Month: October 2024

Medieval 6: K and Y 8 Shame On Us, part 1 of 2

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The week with Wilam went by very fast. Lind and Gruden left for the west toward the villages at the entrance to the fjord on that first day, even as Wilam arrived. That helped Kirstie relax and put her in a good mood all week. She said yes without hesitation when Wilam asked her to marry him. He already won Soren’s heart so there was nothing to stand between them.

Father McAndrews spent most of the week in the big house talking with Chief Kerga, the village elders, the captains, and their officers. He spent one whole day visiting the Witcher Women, and much of that day was spent one on one with Mother Vrya. The two older people found they had much in common not the least being the muscle aches in the morning and the onset of arthritis.

On the sixth day, which was Friday, first thing in the morning, Father McAndrews performed the wedding for Kirstie and Wilam, Father Damien assisting. The whole village turned out. It was a lovely ceremony, and the first that some of the village heard about this faith. Kirstie was wonderfully happy, so naturally, life struck back at her in three ways.

The first was more of an annoyance. Liv came back from Varnes., and she appeared to have turned into a dark-eyed, raven-haired beauty. Hilda and Kirstie almost did not recognize her. Liv turned eighteen and said she came to reclaim her family property. She came as a single woman, but with three thralls in tow; men who looked more like bodyguards than farm workers. Honestly, Kirstie imagined no free man would want to get too close to Liv’s bad attitude. Wilam scolded her for thinking such a thing about her childhood friend. Fortunately, Liv proved Kirstie’s thoughts.

Liv did not come to the wedding, but she came after for the feasting. Even while she hugged Kirstie and said congratulations, she said there was no way she would ever marry. She said her lover would have to be a god. Hilda asked if she had anyone in mind and Liv looked at her like Hilda must have left her brains home that day. Kirstie understood. No one would ever measure up to Liv’s standards. She hoped that was all Liv was saying.

Kirstie and Wilam walked home around two in the afternoon, The feasting would go on well into the night, but Kirstie started feeling nervous. It was not something she ever felt with Kare. She really wanted to make Wilam happy, but after four years of build-up in his mind, she was afraid she would disappoint him.

“Relax,” he said. “I’m in no hurry now that we are married. We have years ahead of us to make everything just the way we like. It doesn’t have to happen in one night.”

Kirstie hugged him and loved him more, and let her worries turn in another direction. Mother Vrya and Chief Kerga, and probably Inga and Brant Svenson all ran interference because Lind and Gruden returned to Strindlos that afternoon. It was one of the reasons Inga suggested she take Wilam home in the early afternoon. In the morning, Lind and Gruden planned to sail off to the north end of the fjord, but for the present, they seemed to be determined to get in the way of her happy day. She mentioned something cryptic to Wilam, but he understood her enough by then to ask who they were and why they mattered.

“They are the king’s men, King Harald Fairhair,” she said. “They came here ten years ago in search of the one who led the people against the invasion of the Vanlil, the Jamts.”

“Elgar, your Saxon,” Wilam said.

Kirstie nodded. “And the young girl that came with him but was never seen at the same time as him. That was me.”

“Why would they want you, him or you?”

Kirstie just nodded and continued. “They came just before you came, looking for the girl that stood in defense of Lindisfarne four years earlier. They heard the story of the giant that stood with the girl. I have no doubt they heard about the giant I had working on my farm, though he has gone home now, but it pointed the finger at me. Of course, it can’t have been the same giant that stood with the woman at Lindisfarne, so it might have been a coincidence, but I am sure they suspect me.”

“A giant?” Wilam asked.

“He was a troll, disguised to look more or less human,” Kirstie said.

Wilam took a deep breath. “A troll. I hope you bear with me. Some of this is going to take some getting used to.”

Kirstie smiled for him. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it easy for you. They will all love you like I do.”

Wilam nodded. “All the spirits, the ones who came to tell me you were standing alone against four hundred terrible Vikings; they all seemed nice. I can only imagine it is terribly hard being responsible for all of them. How many are there, anyway?”

