The Witch's Hunt by Misty Cogburn (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📕

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