Sentinel Flame Book 1
Hyroc
A journey of survival for a boy robbed of his home and forced into a world full of dangers and unknowns
By Adam Freestone
Alaskan Writer of Imaginative Creativity
PO Box 221974 Anchorage, Alaska 99522-1974
[email protected]—www.publicationconsultants.com
ISBN: 978-1-59433-837-3
eISBN: 978-1-59433-838-0
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2019910278
Cover design by Judith Nicolas
Copyright 2019 Adam Freestone
—First Edition—
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in any form, or by any mechanical or electronic means including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, in whole or in part in any form, and in any case not without the written permission of the author and publisher.
Manufactured in the United States of America.
Contents
CHAPTER 1 Black Sheep
CHAPTER 2 Pest
CHAPTER 3 Duck Hunting
CHAPTER 4 Claws
CHAPTER 5 Window Sneak
CHAPTER 6 Sticks
CHAPTER 7 Apple in the Rain
CHAPTER 8 Forlorn
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10 Hanging Tree
CHAPTER 11 Jousting Tournament
CHAPTER 12 Departure
CHAPTER 13 Childhood’s End
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15 The Lonely Road
CHAPTER 16 Witch Hunters
CHAPTER 17 A Place on the Mountain
CHAPTER 18 Mountain Huntress
CHAPTER 19 Deer Rabbit
CHAPTER 20 Two Brothers
CHAPTER 21 Skittering Shadow
CHAPTER 22 Ursa
CHAPTER 23 An Unexpected Friend
CHAPTER 24 Lost Goat
CHAPTER 25 Unexpected Outcome
CHAPTER 26 A Better Spot
CHAPTER 27 A Puzzling Guest
CHAPTER 28 More Than It Seems
CHAPTER 29 Crow nests
CHAPTER 30 An Unwanted Customer
CHAPTER 31 Stray Dog
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33 Chores
CHAPTER 34 Friends
CHAPTER 35 Summer’s End
CHAPTER 36 Mischief
CHAPTER 37 Snowfall
CHAPTER 38 Winter Hunt
CHAPTER 1
Black Sheep
Warm rays of sunlight shone through wide gaps between cottony clouds dotting the afternoon sky and a calm breeze kept the air comfortably cool. It was the best kind of day to be outside. Especially for the group of young boys playing a rowdy game near one of the wellgroomed trees adorning the grounds of their school. It was considered a test of bravery by some to come this close to the tree. Not that the tree was intimidating. In fact, it looked quite plain as far as trees go. None of its leaf covered branches were twisted in strange ways and its trunk was unmarked by unusual looking knots. And there were no stories where bad things had once happened beneath its shade. By all its qualities it was nearly identical to the other trees scattered throughout the school grounds. Save for one.
That one quality made teachers who were tasked with watching students pay extra attention to the boys playing near it and some older students who occasionally glanced toward the tree. The quality was hard to see, but every so often, a small shift of movement and the faint glint of two sapphire eyes would reveal it. Everyone thought the thing those eyes belonged to was evil, some harbinger of ill fortune. A thing to bring a curse upon them. Why else would it stay hidden if it wasn’t planning something dreadful? Only evil things with a hatred for sunlight would cling to the shadows. Why such a thing was allowed to be here none of the onlookers could answer. Most thought things like this only existed in far-off places, or in dark stories. Yet, here it was. Maybe a fit of madness had driven the person who had found the thing to believe it belonged in such a place. Or maybe it possessed powers of enchantment over the mind allowing it to make others think it was harmless.
But despite the rampant and varied opinions about the nature of the thing those eyes were a part of, none were the least bit accurate. The thing possessed no abilities to control others, it had never harmed anyone and it frankly never wished to. It knew harming others was wrong. In many ways it was not dissimilar from the onlookers. But it was still different enough. The thing didn’t understand why it’s differences made everyone so uncomfortable. And when people were uncomfortable it didn’t like how they acted. They would raise their voices and sometimes even hurt the thing. No lasting harm would come from this, but the thing always felt as if it had done something it shouldn’t have. Then there was the staring.