“Far more than I care to count,” Kirstie said. “But the point is, Lind and Gruden have their eyes on me at this point. They have no proof, but I am sure they are looking for witnesses and evidence to pin me to the to the crimes.”

“What crimes?”

“None, except crimes against the Masters.” Kirstie stopped and took Wilam’s hand. She faced him so he understood how important this was. “There are men… and women in history who have repeat lives in the future.”

“Like you?” Wilam interrupted. “That is what Inga told me. She said you lived many times in the past and you will live again in the future, and you can become those people in a time of need. I did not exactly understand, but that is what she said. I did see you disappear, and the beautiful lady came to your place in Normandy. She certainly did some remarkable things.”

“In this life I am not quite so remarkable. I’m just Kirstie, your wife.”

“I guess that woman was who Father McAndrews was talking about when he said something similar aboard the ship. He said you disappeared and the mother goddess of all the Celts came and stood in your place. After she was done, she vanished, and you returned.”

“A fair description,” Kirstie said. “But no, the servants of the Masters are not like me. I have lived and will live more than a hundred times all in a row and without a break in all that time. The servants of the masters have maybe three, or at most five lifetimes strategically placed to interfere with history and the development of the human race. I sometimes believe the Masters must be demons from Hell, so you can imagine what their servants go for; to steal, kill, and destroy.”

“And lie,” Wilam added, and it made Kirstie smile.

“Some of my little ones are expert liars, and it doesn’t seem to matter how much I tell them that is not a good thing.” Kirstie coughed and removed the smile. “Anyway, whatever life I am living, sometimes I am the only one standing in the way of the Masters achieving their goal of ruling over all the humans in this world and, I believe, bringing humanity to destruction.”

“Lind and Gurden?”

“Gruden. Yes. They can only be working for the Masters and looking for the Kairos, which is what the ancient gods called me.” Kirstie lowered her head. It was a lot to take in and it said their life together might not always be a peaceful one, but then in her day and age, especially among the Vikings, no life was necessarily peaceful.

Wilam put on his serious face. “And I thought hunting down hags was going to be dangerous enough.”

“Hopefully, there will not be any more hags. Abraxas, the would-be-god that created them has been banished from the earth.” He looked curious, so she explained. “He is wandering around the second heavens thinking about giving up his flesh and blood and going over to the other side, that is dying, which he should have done nine hundred years ago.”

“In the time of the Christ?”

“Yes. When the Master of the Masters was overcome, the Lord of this world was defeated. That was when the ancient gods went over to the other side.”

“But not all.”

“Nearly all. But let me add, the one thing the Maters are most against is the spread of the faith in Christ. It is the one real thing that stands in the way of the Masters evil vision for humanity.”

“I…” Wilam paused and nodded slowly. “I think I understand. So, Lind and Gruden…”

“I would rather have them waste their time looking for me than scheming to start a war or assassinate some ruler or some such thing.”

“So, maybe we need to make it more difficult to find you.” he said, and this time she felt curious. “We haven’t talked about where we will live.”

“This is my home,” Kirstie said defensively.

“And a fine home it will be, but while Lind and Gruden are poking around, maybe I can convince you to come and meet my family.”

“Your mother?” Kirstie asked. He nodded, and she hoped he did not see her trepidation at that prospect. She still held his hand, so she took him inside her house.

The house was full of people, and they all yelled, “Surprise.”

Medieval 6: K and Y 7 Unexpected Guests, part 2 of 2

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Kirstie

Wilam was the navigator of his ship, answerable only to the affable Olaf, his Captain. His crewmates were mostly second and third generation Danes in the Danelaw, but like most Vikings, they were traders and explorers. Despite the bad press, even the hardcore Vikings only fought when they had to, though they also conquered when the land was good, and the opportunity presented itself. The Volga River fell into Viking hands all the way to Riga, and Normandy became a slice taken out of the Frankish coast, though hardly a safe place to be.

“Never fear, Kirstie.” Brant Svenson, Captain Olaf’s Skipari—his first officer got her attention. “We won’t keep him busy for long.” Kirstie smiled. Svenson was a good man. Kirstie appreciated him thinking of her.

