Month: August 2018

R5 Greta: The Old Ones, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

After that, there only passed snatches of conversations until it got dark and their captors brought some mashed meal and water.  It hardly seemed enough to sustain them, and Greta felt faint from hunger, having gone all day again without food.  One meal a day was not easy.  On the other hand, she imagined she might be losing some weight.  She really did not want to get round, like Mama. That thought did not help much.

Each person found a place to lie down, alone.  Drakka became the first to sleep.  As soon as Drakka began to snore, Koren crawled over beside Greta.  He shook her because her back was turned, but she was not asleep.

“Greta,” he whispered.  “Greta, I want to tell you why we are here.  Greta.”  She stopped his hand.

“I’m listening,” Greta whispered in return.

“It was Drakka’s father, Eldegard.  When the men rode out of the village after Lady Brunhild, he told us to keep an eye on things.  He feared Jodel’s father or one of the others might raise more men to swell the ranks of support for the Romans.  He said we were to watch and stop anyone who headed out for Ravenshold.  He said if we could not stop them, we were to kill them. Then you left town to cross the forest to Ravenshold.  We followed.”

“Drakka’s father, Eldegard?”  She got a clear picture, and her suspicions had been correct.  Darius was riding into a trap, to be squeezed between the hammer and the anvil.

“I want you to know.”  Koren went on.  “I only came along to see that Drakka did not hurt you.  I-I wouldn’t like it if you were hurt.”

Greta looked at him and he looked away.  She kissed his cheek.  “Thank you, Koren,” she said, while he turned scarlet.  “But you need to get some rest now.  We should all try to get some sleep.”

“Yes, you are right,” Koren said, while Greta scolded herself for sounding exactly like her mother talking to the children.  “I’ll be over here.  Good-bye, I mean, goodnight Greta.  I’ll see you later, in the morning.  Goodnight.” He crawled to the other side of the room and Greta glanced at Rolfus.  Rolfus’s eyes were open.  He faced her and as far as she could tell, he heard everything.

“What?”  She shot at him and tried hard to push her mother words away.  She wanted to know if he had a problem.

“Who can sleep with that racket?”  Rolfus frowned and pointed at Drakka, who snored.  He turned over and presumably shut his eyes.

Greta also scooted down and tried to get comfortable on the bare floor.  As she did, she got the distinct notion that Danna not only spoke to her, but said that she would probably have to pay a visit to the people in the morning, and perhaps visit this Bogus the Skin as well. Greta pulled back from the thought. What did that make her?  Far from fighting her own battles, she felt in danger of becoming no more than a pawn of the gods.  Nameless fought her enemies, Salacia kept her safe, and now Danna, to do what?  Gerraint said he was supposed to fight his own battles.  That only seemed fair.

“Is it wrong that Nameless, Salacia and Danna should seek to make peace between Dacian, Roman and Celt?” someone said.

“No.”  She almost responded out loud.  “But what does that make me, just a vessel for the gods to use and trash when they are done?”

“Greta will have to deal with the guns in her day.”  She remembered what Salacia said a lifetime ago, and sighed.  She turned away altogether from such thoughts and just as quickly, she found herself somewhere else.

Marcus, Darius, the Centurion Alesander, Herzglaw and Eldegard stood around a table in a tent of grand Roman design.  They were no doubt arguing about how they should enter Ravenshold in the morning. As soon as Greta saw them, Darius picked a cloth from a pocket in his cloak and went out into the night air.

“M’lord?” Gaius stood by the tent door, faithfully on duty.

Darius waved off his questions.  “They’ll argue a while longer, but in the end Marcus will have his way,” Darius said.

“M’lady?” Gaius asked another one-word question.

“It’s strange, Gaius, but despite being so far away I can almost sense her watching over me,” Darius said.  “But I suppose that is the way of it.  Foolish men go off to fight over foolish things while women stay home and wait and watch.”

Greta felt sure Darius spoke of his true love in far-away Rome.  She imagined that cloth as her token.  With a sudden surge of anger and hurt, she nearly lost the sight, but she settled herself and looked again.

