Kirstie

Inga kept an eye on Kirstie over the next three days. Kirstie did not appear changed in any noticeable way. She seemed to be grieving and Mother Vrya said that was healthy. Sometimes she wandered the village streets, watching the vendors in the marketplace. She mostly avoided both Hilda and Liv for the first couple of days. Sometimes she watched the boat builders. They were building a karve for the village to trade with other villages up and down the fjord. They were also nearly finished building a longship for Rune Stenson who had gathered a crew to sail with him to distant ports.

On the third day, she finally visited Hilda in her home in the afternoon. She stayed long enough to have supper with Hilda and her family, and Hilda’s father Haken walked Kirstie home in the dark, what with Vanlil and other enemies about. On the fourth day, Inga saw Kirstie head for town and thought nothing of it, but Kirstie felt the need to be alone for a while, so she veered off the path as soon as she was out of sight. It did not take long to make her way to the long field.

Kirstie wanted to go home, but she did not want to go. She stood for a long time looking in the direction of home, but eventually she moved to the edge of the trees. Something called to her, and she had to find out what. When she touched a tree, it began to burn.

Kirstie quickly pulled her hand back and stared. The burning tree was not her doing. She wondered what could cause a perfectly good tree to suddenly catch fire like some form of spontaneous combustion. She blinked and a whole section of woods right in front of her turned to ash, hardly having time to burn. The light came with the heat and Kirstie blinked, shielded her eyes, and complained.

“Please. Whoever you are. Can you tone it down a little? My fair skin is going to turn red as a lobster.” He did. It was one of the gods as she suspected. The light and heat lessened, and the man appeared, but up close he had a ghost-like quality she could not describe except to say he never fully manifested. She recognized him right away.

“Fryer,” she said, before she added, “Father.” Fryer had been her father, the father of Beauty who in Beauty’s language was called Faya. That was nearly five thousand years ago. Then Kirstie had a thought. Fryer was Njord’s son, so she should not have been surprised to see him. She wondered if Fryja the goddess of love and war was around. Fryja was Fryer’s twin sister, daughter of Njord. “What are you doing here?” she asked the same question she asked Njord.

“I am not really here,” he gave the same answer. “I am just a beam of sunlight able to break through the canopy and touch the forest floor.”

“My night owl,” Kirstie said, remembering something of Faya’s life. “My al-Rahim. My guardian.”

“My daughter,” he said. “A different daughter, but all the same. I have a gift for you.” Kirstie said nothing. She did this before. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth. “No, no,” Fryer said, and he took her hands. Kirstie caught fire. She flashed bright as the sun, and then the fire receded. The flames quickly became less as the man spoke. “I am sorry I was not a very good father to you.”

“Oh, no,” Kirstie said. “You were a wonderful father. You watched over me and kept me safe when no one else could, and I love you very much.” Without realizing it, Kirstie went away, and Faya came all the way through time from the deep past to stand in her place. She hugged her father, and Fryer tried to be as solid as he could so he could return her hug.

Faya pulled back, smiled for him, and went back into the past, letting Kirstie come home. Kirstie had a question. “What did you give me?”

“Enough,” Fryer said softly and lowered his voice against listening ears. “You must set the fire and put it out with the water to break the empowerment. They should fall apart.”

“Like the Wizard of Oz.” Kirstie giggled. “Fire the scarecrow and splash the mop bucket in her face. I’m melting. I’m melting.”

Fryer caught the images and grinned. “Something like that. But now you must listen.” He gave her a second to settle down and focus. “After you were my daughter all those millennia ago, I learned some about how you function. Time does not normally open for you early, and you learn you are the Kairos only after you reach puberty, or later. That way you make a firm foundation of who you are in each life before you become aware of the others. You really are too young for this.” He shook his head.

“I’m ten.” Kirstie stood up as straight and tall as she could. “I’m old enough. Besides, I already know about Yasmina, Mother Greta, and the good Doctor Mishka.”

Fryer nodded. “Rarely, maybe sometimes you open to other lifetimes earlier. Necessity is the driving force, and right now the Kairos is needed. First you must learn to call for your armor and weapons. The fairy properties in the material are such that it will always fit you no matter your shape and size.” He taught her right there how to call for her armor and how to call again for her regular clothes, which was important to know. She only made one side comment.

“Those weapons are heavy.”

“I am sure you will master them in time, though I hope you will not need them,” Fryer said. “But now, I am able to tell you this, that the exiled men and the Vanlil will meet in a week at most and assault the king’s house and the town on the Nid River. Kairos, you only have a week. You know if the exiled chiefs and men are able to retake the Trondelag area and kick out the king and the king’s men, history will be impacted, badly. And more than that, the hag that is driving the Vanlil—the Jamts from Jamtaland—will have gained a foothold to the sea, and Abraxas will be able to return to the northlands.” He paused to place a gentle hand against Kirstie’s young cheek. “I am sorry I cannot be there for you. It is up to you to do what you will.” He smiled, though he looked sad. “There are little ones near if you wish to call on their help. You know, I agree with some of the others. This is too much responsibility for one person, even with a hundred lifetimes to call on.”

That small place in the forest flashed as bright and hot as the sun for an instant. Kirstie did not even blink this time. She thought of calling to her father, Faya’s father, that he might stay a little longer. She did not want to be alone, but she said nothing. She had too many things to think about.

Kirstie walked slowly back to Mother Vrya’s; her mind preoccupied so she hardly looked at where she put her feet. What did she need to fire first and put out with the water? The Wicked Witch? What water? Those weapons were heavy, but that armor was cool… awesome… far out.” She heard a male voice in her head. “We don’t say far out anymore.” Kirstie nodded and continued with her own thoughts. What did he mean little ones? “Hey,” she said out loud as she arrived at Mother Vrya’s where Inga was stacking some freshly cut logs for the fire.

Inga stopped to look at Kirstie, but Inga said nothing, so Kirstie mumbled, “Let me help.” She was still thinking about shining bright as the sun and the fire in her hands. In fact, she looked at her hands as she picked up a bundle of sticks and the wood caught fire. Inga shouted, but Kirstie just looked at her hand holding the burning wood. She lifted her other hand and saw it burst into flames. Then she came to herself. “Sorry,” she said in a very unconcerned voice which stopped Inga in her tracks. She was coming to knock the burning wood out of Kirstie’s hand and try to put out her hands, but the hands stopped burning. “Sorry,” Kirstie said again, but when she opened her mouth, a stream of water came pouring out from her insides. It put out the bundle, soaking the wood, but it also splashed on Inga, soaking her all down the front.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Kirstie said again. “Maybe I should go inside.”

Inga nodded and dripped before she raised her voice. “Don’t set the house on fire.”