearly full enough to explode under the pressure pulsing at his temple.

 

With a wordless cry he brought up his hands to clutch at his head, forgetting to think what the others may do at his sudden movement. Yet, he was pulled from his dire thoughts by the sudden inhalation of the Sea Devil's surprised intakes of air.

 

He warily looked up to them, and then down at his person to find what had captured their attention. For a moment, together, they all stared openly at the mark marring Trávn's arm. Then suddenly, each of the barbaric, bearded, men dropped their weapons into the sea… almost as if the Devils blades had somehow been cursed to burn the wielders' hand.

 

The men's once narrowed, distrustful, eyes widened into a look of alarm and reverence. Yet, Trávn couldn't begin to think about what it all meant... the mark... the people's strange behavior.

 

Trávn's mind went blank as his eyes drew closed. He sank deep enough to cover his ears in the sea's salty depths before his chilled body was wrapped in something warm and he was lifted from its waters.

 

The last thing he saw in the red sea of faces was the wide frightened eyes of the many Sea Devils... That beautiful shade of silver grey, surrounded in midnight rings of black ...such mesmerizing eyes, Trávn thought languidly. Even the stunning shade of their flame colored hair...

 

He'd seen such beautiful traits before... once somewhere before...

 

...in many of the Sirens he had seen.

 

~*~*~*~

 

He woke next to the sound of howling calls echoing in the late air of the night. At first Trávn thought it only wolves, something he had sadly grown accustomed to in his journey northward, but then he surged wide awake. With a sick twist deep in his gut he realized it to be the pitiful moans of something human.

 

How tortured the cries sounded, Trávn cringed in sympathy for the other's pain.

 

Who was it? He wondered briefly.

 

His eyes were still half cast and lids heavy from his worn sleep, yet he worried for the other’s sake. Where was the sound coming from? And, for that matter... 

 

"Where... am I?" Trávn’s cracked lips murmured the question aloud as he looked around him dazed, yet wary of any hint of flaming red hair. Wincing as he sat up, he flicked his dry tongue across the cracked edges of his lips.

 

Suddenly, he was completely awake and all too aware of his possible danger.

 

He'd been taken by the Sea Devils...

 

In a fearful rush he scanned his surroundings. Surprised to find himself unguarded and tucked inside a feathered bed of soft linen and many pelts... and not chained against a cold dungeon's wall.

 

Instead he was in a warm comfortable room. Something he admitted, he rarely had a chance to observe in his many travels of the kingdoms he had seen.

 

All around him light flickered off the room's stonewalls, reflecting its rays from the fireplace lit against the room's southern wall. Overall, the room was bare and modest yet clearly built for one of wealth.

 

That observation in itself left Trávn with a sense of unease. He slid from the soft linens and piled furs with great regret. Needing information on his current holdings rather than the sweet comfort the bedding provided his travel worn body.

 

Regardless of how his body protested any movement, Trávn stepped lightly onto the hard stone floor. Ignoring the stone's biting chill, he was shocked to find his current state of dress. To his own discomfort, he found himself clothed in a thick woolen nightshirt many sizes too large for his form.

 

It embarrassed him to think another had seen him in a state of undress. Even more that he had been bathed as well. Something he uneasily noted from the scent of floral soap coming off his skin; which in itself was suddenly many shades lighter.

 

Yet, Trávn ignored the feeling of dismay, as well as the mortified burn in his cheeks.

 

Instead he focused on searching for the cowardly dragon, Kalsilk. In an angry rush he threw back the warm pelts and fresh linens of his bed. To find the lazy creature there slumbering, he thought briefly about throttling the pitiful creature... Yet, his heart would never allow it.

 

Kalsilk may be as cowardly as a rat, but he was a good friend.

 

Trávn sighed despondently. Kalsilk was surely as drained from their journey as he... let the Dragon sleep, he decided indifferently. With that, he tucked his friend back under the warm pelts and turned to face the door of the room.

 

There was only one exit, he noted.

 

It lay behind the solid, finely crafted gate of the present door. Yet, Trávn felt a sense of dread fill his being at the thought of crossing its threshold. For surely, it was in that direction those hauntingly pained cries had come...

 

Approaching the door as if it were something evil, Trávn was hesitant to make a single sound. The closer he came to the door, the more validated his precaution seemed to become. By the time he had made it to the door, those heartfelt cries had turned into near breathless screams of agony.

 

Trávn felt sick to his stomach at the many sounds. He felt the strong urge to protect the helpless victim, to soothe the injured being's woes; even despite the peculiar silence of his magic.

 

At the final sound of a long choked sob, Trávn could hold himself back no more... He threw open the door and rushed into the room. Only to find a room similar to that of the one he had just awoken from... it was larger than his own, maybe even more furnished, but most of all... it was empty.

 

With only the rooms flickering fire to light his path, Trávn stepped forward with trepidation. Those soft cries had stilled, but whimpers still came from behind the thick curtain of the large bed at the center of the strange room.

 

Whoever was injured surely lay behind its fabric.

 

Steeling himself to what horrors awaited him behind the curtain's veil. Trávn fought to quell the gore filled images that came to mind in rapid flashes at the sound of the Sea Devil's tortured captive.

 

What lay behind the curtain? 

 

He couldn't help but swallow drily at the thought.

 

Trávn approached the bed without a hero's bravo. Instead, he was overcome with leaden legs and trembling hands. He gripped the thick curtain, before taking a deep breath and forcefully steadying himself for what waited on the other side.

 

He would save the poor soul, even if he …died trying, he trembled at the thought.

 

He could do it… he assured himself.

 

Yet, just as he was about to throw back the curtain's iron wall, a hand snatched his own in a painful grip. With a sharp tug that nearly pulled his arm from its socket, Trávn found himself yanked into the other side of the veil.

 

He had hoped, with his very core, to stop the senseless violence he had overheard. To halt whatever Devil caused the poor soul’s pain. Yet, instead Trávn found himself straddled and pinned against a bed with a cold blade pressed against the underside of his jaw. Blind in the darkness of the curtain's thick veil, Trávn trembled fearfully.