It hated being stared at. All those eyes from every direction looking at it. It made the thing want to hide. And it’s favorite hiding spot was this tree. Behind the trunk and beneath the cool shadow of its branches the thing could only be seen if people tried hard to spot it. It made the thing feel safe, as if nothing could harm it. But as secure as the thing felt here, it was not content. What it really wanted was out in the bright sunlight, away from the tree. What it wanted was relatively simple. Something a child would want. It wanted to join the group of boys who played in front of it. Even if it had to venture out into sight, where it would be stared at. If it could join the group then being stared at might not be so bad. The thing was sure even with its differences, it wouldn’t have any advantage over the boys, it would be a fair game. Though the most pressing issue would be for them to let him join their game. They had never let him no matter how hard he tried. It was aggravating they wouldn’t.
With a displeased sigh, Hyroc settled down into a sitting position in a space between two winding roots, putting his back to the group. There wasn’t any point in watching them any longer; it would just make him want to join them even more. He rested his head against the tree’s trunk, using his hand to smooth out a patch of his fur sticking up uncomfortably against the bark. Why his body was covered in a black layer of it with two dark brown stripes running from his eyes over the back of his head no one could answer. Along with why he had a whiskerless snout and why his head greatly resembled a wolverine’s. Hyroc used his fingers to feel along his snout down to his nose, as he absentmindedly stared at the stones of the moss strewn wall surrounding the school. He didn’t think it made him look scary like everyone seemed to act. Once his fingers found the end of his nose he moved them down to his mouth and touched the ends of his teeth. It could have been his teeth, they were sharper than everyone else’s, but dogs also had those and no one seemed to mind. Hyroc lowered his hand to his neck to feel along the brass chain of a necklace he wore, stopping at a disc of silver attached to the end with the visage of a bear etched into the front. He dropped his hands into his lap and blew out a breath. It really didn’t matter why; those boys were never going to let him join their game.
He picked up a twig lying on the ground and began spinning it around in his fingers. A moment later, the boys began yelling excitedly. His conviction to ignore the group dissolved at the sound and he was once again standing against the tree’s trunk watching them with his white hand-claws resting against the bark. Being alone wasn’t any fun, maybe today would be different; maybe today they would finally let him play with them. He brushed the dirt from his pants and blue gray school robe. Gathering his courage with a deep breath, he stepped toward the group.
His shoe had scarcely touched the ground when he became aware of someone standing behind him. Turning his head, he got a start, memories of pain flashed through his body when he saw Billy Mason leaning against the tree’s trunk staring down at him.
Billy was a heavyset boy, three years older than Hyroc
, with greasy black hair. Two other boys; Hurly and Phil, emerged from the other side of the tree behind Hyroc, arraying themselves to block any escape attempt.
Hyroc silently chided himself for not keeping an eye out for these three boys. How could he have forgotten? They were always looking for him!
“I thought we were all friends, Scatt,” Billy said, walking toward Hyroc. “You ran away yesterday and ruined all our fun, Scatt.”
Hyroc restrained himself from yelling back the reason; it would only make the beating worse. It would hurt less if he kept quiet.
“Billy, Billy, I came up with another name for Scatt,” Hurly said with an evil grin. He lowered his voice. “It’s – it’s got a swear word in it.”
Billy turned his head toward Hurly. “What is it?”
Snickering, Hurly said, “Bastard Bear.” The three of them burst into laughter. Hyroc flushed, feeling suddenly warm in the face. That was a very bad thing to be called, especially for him.
“That’s pretty good. Bastard Bear. I like it.”
“Bastard,” Phil said chortling.
“What do you think of the name Bastard Bear?”
Hyroc’s face turned hot. He knew it would make them hurt him more but he couldn’t stop himself from speaking. “My name is Hyroc!” Hyroc growled.
Billy grinned broadly. “What’s that Bastard Bear?”
“Stop calling me that!”
“I think we hurt his feelings,” Phil said feigning sympathy.