“And Inga is with Soren at the moment,” Kirstie said, mentioning his weakness.

“Yes, it has been a while since I’ve seen that son of yours.” He smiled because they both knew what he meant.

“Come,” Wilam said, suddenly backing up and taking Kirstie’s hand. “There is someone who has come a long way to see you.” He pulled her to the ship where an old man started to climb slowly to the docks.

“I say, Wilam. The dock seems to be moving more than the ship.” The man muttered. Kirstie saw his face.

“Father McAndrews,” she said quietly. She curtsied ever so slightly and crossed herself for good measure.

“What? No, it can’t be.” The priest said. “But you were dressed as the warrior of the Lord the last time I saw you. You are dressed like a woman now and a wife?”

“I am, and mother,” she said, and he surprised her by giving her a hug. “But why have you left Lindisfarne?” she asked. “There is no trouble, I hope. Why are you here?”

“Relax.” He smiled. “All is well at home, and I have come to tell your people about the Christ, as you invited me to do so many years ago.”

Kirstie swallowed. The phrase loose lips sink ships came to mind. “Very courageous of you, but I’m afraid you will find hard going in this part of the world.”

“Courageous? Not nearly as courageous as a little girl alone standing down an entire army of greedy, hungry heathen determined to sack and pillage the monastery.”

“I had men that came over to my side. I was hardly alone, and the heathen were hardly more than a mob,” she said.

“That is not how the bards tell it.” He smiled. “But as for hard going, I am sixty-four years old, and have lived a good, long time. I will be content if I can teach patience to young Father Damien.” He turned his head and looked as Father Damien dropped and kicked a bundle of clothes, and all but cursed besides. His arms were full. He clearly tried to take too much at once.

“I heard that.” The young man looked at them.

“You were supposed to hear.” Father McAndrews said, kindly. Wilam took that moment to jump aboard ship. The crew started to get impatient and wanted to come ashore, but of course, they could not come until the captain gave his permission. “Now, tell me.” Father McAndrews lowered his voice. “How is Yrsa, your maid as you call her, and her husband? I remember she is married. And dare I ask, how is Gentle Annie, the angel you became? Is she all right and still watching over you?”

Kirstie was about to say Yrsa is fine, but she was not sure about herself because of the way she felt, that something was terribly wrong on Avalon; but she did not get to talk. Mother Vrya pushed up in front and spoke first.

“That is the one thing you must not speak of.” She paused to call Wilam. “Come here.”

“Yes, Mother.” Wilam said, and not one of the men snickered. The Volva deserved the respect she got.

“But that was so long ago.” The priest said. Mother Vrya tapped the cane she walked with on his toes to get his attention.

“Listen,” she said, and the Priest listened while Wilam joined them again. It occurred to Kirstie that this was the whole reason Mother Vrya was present. Her intuition must have been plaguing her all morning. “There are two men here looking for Kirstie, whom they call the Kairos. We in Strindlos will not betray her. The men intend only evil. Do you know what I mean by evil?” she asked the good Father.

“Indeed,” he responded. He listened intently now.

“Talk of Elgar and the others is strictly forbidden until they leave, and if they ask, you will lie, you know nothing, do you understand?”

“I do not lie.” Father McAndrews looked straight into Mother Vrya’s eyes so she could see for herself that even then he told the truth. “But I know how to keep a sacred trust. Father Damien.” He turned to get his young companion’s attention but kept his voice low. “All talk about the woman in question and her… companions we spoke of on the voyage is henceforth confidential. Keep it as a confession.”

The young man stopped and looked. He clearly had questions but nodded. “As a confession,” he said.

“That means he will suffer torture and death before discussing it. Will that do?” Father McAndrews got blunt. Mother Vrya looked again in the old man’s eyes; a man even older than herself.

“Yes,” she said. “I see you understand many things.”

“Not nearly enough.” The priest admitted.