 

At his sudden appearance, the strange soulful cries had died out. Now, all Trávn's senses could pick up in the pitch blackness was the sound of panting breaths coming from two mysterious figures.

 

One from the heavy figure above him and another nearby... somewhere he couldn't detect. Foolishly, he struggled against the other's hold. Nicking his own neck against the razor sharp edge of the other's blade.

 

With a strangled gasp at the burning pain, Trávn froze.

 

The grunting language he had heard when he first woke on the Devil's shore snarled down at him from the unknown assailant's lips. In the corner of his vision, Trávn could see a bright flash of blue light. Then in only seconds, magic began to swirl around them in small glowing orbs of pale yellow lights.

 

At first Trávn cringed, expecting next to be at the end of a Witch's blade.

 

Yet, as the light began to clear the inky blackness of their encampment, Trávn was shocked to see the third mysterious figure emerge in the orbs' soft glow. It was an impossibly thin boy. Nude as day, Trávn realized with some embarrassment, but it was the boy's eyes that stole his attentions.

 

They glowed with the use of his magic, the same silvery blue Trávn's own brown eyes turned when he used his gifts. The mysterious boy was a Wizard... a very naked and very small ...Wizard.

 

As Trávn looked up at the other who had him pinned to the bed, realization struck him both hard and fast. Like a stone of common sense thrown against his impossibly thick skull, it was only then did he realize what he had done...

 

There on Trávn's chest stood the tall member of his assailant's sex…

 

With a loud cry Trávn flinched away in disgust, pleading for the man to remove himself from Trávn's person and cover himself. With his eyes clenched shut, Trávn turned his neck to face anywhere.

 

Anywhere, save where the other sat atop his chest.

 

It was an awkward moment of silence between the three… Before the other slowly took the knife from Trávn's throat, then there was a sudden clang of the knife being thrown outside the curtain's veil.

 

Trávn peeked open one eye hesitantly, then once again for a second time as he felt the gripping thighs of his assailant's legs loosening its hold. When he realized the other no longer intended to pin him against the bed, Trávn shot upwards.

 

Rolling the larger man off of his form as he scrambled backwards in an attempt to distance himself from the strange pair. Fully aware now, of what he had interrupted, Trávn found he couldn't meet the others eyes.

 

He fretfully looked anywhere other than where the two sat.

 

With their wide stares boring into his person, Trávn timidly locked his gaze to the fisted fabric of his woolen nightshirt, crinkled inside his clenched hands.

 

Never before had he heard of two men rutting….

 

Yet, even now the bedding smelled of sex and sweat. How could this large man fornicate with such a small boy? Trávn marveled in his thoughts, his mind supplying images he would have rather never seen.

 

It was no wonder the boy's cries had sounded so pained! Trávn nodded sagely to himself, deep in his thoughts.

 

Oh Gods! Trávn swallowed thickly in horror.

 

What if ...the larger man, had forced himself on the boy?

 

Cowardly, Trávn bit his lip. His first thought being he didn't want an altercation with such a enormous man, but he couldn't allow such a thing to happen to such a delicate looking person! Could he...?

 

Surely it wasn't his place to quarrel in such private matters as these…

 

He warred within himself, too pathetic to speak out this thoughts or even look at the other two. Unbeknownst to Trávn, the longer his thoughts kept him, the heavier the tension had become around the three males.

 

Lost in his own world, Trávn felt safe…

 

Before finally, a sharp cry broke Trávn from his thoughts.

 

Flinching from surprise, Trávn looked towards where the boy lay posed against the beds soft pillows. His eyes had never been wider than what they opened at that moment. Here he had been pondering if he should rescue the boy… or not, and this is what greets him?

 

Feeling as if his eyes were burned from what he saw, Trávn's jaw dropped. His back went rigid at the sight of the small boy stroking himself in abandon. In front of the two others on the bed, the small red-headed wizard moaned in an urging manner at himself. The boy's blue eyes blazing in a magical glow filled with raw lust.

 

He had looked only for a second, yet Trávn's face flamed with shame.

 

In a wild whirl Trávn fled from the bed, running back to the room from which he had come and slamming the door behind him with a loud bang.

 

Somehow taking his prompt retirement as their cue, the pair in the other room continued. Already cries and garbled grunts filled the air around him, echoing from within the outer room adjoining his own.

 

Trávn cringed, his magic suddenly returning to envelope him like a comforting sleeve, set to soothe his distress at that what he had just witnessed. With a wave of his hand, his magic tossed a large chair to rest against the bedroom's door, blocking entry from any unwanted parties.

 

Then, with his hand pushed outwards as if he were halting the offending sounds, he spelled the room to be silent. Keeping any unwanted cries from entering the room. Till only his own panicked breaths could be heard within the room's walls.

 

Why had he entered such a strange situation? He wondered in horror. He was no hero, if anything he was more cowardly than even Kalsilk's scaly hide.

 

Why did he think he could save that 'tortured soul'? He wondered completely mortified by his own stupidity.

 

He was no hero, how could he think himself to be courageous enough to face a Sea Devil alone?  With no magic, BY GODS?!

 

The entire venture had been pointless, it had earned him nothing more than shameful embarrassment and a grunted word from the Devil's own tongue... Arëgen. Somehow it seemed his magic was slowly supplying the language of the Sea Devils.

 

It was the first word he could make out in the garble speech of their barbaric tongue.

 

Trávn stared into the fire of his room, wishing more than anything for his Sire's counsel in his current matters. Yet, he was alone, as he had been for months… ever since the Witches had cut the link between them...

 

Nothing he knew could explain the importance of that single word. Why, of all the muddled words he'd heard, did that one word seem so important?

 

Was it because it came from the small Wizard's lips?

 

Once again greeted by the mental image he had just witnessed, Trávn turned from the fire in a heated huff to restlessly pace the room.

