Hunt the Dragon Within: A Tyr Retelling – Norse God of Justice

Chapter 21: North to Night (excerpt)

When dusk starts lighting the forest, Gemma and I sigh in relief.

I comment, “At least we’ll have a sense of direction, now.”

“Jasper mentioned that the east is hiding something,” says Gemma. “Want to head that way?”

“Why not? The others are probably long gone from where they set up camp anyway.”

For over an hour, Gemma and I amble toward the east. At least, what we figure is east.

The whole time spent in silence, I pick at the splinters in my hands.

“You wouldn’t actually do it, would you?” queries Gemma, ending the silence.

I rub at my tired eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean, Gem.”

“Agree to become Zymarc’s next apprentice,” she states.

I cross my arms. “I don’t know. I want to say, ‘No, I never would.’ But that’s a lie. I don’t know what I would do, if Zymarc had everyone I care about at knifepoint.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to protect ourselves from that, won’t we?”

“Guess so,” I agree, starting to pick out the last of my splinters.

“I have a potion, to help with that,” says Gemma. “Want some?”

I scowl at her. “You couldn’t have shared that an hour ago?”

“I rather enjoyed watching you in slight pain,” she remarks. “Now I’m just annoyed at your skin picking, much like how you hate my hair-twirling.”

I scoff. “I don’t hate it, Gem.”

“But you don’t like it,” she says, handing me a small bottle.

As soon as I rub some of the liquid gel onto my hands, the remaining splinters slip right out, and the skin heals itself.

Gemma takes the potion back, and slips it into her satchel. “Now, not to give you a sense of déjà vu,” she says, “but I’m hearing something again.”

“What is it, now?” I ask. “Let me guess. Scepter’s come to eat one Ravier and one Galloway?”

“No,” replies Gemma, stopping in her tracks. “It sounds like a song.”

I lean up against a tree, and stretch out my sore back. “I don’t hear anything.”

As soon as the words have left my mouth, that’s when I hear it. A feminine voice. High and clear, but far away. The words aren’t a language I’ve ever heard.

“Think we’ve gone far enough eastward?” I ask.

Gemma looks past me. She goes pale. Pointing behind me, she says, “Tyler, look. It’s dawn, a real dawn, with daylight and everything.” She laughs.

I turn to look. It’s true. Full daylight. “Let’s hope the others are near,” I reply. “I’ll race you.”

We tear off toward the daylight breaking through the dead trees. The farther we go, everything comes back to life. The tree trunks appear as gold and silver, streaked with black veins. Their leaves are a fuzzy white, akin to freshly fallen snow. The grass is lush and green, its appearance like untrimmed hair flattened by a gale-storm.

Birds of many types and sizes flutter about, in the trees. One, in particular, stands out. Bigger than an eagle’s, is its red face with a black stripe that runs down. A slight crook is in its beak, and on the bottom of that beak is a tuft of feathers that resembles a goatee. From head to tail, it’s four feet in length. Feathers of black and gray are upon its wings. Reddish-orange tints its underbelly. And red feathers encase the legs. As we pass under it, only its pale-yellow eyes stir, following our every movement. It then flies off.

While that creepy bird flies away, a vastly different, smaller bird lands atop Gemma’s shoulder, and startles her. She swats at it. But it turns into a letter, when she touches it. She just stands, staring at the envelope now perched upon her shoulder.

“Well, open it,” I mutter.