“Women fight, too,” Gaius said.  “And just as much, but in other ways and on other battlefields.”

Darius nodded, as if to say Gaius was probably right, but he said no more.  He walked away from the campfires for a minute and stood under the natural light of the stars and the moon.  Suddenly, he came sharply into focus.

“The road is an ambush.”  Greta’s thoughts came quickly.  “Beware of Eldegard.”  Those thoughts poured out of her, again and again.

Darius’ eyes shifted, and for one brief moment it seemed as if they were looked eye to eye.

“Not tomorrow, but next morning.  Look for me. Look for me.”  She saw Darius lift his hand as if to touch her face and then she saw no more.  Someone kicked her.

“Get up!” The voice yelled.

Greta got up quickly, blinking against the bright morning light that streamed in the doorway. Drakka and Koren were being kept back by two men with swords.  Rolfus was still lying down, saying things in Dacian which made Greta hope the guards did not understand the language.

Despite Greta’s willing compliance, the one who kicked her also shoved her out the door. She spoke her feelings in his language.

“Don’t do something you might later regret,” she said.

“Shut-up.” He responded with a slap across her face.  Drakka and Koren both jumped but the door got slammed shut in their faces.  Drakka let out some epithets, but he got ignored. Greta felt the blood in the corner of her mouth, but she barely had time to touch it before she got dragged down the street.  She was not given the option of walking.  When they reached the center square, she ended up thrown face down in the dirt.

“I said fetch her, Vedix.  I didn’t say damage her.”  Baran spoke. He stood in the square with a number of men and one very old woman who was allowed a chair in which to sit.

“Sorry.” Vedix retorted with a laugh.

“He lies,” the old woman said.  The woman looked at Greta with a touch of sympathy as Greta got herself up and did her best to brush herself free of the mud.

“Fae.” Greta remembered the woman’s name. “I am pleased to meet you.”  And she was glad, indeed, to see another woman in the midst of all the men.  She hoped they might hear a woman’s counsel, and she also hoped that she and this druid, or wise woman might find some mutual ground on which to bond.

After a brief pause, Fae spoke softly.  “She does not lie.”

Greta looked at Baran and her curiosity must have shown.  He nodded, and explained.

“They say her grandfather was of the Vee Villy, though some believe he may have been one of the other spirits who haunt these woods.  Her father, the child of that rape, was never right.  He used to run off into the woods and disappear for days at a time.  Some said he went to dance to strange music in the fairy circles in the wilderness, under the moonlight.  Some say his other half needed time to live as well.  Other times, he seemed more normal.  They say when we escaped to these woods some seventy years ago, had it not been for him and his power over the animals and growing things, we all would have starved.”  Baran paused to shrug.  It all seemed mythology to him.

“In one of his more human moments, he impregnated a girl who gave birth to twins and promptly died in the birthing.  He disappeared, though some say he ran away and was lost in the mountains of Agdala, the Dragon.”  He shrugged again.  “But for us, the question was what to do with the twins.  After long debate, it was decided to give one to the Vee Villy in the hope that they would continue our prosperity without him here.  That prosperity has continued to this day.” He paused to take a breath.  He did not strike Greta as a believer in the earth spirits, but most of his people did believe, and as a politician, he blew with that prevailing wind.

“As a young woman, Fae went off with the people who wander the face of the earth forever and who have no home of their own.”

“Gypsies.” Greta named the people.  “It is so diluted now as to be almost nonexistent, but they, too, have the blood of the Vee Villy in their ancestry and have been cursed because of it.”

Fae’s eyes widened to imagine Greta knew anything at all about the Gypsies.  “She does not lie.”  Fae said. But Baran gave Greta a hard, cold stare.

“Sorry,” Greta said.  “Please go on.”

“Our Fae returned to us as you can see,” Baran continued.  “And she has served her people well for more years than any can remember.  But her greatest service has been to know when someone is telling the truth and when someone is telling lies.  She knows without fail,” Baran said, and he looked like he might be gloating.  “So be careful how you answer.”