 

There was no way that shameful being was a Wizard, Trávn denied it savagely. No Wizard would allow himself such faults…

 

Stomping his foot to affirm his conviction, Trávn yelped madly. Only then noticing his feet were chilled to the point of ice. Pins and needles prodded at the tender flesh of his feet in numbing agony.

 

Even the northern temperature seemed to war with his body, Trávn sighed. Come winter he would freeze for sure, he thought stiffly without a single ounce of humor.

 

Climbing back into his provided bed, Trávn curled around Kalsilk's warm form. It was almost stifling being in the room with a fire and having a dragon beneath his sheets and furs. Yet, to Trávn it reminded him of the heated nights of his humid home.

 

He closed his eyes picturing the starry sky of the delta regions his foster family had farmed. Who was he to judge what a Wizard should be, when he himself was but a pathetic, cowardly, farm boy?

 

Trávn sighed deeply as he shut his eyes.

 

These northern lands were strange to him. The constant rain and chill in the air, the thick blinding mist that seemed to settle across the landscape, the dense woods, beasts, and people; all of them, odd to what he had been taught to know on his humble farm.

 

His home was in the flatlands, beneath a long stretch of mountain ranges. The land was fertile, and the heavens generous with ample rainfall. From well before dawn, till the sun faded from sight, the villagers would work the land farming and irrigating water to new plots to plow.

 

Like most of those from the Helios, Trávn's hair was blond and his skin tanned by the long hours he'd worked under the sun. Here the people were deathly pale, and thick blooded enough to stain their hair such a strange fiery red…

 

He'd met many strange peoples along his journey; however the Devils were the oddest in variety. Why would his Chosen be birth to such a culture, taught to revere blood and theft? Trávn wondered as he exhaled deeply from his nostrils.

 

Was it his penance? For all the death that he had amassed along his journey, was this the Gods way of telling him that he deserved no Chosen? Only death…?

 

Did he deserve to be a Coven's fodder?

 

Sleep took him in a dark world of fear and guilt. Nightmares that had plagued him since he was only a child driven helpless to his fear and unwanted magic.

 

He had been gifted a curse, a curse set to kill everyone who resided inside his heart.

 

For to find his Chosen was the greatest wish in his life, but to do so would damn his Chosen to die; alongside everyone else unfortunate enough to involve themselves in Trávn's life. Where was hope for those guaranteed and given the power to obtain all a mortal could ever want, at the price of countless lives…?

 

He was just as evil as the Witches themselves, he thought. Trávn then drifted to sleep in shame of his existence, his soul wrenched with guilt.

 

~*~*~*~

 

"I order you to bring the soul of the one who will uphold our God's great and powerful name… and what do you bring back before the Coven, Sister?" Asked a delicate figure shadowed beneath the new moon and a thicket of long branching limbs.

 

She turned to look over her shoulder, a wispy tendril of colorless hair falling down her bare shoulder. At her feet a raven haired beauty lay completely nude and grotesquely carved open for display. Positioned where her abdominal cavity was pinned open by large blades, showing the jittering organs of the young Witch's innards.

 

All around the pair, Witches gathered expectantly around the green fire that burned beyond them, their excited murmurs filling the air as the field full of nude women waited for their tortured sister’s reply.

 

A gasping croaked silenced the others' excitement, as the vivisected Witch dared to speak to the High Priestess. Her wounded words came out in only a whisper, but they traveled to each and every ear.

 

"Forgive me, Sister," the bleeding beauty begged. At her pleas, a tender look passed over the High Priestess' face as she raised her thin colorless brows.

 

"My beloved, Sister. It isn't I who can forgive you," she said apologetically. "T’was not my name you tarnished, our dear Acolyte," the delicate woman finished with a terse frown at her fallen companion.

 

Motioned forward by a wave of the High Priestess’ hand, the Summoner was pushed forward by the surrounding Coven to approach the Circle, where inlay the two figures.

 

Though only a trembling child, the Summoner swallowed harshly, resolving herself to fulfill her role. She shakily began to chant from the ancient text held tightly against her budding breasts, even as the grounded beauty began to sob.

 

"Please, Mersa," the dark haired Witch cried out, tugging her limbs though her hands and ankles were pierced to the ground much like her flayed open stomach. At her cries the Summoner’s words paused frightfully, until the High Priestess placed a comforting hand on the small girl’s shoulder.

 

Seeing she would receive no pity, the raven haired Witch became near hysterical in her pleas, "Sister, do not use my blood to Summon our Father," she cried.

 

"The Sirens, it was the Sirens, that's why I captured the girl… they know where the boy can be found..." the dark haired woman screamed for the first time that night. She had endured the entire ordeal of her punishment without flinching, even as she was carved apart. Yet, as the Summoner's word grew louder amongst the chanting of the nude Witches, she had now lost her icy composure.

 

Forebodingly, the wind around them began to swirl, the green flames of the Circle’s fire grew tall and then vanished, leaving the Coven sightless in the awaiting darkness.

 

Silence met the Sabbath's partakers as a scream and guttural snarl filled their blind senses. Those outside the circle observed nothing, yet the two witnesses within the magical border gazed upon the inner horrors.

 

The Summoner's large eyes widened in terror, she backed away, even as the High Priestess approached the grounded pair.

 

With her text clutched desperately to her chest, the young Summoner watched helplessly as her raven haired sister was brutally raped beneath the form of their God.

 

Though it seemed impossible, her sister was still alive and screaming madly, pleading for their help. Yet, both the Summoner and High Priestess did nothing to aid their Sister as she was ravished. Even as their God tore her pinned feet from their pierced blades, carving each small foot in half.

 

Rvea could only stare at the blood, watching in horror as their God’s thrusts ripped apart her sister's organs. She was sickened by the look of pure enjoyment that crossed the figure’s face. The small Summoner trembled, disturbed by the glee he clearly received from the open window he was given to peer within the bleeding vessel.

 

When her sister's cries became no more than silent sobs, the Demon then reached within her gut fondling each innard as if they were breasts. His mouth lowered onto her Sister, lapping at her liver with a lovers tongue.

