Viking Voyages

The worn leather of the compendium felt familiar under Thomas’s fingertips. He’d spent the last week practically glued to it, a far cry from the boy who’d once yawned his way through history class. Mr. Abernathy, bless his date-obsessed heart, was still Mr. Abernathy, but Thomas was no longer just a student. He was a traveler. And the compendium, oh, the compendium was his passport.

Chapter 13. The title gleamed, promising something new, something… *out there*. Thomas took a deep breath, a little thrill zipping through him. He’d seen the mighty empires rise and fall, felt the grit of trenches, even shared a fleeting, regal glance with a queen who knew her onions (and probably her asp venom too). What marvels awaited him now? He flipped the page.

Suddenly, the scent of salt and something vaguely fishy filled his nostrils. The familiar drone of Mr. Abernathy’s voice vanished, replaced by a chorus of guttural shouts and the rhythmic creak of wood. Thomas blinked, his eyes adjusting to a sky that seemed impossibly vast and a grey, choppy sea that stretched to the horizon. He was standing on the deck of a ship. Not just any ship, mind you. This was a longship, all sleek curves and a fearsome dragon’s head carved into its prow, looking like it was ready to gobheadbutt a whale.