Greta, however, read the man more deeply than he imagined.  She knew this was all show.  If she hung herself, that would just make things easy, but if she did not, he had already decided her fate.  It really was not fair, not the least because she was still having a hard time responding well in pressure situations.  Don’t panic, she told herself.

“What is your name?”  Baran asked. The lie detector always got the easy questions first.

“Greta.” She responded.  “The Watcher over History, the Traveler in Time, Greta, and I am also called the Kairos, but as the Kairos I have had and will have many names.”  She looked up.

“What?” Baran gave her a stern look, but that stern look changed to surprise when he heard Fae give a little gasp.

“She does not lie.”

Baran tried again. “How old are you?”

“I am seventeen.” Greta said to Baran’s satisfaction, but she had not finished.  “And I am over four thousand six hundred years old, though I cannot say exactly how much over.”

“What does that mean?”  Baran threw his hands up when he heard Fae.

“She speaks the truth.”  Fae looked at Greta with a strange and curious look on her face.

Baran gave it one more try.  “You are the Wise Woman for your people?”  He asked.

“I am, as you call it,” she said.  He almost looked smug again.  “And much more besides.”

“What more?” Baran asked without waiting for Fae to verify her honesty.

Greta herself did not know where these thoughts came from, but she repeated them with certainty.  “An experiment in time and genetics, a safety valve for the gods, the Watcher over History, the Traveler in Time, goddess to the little spirits of the earth, Lady of Avalon…”

“Shut-up.” Baran roared.  He threw his hands at her as if to say she started speaking nonsense, but Fae spoke clearly.

“She does not lie.”

R5 Greta: The Old Ones, part 1 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“Not too tight.” Greta said, but her captors ignored her. Then Greta realized her mistake. Gerraint and Festuscato both told her. These were old Celts, the people of the land before the Dacians moved against them.  That had to be three hundred years ago, or certainly since the days of Decebalus, some seventy years ago.  The old Celts once filled the entire border land between Olympus and Aesgard, stretching all the way from Gaul to Galatea in Asia Minor.  She realized that she understood their language the night before and could speak it now if she chose, because she received help from another life.  Danna, the mother of the gods of the Celts, filled her with this new tongue.

“Not too tight.” She repeated in the local Gallic dialect.  They stopped. The woman nearly dropped her end of the rope which had the noose around Greta’s neck.  The old man stepped back, though he did not loosen his grip on her shoulders.  The young man gave up trying to tie her wrists altogether.  Greta looked closely at the young one.  He looked to be about twenty-eight, but from the look in his eyes and the grin on his face, Greta could tell these people were in trouble from too much inbreeding.

“My hands are healing hands.”  Greta said. “If you damage them, I will be no use to help others.”

“You are a Druid?” The gruff man asked.

“I am the Woman of the Ways.”  Greta said, giving her own name for the position.  “And I am willing to go with you freely without the need for any ropes at all.”

The old man looked at her.  He scrutinized her face and looked deeply into her eyes.  He made a command decision and removed the rope from her neck.

“Is that wise?” The man’s wife asked.

“Kindness is never foolish.”  Greta answered.  The old man laughed at his wife, and the young man laughed, too, though he was not sure what he was laughing about.

“She even sounds like a Druid.”  The old man said, and added, “Follow.”  They walked, skirted the bog, and headed right back to the old road where Greta started that morning.

Her captors were Vilam of the Manclugh, his wife, Mayann, and their son Finbear, and they were indeed the remnants of the Gaelic peoples who hid in the great forest at the coming of the Dacians—the Gatae and the Yellow Hairs.  Despite Greta’s own experience in the forest, she felt certain that these people were the main reason why those who entered the woods were never heard from again.  They had the secret of their existence to protect and what better way than to make sure no one got out alive?

“We are the only ones who live on this side of the river.”  Finbear talked without stop, much like Hans sometimes talked, except Finbear kept staring at her in a way that made her feel very uncomfortable.

“This side belongs to the Vee Villys,” he said.