 

Behind him the High Priestess kneeled, bestowing the Obscene Kiss as the Demon finished himself by reaching inside the dying Witch to tightly grip her cervix.

 

Rvea watched as the Demon's seed splattered with in her Sister's open gut. Then the Demon suddenly thrust his arm elbow deep under her Sister's ribs, ripping her heart from its place with a single jerk.

 

The High Priestess, Mersa, sat behind the Demon, unabashed by such shows of carnage. She sat on her knees like a slave lapping at her God's anus, thoroughly performing the Obscene Kiss, as the other ate the now dead Witch's throbbing heart.

 

The Summoner’s grimoire landed on the ground as the tiny bobbed haired Witch hit her knees, overcome by her terror. How could she worship such horrors, she thought in revulsion. Is this what it means to be a Witch? Rvea questioned horrified.

 

The Demon stood, yet Rvea watched sickened as Mersa climbed up his form still tonguing the Demon's orifice. The High Priestess’s small hands clenched the Demon's muscled cheeks to hold them apart, even as the Demon's scorched wings fanned heavily around the pair.

 

Rvea hiccupped loudly…

 

At the sound, Rvea’s hands instinctively covered her mouth, hoping to hide the nervous habit she thought she had lost when she was still a mortal child. Yet, tears began to fill her eyes as the sound now brought the Demon's eyes to her.

 

In the red masses of the Demon’s eyes, Rvea saw Hell for the first time.

 

As he met Rvea's gaze, the Demon stepped away from Mersa, leaving her reaching for him in an undignified manner. The closer the Demon came the colder Rvea's soul burned. Until he stood just before her, then he reached down, tenderly offering a hand to help her stand to her feet.

 

She was compelled to accept, cringing as the Demon's skin touched her own. He held her around her waist, cupping her cheek with his bloodied hand.

 

Their gaze was locked, until he looked down at her lips, then her throat, before cupping her bare breast. Rvea flinched as the Demon lowered his face to nuzzle her throat, licking a trail just behind her ear, as he whispered into it…

 

"Virgins… I adore," then he was gone.

 

Upon the Demon’s disappearance, Mersa broke the Circle, and the awaiting Coven flooded to them excitedly. Gasps rain down from all around, as the corpse of their fallen Sister sucked in a ragged breath once more.

 

The High Priestess wasted no time, joining their wheezing Sister’s side almost instantly with a tearful embrace. "All was forgiven," Mersa cried happily as their sisters removed the blades that pierced the now living being.

 

Then, before their eyes, the morbidly inflicted wounds healed till no trace of them could be found. Once she was entirely healed, Mersa hugged Sister Delali's stunned form to her frail chest sobbing with joy.

 

"The Sabbath's Acolyte has been forgiven." Mersa announced, clearly overjoyed by the news, "What a benevolent God we serve, my fellow Sisters."

 

Thankful cries filled the night air as the fellow Witches gathered round. Rvea looked on knowing she, as all the other apprentice and novice Witches, should see this as the mark of a powerful God.

 

She should be consumed by it, to lust for it, want to beg for it… yet, instead she feared it. Just as she feared the Demon's final words to her…

 

"I'll want you next."

Chapter Three

Trávn’s first conscious thought longed for sleep. For he, in no sense of the word, wished to waken from his contented dreams. However, within him his magic was already stirring with an almost aching impatience.

 

In his chest his magic shifted remorsefully, directly affected from the half-moon’s steady descent. Trávn gradually was awakening with the disappearance of the moon, as dawn was coming to him in an array of scents. Each of which, was working with a persistent eagerness to rouse him unwillingly from his dreams.

 

However hopeless it was, Trávn struggled to keep his senses depraved.

 

He knew if he moved, or even attempted to open his eyes, he would be unable to return to his tranquil bliss.

 

He deadened himself, ignoring his senses of touch and sight; yet, under his nose he smelled a floral scent. It drafted upwards from the freshly laundered linens. Rising from the course linens of his beddings to infiltrate his lethargic nostrils.

 

Though the fragrance itself was rousing, Trávn was not disturbed.

 

At its pleasant scent, Trávn’s magic chimed.

 

Within him, his magic danced at the familiarity of the flowery scent. He found he could not help but feel the relaxing effects of the peaceful odor. After all, how long had it been since he had last basked in the scent of a woodbine’s blossom?

 

The smell brought to mind forgotten, yet fond, memories of his foster Mother.

 

Upon happier days, the woodbine’s scent had filled the household of his foster family. He had spent many late summer hours aiding his foster Mother in collecting the sweet smelling blooms for their home. While abundantly found in the regions of his home land, it was a scarce flower so far North. Offhandedly, he wondered how the people of this Northern isle had procured woodbine so late in the summer season.

 

Yet, the thought disappeared from his mind with very little thought…

 

Trávn sighed tiredly, somehow feeling at peace where he lay.

 

Having never once opened his eyes, Trávn nestled deeper inside the warm comforts of his bedding. Wishing for sleep to claim him once more, and nearly on the brink of slumber, Trávn found he was completely contented where he lay. The warm confines of his bundled bedding put him at ease...

 

That is, until a gust of Kalsilk’s putrid breath blew heavily across his face.

 

Recoiling in disgust, Trávn awoke with a start, cringing at the odor that now plagued him. Then, ragingly, he cast a heated glare of ire in the other’s direction as he flipped over onto his other-side to face away from Kalsilk’s drooling mouth.

 

Once more comfortable in his bed, Trávn tossed his beddings overtop of his head.

 

Despite his dawning tribulations, he was still unwilling to fully awaken from what had been a most surprising sleep. It was such a rare gift to sleep as soundly as he had the night before… not even once had he been plagued by his many late night demons.

 

Even now, his chest felt so light without the mare’s added weight, and after such a night’s rest Trávn found he barely cared for his situation. He was, at this very moment, entrapped by the Sea Devils… he had borne witness to another Wizard’s demeaning and vulgar late night escapades, and… within the next day’s cycle, he was fated to enslave a mortal man’s soul to a gyrating eternity of tragedy, betrayal, and rebirth.

