Kirstie

Kirstie and the officers with three Algonquin chiefs and Anenak the giant spied on the enemy from behind the trees. The fortified position was not well made and hardly finished, but it would already be a help to the defenders.

“They have their back to the lake,” Brant said, and Wilam asked a serious question.

“If fire and then water is a danger to the hags, why are they close to the lake? The hags you told me about were by the docks, the river, and the sea. I would think that would be dangerous for them.”

“Kirstie nodded and tried to explain. “They are in a tough situation. Fire and water don’t mix, but their god, so-called, Abraxas, is made up of these two elements. Being near the water lets them draw on the water for strength. They would be weak and much less frightening in a desert where little water is available. They draw also from the fires, campfires, cooking fires and so on, but they must keep things in the right order and in proportion, and especially keep the two elements separated. When the hag is actually set on fire, it is too much all at once. They appear to grow stronger, but when the water puts their fire out all at once, it breaks something on the inside. Think of a bow. When you draw the string in the right way and to the right distance, you can fire the weapon, arrow after arrow. But if you draw too hard and suddenly, at first it looks like you will send your arrow farther than normal, but one tug further and you will break the weapon and make the whole thing useless.

“I guess. Sort of,” Wilam suggested he understood even if he didn’t.

Captain Olaf stepped up to Kirstie and interrupted. No sign of the hag or the other women. They must be in the tents. But Anenak, Chestnut, and we are all agreed, the only way to get at them is to charge across the field, unless you have a better idea.

Kirstie considered having Anenak throw rocks which would be like mini boulders at them, but it was probably too far even for him. She considered asking her elves to go invisible and sneak up on them, but the hag would know. She dreaded the casualties. Ulfsson’s crew would not go far from their bows. She felt sure there should be a better way, but she could not think of it. She shook her head, sadly and spoke softly.

“Have the men keep one hand on their weapon and carry some bushes and branches in the other hand in front of them, and wave them as they run. It should confuse the enemy as to where exactly the people are and they might not shoot as many as otherwise,” she said. “And maybe the branches will deflect an arrow or two. Other than that, I got nothing.”

“Better than nothing,” Wilam said and hugged her. Kirstie worried about him. It had been nearly three days since the last time he moaned that Mary Katherine was the hag.

When they were nearly ready, someone pointed out that some would like to carry their own bows and arrows for when they arrived. Kirstie said they had to follow the men with the bushes. Then they were ready, and Kirstie had to say “Go.” She felt sure the hag would sense their charge and have her men ready. Sadly, she was right.

Despite the bushes to distract and confuse the enemy, any number of men fell to arrows in the charge. Even so, they broke through the half-finished fortification on the order of three to one. Ulfsson’s crew was not that big, and the enchanted converts were not many after only two days, and they did not fight well in any case. The whole battle got to be messy as natives and Vikings fought on both sides, and some could not tell friend from foe. Yrsa and Chestnut’s people had their hands full keeping the friendlies from killing each other.

Wilam jumped in front of Kirstie to face Ulfsson, but Kirstie turned and faced Njal the giant, who did not appear so big compared to Anenak, the twelve-footer. Brant, who kept an eye on her stepped in to help, and together they took down the big man.

Everything paused when the hag showed up. She came from the tent and said, “I will have my husband back.” She got followed by five more hags. All of the young women had been converted. Some men screamed, and the women laughed. Kirstie might have screamed, but she got distracted by the face of a fire sprite in the campfire. New world, new rules, she thought. “Flame them,” she whispered, and the flames from all six fires around the camp vacated the wood and attached themselves to the hags. Kirstie fully expected the hags to grow in power and appearance and she desperately tried to figure out how to knock them into the lake which was right behind them. But what happened surprised her and everyone else.

The hags began to merge into one another and as they grew, they roared like a half dozen lions roaring all at once. They became one big hag, almost as tall as the twelve-foot giant, and they looked much stronger. Sadly, Kirstie did not have the time to shout “No!” Anenak flew at the hag, but unlike Vortesvin years ago in Nidaros, Anenak did not duck. The hag grabbed the giant’s head between her hands and snapped the head right off at the neck. But Anenak’s forward motion was enough to knock the hag into the lake. Six screams followed. The hags separated again, and six young women melted. Whatever remained would eventually sink to the bottom. Kirstie remembered her friend Yazu and cried for the giant. She cried for the men who died. She cried for Wilam’s sister whom she never met. It would be a while before she stopped crying.