Greta looked curiously at Mayann who looked clearly unhappy with Greta’s presence, but who spoke out of courtesy.  “The Old folk, The Spirits of the night and day, the Good People of the Earth, the blessers of true believers.”  She said that last rather loud, but Greta understood.  Her own people lumped them all together as elves of light and dark, and then as an afterthought, put dwarfs in between the two elf types.

“How is it they let you live here?” she asked Mayann, but Finbear answered.

“We cut the trees,” he said.  “Father says it is so the trees do not get too overgrown and dangerous when the fire comes, but all I know is the Vee Villys mark the trees and we cut them.”

Ravenshold, that is, Sarmizegetusa is probably a good market for lumber.”  Greta thought out loud.  “And they probably don’t ask too many questions.”

They stopped. Vilam looked at her in a way which confirmed her thought, and he did not look too happy that she had guessed correctly.

“This is the way.” Vilam said, but Greta stopped him. She touched his arm when she recognized the rise.

“No, up there. I need to show you something,” she said. “I need to show Mayann.”

“Come now.” Vilam said, gruffly, though with kindness still in his voice.  “You said you would go freely without ropes.”

“This will only take a minute.  It concerns Liam.”

“Liam?” Mayann spoke and started up the rise. The rest were forced to follow.

From the top, they could see the cross some distance down the other side.  “That new grave is Liam.  The Nameless god had mercy on him.  He did not suffer.”

Mayann ran down the hill and fell on the grave in tears.

“Gvidion’s praise.”  Vilam said, before he turned curious.  “Why would the Nameless god of the Yellow Hairs do good for Dagda’s people?”

“Because he cares about all of the people in the land,” she suggested.

Vilam was not slow to grasp her suggestion.  “You Yellow Hairs, and those Romans, too, have no business here.  This is our land.”

“But we are here,” Greta said.  “Business or not.  So why can’t we make peace and make life better for all?”

Vilam shook his head, but Greta did not wait for a response.  Her duty at the moment turned her to Mayann.

After a while, she helped the woman rise and walk.  She assumed they were headed for the village which she rightly supposed would be on the other side of the river.  Vilam gave her that look again, but she explained herself.

“Finbear did say you were the only family living on this side of the river in the territories of the Wee Willies.”

“Oh, yes.” Vilam nodded.  “I forgot that he said that.”  He looked relieved, but Finbear had to correct her pronunciation.

“Vee Villys,” he said.  “I have never seen one, myself, but they say they are like ghosts, frightening and strange, and they can be invisible, so they might be anywhere and you would never know it, and they do terrible tricks on those who displease them.”  He tried to scare her.

“Trick or treat!” Greta said sharply to him, which surprised him, and he jumped a little, having scared himself.  Greta smiled but otherwise kept silent.  She did not feel in the mood to argue with the young man. Somehow, she could not imagine Berry as frightening and strange, or playing terrible tricks on people, though there was the matter of Hans.

When they reached the river, Vilam uncovered a log raft which had been well hidden in the bushes. They had two long poles to go with it, and though it seemed easy crossing the calm water that slowly worked its’ way out of the swampland, it was not exactly dry going.  If she stood, she felt too wobbly and unsteady.  If she sat, her dress got wet.  Finally, she decided to sit.  The dress would dry.

“I like her, father.”  The ever staring Finbear spoke over Greta’s head as if she was not even there.  “I want her.”

“No.” Mayann rose to Greta’s defense. “She is not for you, my son.”

“Father?” Finbear was not for giving up, but Vilam only laughed, except that the laugh seemed to Greta to carry the unspoken words, “We’ll see,” as if he actually considered it.

From the river, it did not appear far to the village gate.  Greta saw fields there that stretched out beyond her sight, carved out of the forest and irrigated by ditches that drew water straight from the river.  The village itself sat behind a strong wooden stockade, so it looked like a fort from the outside.  The gates were open, however, and there were several men and dogs in the gate.

Ever since seeing Sanger, Greta had a good idea who the village captives might be.  Drakka, probably Rolfus and maybe Jodel, she was not sure.  She only hoped she was not too late.  The word “sacrifice” scared her.