 

Yet, in that moment he fell asleep. With an almost diminutive regard for his situation, Trávn sank into a blissful abyss filled with peaceful dreams he would soon forget.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

It wasn’t until nearly midday that he woke again. This time he was roused by the succulent smell of food drafting towards his nose. Even at the lightest hints of a nearby meal, Trávn’s gut woke grumbling awake with a roar.

 

Having become accustomed to such outbreaks, Trávn found himself deadened to the rudeness of his voracious middle. Pitifully, he doubted the food was intended for him… it was quite possible he, in is hunger, was smelling food drafting in from the next room.

 

Yet, as a small foreign laugh broke out within the room, Trávn flinched awake as if he had been struck.

 

Made abruptly aware of the other’s presence in the room, Trávn panicked.

 

Almost instantaneously, he was fully awake. Finally able to break free of his lingering exhaustion, he struggled to free himself of his bedding. Yet, Trávn’s efforts only served to tangle his limbs helplessly within the entrapment of his bed’s linens.

 

When he finally managed to escape their hold, Trávn hurriedly tossed the collected furs and linen sheets from over himself to madly scan the room for his quest. His wild, untamable, hair bounced oddly on his head as he searched for his uninvited company. Yet, it was not until he rubbed his blurry sleep-crusted eyes that Trávn unsteady gaze finally landed on a familiar face. Upon his discovery, Trávn’s stuttered wordlessly in surprise.

 

His brown eyes widened in a near comical manner, as he was hit with recognition.

 

There in his room was the small Wizard he had, so awkwardly, encountered the night before.

 

Thankfully clothed this time around, the boy sat on the far end of Trávn’s bed, and for what felt like the first time Trávn took in the Wizard’s appearance. Like the other Sea Devil’s he’d had the displeasure of already meeting, the boy’s hair was a russet red. Yet, his eyes were a strangely moss green that held a kind and caring glint.

 

Beneath the boy’s eyes was an odd paint that lined each eye with a dark shade of blue, and on his left cheek a strange symbol was painted in green. From the elaborate designs embroidered on his tunic’s pale green trim, down to his slim bare legs and delicate leather boots too small for any man.

 

Unable to help himself, Trávn openly stared at the strange boy.

 

His appraisal of the other Wizard was blatantly apparent. Yet it was not until he saw the discomfort in the boy’s face did Trávn lower his pointed gaze. Having the sense enough to look away, Trávn was suddenly abashed for his disrespectful actions. After all, who was he to judge another for having a girlish form? Most none of Trávn’s own features were considered exceptionally masculine. Yet, never could he be openly called beautiful… as the boy in front of him could claim.

 

The boy was so fair in skin and appearance, it was easy to see why the larger man from last night had wanted the Wizard; he was, after all, very striking.

 

At the notion, Trávn’s brash actions from the night before replayed all too vividly in his mind. Even his ears burned as he was filled with embarrassment at the tactlessness of his unwelcomed entry into the other’s more private matters. Yet, even as the awkwardness strained heavily on Trávn’s overly sensitive conscious, he kept a straight face before the other; in response, the boy only smiled humorously at him as if laughing at an inward joke.

 

In all appearances it seemed that Trávn’s unease gave the boy a sense of mirth.

 

Upon this discovery, Trávn found he could not keep the other’s steady gaze. Eyeing his lap and picking at the dried thread-like skin around the sides of his nails, Trávn kept his gaze lowered. As the other remained silent, Trávn nerves became raw as he fisted his sheets within his hands, unsure of what to say to the other Wizard.

 

After all… He had never met another Wizard before last night.

 

This was a first for him, and he had so many questions he’d like to ask. Feeling somewhat brave, Trávn dared to glance up as he fretfully chewed at his lower lip. He mumbled inaudibly to himself as he found the other’s gaze unnervingly locked with his own, and he quickly glanced away.

 

He was stumped over what he should say to the boy, nevertheless what he should do in this situation. Overcome with the need to address his fellow Wizard, Trávn forced himself to stutter out a restless greeting of acknowledgment… even as he shifted away from the other’s gaze. With his own eyes settled on his lap, Trávn found he was unable to look at the other Wizard; at least, not without remembering the abhorring events from the night before.

 

Flabbergasted as to what to say to the small boy, Trávn panicked.

 

He wanted nothing more than to flee the room, yet as he inhaled another deep breath of the tantalizingly tasty smelling food, Trávn hesitated. The tension was heavy between the two, yet it came to a sudden crashing halt as once more Trávn gut rumbled. Hurriedly pressing a hand to his stomach, Trávn coughed into his other hand. Hoping the sound would smother the offending sounds before they could be made known to his strangely silent companion.

 

Yet, the brief laugh the other gave showed Trávn’s efforts were vain at best.

 

With a heated face Trávn forced himself to meet the other’s mossy gaze, his resentment obvious to any who looked. For a moment, as the two wizards said nothing, Trávn felt a strange stirring in his magic. Yet, whatever connection had begun, was broke off by the other Wizard’s words.

 

In the same gruff tongue that had met him on the Devil’s shores, the small Wizard inquired something from Trávn. Yet, to Trávn’s own surprise, the garble was just as incomprehensible as it was the first time he’d heard it…

 

By now his magic should have helped him adapt to the Devil’s tongue. However, for some reason it seemed he was on his own in learning the strange language.

 

In the other’s eyes, Trávn saw a look of understanding flash at his confused look.

 

Again the boy retorted the same line, saying it slowly and with some annoyance at Trávn’s ignorance. Yet, again the words that came from the other’s mouth were lost to him, that was, until the end of the boy’s sentence.

 

“…smár kyrpä…”

 

They were only two words he was able to make out of the Devil’s language, yet Trávn’s heart soared within him as they registered with his mind. Yet, once again, that was until his mind and magic fed him their meaning.