“Nor I.” Mother Vrya confessed before turning to Wilam. “You play stupid,” she said. “And tell your crew if they loose their tongues, they will lose them, and if the girl is harmed because of their loose tongue, they will lose their manhood as well.” It was as brutal a warning as Kirstie ever heard uttered, and the fact that it came out of sweet, nurturing, little old Mother Vrya shocked her a little. She turned her head to look for the two men in question. The big one was Gruden, or some name like that, and the little one was Lind or something. She remembered better seeing them before. She should remember them now since the days of Yasmina. Kirstie barely had time to find them in the oncoming crowd when Mother Vrya grabbed her by the elbow and made her walk.

“It is not safe for you to be near those men. They can sense things. I can tell.” Mother Vrya spoke quietly and calmly like the spring day it was.

“Captain Olaf.” Kirstie blurted out. They missed him passing by them on the dock. “What if he says something?”

“I caught him before he reached the others,” Mother Vrya said. And they got silent as they came within earshot of the crowd. Captain Olaf and the Village chief, Kerga led the pack.

“I’m dropping them. They are yours, like it or not. They paid for no return passage.” Olaf said in his fat, old voice.

“So?” Kerga did not understand.

Olaf guffawed. “Now you’ll have to put up with their prattle.”

“What do they prattle about?” Kerga guessed.

“They are Christian monks who speak about the one, true god. That is not a bad thing, but they could take a breath. There are other things in this world worth talking about.” Olaf said, and Vrya and Kirstie walked on.

“Tell me of this one,” Mother Vrya said as soon as it was safe.

Kirstie knew who she was talking about. “One of the ones from Lindisfarne that I spoke of years ago. A Christian priest and a young priest with him that I do not know.” Kirstie grabbed Mother Vrya’s hand and exacted a sudden role reversal, speaking as if she was the mother and Vrya was the child. “You must listen to these men and learn. What they say is utterly true and it will save us all in the end. There is no other way.” Her words were not very clear, but Mother Vrya accepted what she said, and even accepted the role reversal.

“I will listen,” she said. “I will learn, though it would have been better to hear this truth from a woman.”

Kirstie smiled before she rolled her eyes. “Not in this lifetime.” She snickered and Mother Vrya understood very well.

“Some other day, perhaps,” she said.

“Someday,” Kirstie said. “But for us, we must make the best of it and accept the tools the greatness of life sends us.”

“And if Life has chosen men to speak to us, we will listen,” Mother Vrya concluded.

Medieval 6: K and Y 7 Unexpected Guests, part 1 of 2

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Kirstie

The next three days were spent keeping Soren covered, wiping his sweaty brow, and feeding him soup. Inga came by every day for a visit and Mother Vrya also came on that first evening and brought all the medicine the Witcher Women had gleaned from nature over the centuries. Nothing much helped. Kirstie guessed Soren had a flu bug of some kind, and it would pass; but then again, such diseases could be serious, especially in the days before antibiotics and antivirals. She grew very concerned the evening his fever shot up and he complained that his ear hurt him.

It got late, and she had very little sleep. In her mind, she reached out into the future to Doctor Mishka, seeking advice and solace against Soren’s suffering.

“I could take a look.” Mishka’s voice spoke clearly in Kirstie’s mind. Kirstie decided that would be good. She had done this before, and she knew Mishka could do much more with her own eyes and hands than she could do by looking through Kirstie’s eyes. Kirstie settled herself. She traded places through time. She became Mishka, or rather Doctor Mishka came to take her place while Kirstie went to the place of waiting where she would stay for however long Mishka stayed in her time. “This won’t take long.” Mishka told her.

Mishka bent over Soren and did her best to look in his ear and throat. She called for the bag she kept at Avalon since ancient times, but it did not come. “I would have liked to give him some pain killer at least,” she said, and sneezed.

“I don’t know what the trouble is.” Kirstie spoke into the doctor’s mind.

“Something,” Mishka said and rubbed her watery eyes. “But it may only be that I have a bit of a virus right now, myself.” That did not sound right. Generally, when the Traveler traded places with one of her other lives, that life arrived in the prime of health and condition. Mishka looked once more at Soren. She suggested a certain bark and herb combination and instructed Kirstie in the method of distilling the product down to drops which should relieve some of the pain and pressure in Soren’s ear.

