Medieval 6: Giovanni 3 Down and Out, part 1 of 2

December 23, 2024November 24, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

In October of 997, in Verona, when the circus was on its way home, Giovanni turned eighteen. For one moment he felt all grown up, but then his father got sick and he felt lost.

Corriden stepped up to take the ringmaster’s place. Giovanni did not think that was a good idea. Corriden was the strongman and as stubborn, some would say as strong in his mind as he was with his muscles. He had no flexibility. If Berlio the Magician and his wife-assistant Priscilla were not ready, he would announce the man anyway if he was next. Then everyone would have to wait until Berlio got ready. It would drag the show. In fact, the whole show dragged because Corriden did not understand that the ringmaster had to be quick on his feet. Sometimes a joke would be enough. Sometimes the harlequin, who was sort of the chief clown, was an integral part of keeping the momentum flowing. He might come and do some handsprings, or maybe tell the joke. Sometimes all the clowns could help out. They had a couple of short routines they could use as filler. Sometimes, the ringmaster could skip the magician for Constantine, the tightrope walker and then after Constantine have Berlio perform. But no. Corriden had his set order and his little papers with the written introductions that he read like a true hack actor and that was that. Worst of all, he thought it all went well.

After Verona, even the ones who supported Corriden, and initially that seemed like most of the circus, thought it best to let the younger Giovanni give it a try. Giovanni stole another line from the future to go with the Greatest Show on Earth line. He said into the megaphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, and children of all ages. Welcome to the Don Giovanni Circus, the Greatest Show on Earth. We begin with the traditional and magnificent circus parade.” The music began. Everyone in the circus paraded except the cooks who had to watch the fires. Everyone walked decked out in their fanciest, frilliest, most colorful outfits including the horses and the dogs. That day, the people had confidence and put on their best performances. They said the younger Giovanni was a natural.

Corriden griped and yelled a lot, but the only thing Giovanni cared about was his father. Don Giovanni senior did not get better. In fact he got worse.

When they got back to Venice, they got the best doctor in town to come and look at him, but the doctor was as stumped as the doctor in Verona, and the doctor in Padua. He said, “Maybe it is due to something he ate.”

Giovanni did not buy that explanation. “It has been too long. If it was something he ate it would have passed through his system by now.”

“Perhaps,” the doctor said. “But I don’t know what else it might be.”

“It seems more like slow poison,” Giovanni voiced his suspicion. “Do you know any drugs that could be used that way?”

The doctor paused and looked at his patient. “Some drugs. Some natural things, too, like certain flowers and such. The problem is we have no way of identifying what it might be, so we have no idea what the cure might be.”

Giovanni thanked the doctor when the cook came in with some broth and said he must eat so he can to keep up his strength. Giovanni also thanked the cook before he pulled up a chair. He spoon fed his father what his father was willing to slurp down, but Father finally waved off more. He spoke. His voice sounded weak. This was not the father who yelled at ten-year-old Vincenzo to clean the stables.

“You go,” he said. “You need to live your life and not worry about me. I think I will sleep for a while.”

Giovanni nodded in general agreement, but he worried. “Titania has been by a hundred times and says she wants to sit by your door in case you need anything.”

Father smiled, almost chuckled, and mumbled, “The bearded fat lady.”

“And Baklovani the wolfman has been by almost as much.”

Father nodded a little. “They are good people. Never forget that. Deep down they are good people.”

Giovanni knew that. “I’ll go and let you rest.” He walked out the door and saw Titania hovering around the cooking tent. He called to her. “Titania. I’m going out to stretch my legs a bit. Would you mind keeping one eye open in case Father needs something.”

“Yes I will,” she said in the sweetest little voice which no one would ever guess would come out of such a big woman, especially one with a beard.

“Did he eat the broth?” the cook asked.

“Some of it,” Giovanni said, and turned away. He decided he needed some comfort at the moment. Madam Delfin lived in the first town up the road, the one with the docks where the ships from Venice came in. She was twice his age, but her husband died and she inherited it all, having no children. She was always good for a tussle, but she had a motherly streak about her at times which made it a shame that she had no children. The thought crossed Giovanni’s mind that maybe he needed Madam Delfin to mother him a bit and tell him everything would be all right.

Roughly four in the morning, he heard Damien, one of Corriden’s hangers-on yelling his name in the streets. He got up, and though Madam Delfin tried to hold on to him, he made it to the window.

“Damien,” he yelled. The man rode to beneath the window.

“It is your father,” Damien shouted. “Someone broke into the house and your father got stabbed. They ransacked the house. Hurry.”

Giovanni turned but got grabbed. Madam Delfin got in one last kiss before she let him go. He threw on his clothes, ran down and saddled his horse in no time. He rode like a wild man, even when he turned off the road and into the swamp.

