Kirstie

Fiona, Oswald, and Edwin fit right in. Of course, the elves of the wood would continue to help out around the farm for several years, until the boys got big enough and learned enough to take over. Alm and Yrsa took the boys hunting from time to time, and they, along with Mariwood and Buttercup, became good friends with Fiona, so everything seemed well. Then the dwarfs came, and everything fell apart.

The trouble started when Harrold came home with a shipload of gold, silver, and jewels. He raided a town on the southeast coast of Wessex, or maybe in Cornwall with a friend of his from Steinker, the big town at the far north end of the fjord. The man’s name was Captain Ulf, which Kirstie immediately translated to the English Wolf. The name fit what she heard. They attacked a monastery, killed all the monks, and then attacked the town. They burned the church to the ground. They stole everything, and Kare was proud about that. Thoren, not so much.

“I almost have enough money to build my own longship,” Kare said proudly. “And I have good sailing experience now, too. One more raid like that and I should be set.”

“Most of the men at least share the bounty with their families,” Kirstie pointed out.

Kare shrugged her off. “My parents have enough. They get along just fine without needing any of my money.”

Kirstie shook her head, sadly. He did not get it, but she was thinking Kare’s mother had seven children. Kare was the eldest, and the woman was working herself to an early grave keeping the other six clothed and fed. Kare’s father was a nice enough man, but he was not much of a hunter or fisherman, either one, and his fields were not the best soil being full of rocks. “You could help out at home,” she said and watched her words go in one of Kare’s ears and out the other. He already moved on in his mind.

“I killed a man too,” he reported, like he was now even with Kirstie. He showed no remorse. To be sure, Kirstie was not entirely shocked by his attitude. For young men, given the culture they lived in, killing an enemy was almost a rite of passage. It said he was a man worthy of respect.

“I understand,” Kirstie said. “But you are not supposed to be happy about killing.”

Kare thought a second. “But how else would we get the silver and all. They were not just going to give it to us.”

“Trade works,” she said. “Trade is an option. Try trading something worth the silver.”

“Not a chance,” Kare responded, shook his head, and smiled at her. “I don’t have any amber or ivory lying around, or fairy picked honey to trade.” Obviously, Kare did his homework. Kirstie wondered which member of her crew talked, not that it was supposed to be a secret.

Kare reached out and took Kirstie by the shoulders. “I’ll share my silver with you when we get married.” He was going to kiss her, but she got her hands up and stopped him.

“I’m not old enough yet. I’m only fifteen. And it would help if you acted like love was not a foreign word to you.”

Kare let her go, but he protested. “I have wanted you since you were a child.” That was maybe as close as he ever got to expressing any sort of love.

“I am still a child as far as you are concerned.” Kirstie almost raised her voice. It was true that some married when they were as young as fifteen, but normally it was in the sixteen to eighteen range and tended toward eighteen. “You have to wait until I am of age.”

“Kirstie.” They heard a voice. Hilda was in the marketplace and waved. She looked about ready to burst.

“I have to go,” Kirstie said.

Kare looked angry, but he held it in. It was a look Kirstie would become very familiar with. He turned to his companion. “Come on, Thoren,” he said, and they stomped off. Kirstie hurried to her friend.

The second trouble, naturally, was the birth of Hilda’s baby. The baby was turned around and Mother Vrya tried everything she could think of to get the baby to turn, but to no avail. Inga and Kirstie showed up to hear the screaming. Inga could not think of what to do, but Mother Vrya did not hesitate to ask.

“Could Mother Greta do something, or maybe your Doctor Mishka?”

Kirstie raised her eyebrows but asked internally. Greta said she could not do any more than Mother Vrya already did. Doctor Mishka said she would look, but no promises. Kirstie reported what the good doctor said. “No promises,” and she went away so Doctor Mishka could come to her time and place. The doctor raised her hand and her bag appeared. She pulled out a stethoscope and began the examination. It did not take long.

“The umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby. Troels, get out, and take your friends with you.” Mishka looked around the room and got masks out of her bag. Mother Vrya and Inga both got masks. “Inga, please get the cauldron and put plain water in it. Put the baby cloths in to boil them clean. No soap. Then come right back here, I will need you to assist.” Mishka made Hilda drink some potion that would hopefully put her to sleep without killing her.

“A sleep potion?” Mother Vrya asked as Mishka exposed Hilda’s belly and puffed up the linens on both sides to catch the blood and whatever dripped. She got out a needle and checked what she had in her bag. “Here,” she handed Mother Vrya and jar. “Spread some of this ointment there.” Mother Vrya did as instructed; and a moment later reported that her fingers felt numb. Misha gave a groggy Hilda a shot and spoke again. “Your fingers should be fine in a minute. The shot is the important thing, a combined anesthetic and antibiotic. It would work better in her spine, but I don’t dare. Believe it or not, this is not the filthiest and most primitive conditions I have worked in.”

Hilda tried to speak. “Are you commenting on my housekeeping?”

“Close your eyes and sleep,” Mishka insisted.

“But it is still hurting.”

Mother Vrya went to stand close to Hilda’s head. “She is still having contractions.”

Mishka nodded and handed Mother Vrya a cloth. “Cover her eyes and hold her head still as you did before.”

“Ooh,” Hilda mouthed the word to indicate her pain was more than she made with the sound. The potion was working, but they still had to wait a minute for the anesthetic to kick in.

Inga came back in, and Mishka laid out her things on the table she dragged to the bedside. “Scalpel. Clamps. Sponge. Gauze. Thread.”

“I remember,” Inga said. They had to surgically remove some of the arrows on the battlefield. Performing an emergency C-section would be more complicated, especially with a wrapped umbilical, but they would do their best.

Mother Vrya gasped when Doctor Mishka cut into the patient’s perfectly healthy flesh. Hilda tried to say, “What is it?” but she mostly mumbled, half-asleep at least, and she could not move her hands to remove the cloth from her eyes so she could see.

Hilda eventually slept, and Doctor Mishka instructed Inga about post operative care while Mother Vrya swaddled the baby in the boiled-not-entirely-clean cloths. When Mother Vrya fetched the cloths, Troels came in all worried. They pulled up a chair for him to sit by his wife, and he mentioned, “Revna sent word that her water broke, whatever that means.”

Mishka and Inga both looked at Mother Vrya, but Mother Vrya waved off their concern. “It is her third and she goes long.” Mother Vrya took her time, and when she left, she said she would let them know if she needed their help.

“Your son,” Inga handed the baby carefully to Troels. “Do you have a name picked out?”

“Erik,” he said and smiled at the baby. “Erik Troelsson.”

“A fine name,” Mishka said.

“Harrold is going out again,” Troels said. “I am going with him in place of the crew he lost in his adventure.”

Mishka had a bad feeling about what the young man said. It turned out, he got to hold his baby before he got lost at sea. Then again, that meant Kare would be going to sea again, and inside, Kirstie felt some relief.

Kirstie turned sixteen and thought about Kare as little as possible. She did know that Revna had a girl, Astrid, and Kirstie wondered if Erik and Astrid might end up together, being birth mates and all. Some people went for that.