The Accidental Archmage, Edmund Batara [read after TXT] 📗

perched there.

“Anything wrong?” he asked the Gothi, surprised at his reaction to the birds.

“No. I just hate minders,” replied the Gothi who waved his right hand in a shooing

motion. The birds took off. The Gothi looked around the sky and again stopped while

looking at the nearest copse of trees. Tyler could see a solitary bird flying above the

treetops. It looked like a large eagle with a white tail. The Gothi looked back at him for

a few seconds as if he had a question for Tyler but apparently thought better of it and

went to get his horse.

After a while, the Gothi showed up on his horse, said goodbye and rode off. Tyler

watched him until he disappeared through the edge of the distant trees. Tyler sat

where he was, enjoying the view and the fresh air. It felt good to be out in the open

like this. No worries about becoming a meal for a vicious and hungry forest creature or

worse, a bloodthirsty and horrible mythological monster.

As it started to grow dark, he went inside the house. He saw Helga doing some chores,

gave a nod and a smile, and walked back to his room.

He entered his room, turned and closed the door. As he moved towards the bed, an

apparition in white suddenly started to form in front of him. Shocked, he stopped and

looked at the fast forming phantasm. He couldn’t move. His active imagination fearfully

flitted from one remembered scene to another from horror films he had seen. Thoughts

of ghosts, vampires, witches and other vicious Hollywood creations ran through his

mind. In color.

The apparition walked towards him. It was rapidly filling out but still amorphous. It was

clearly a female. The curvy shape and the forming facial features left no room for

speculation. He found it difficult to breathe and his legs refused to obey him. As it got

close, it raised its right hand. It was fully formed already. A dainty right hand, Tyler

absent-mindedly noted.

It slapped him. Hard.

CHAPTER LORE:

Eir – Old Norse. A Norse goddess associated with healing. Other believe her to be a Valkyrie.

Heila – Old Norse. Meaning “heal”.

Davre - Old Norse. Meaning “day-meal”.

CHAPTER III

Dysfunctional Children

“That hurt!” thought Tyler, as the surprise slap shocked him back to mobility.

His mind registered the fact that the slap was soundless even if the pain was real.

Instinctively, he took a step back and jumped for the door. The door remained closed

despite his frenzied efforts to open it. Finally, he gave up and looked at his tormentor.

He was thinking of shouting for help but couldn’t get himself to do it. Yet the silent slap meant the sound in the room was being controlled. Anyway, if the being wanted him

dead, he would already be dead.

She really did look like a ghost, now that her form has stabilized. Her image shimmered

in places and he could see through her at times. She wore a short diaphanous garment

which looked to be a simple piece of thin white cloth. It had an opening for the neck

and lashed together at the waist with a strip of fabric from the same material. It

reached down enough to cover her upper thighs. She was barefoot. Slender, with the

perfect amount of flesh in the right places. Her face, though a bit hazy, was quite

beautiful. Flawlessly so, if not for the furious expression it had.

“Thrall!” hissed the spirit.

“Wh...aa...tt?” stammered Tyler.

“Thrall! You smell of Bileyg!”

Thrall meant slave, remembered Tyler, now feeling insulted.

“I am not a thrall! And who is this Bileyg guy?” he shouted back, throwing caution to the winds because of the perceived insult.

The form appeared to examine him for a few moments.

“You wear his gift. Are you not bound to him?” asked the being, in a calmer tone.

“What gift? These clothes? These were given to me by the Gothi!”

“Not the clothes, stupid mortal! The medallion!”

“You mean this?” Tyler brought out the necklace, “it was given to me! By Ivar!”

“So you have not been bound to his service. Yet. That Gothi of yours is a thrall of his

god.”

“Of Bileyg? I don’t think so! He’s just a priest! I believe he serves Od…” Tyler couldn’t

finish the sentence. His voice disappeared.

“Do not call him by the name by which he is worshipped!” said the being, in a rising

and irritated tone, “it may call his attention! A god may have many names but some

have the power to draw his eye. Believe what you may, but your friend, as you may

believe him to be, is not only a priest but also a thrall.”

“You are the one called Tyler West, are you not? Now named Havard Ulriksson?”

It was a question asked in a smug manner which in turn annoyed Tyler. But the simple

query, with all it implied, started a knot of fear in his guts.

“So, what if I am?”

“Remember this, Tyler West now called Havard Ulriksson. Do not be bound to any god.

I saved you. You are mine.”

“WHAAAAATTTT?”

Tyler was dumbfounded. His attempt to vehemently protest was cut short by a wave of

the being’s right hand. He couldn’t talk.

“Hear my geas. You will not talk nor give knowledge to any god, being, or creature

about this meeting of ours. Nor will you knowingly enable them to learn about it. Be

careful, Tyler now called Havard, the gods have their games. But so do I. I will talk to

you again.”

With that, the nebulous form dissipated.

Tyler dumbly looked at the spot where the being stood a few moments ago.

“Freaking shitstorm,” he thought, trying to get a grip and calm himself down at the

same time, “But freaking hot babe! A bit psychotic though. No manners, didn’t even

give me her name.”

As Tyler sat down on the edge of the bed, he noticed that his backpack was on top of

the wooden chest. His clothes, dry but unironed, were on the table. He changed into his

shirt and underwear, placing his folded Nordic attire on the chair. He went to his pack.

The last rays of the fading sun through the membrane covered window gave some light

to see by. He saw his watch among the items inside the pack and got out his