Month: August 2024

Medieval 5: K and Y 18 Unexpected Meetings, part 3 of 4

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

“We are shield maidens, but we are not dressed for throat cutting at the moment,” Kirstie said. “Yrsa is trying to convince me that I need to settle down and become a man’s good wife.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Father McAndrews said.

“That will depend on finding the right man,” Kirstie responded, and she pulled out her little wooden cross. She genuflected slightly for the priest and asked, “Why are you here all alone on a deserted island?”

He looked at her. “You are believers in the way?”

“I am, as was my mother. We are after a fashion, but we have no priests, not even a deacon or monk to guide us. You should come to Strindlos, though I suppose that would be dangerous. Most of the Trondelag hold tight to the old ways of Odin and Frigg, though they are gone now. The new way has come, but word has not reached my people yet. It will take some real men of courage to come and share the gospel among my people.”

“Come,” the father said. “We must get out of the rain that is coming.” He walked them to a steep climb down to the entrance of a cave. It looked much like a cell in a monastery. He had a cot, a table with parchment and a chair, and he had a fire mostly burned down, but wood to feed it. “You asked why I am here. Penance? No, this is like a hermitage, but only part time. I often come here for a few days to pray and seek the Lord. I haven’t much food, but you are welcome to share.”

“And you write?” Kirstie said and noticed the parchments rolled up and sticking out of a basket beside the table.

“Only notes,” he said. “I have taken to study the works of Saint Bede if you heard of him. But among his books I found a copy of the book about Beowulf, a story from your homeland. I must say, it is the strangest book I have ever read. I had to get away for some days to really digest the story and pray about it.”

“All true, mostly,” Kirstie said offhanded as she laid some wood on the fire and let a little fire out of her fingertips to get it burning well. She tried to be careful about it, but Father McAndrews noticed.

“A fire starter?” he asked.

“My Lady is gifted with many unique and special gifts,” Yrsa said.

“Gifted, by who?”

“The almighty,” Kirstie said and stepped over to the cave entrance. She looked down about thirty feet to the sea. “I would not think any gift would be given except as the Lord allowed. God is still in control, you know.”

“Yes, but witchcraft is frowned upon,” the father said.

“And if I were a witch, I would frown upon myself. Fortunately, these gifts are not witchcraft, though they may appear that way to those who are superstitious and do not know any better. God gives all sorts of gifts. To some tongues, to some healing, to some the working of miracles. God gifts evangelists, pastors, teachers, and all sorts of ministries. The apostle did not say his was an exhaustive list covering every possible gift under the sun. I’ll grant you, some of what I can do is unusual. But so are some of my friends. So it goes.” She turned to Yrsa. “This isn’t my skiff. I don’t know if this will work.”

“What is she doing?” Father McAndrews asked Yrsa, but Yrsa quieted him.

“Haddock would be nice, or maybe a salmon if there is trouble jumping up the cliff.” Kirstie yelled. A big wave formed in the distance. Father McAndrews’ eyes widened to see it. When the wave hit the cliff wall, two haddock and a wild salmon shot into the cave, along with too much water. It almost put out the fire, so Kirstie had to stoke it again.

“The sea and the sky are my friends,” Kirstie said, as Father McAndrews came to the edge and looked down into the sea.

“The beauty of this place is the breakers are not so bad. They don’t keep me up all night,” he said. “I always imagined directly below this place the water was extra deep and not filled with rocks to start breaking the waves before they hit the cliff.”

“Or, maybe you have more rocks further out, so the waves are broken before they get to the cliff,” Kirstie countered, and called for her knife, Cutter. It appeared in her hand, something like a bowie knife. She turned first on the haddock, beheaded them, slit them open to dump the innards over the edge, and expertly filleted them. She had been cutting fish for the fire her whole life.

“Do you have anything to grease the pan?” Yrsa asked. Father McAndrews produced some lard along with some bread and cheese. Yrsa started one Haddock cooking, the big one, as Kirstie finished cutting the salmon. She found some rope and a convenient rock and hung the salmon and the other haddock over the fire where they could smoke. She asked about that because the smoke went to the back of the cave and disappeared.

“Somebody well before me cut some holes in the back of the cave that rise to the surface. As long as the breezes come off the sea, the cave is well ventilated, and the smoke does not linger. I have to check the holes now and then to make sure no bird has built a nest in one of them, but they work well. Do you suppose Saint Cuthbert or Saint Aidan made them?”

Kirstie smiled. “It would be nice to think that.” She asked about water.

“Yes, sorry. My water supply is running a bit low. There is a spring a few yards down the opposite way where you were standing, but I have been afraid to come out of my cave with murderous Vikings about, er, sorry. I know I should not fear men, but that is easy to say and not so easy to do.”

“Yrsa,” Kirstie handed her the bucket. “You can go and not be seen by anyone,”

“But the stone way will be slippery in the rain. You must be careful,” Father McAndrews said.

“She is very sure footed.” Kirstie added and smiled for Yrsa. Yrsa did not look happy going out in the rain and carrying a heavy bucket of water. Just to express her unhappiness, she turned herself invisible right in front of the father. “Yrsa has some talents as well,” Kirstie added.

That evening, while it rained outside, they stayed warm and dry inside the cave. They talked about many things. How Kirstie lost her mother and then lost her father but met Yrsa. She praised her friend for kindly crying with her when she was just ten years old. Father McAndrews told them how he got the first name, Fain. He said his father was a joker.

“Father said when someone asks if I am fain to go, I should always answer no, I’m Fain McAndrews. Ha. Ha.” He didn’t laugh.