After Vilam talked privately with the men in the gate and pointed to Greta several times, Greta got brought to the central square.  After a short wait, a man came out from one of the houses, followed by one of the men from the gate.  The man from the house had a chicken leg in his hand, and he appeared to be annoyed at having his lunch interrupted.

“Well, Vilam. Quite a catch.”  The man spoke as he walked around Greta and eyed her with a mixture of suspicion and lust.

“Baran, I claim the right of capture,” Vilam said.

“Yes, we’ll see,” Baran responded.  “A druid you say.”

“Yes.”  Both Vilam and Mayann spoke up at the same time, which caused Baran to pause and raise an eyebrow.

“Liam’s dead,” Mayann said.  “She showed us the grave.”

Baran looked again at Greta with suspicion.  “Maybe, and maybe not,” Baran said.  “Fae has been sent for.  We will test her when Fae gets here in the morning.  In the meanwhile, put her with the others.”  Baran went back into his house.  He had nothing else to say.

“Father?” Greta heard Finbear raise his voice while two ruffians led her away.

“Hush son,” Vilam said, as he watched.  “Can’t do anything until morning.”

The men who escorted Greta were not cruel, but they hurt her arms all the same. Fortunately, the hut without windows was not very far away.  The door got unbolted, and Greta got pushed in.

“Hello?” Greta heard the word in the tongue of her people.

“Who is there?” She whispered in the dark.

“Greta?” She felt a strong set of arms surround her and hug her hard.  It was Drakka.  She did not have to see him.  “Greta, why are you here?  Don’t you know we are to be sacrificed tomorrow?”

“I came to save three fools,” she said.  “Who else is here?”

“Save us?” She heard Rolfus’s voice.  “I think you just became another body for the feed.”  He laughed, but it did not sound like a pleasant laugh.

By then, Greta’s eyes started adjusting to the dark.  The slats in the hut were not perfect so some light leaked in.  She saw Koren in the corner, weeping softly, and she thought that at least Jodel had the good sense to stay home.

“Why did you follow me into the forest?”  Greta asked straight out.  Drakka almost flinched before he lied.

“Because I love you more than life,” he said, and subtly kicked Koren to keep him quiet. “I was afraid for your safety.”

Greta stared. He said the words she always wanted to hear, but she knew in her heart that it was a lie.  She became angry with herself for not believing him.

“Well, then,” she said, and sat down.  “I will just have to save you from the sacrifice.”

“Impossible.”  Rolfus responded.  “But at least Sanger escaped.

“No, he didn’t.” She paused because she did not want to remember that vision, not in the dark, alone.  Yet, she decided she had to tell them since they all looked at her, waiting.  “Sanger is dead, not by the hands of these people, but by the succubus in the swamp. I saw his body, shriveled and emptied of life.”  She put her head in her hands and shuddered.  Then she began to cry.  It all got to be too much.

Rolfus made a sound of absolute revulsion and horror and turned away.  Koren looked filled with fear.  Only Drakka seemed unmoved, except he said he was sorry, and how horrible it must have been for her, and he sat down beside her and willing held her and let her cry on his shoulder.  And that was no lie.  He had a heart.  That was what she knew and loved about him.  Somewhere beneath it all, he had a good heart.

R5 Greta: Nowhere to Run, part 3 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The armor adjusted automatically to Greta’s shape and size, and as she thought on it, it felt very comfortable, and not at all too heavy.  The cloak of Athena also felt much warmer than her poor red cloak, and she could make it longer with a thought, so it got long enough to act as a blanket.  She lay down on the heather and added her own “Thank you” to the moon, her Artemis moon. She slept, and this time, she slept peacefully, and without dreams.

Greta woke in the morning feeling much better in her mind and heart.  She had faith that somehow that morning everything would work out. She had hope, even if she felt terribly thirsty.  A bit of breakfast would have been nice as well.

She smelled the air.  It smelled fresh and clean.  She looked all around and felt that the Sylvan River had to be fairly close.  She started out in that direction and was not even aware that she wore her armor until she stopped to relieve herself. She decided to wear it for a while. It really felt that comfortable, and she did not mind the feeling of protection it gave her.  Besides, it became hers for her entire lifetime, and this was her lifetime and she would live it for all it was worth for as long as she could.