Billy stepped up to Hyroc. “What did you say Bastard Bear?” He shoved Hyroc sideways away from the tree’s trunk. Barely maintaining his balance, Hyroc stumbled over the root riddled ground. “Did we hurt your feelings, Bastard Bear?” Billy shoved him much harder. The back of Hyroc’s foot caught on a root as he stumbled backward, causing him to fall and hit his head on the ground. “Your mother was a witch and she deserved to die.” Hyroc’s expression hardened and he shot Billy a volcanic glare as he rose to his feet.
“Don’t talk about my mother that way,” Hyroc bellowed.
Billy smiled derisively. “And how are you going to make me, Bastard Bear? You’re a coward, that’s why you run away all the time, and cowards don’t fight back, Bastard Bear.”
Hyroc clenched his fists. “Stop calling me that!” he snapped back.
Billy’s smile broadened. “Make me, B–”
Something inside Hyroc snapped. With a primal yell, Hyroc tackled Billy as he uttered the first syllable of the name. Billy hit the ground and Hyroc rammed his fist into the side of the bully’s jaw. Billy took a wild swing at his attacker; Hyroc dodged out of the way and using both fists one after another laid into the boy’s face. Blood quickly began streaming out of Billy’s nose. Alarmed yells of teachers filled the air, but they sounded distant to Hyroc. By the time a teacher finally wrenched him off Billy; the bully’s face was purple with bruises and sticky with blood. Hurly and Phil stared at Hyroc with their mouths agape in complete shock. The group of playing boys stopped and stared in amazement at the spectacle.
Hyroc’s rage fizzled out when he recognized the teacher as Miss Duncan. If he could imagine anyone as a witch, it was she. She was an old gray-haired woman, with a withering gaze. She punished him for even the slightest infraction, things other teachers would rarely bother with. She raised her hand and struck Hyroc in the side of the face. His nostrils stung as he felt a warm streamer of blood run out of his nose.
“Fighting another student!” she said coolly. “The headmaster will hear of this.” She grabbed Hyroc’s arm in a painful vice like grip. He gritted his teeth as she dragged him to the headmaster’s office.
The headmaster looked up from a piece of parchment laid across his desk, a writing quill in hand, as Hyroc and Miss Duncan burst through the door. The headmaster was a man of average height and build, in his early forties, with brown hair showing thin strips of gray in places across his head. His face was unmarked, with the discerning look of intelligence from long years of study and his eyes were both stern and perceptive.
Bookshelves and glass cabinets covered most of the room’s wall space. A large pane glass window sat directly behind the headmaster, with a single door to the right and a fireplace set into the wall on the left.
The headmaster’s eyes focused on Hyroc, a flash of irritation showing. He placed his quill in a half-full ink well before it could drip and stain the immaculate polished surface of his desk.
“Yes, Miss Duncan?” the headmaster said, sounding subtly annoyed.
She looked down at Hyroc. “This, student,” Miss Duncan said as if the mere thought caused her discomfort. “Was caught fighting on the school grounds.” The headmaster sighed. “And he seriously injured another student.”
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I’ll take care of it.” She nodded curtly, releasing her grip. Yanking his arm free, Hyroc rubbed his throbbing arm as she swept out of the room, closing the door behind her. The headmaster stood up from his desk and walked over to look out the window; his arms folded behind his back.
“Is what she said true?” the headmaster said in a stern tone.
“Yes,” Hyroc grumbled.
“Who was it?”
“It was Billy.”
“Billy Mason?”
“Yes.”
The headmaster shrugged. “Who threw the first punch?”
Hyroc glowered but remained silent. He was in trouble now. He shouldn’t have done that.
The headmaster turned, giving Hyroc a severe look. “Who threw the first punch?”
“I did,” Hyroc admitted grudgingly. He didn’t want to say it, but lying would get him into even more trouble.
The headmaster narrowed his eyes. “You, what!”
Hyroc spoke in a rapid irritated tone. “He and his friends called me a – a – a ‘Bastard Bear’. And they said things about – about my mother!”
The headmaster shook his head dismissively. “Just because someone says something you don’t like, doesn’t give you the right to beat them bloody.”