“That’s about all I can do without my bag,” Mishka said. “For the most part, the medicinal herbs of your Witcher Women are about as good as anything against a virus.” She sneezed again.

“Is this because he fell in the water?” Kirstie asked.

Mishka shook her head. “Triggered, maybe, but the virus must have already been in his system.” Mishka put a hand to her own head, and though she knew full well that she could not tell, she felt sure she had a fever of her own. Mishka traded places and Kirstie returned.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Kirstie said out loud as she set about making the ear drops. “Mishka should not have been sick,” she said to herself. “And the things I keep safe at Avalon should come to me when I call,” she added. Well, whatever the trouble was, it was a mystery that would have to wait. After Kirstie applied the drops, Soren seemed to fall into a more restful sleep. She curled up beside her boy to keep him warm. She quickly fell asleep herself and only woke in the morning when Inga touched her shoulder.

“Wake up, sleepy,” she said.

Kirstie sat up and rubbed her eyes. Normally, no one could sneak up on her like that, but her throat was dry and her eyes crusty. She wondered if perhaps she was catching Soren’s flu. That must be it, she decided. “Morning?”

“And a sail in the bay,” Inga added with a smile.

“Wilam?” Kirstie asked without a pause.

Inga nodded as Kirstie jumped out of bed and ran to the brass mirror. She looked frightful, and the brush could do little with her hair. She had not slept much in the last three days and now she needed some work to pull herself together. Inga looked first at Soren, sleeping peacefully, and then she helped brush some of the knots out of Kirstie’s hair.

“Go on,” Inga said at last. “Or he will be at the dock before you.” Kirstie looked again at her son, but Inga turned her toward the door. “I am sure Yrsa will come by in a little bit. Meanwhile, I think I can watch a sleeping boy just fine.”

Kirstie decided Inga was right. “Thank you,” she said, and she ran, before she walked. She did not want to appear too anxious.

Mother Vrya stood there on the dock, waiting patiently. Kirstie stopped beside the old woman. It would have been unseemly to run out ahead of her like a wild child. “Good morning,” Kirstie said, softly.

“See.” Mother Vrya said, pointing with her walking stick in the direction of the big house. The men were just coming, and there were strangers among them. It was only then that Kirstie noticed another, smaller ship had already docked. It flew the king’s flag and she looked at Mother Vrya with real curiosity on her face.

“You may recall, the one with the red hair is Lind,” the old woman said. “You may remember him from your youth. He is as smooth a talker as I have ever heard. And the dark-haired giant who trails in his steps is Gruden in case you have forgotten. He is as strong a right arm as you will find and clearly one who has killed men. They came here years ago looking for Elgar the Saxon.”

“I remember. Why are they here now?” Kirstie asked. They were the men who came after the trouble with the Vanlil.

Mother Vrya shrugged. “They are still looking for certain people,” she said. “The king heard about Lindisfarne, and he wants to know who was involved. They came here to begin the search starting here in Strindlos.”

“But that was four years ago.” Kirstie said. “Who can they be looking for?” She had a feeling that she knew who they were after, and it scared her a little. “They can’t still be looking for me.”

“How well I remember when the hag drove the Vanlil to invade our land,” Mother Vrya said. “That was more than ten years ago. You were a mere girl of ten. Your parents were slain along with many others in the attempt to defend our homes. I, myself, was crippled in that day. But then, Elgar the Saxon came to our aid, with Mother Greta of Dacia, the Doctor Mishka from the land of the Volga, and from whom I learned a great deal, and the others. These are whom they still seek, no matter what they say.” Mother Vrya concluded.

Those people were all Kirstie from other times and places, other lives she had lived or would live in the future. It felt right that she should ask. “But why would they be seeking them, especially after all these years?”

Mother Vrya shrugged again. “Who knows?” she said, flatly. “But do not be afraid, dear. No one will betray you.”