Greta came to a spring fed stream and had a long, cold drink.  Why did she head toward the river?  She could not imagine the reason, but there had to be one.  If nothing else, she decided to see where the path let out.  It did not take long, though, before she started to get bogged down in a swampy area. The fact that she wore water-proof knee boots rather than sandals helped a lot, but after a while it still became rough going.  She kept thinking any moment she would break out on to the riverbank, but the bog continued, and she could see no end.

Something caught the corner of her eye and the hair came up on the back of her neck.  It wasn’t Berry.  She considered pulling Salvation, the sword Nameless had graciously left her.  She might have brandied it as a warning, but she could not be sure if her arms were strong enough, even for this sword made for a woman.

She stepped around a tree and a man blocked her way.  He shimmered in the dim sunlight and looked beautiful to behold.  Greta felt an instant attraction to the man which felt so strong, she almost rushed to his feet.  She had to struggle to check herself.

“What do you want?” she asked.  The man said nothing while a second man stepped out from the shadows.  He looked very different, but in his own way, he appeared as attractive as the first.  Greta felt herself flush with desire and excitement.

“What do you want?” she asked more sternly.

A woman stepped forward.  Hers seemed an unearthly beauty beyond anything Greta ever imagined.  Greta felt the urge to fall into the woman’s arms and kiss her passionately.  That felt wrong.  She was one who never had any inkling in that direction, and the thought repulsed her a little and returned her to her senses.

“No,” she said.

“Come to me,” a third man spoke.

“Come share my love.”  A second woman came into the light.

They are not real people, Greta said to herself, and she started to back away until she realized a fourth man and two more women stood behind her.  She got surrounded.  The ones behind her, however, had the morning light behind them, and she could see through them in a distorted sort of way.  They looked translucent, and whatever else they might be, they were certainly not people.

Greta closed her eyes for a brief moment and cleared her mind and heart as well as she could.  The first rule of magic was to let be what must be.  When she looked again, she saw demon faces where she had seen beauty, and ghostly, floating figures where their bodies had been.  They still called to her, but she could no longer hear them. Instead, she found Salvation securely held in both of her hands.  She decided the adrenaline helped, but the sword proved not nearly as heavy as she had imagined.  Several of the demon faces appeared to laugh.  They had faced swords before and such weapons were ineffective against them. Greta swung clumsily at the one nearest to her.  It neither moved nor ducked, apparently expecting the sword to simply pass through. Instead, as she cut the creature, it bubbled and fizzed for a moment like carbonation in a glass of ginger ale, and then popped and vanished altogether from the world.  The others backed up significantly, and the smug looks on their faces changed to sheer cruelty.

“Help!” Greta screamed on the inside, but no one answered.  She did hear the word, “Wyvern” followed by “Succubus.”  So she knew what she faced.  “Thanks a lot,” she said out loud.  She tried to back up and swung her sword as much as she could, but these creatures were no fools.  They had let her come way into the swampland before they approached her.  Her arms would tire long before she got out of their territory, and even as they did tire, the Succubus began to close in. She caught no more of them with her wild swings.

Suddenly, a beautiful young girl of about twelve years of age stepped out from behind a tree. “Wyvern,” she called.

“Berry, no!” Greta shouted.  She knew who it was, even though she had never seen Berry before in her big form.

“Lifegiver.” The Wyvern called out, and they all turned instantly from Greta to attack the little spirit of life.

“No!”  Greta screamed as did Berry, but just as they came at her, something like fire poured from Greta’s hands and eyes.  The Wyvern were instantly on fire, and they began to fizz and pop all over the place.  Berry stayed untouched.  Then Greta had to jump and cut one with Salvation, because while she got distracted by her concern for Berry, one came right up to her face.

She still faced three of them that the flames missed.  One floated in front of Greta, one to her right, and one behind her.  Berry, her small fairy self again, went up the tree to her left and Greta knew the little one would be safe for the moment.  Greta doubted she could deal with these last three. They seemed to know that as long as they did not threaten Berry, they were safe, and it would not be too much longer before Greta would be unable to keep her sword up, much less resist them.