“Father suits you,” Kirstie decided, and she yawned. Father McAndrews wanted Kirstie to have the bed, but Kirstie refused. “You are an old man who needs his rest. Yrsa and I are young and strong, and used to sleeping on the hard deck of the ship to the sound of breakers on the rolling sea. We will lie by the fire and probably be asleep before you.” So they slept, and sometime in the night it stopped raining.

Medieval 5: K and Y 18 Unexpected Meetings, part 2 of 4

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

“Come on Yrsa,” Kirstie said. “Let’s find a soft place to sleep tonight, provided it does not rain. It will be at least another day before Ulf and Odger show up.” She raised her voice to the captains. “If they do not come here in three days, we assume they are not coming at all.”

“What do we do in the meantime?” Someone asked.

“Go fishing. Build fires and camp where we won’t be seen from the mainland. Send spies to the near islands to try and see what is going on in Bamburgh. Put the Scaldi to work. Relax. Smoke if you got ’em.”

“Smoke what?” Yrsa asked as they climbed over a small hill to the sea on the other side of the island. Kirstie did not answer, but she called to her blue dress and Yrsa matched her in green. It was not that her dress was warmer than her armor in the spring sea breezes, but because right then, she did not feel much like murder or mayhem.

Kirstie spoke again when they got to the other side of the island, well away and out of sight from the men. Kirstie looked back once but did not see their shadows of Kare and Thoren. “Looks deserted,” Kirstie said. “In fact, all these islands may be deserted.” They stood at the top of short cliffs and looked down on the sea, and Kirstie had an idea. “Vingevourt,” she called. “Are you there?” She did not want to make him appear before her. She sensed he was busy doing something. She looked up. “Cloud babies, are you able to speak?”

Yrsa stood still and seemed just as fascinated and thrilled as a human would be in the circumstances. The sea churned for a second, and the overcast sky produced two very small puffs of gray cloud that flew straight to her. One little green gingerbread man blob of the sea came shooting out of the breakers and landed softly on the clifftop.

“Lady,” the blob said in his squeaky baby voice. “The sea king is busy with the whales in the north, but I am here. How can I help you.”

“Lady,” the word came from overhead.

“And friend,” another word came from the cloudy puffs that came down to face her, floating gently over the sea cliff.

Kirstie had to think for a second. She turned first to the water sprite. “Fardlevan,” she named the sprite. “What can you tell me about the islands? Are there any people here or on one of the other islands?”

Fardlevan had to think a minute. “There is a family of gnomes that travel from island to island. They are nice people. They help keep the islands green and care for the birds that mostly live here. There is also a small band of fairies on the big island over that way.” He pointed. “They have been very busy in the spring since the wildflowers started to bloom and all the trees went to bud.”

“I think she meant human people,” Yrsa said.

Fardlevan looked like he pulled off the top of his head, but Kirstie imagined it was his hat. He tipped it for the elf before he let it blend back into his body. No one would guess he had a hat. There is one mud person on this very island, but he is hiding in the cave in the cliffs close by here. I think he is afraid. Is that the right word? Afraid?”

Kirstie nodded and turned to the sprites of the air. They blew with the winds, scattering the seeds, whistling through the leaves, lifting the birds into the air, but mostly they picked up water on their journey. When they manifested, they always took cloud form, and they always came in pairs, one male and one female. They said it helped keep the sky in balance and hold the sky to the earth, like the sky might otherwise blow off into the sun. They stayed in balance like their god or goddess, who presently happened to be a goddess for them. “So, Flitter and Flutter, what weather can we look forward to?” Kirstie asked the sprites.

‘Rain.”

“Some drizzles.”

“Some lightning.”

“Some thunder.”

The two sprites sounded like children, not like the cherub-like water babies, but young enough to where sometimes it was hard to tell which was the male voice and which was the female voice. “I hope it won’t rain too hard on the men,” Kirstie said.

“Just a good spring rain.”

“On and off all night.”

“Just enough to annoy them,” Yrsa said softly.

“We can push some away.”

“But only some.”

“And make the lightning strike the sea.”

“The water sprites like the lightning.”

“We do,” Fardlevan said. “It energizes us so we can make really big waves.”

“But we can’t push it all off.”

“Not all of it.”

“It is too heavy.”

“Very heavy and ready to fall.”

“Gonna fall.”

“Thank you very much,” Kirstie interrupted them. The little cloud babies would otherwise go on like that for a long time. “You can go back to your play now. Sorry to interrupt your good work.”

“Not a problem.”

“No problem at all.”

Fardlevan spoke over top. “Glad to do it.” He saluted, jumped off the edge of the cliff, and shattered into a million droplets that blended back into the sea.

“Good-bye. So long. Farewell. Good-bye.” The sprites of the air kept up the litany until they got beyond where Kirstie could hear them. Yrsa probably heard them longer, given her good elf ears, but eventually they blended back into the gray overhead and disappeared.

“Lady,” Yrsa got Kirstie’s attention. She pointed with her head and eyes and Kirstie turned to see a gray-bearded old man walking with a staff along the clifftop. He came straight to them and asked a question. “Are you angels?” The women shook their heads, and Kirstie responded.

“Why would you ask such a question?”

The man put his hand to his beard and looked down for a second before he looked at them and answered. “Because you are both as beautiful as I always imagined angels to be. And second, because I saw you talking to the sea and the clouds as if they were your very good friends.”

“A water sprite and two sprites of the air, and they are good friends, but that does not make me less human,” Kirstie said. “I am Kristina Arnedottir from Strindlos in Norway. My maid is Yrsa.”

“Father McAndrews of Lindisfarne. And I really suspected you were with the Vikings, though you hardly look like thieves and cutthroats.” He looked around to make sure they were not being watched.