 

“…small dick...?” he wondered aloud in a faint voice.

 

Trávn had no idea how to take the vulgarity that had come from the boy’s lips, never mind, decide whether or not to find them offensive. Was the boy referring to him? Trávn wondered as his head cocked slightly to the side.

 

He had been slow to process the words meaning, and only then did he realize the reason of his struggles. As he began to link together the familiar aspects of the language’s components, Trávn discovered the root of his problem.

 

It seemed that the boy’s words were not all together a singular language!

 

Somehow the Devil’s tongue was a mesh of several languages… Suddenly excited by his discovery, Trávn spoke a question aloud. Meaning to ask what the boy had meant, Trávn was shocked by what came out of his mouth.

 

 “Mitä helvettiä…?” He inquired.

 

Slapping a hand over his mouth, Trávn flushed darkly. Not even finding the question comical, even at the sight of the boy’s bulging eyes, Trávn quickly switched from the Devil’s tongue to his own, more proper, language. How shocking…, Trávn could not help, but think.

 

In most cases, when he was adapting to a new language, slang terms were the most complex. Yet, within the Sea Devil’s language, it seemed common speech was apparently riddled with all sorts of vulgarities.

 

Trávn was abruptly broken from his thoughts as the boy threw back his head to laugh wholeheartedly at Trávn’s words. Suddenly much more inviting, the other Wizard scooted closer to where Trávn sat on the bed.

 

Where before he had been much too distant, now the boy was much to close. Yet, the lack of distance between their faces didn’t seem to bother the boy, even as his delicate face spread wide with a large predatory grin.

 

Trávn omphed loudly as the other Wizard painfully thrust a bowl of food to Trávn’s chest and slapped at his shoulder roughly. Though the action was friendly, it left Trávn sore and aching from the small boy’s surprising strength.

 

Looking down doubtfully at his food, Trávn was surprised to find a hearty meal. Without any needless orders, Trávn dove into his meal. It was a grainy cold stew, grey in color with an assortment of strange vegetables and plants.

 

Yet, to Trávn it was a heaven sent gift.

 

Using the flat slice of bread atop the stew, he spooned out what he could of the vegetables and broth. Out of habit, Trávn ate around the thick chunky bits of the stew’s meat. Not wishing to consume the flesh of a living creature, he did the best he could with what he had been given. He was ravenous as he ate his meal, regretful even, as he sat the bowl away from him still filled with the chunks of unidentifiable meat.

 

His companion raised a brow at his actions, but wordlessly took the bowl for himself and ate what was left with his fingers. With nimble hands the boy picked at the meat within the bowl, eating what little was left and lapping at his fingers with his tongue to clean them of the stew’s thick juices.

 

Embarrassed at the excessive display, Trávn hurriedly looked away from the boy’s mouth to eye his own fisted hands. He was unsure if he should give his gratitude for the meal or not… in his travels it seemed customary to do so with humans. Yet, in the supernatural world, such things could be seen as offensive.

 

He had never greeted another Wizard before, nevertheless shown his gratitude to one. Nervously, Trávn glanced towards the other, stunned to find the boy’s wide eyes so close to his face. Flinching, Trávn fell backwards as the other stared down at him with an unnervingly studious gaze.

 

Then… in a strangely meaningful way, the boy held out his hand with his palm exposed.

 

Feeling magically compelled to do the same, Trávn held out his hand.

 

As their skins connected the room erupted in an explosion of magic. Between the two Wizard’s palms a miniature blue sun burned keeping them separate, yet all the while pulling them closer to one another. Trávn stared, enchanted by the smaller Wizard’s otherworldly gaze, which now shown blue with his magic.

 

“I knew it,” the boy said in his own tongue, “I knew you and I were of the same …magic.”

 

Happiness shown in the boy’s large blue eyes, so brightly Trávn was stunned. Having always hated the sudden change of color in his own eyes, Trávn was surprised at how captivating he found the strange color on the boy. Such an otherworldly color suited the boy much better than any shade of green…Trávn felt as if he could drown in the boy’s blue-silver eyes. He sank deeper and deeper, gazing into their depths, realizing with a sudden start how close their faces had become in only a moments time…

 

He could feel the boy’s breath blew across his lips, and unconsciously his parted.

 

Then the other Wizard kissed him…

 

Magic erupted between them at the contact, passing from Trávn to the boy and back again as the younger Wizard weaved their tongues together in Trávn’s mouth. At first Trávn was too enamored to do anything, yet as the magic began to fade Trávn jolted.

 

Harshly shoving the boy away from him, Trávn broke the magic that bound them.

 

He snatched away his hand, clutching it to his chest as he scrambled backwards to distance himself from the other Wizard. To his credit, the boy did not seem offended in any sense by Trávn’s sudden actions. Instead the Wizard stared blankly down at his hands, then in a crystalline voice, he murmured in Trávn’s tongue.

 

“That was beautiful…”

 

In a manner all too familiar to Trávn, the Wizard slapped a hand over his mouth in surprise. His still blue eyes widened in apparent horror at the sound of what had escaped his mouth, before they cut into a deadly glare thrown in Trávn’s direction.

 

The boy leapt with a flash metal, to pin Trávn to the bed. With two blades held against his throat, Trávn gulped audibly in fear. Rage and accusation burned bright in the boy’s now d hazel eyes as he vilely cursed at Trávn. With such a colorful tongue, the boy shamed even the worst Merchant Trávn had encountered.

 

“Why do I speak in another’s tongue?” the boy spat out with fury, pausing from his ranting curses to question Trávn.

 

Trávn froze, unsure of how to answer the boy. Completely stunned, he stared wide eyed up at the smaller boy who sat upon him. Yet, in sight of Trávn’s confused look, the other Wizard’s face grew nearly as red as his hair.

 

“Undo the spell you have cast, or I shall slit you from navel to ear,” the Wizard threatened angrily, twisting a single knife before Trávn’s face in foul manner.