“All right.” Greta heard a voice as clear as day in her head.  It could not have been someone outside talking to her because it sounded unquestionably like her own voice.  At the same time, though, it sounded like a male voice and that confused her for a moment. “I’ll take it from here.”  Greta gladly and gratefully let go, vanished, and let him come down through time to stand in her place.  Gerraint, son of Erbin appeared, but older than she remembered. This Gerraint was already a Knight of Arthur’s Round Table.  “Always willing to help a lady in distress,” he said with a grin.

The Wyvern recognized the change and began to flee, but already too late for them.  Two popped on the tip of Salvation’s point. Then Defender got whipped from its’ sheath.  It flew faster than sight and pinned the last Succubus against a tree, catching it square in the center.  The Wyvern bubbled, fizzed, popped and became no more, and Gerraint patted himself on the back because it appeared a near perfect throw.  “Practice.”  He told Greta, as he left and she returned in his place.

Greta had no time to respond as Berry attacked her from the tree, flung her little arms around her neck for a big hug and cried and then laughed because her little self could not reasonably do more than one at a time.

“I knew it. I knew it.”  Berry got excited.

“Knew what?” Greta asked.

“I knew you were my Great Lady,” she said.  “The stories all said the fee were sometimes permitted to ride on the shoulder of their goddess, and you let me ride on your shoulder, and you could still see me even when you were not in the circle, and one of the gods came to fight for you, even though I missed you when you went away.”

“Hold on,” Greta interrupted.  “I’m no goddess.”  And she did not want to be one.  Nameless always came courteously restrained, but she had been Salacia in a moment of havoc. That seemed a power beyond anything Greta could handle, and a responsibility she would never want.

“But you are,” Berry insisted.  “Even when you are completely mortal and human, you are the goddess for all of the little spirits of the world.  And you will be our goddess in your next life, too, and the one after that, unless you are our god.”  Berry had to pause to puzzle her way through that thought.

“But you took an awful chance exposing yourself like that,” Greta said.

“No-oh.” Berry insisted again.  “Even when you are mortal, human, you have everything you need to protect and defend us.”  She became serious for a moment.  “And you make the rules and teach us and keep us on the path of righteousness.”  She paused again to swallow and her little eyes became big.  “And sometimes you punish us when we are bad, and they say your wrath is a terrible thing to behold, and I have to go now.”  Greta blinked and Berry no longer fluttered there.

Greta shrugged. Faster than a speeding bullet, she thought.

She considered Defender, stuck ten feet up the tree.  She supposed she could call to it and it would jump to her hand, but instead, she sent her armor and weapons home, wherever that might be, and became clothed again in her dress and red cape.  She found her dress cleaned and pressed, and sewn where the little tear had been.  She wondered if her little ones did that.  She supposed they did, and she felt grateful, though calling them her little ones would take some getting used to.  She wondered what on Earth she could do that would be even half as nice for them. She felt very warm and loved at that moment.  Then she saw him.

She gagged.  Sanger sat with his back to a tree.  She felt sure it was him, but he looked like a raisin or dried prune.  His eyes were rolled up in his head and his mouth hung open in a scream.  It looked like every ounce of life had been sucked out of him.  She turned away, but saw the bones of others.  Some looked like they had been tied or chained. Sacrifices, she thought.  There were some rusty old Roman weapons, too, and she knew why that Century of Romans never made it to the other side of the forest. She could not stay there.  She had to get out of that death swamp; that succubus graveyard.  She fled and felt terribly sick to her stomach.  She ran until she found herself scooped up by the arms of the gruff old man of the Bear Clan.

“There, there,” he said.  It seemed as if he knew she had been scared by something and he came there to protect her. In the next moment, she felt a rope slipped around her neck and the young man started to bind her wrists.

************************

MONDAY

Greta is taken captive by the old ones, and they almost make her prefer being with the monsters.

Until then, happy reading.

*