“Then why is everyone else allowed to?” Hyroc blurted out before he knew he was saying it.
Caught slightly off-guard the headmaster shrugged, his expression softening. He walked over to Hyroc. “Do you remember what I told you about The Ministry trying to take you away from me when you were a baby?”
The man was more than a person in charge to Hyroc, he was his father and his name was Marcus. For as long as Hyroc could remember, he had known something was wrong. The most obvious sign was he looked nothing like his father. When he had asked Marcus about this, knowing the futility of trying to hide the blatantly obvious, he told Hyroc the truth, at least the little truth he knew. Hyroc had been found in the arms of his dead mother – who bore his matching features – and Marcus had adopted him, raising him as if he were his own. Despite an initial storm of confusion this knowledge brought, beyond no longer referring to him as father, the bond between them remained strong. Marcus then gave Hyroc a necklace that had been around his neck when he was found. The trinket was his only link to his real parents, who he knew nothing about. He often thought about what they might have been like and tried to think back to the time when his mother was still alive. Frustratingly, he could never remember anything before Marcus, just a strange sense of cold that made a patch of frostbitten skin on his ear prickle.
“Yes.” Hyroc responded.
“The Ministry is looking for any reason to take you away,” Marcus said.
Hyroc felt a bolt of fear shot through him. He didn’t want to go with them, something bad would happen to him if he did. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to get in a fight with Billy.”
Marcus gave him a dismissive wave. “I know.”
“Don’t let them take me away, I don’t want to go, I want to stay with you and June, I promise I’ll do better,” Hyroc pleaded.
“I know you do.”
“Why do they hate me so much?”
Marcus smiled half humoredly. “They d
on’t hateyou, they’re just scared. You’re different and people around here aren’t used to seeing things that are different. That’s why it’s so important for you to avoid fighting.”
“And I will.”
Marcus affectionately patted him on the shoulder. “I know you will.”
Marcus walked back over to his desk, removing a large wooden paddle. Hyroc stiffened at the sight of the paddle taking an instinctual step backward and giving Marcus a horrified look. Marcus had never used the paddle on him, but he had heard disturbing stories of how much pain a strike on the rear from it caused. He stared at Marcus with pleading eyes as he approached. Marcus set the paddle on the cushion of a nearby chair then began watching a space below the door to his office. Hyroc’s eyes darted between Marcus’ face and the paddle in a mixture of puzzlement and absolute terror. Marcus put a finger to his lips, signaling for Hyroc to remain quiet.
He came up close to Hyroc. “Miss Duncan’s listening,” he whispered. “I know you didn’t do anything worthy of the paddle, if anyone should be punished it’s Billy. But she won’t be satisfied until I use it on you.” Marcus indicated the chair the paddle sat in. “I’m going to hit the chair with the paddle, and when I do, I want you to yell out as if I hit you. Got it?” Hyroc nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. “Make sure those are convincing yells.” Marcus walked back over to the chair, picking up the paddle. He glanced back toward Hyroc. Hyroc nodded. Marcus raised the paddle and hit the chair cushion. Hyroc wailed out in simulated pain. The two of them repeated the process four more times. Just after the last strike, a thin shadow slid across the opening beneath the door and the fading sound of footsteps radiated into the office. The two of them studied the door until the sound had died away.
Marcus nodded approvingly, set the paddle back behind his desk and walked back over to Hyroc. “I wouldn’t worry too much about bullies bothering you until the end of summer after the beating you must have given Billy. But don’t think what you did was okay. Next time I might not be so understanding. Got it?” Hyroc nodded enthusiastically. “Good. Now off you go; it won’t do either of us any good for you to miss any more of your class.” Marcus made to stand then paused. His eyes narrowed as he noticed blood-soaked fur beneath Hyroc’s nose. Anger flared in Marcus’ eyes, but it was gone so fast Hyroc wasn’t sure it was what he had seen. Marcus pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Hyroc. Wordlessly, Hyroc took the proffered handkerchief and began wiping the blood away as he made for the door.
Hyroc Page 1