Kirstie looked again as the men came close. She did not share Mother Vrya’s confidence. Some in Strindlos would betray their own mothers if the price was right. She tried not to think about it. The ship from Northumbria started tying up, and Wilam had already jumped to the dock. He came quickly, as anxious as Kirstie, but Kirstie waited until Mother Vrya touched her hand in a kind of sign of permission, and then she met Wilam halfway. Her arms wrapped around him, and her head turned to lie against his chest. Wilam wrapped her up in his strength, and it was exactly what she needed. A tear fell from her eyes, but Wilam did not see.

They kissed.

“I missed you,” he said. Kirstie sensed his joy in the moment, and she knew he was terribly understating his feelings.

“I love you, too.” Kirstie spoke for both of them. “And right now, I need you.” She needed his arms, his care, his love, and she was reluctant to let him go, but the men were arriving. Wilam needed to renew other friendships.

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

MONDAY

Kirstie is surprised by unexpected guests, but the people disappoint her. The guests are not treated well. Until Monday, Happy Reading

*

Medieval 6: K and Y 6 Sickness and the Cure, part 2 of 2

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Yasmina

They entered and found boxes, work benches, and other things to hide behind near the door. Aisha went to the right and Yasmina went left but listened first. Al-Hakim was explaining about the rifles and their firepower. They had the Alexandrians as prisoners there. Three were bound and blindfolded but dressed in solid armor. They stood against the wall and three men stood facing them with rifles ready to fire. Yasmina recognized Abdallah. The other two looked familiar but she could not quite place them.

“Fire,” al-Hakim said, and all three armored Alexandrians against the wall collapsed. The bullets punched right through the armor.

Yasmina saw al-Din among the few remaining Alexandrian prisoners, and she could not stop her voice. “Al-Din,” she called, and everyone turned to look in her direction. “That was not smart,” she mumbled to herself and let her arrow fly. It was a lucky shot, or an unlucky shot. Abdallah grabbed at it as it pierced his chest and sank deep into his heart. He fell over, dead.

“No!” Al-Hakim became enraged. He could not see straight. He did not think. He rushed at Yasmina, probably not really seeing her. He pulled his sword. She grabbed Ziri’s spear and just pointed it, and al-Hakim ran onto it. “Sister?” He recognized her at the last as his life left him along with his blood. Then everything broke loose.

Yasmina looked up. Al-Rahim killed Captain Hasan and crouched behind a box firing his arrows. Ziri fired from her left and Gwafa from her right. It took a second to find Aisha. She snuck forward and used her knife effectively to cut the bonds of the remaining Alexandrians.

The Berber guards lost a number of men right at the beginning, dead and wounded, but now they crouched behind their own benches and boxes not far away. They only had a couple of bows to return fire, but they still had the numbers. Yasmina feared a concerted charge on their part would finish her people. She thought to hurry around to get at the Berbers on their flank. When she came out from behind her bench, she came face to face with a man and his knife.

She recognized the man. “Lind.” She whipped out her scimitar as he hesitated, just as surprised as her, and doubly surprised at hearing that name. The scimitar sliced the man across the throat, nearly cutting his head off. Yasmina said, “one of two” as she tried not to wretch, but then, it was not her standing there. She did not do the deed. It was Kirstie who took her place. It was also Kirstie that recognized Lind and came to finish the job.

Kirstie set the scimitar, an unfamiliar weapon beside Ziri’s hand. She pulled her battleaxe and shield, which apparently showed up the same time she did. She moved, knowing full well who the other two members of the firing squad were. Lind was one servant of the Masters, but there was another.

“Gruden,” she called as she pushed into the work area and away from the Berbers, contrary to what Yasmina had in mind. “Gruden,” she said when she found him. He got his hands on a sword, but he had no shield. Still, he grinned at her as Kirstie growled at him. Curiously, she understood her own end of days since at that point in history, the event occurred in the past. She knew when she went back to her own days, she would not remember anything about it, but presently, it seemed a very vivid memory. She had to say something. “This time, my ribs are not busted, and my arm is not broken.”