 

Showing his hands were clean in proof of his innocence, Trávn stuttered at the accusation.

 

“I-I… it was no spell of mine,” Trávn swore. Yet, instead of calming the Wizard, his denial of causation only sparked the other’s rage. As fast as a bolt of lightning the other Wizard pressed the blade beneath Trávn’s eye, stabbing him with the sharp tip of the blade.

 

“I will sever your shit-spewing tongue for your lies, you drinker of sheep’s piss… hrafnasueltir!” At the insult, the boy blinked. He seemed nearly as surprised to hear his own tongue, as he had been to hear Trávn’s on his lips.

 

Pushing the Wizard off him, Trávn scrambled back, clutching a hand at his eye thankful it was still in his socket. Suddenly wary of the deranged Devil, Trávn backed further from him, feeling the bed for Kalsilk, yet not surprised to find him missing.

 

“I swear I did nothing to you, our magic helps us learn,” Trávn rushed out with a large exhalation. Surely this Devil had come across another’s language in his pillaging travels, Trávn thought sourly.

 

Who was this Wizard to accuse him of enchanting another?

 

The boy’s eyes had lost their hard glint, yet he still held his duel knives closely.

 

Unable to take his eyes from the Wizard’s weapons, Trávn hurried to offer the boy an explanation. “Once you acquire a few words of another’s language, you need only think the words you wish to say in your mind. Then, your magic will supply them to your mouth. To revert to your own tongue you need only think in the words you wish to say in your own language…”

 

The boy seemed to think over what Trávn had said, his face crossing over between thoughtful and fearful all at once. Yet, soon the stony edges of the young Wizard’s face relaxed into a comforting grin.

 

Apprehensively, Trávn stared blankly as the boy tried a few words in each language, swapping back and forth between the two with swears and vulgar obscenities. Trávn could only cringe, even as the boy’s slight grin broke out unto a broad smile.

 

In only seconds the deadly knives disappeared to wherever the boy kept them behind his tunic, and once more the boy offered his hand to Trávn.

 

To say he was hesitant was an understatement…

 

Even still, Trávn still held out his hand, intending to shake the other’s hand. He was surprised when, instead, the boy gripped his forearm in a much more forceful shake. Following along, Trávn cast the boy an odd look.

 

Yet, the other paid no heed, with a broad ear-to-ear grin the Wizard smiled wide and invitingly as if he were welcoming Trávn. Then, in his native tongue, the Wizard spoke soundly, “Heil og sæl. Ek heiti, Fӧe. Hvað heitir þú?”

 

These words came easier to Trávn as the other’s pleasantly greeted him in his native tongue. Their meaning was simple, the Wizard had finally given him his name…

 

The boy’s name was Fӧe, which in the Devil’s tongue meant father.

 

However, the name left a sense of dread in Trávn’s gut, for in his language foe was meant to describe a close enemy.

 

Patiently, Trávn waited for his magic to react in warning to the ill-boding name, yet the response never came. Deciding to trust in his magic’s response, Trávn let go of his sudden alarm. It was only a name, he convinced himself, and instead he focused on answering the boy’s question.

 

“Kalsilk,” Trávn stated, pointing towards the creature who lay slumbering near the fireplace. Then, striking his chest thuddingly as his foster father had taught him to do, Trávn properly introduced himself to the boy and gave his lineage.

 

“Trávn, Blood Son of Wrath…”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Rvea gagged where she swung, hung by her feet from a willow tree’s branches, much like a broken doll. Her stomach rolled with the need to vomit, even as the echoing spells her sisters’ cast burned into his bare flesh with magical brands.

 

She had screamed herself hoarse for hours, begging for her sisters’ mercy. Yet, all around her, her sisters’ voices chimed, their figures obscured outside the veil of the weeping willow’s sagging cord-like vines.

 

Nude as day she swung, struggling in her binds. Sobbing as the magical knots of leather only tighten further around her limbs. Beside her a young child swung, endure the same maltreatment she had endured.

 

Yet, Rvea found she could not even eye the girl with sympathy…

 

After what her sisters’ had done to the child, Rvea could not face her.

 

Their torment had begun, when at Mersa’s request, Rvea was charged with the next task of the Coven. She was to acquire the Wizard who escaped their clutches…

 

To do so, the High Priestess, Mersa ordered that Rvea and the Siren child be bound by each other’s souls in completing the task. Yet, such a spell required a hefty price… If Rvea ever wished to return to her Coven, she would bring back the Wizard.

 

The thought of losing her Coven had filled Rvea with despair.

 

Yet, as she hung there beside the eerily silent child, Rvea knew what she had just temporarily lost was nothing compared to what the Siren girl now endured.

 

Together they had been stripped by the Coven, and bled opened. Their flesh carved into by jagged stones with magical runes meant to bind their souls. Their hair was then cropped and their bodies bound, before they were hung upside down on the willow’s thin, swaying, limbs.

 

The child had sobbed throughout the ordeal, yet her mouth was gaged to keep her protesting tongue at bay. Rvea had suffered through it all barely flinching under her sisters’ coarse care. Yet, as they began to cast the spell to complete the ritual, screams tore from her body…

 

How she had begged and cried for her sisters to stop the ritual… Yet, they paid no heed, instead she watched in misery as they ignored her for the struggling Siren.

 

Rvea had eyed the girl with hate, thinking her sisters were about to cut the girl down from the tree and end her torment. How lucky, she thought the girl was… even as they removed her gag and the Siren’s ear splitting scream was heard.

 

However, what happened next left Rvea horrified.

 

With brutal hands her sisters carved out the young Siren’s tongue, leaving the small child vomiting from her horror and gagging on her blood. As her sisters then approached her, Rvea’s eyes widened with terror.

 

“Sister no, please, please … No!” she begged, her small face blotchy with tears, yet her sister’s pried open her jaws as well. Rvea had clenched her eyes shut, sickened at the thought of watching as they remove her tongue.

 

Yet, instead, she was forced to swallow the Sirens severed tongue.