The house was a wreck. They would not let him see his father at first. He was dead, stabbed several times, and Giovanni cried before he got angry. He went to the desk and opened the bottom drawer. The money was gone. He looked up at Baklovani and Constantine the tightrope walker before he shrugged. He removed the false back to the drawer and saw the money was gone from there as well.

“Unless Father took the money out from there for some reason,” he mumbled.

After he put the desk back together, he cried some more, maybe until sunrise.

Medieval 6: Giovanni 2 Women and Questions, part 1 of 1

December 18, 2024November 23, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Giovanni discovered girls as early as twelve. Being Don Giovanni III, master of the circus got them curious. By thirteen, his smooth and confident manner got them interested. He was not much older before they started rolling in the hay.

The circus wintered in the swampland on the mainland of Venice granted to Don Giovanni the first, along with his knighthood. The Doge said he would rather have those strange circus people in the swamps than an enemy army. Around April something, the Circus began its season. They had what young Giovanni called dress rehearsals in Padua before they hit some small towns in the Po River Valley. They practiced in the small towns and villages in both the circus tent and the smaller tent they called the tent of wonders that Giovanni secretly called the freak show. Then they crossed the river to Modena where they set up the big tent. It was the last chance to practice the big show before they got to Bologna, the first city since Padua. From there they went to Ravena, and all the way down the east coast of Italy to Fermo where they crossed the hills to Spoleto. They were in fine form when somewhere near the first week of July they crossed over to Rome. They stayed in Rome for a week and gave as many as five performances in the big tent, but mostly people rested up for the second half of the season. They did not perform on Sunday, of course, though they often traveled on Sunday.

The first half of the season took about three months. They rested and performed about forty-five days and they traveled about forty-five days leaving early in the morning and traveling until two, or sometimes three, unless of course it was pouring rain. They tried to make up to fifteen miles in a day, about two and a half miles per hour, though it seemed for every day they made fifteen, there was another day where they barely made five so they averaged about ten. In the villages and small towns they tried to open the tent of wonders at four and put on the smaller show in the circus tent at five. If warranted, on those summer days when the sun stayed up late, they might put on a second show in the tent of wonders where they might include some small acts, like the juggler, fire eater, or clowns that the people might have missed in the circus tent. Then the circus people got up and had an early breakfast, packed everything, and left an hour or maybe two after sunup. In the big towns and cities they often stayed three or four days. The big tent went up and they might perform two or three shows in the big tent at five. On those days, the tent of wonders would open at two and give a second showing at four, and the circus tent would have a show at three where the people got a taste of what would be in the big show, and they were encouraged not to miss it.

The second half of the season, the big half with sixty days of travel and sixty days in the towns and cities brought them up the west coast. They went to Pisa, Genoa, Turin if there was time, and Milan. From Milan they followed a familiar path that made everyone think of home. It was Milan, Brescia, Verona, Vicenza, Padua again, and back to Venice. They usually got home at the end of October or the first week in November and performed one last week, two or three performances for the people of Venice before the cold weather kicked in.

From young Giovanni’s perspective, he learned to take advantage of all that moving about. To be sure, he imagined himself as worse than a sailor. He had a girl or two in every city, and some in the countryside as well. Most of them were peasants but some of them were quite wealthy and well-to-do ladies who could not resist him and the chance to be naughty.

On one bright and crisp winter day in Venice, he was just coming back from just such a rendezvous with a fine lady when he ran into the last person he expected. He got up on some steps because the young man rode in the streets, an unusual thing in Venice. The young man looked surrounded by soldiers and some men who looked like they served the Doge. Giovanni halfheartedly waved, but it was enough to catch the young man’s eye. The man smiled broadly and yelled.

“Don Giovanni.”

This is not what Giovanni wanted. The whole crowd turned to look at him, especially the women who certainly thought something. Giovanni quickly pushed through the crowd before he could be grabbed by any of the women or stabbed by any of the men. He did not mind hugging the young man who had gotten down from his horse, and he named him.

“Otto. Good to see you again.”

He took a step back and they both remembered the secret circus handshake, and Otto laughed and spouted. “You were right. The Greatest Show on Earth. It was incredible. When can I come again?”

“Winter quarters right now,” Giovanni admitted. “The season starts in April and runs through the first week or so in November. Then everyone rests about four months, and comes up with new acts, new ideas, new tricks, and such for the next season. We start again in April.”

Otto nodded, like it was a serious discussion. It was a practiced look, no doubt, when he got surrounded by older men who were presumably wiser men. “I have only three questions… make that four. First, how did your father ever come up with the idea of a circus?”