He came at her anyway with a powerful blow, but her shield was up for it. She came back with a swing at his head, and he only had his sword to fend off the blow. This time, she learned from Captain Ulf and did not give Gruden time to breathe. He stepped back as she came at him, blow after blow. He kept stepping back, until she caught the flat of his sword and busted it in half. Gruden would have run, but Kirstie axe sliced him in the middle. It ended with her axe in the man’s head, and Kirstie wondered how many times she had to kill the same man.

Yasmina returned. The battleaxe and shield disappeared, and her scimitar was back in its sheath, miraculously cleaned of Lind’s blood. She hurried back to the others, afraid, because she no longer heard any fighting. She saw Creeper the imp standing there, minding his own business, picking something from his overly large and sharp teeth.

Al-Din and the Alexandrians, with Gwafa, Ziri, and al-Rahim all stood in a tight group against the wall with Aisha in front, her arms outstretched to protect them and ward off any imp, troll, or sand monster that came their way.

“What do you want us to do with the Caliph?” Creeper asked, nonchalantly. Apparently, beyond her own people and the Alexandrian survivors, al-Mahdi was the only one still alive. He had an arrow in his chest, or upper belly that looked bad. No telling if he would live. Probably not. Yasmina closed her eyes for the moment. She did not want to see all the torn and shredded bodies.

“He needs a horse,” al-Rahim said as he dared to step free of the group that cowered behind Aisha.

“Send him back to the palace where he will either live or die,” Yasmina agreed and opened her eyes again. “We have to find whatever black powder they were making and pile it in several places around the building. Then we need to set it off and get out of here.”

“The black powder is in a back room encased in concrete,” Aisha said. Al-Din followed her and questioned the word, concrete.

“A Roman invention from centuries ago,” Yasmina explained. “It is very hard and would mostly contain the explosion if there was an accident in the powder room.” That did not really explain it, except that it was a hard Roman invention of some sort.

“Creeper,” Yasmina called. “I need some of your people to take the guns and some of this equipment to Avalon,” she said. Al-Rahim presently had a rifle in his hand, and he was trying to figure out how it worked. “No, no.” Yasmina told him, took the rifle, and handed it to a waiting little one. “There are not supposed to be guns for another three or four hundred years.”

“How do you know…?” Al-Rahim bowed. “Princess. I saw Kirstie, you know. I’m sorry I did not get the chance to meet her.”

Yasmina frowned. “She is not happy. She had to kill two men.”

“And you. Are you all right.”

Yasmina nodded and looked down at her shoes before she spoke between some tears. “It was an accident. When I shot Abdallah, I was aiming at a different man, a soldier. When I picked up Ali’s spear, I thought he would stop and back up, but he ran onto the spear. I could not help it.” She began to cry softly, and al-Rahim hugged her.

It took a couple of hours to clean out the place and set the charges to destroy all the gun making equipment that could not be moved. Aisha said they were taking too long. “Al-Mahdi made it back to the palace and the Berbers are gathering. They should be here soon.”

Al-Rahim raised his eyebrows before Yasmina explained. “A couple of imps followed the Caliph and are spying on events there. Aisha is able to get some information from them. Long distance, I know. Don’t ask how. Just trust that it is so.”

Creeper came up at that moment with the same word. “We have to go.”

Yasmina nodded. Al-Din and his three Alexandrians picked out the best horses from the dead troop of Berbers. Ziri and Gwafa were already mounted. Aisha held Yasmina’s horse with her own, and al-Rahim mounted, wholly trusting by then that Yasmina knew what she was doing. Yasmina nodded and lit the fuse, then they rode as fast as they could away from that place and away from Mahdiya.

Aisha saw the Berbers riding to the factory, but she knew Creeper and his people would stop them or at least stop their horses from following. She saw that the Berbers stopped all on their own when the factory went up in several massive explosions. Then she joined the others in a grove of date palms and could see no more as they vanished into the desert. They got away, but Yasmina sneezed and wondered if she was coming down with a cold.