 

After that, Rvea found it was impossible for her to vomit. As the ritual painfully continued on, her heaving stomach seemed to be magically reinforced.

 

Their pain was excruciating, and long before the binding ritual was ever complete, Rvea was filled with a sense of betray and hate of her kind. Who were her sisters, to force such pain on herself and this child, she wondered hatefully.

 

She had been filled with despair at the thought of losing her Coven, yet with her soul now nearly entirely bound to the young Siren, Rvea was stricken. If they could not obtain the Wizard, Rvea would lose her Coven… yet be free to find another.

 

Yet, the young Siren… would lose her song forever.

 

With their souls bound, Rvea could feel the young girl’s pain and hopelessness.

 

She was eternally grateful when the Siren’s small body could take no more of the rituals agonizing binds. For, as the girl went limp with unconsciousness, Rvea’s pain was successfully cut in half.

 

She inwardly spat curses at her sisters. Deciding then and there, that no matter how the completion of the mission would bring her in high esteem of the Coven, she would no longer consider those of the Coven to be her sisters.

 

She would finish this mission solely for the young Siren, she would return the girl her voice and song, even if it sacrificed another’s life… She swore it, even as it was her last conscious thought, before she gratefully blacked out from the overwhelming pain of the ritual’s binding curses.

 

When the spell was finally completed, both the young Witch and Siren were cut down from the now withered willow’s branches. They were bathed and then both their wounds and bodies were dressed, before they were placed together nestled in the willow tree’s dying roots.

 

Beside them, the Coven’s Witches left two packed bags of traveling gear, and overtop the slumbering pair the High Priestess, Mersa, prayed. Calling on their God to protect their young follower in her journey, before motherly placing a warm blanket other the two and caressing Rvea’s cheeks with a delicate hand.

 

Around the three, the Coven’s Witches slowly disappeared. The nude women, turning to disappear into the creeping late-night fog. None witnessed the sudden yellow glow in Mersa’s eyes, or the sudden change in Mersa’s hand.

 

From a tender caress of Rvea’s cheek, the High Priestesses lowered to tightly clutch at the young Witch’s throat. The otherworldly glow of her yellow eyes darkened as she lowered her lips to Rvea’s own, kissing the sleeping Witch as she choked.

 

With her tongue deep inside the other’s mouth, the High Priestess heaved, gagging much like a cat trying to dislodge something trapped in it throat. Then, from her open mouth a serpent was slowly expelled directed by Mersa’s tongue to slither down Rvea’s now lax throat…

 

Mersa eyes rolled back as the last bit of the creature passed her through her lips.

 

She sucked in a hungry breath, watching with a cruel glint in her eye as the serpents tail snaked up the girl’s chin to disappear down Rvea’s throat. With trailing hands, she followed the serpents descend down Rvea’s throat to settle at her belly.

 

Within the girl’s stomach she could feel her familiar slither upwards to nudge at her hand, and at the show of fidelity, Mersa gave a cold smirk.

 

Lowering her cold lips against the young Witch’s own once again, Mersa roughly grabbed a handful of Rvea’s hair craning back the unconscious girl’s neck to an awkward angle. Then, with the same delicate hand that had petted her familiar Dålig, the High Priestess slipped her wrist beneath the young Witch’s blanket.

 

As she ravished the girl’s unresponsive mouth, Mersa steadily inched her way up Rvea’s skirts until she reached the juncture of girl’s thighs. Touching the sleeping girl’s parts the High Priestess found her to be dry and unyielding.

 

Yet, Mersa’s fingers worked their spell, entering the girl with no regard to rub inside her and at her core. In only moments the young Witch was withering beneath her touch, her lips opening willingly in a low confused moan.

 

Rvea’s knees drew up and shut together tightly, yet Mersa’s hand was already between them and well at work. Knowing the girl wouldn’t wake after such a grueling ritual, the High Priestess hissed in the girl’s ear.

 

“Our God may have chosen you for this task, yet I will make sure you do not succeed. For his next prize shall be me… and me alone, young virgin,” Mersa snapped, turning her pleasuring touch into something both harsh and jerking.

 

Beneath her the young Witch quivered, turning her ear from Mersa’s chilling lips.

 

All too soon the girl cried out, arching her back and clamping down with her inner muscles around Mersa’s fingers. Wanting nothing more than to tear the girl’s prize hymen from her body, Mersa withdrew her hand before she could do anymore.

 

Their God would be angry if she did anymore to the sleeping Witch…

 

With the spell cast and successfully energized, the High Priestess stood licking the younger Witch’s juices from her fingers. Glancing around them, the tiny moon-haired Witch turned, spitting a foul curse on the ground beside the slumbering girl.

 

She was unaware of the crystalline blue eyes that watched her… She did not know the young Siren girl had watched, and felt for herself, the entire affair between the two Witches. Those sad blue eyes silently watched as the beautiful light haired Witch disappeared into the dense fog of the late night.

 

Once alone she felt between her legs touching the strange wetness that had come from her in that thrilling moment. Curiously she gazed over at her sleeping companion, seeing she was exposed for all to see…

 

With a hesitant hand the girl reached out and touched the other’s center. Not at all surprised to find it both warm and wet to the touch as well. Only then did she realized how closely she was now bonded to the Witch.

 

Lowering her companion’s strange clothing, the girl nestled closer to the Witch, covering them both with the blanket once more… suddenly finding herself all the more determined to protect the kind Witch.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Okay, so I’m so sorry about any mistakes in this, it’s literally 6 AM right now, but I FINALLY completed this chapter~!! I’ve never had writer’s block as bad as I did with this chapter, even doing a paragraph a day was excruciating… So please excuse the wait, I hope you enjoyed, but I’m sure I will have to go back and fix a lot in this… it is after all very rough draft. Just so you know… Rvea is 16, the Siren Girl is 65 but looks only about twelve, and Mersa… only her God knows her age XD

 

Plz RnR n tell me what a sick shit I am~!! :D

 

-RPS

 

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.02.2015

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