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Kirstie finally had to stop crying long enough to let Mother Greta work on the wounded and save who she could. Kirstie discovered some Iroquois speakers had escaped the hags by seeking refuge with the giant despite the fact that it meant being surrounded by Algonquin speakers, their traditional enemies. Now that the trouble was over, they decided to head back to the great lakes region and abandon the island at the river’s end. They said it was too dangerous, but they did steal some metal tipped arrows and a couple of Viking spears. Who knew where those metal artifacts would end up. Probably upper New York near the lakes.

With that, Kirstie realized she had to put her foot down. The native Algonquin speakers, the Lenape or Manhattan, or whatever history ended up calling this particular tribe might remember the story about the white men and the monster they would probably refer to as a wendigo, but it would not be believed by the oncoming white men in the future any more than the stories about the giants. The Vikings, however, needed a good talking to.

Kirstie considered asking Nameless to wipe some memories once they sailed back to Europe. The ancient gods did that sometimes in the deep past to keep the various cultures and civilizations from bleeding into each other too much, or to keep certain information secret for the time being. That television show, Ancient Aliens would not be nearly so successful if the aliens were a well-documented historical fact. Rumor and inuendo was fine, but some memories got wiped in ancient days.

In the end, she gathered the survivors and put her foot down. It did occur to her once again that the sons or daughters of these men, or maybe the grandchildren might have some stories to inspire the likes of Eric the Red or Leif Ericson in the decades to come. They were only about seventy or eighty years early here. The men mostly listened.

They had thirty-three men to sail Captain Olaf’s ship, and they carried the nineteen wounded that Kirstie hoped would live. They did have a couple of burials at sea. Another twenty men sailed Ulfsson’s Viking longship, which meant both ships had about half the normal crew. It was enough to get them back to Iceland and the Faroe Islands. Splitting the distance between the Shetland and Orkney Islands, they soon reached Aberdeen and finally made port once again in Bamburgh.

Captain Otto, who managed to break his other arm so he now had both arms wrapped up tight, inherited the longship until he could build a new ship of his own. He said that would be fine for the present since he had no plans to go out until next spring.

Captain Olaf said his ship had a good workout but now he needed to pull it up into drydock and give it a good going over. They reached September, so he was a month behind and would probably have to cut his fall trip short to get home before the dead of winter. Kirstie apologized for taking so much of his time. He just smiled for her.

“Worth it,” he said.

It took another week before they could go home. They had to report an amended version of their adventures to King Eadwulf II. No surprise that he knew Captain Olaf who told the tale. Olaf was not exactly clear where they caught the last longship. They said Scandinavian land and left it at that. Sadly, the kidnapped young women all died.

“It would have been a better report if I would have said we rescued them all.” Olaf shook his head and looked sad.

The king agreed, but his eyes went to Kirstie. She accompanied Wilam, Brant, and Olaf into the king’s chamber. She came in her blue dress to look presentable and hoped she did not have to retrieve her armor, maybe ever again, God willing.

Captain Olaf took that moment of distraction to introduce his companions. “My Skipari, Brant Svenson. My navigator, Wilam Halfdanson, and his wife, the Lady Kristina of Strindlos.

“Kristina?” The king wrinkled his brow and asked, “Where is Strindlos?”

“Majesty,” Kirstie curtsied and thought maybe she did it well for once. “Strindlos in in the great fjord of Trondelag, in Norway. I am one of those terrible Vikings you have heard about.”

The king looked surprised but had another question. “Are all Norse women as tall and blonde as you?”

“No, your majesty,” Kirstie said and smiled. “Some are short and dark. Like elsewhere, we come in all shapes and sizes.”

“Lady Kristina was the maiden who saved Lindisfarne from the Viking horde.” Captain Olaf said to Kirstie’s embarrassment. Several men who were standing around looking bored perked up at that bit of information.

“Yes. You said you found her.”

“Found her and married her,” Wilam said.

“A lovely wife,” the king said. “But somehow, I can’t picture her fighting off four hundred men at arms.”

Kirstie looked at Wilam, Brant, and especially Captain Olaf with a look that said they should keep their mouths shut. “I was wearing different clothes at the time. I wore my armor and had my battleaxe and shield, and my sword at my side. You have to imagine it.”

The king squinted at her but shrugged. “Lovely wife, though,” he said, and stepped back to his throne where he sat, an indication that the interview was over.

“Majesty.” The men bowed and Kirstie tried her curtsey again but did not do it nearly as well since she was mad about being ratted out, as she saw it.

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MONDAY

Home to Soren and after a time, home to Strindlos assuming all is well, like, since when did that ever happen? Monday. Happy Reading

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