“It was my grandfather. The Doge, a couple of Doges back, was so impressed, he knighted my grandfather in perpetuity and gave him the swampland on the mainland. Better than an enemy army in the swamp, he said. We have a house, big barn and stables, workshop, tents, and wagons everywhere, plenty of farm animals, and a small fishing village on the coast that keeps us all fed. Not much to speak of, all things considered, and certainly not land that anyone else would want.”

“But the circus?”

“Ah,” Giovanni drew out the word. “The circus, like the old Roman circus which was a place of entertainment. There are people everywhere that have talents. Some are peculiar talents. Some are peculiar people. They have traveled around like beggars since Roman times, performing in towns and villages for the few pennies that get thrown their way. It is a hard way to make a living, especially since the road is a dangerous place to be. My grandfather got the idea of gathering many of these performers together and putting on a great show. They could actually charge money to see the show, a more certain and regular income for everyone, and a whole train of people to travel, so less likely to run afoul of the typical thieves and robbers most travelers have to watch out for.”

“Brilliant,” Otto said. “I imagined something like that.” He looked around. The soldiers were keeping back and keeping the crowd back, but one old man came up to listen in. Two oddly familiar looking men, one short and one big, followed but kept back a couple of extra steps. The old gentleman kindly did not interrupt at first, so Otto continued.

“So, second. Have you seen any more ships flying around in the sky?”

“Shh…” Giovanni hushed Otto and quieted his voice. “That is something that is best not made public. I went and spoke to the Flesh Eaters, and did not get eaten, thank God. There are twelve of them. That was what they call a shuttle, like the longboat on a sailing ship men use to escape when the ship is sunk in battle. Their ship got destroyed in a battle and they escaped on the shuttle. They just needed a place to hide for a while, though it has been seven years now and that should be long enough. They promised to not eat any people while they are hiding, so that is a good thing, but they don’t exactly pay for the cows, horses, pigs, and sheep they take.” Giovanni shrugged.

Otto nodded and hushed himself. “So, I hear you are getting quite a reputation with the ladies.” He grinned like he was talking about something risqué, which he was.

“The younger Giovanni is a scoundrel of the worst sort,” the older man finally interrupted. “Makes me want to put a guard around my daughter.”

“But what are you doing here?” Giovanni changed the subject.

“Most of the army is around Rome, but I wanted to renew the Empire’s friendship and trade agreements with Pietro II Orseolo. Part of the agreement involves me marrying Petro II’s niece, Lord Stephano’s daughter.”

“That’s me,” the older man said. “Lord Stephano.” He gave Giovanni his hardest practiced stare, but Giovanni was not fazed by it as his focus stayed on what Otto just said. Giovanni even raised his voice a little.

“Otto. You are sixteen. I’m seventeen but nowhere near ready to marry. What are you thinking?”

“It is the way alliances are made,” he said with just the right touch of sadness.

“It isn’t right, especially for the girl who has no say in the matter.”

“It is the way it is done,” Lord Stephano said.

“Doesn’t make it right,” Giovanni responded with a sharp look at Lord Stephano who did not appear to disagree with him entirely. “Fathers want their daughters to be happy, not stuck in a situation they might not like. At least with you, I know you will make the effort, but still… Did you at least get a look at her.”

“We looked at each other from a distance. I did not seem to impress her.”

“She is but fourteen years old. The marriage will not happen at this time,” Lord Stephano interrupted.

“How about you?” Giovanni asked.

Otto wrinkled his lips like he had to be careful with his words. “I am not sure she is my type, but maybe when we get to know each other…”

Giovanni nodded before he shook his head and smiled. “All women seem to be my type.”

“So we have heard.” Lord Stephano said and suggested with his hands that Otto needed to get back to his horse and on to his destination. The short man and big man brought up their four horses.

Giovanni interrupted. “But wait. The circus. The ship.” He pointed to the sky. “And the women. You said there were four things.”

Otto turned toward his horse but spoke over his shoulder. “Did you get your elephant?”

“Not yet, but I am working on it,” Giovanni answered. “When I get one, I’ll bring it to you so you can see it for yourself.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Otto said as he mounted and the troop of horses moved carefully through the streets and headed for the palace, or maybe to the shipyard where they could take the horses aboard for transport back to the mainland.

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

MONDAY

There is a death in the family and Corriden wants to take over the circus. Corriden takes most of the circus with him, but the Kairos has friends. Until then, Happy Reading

Medieval 6: Giovanni 1 Friends and Strangers part 2 of 2

December 17, 2024November 23, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Early that evening, Giovanni hid around the food wagon which he decided should be called a chuck wagon. Along with all the food, the wagon carried a big portable oven to cook bread and pastries, a double sized grill to cook fish, chicken, and sausages, plenty of pots and pans for soups, stews, and other fried foods, and plenty of wood for the fire. The chuck wagon got hauled by a pair of oxen that were young and strong enough to pull all that weight.

The cook and her assistants cooked and grilled in plain sight of their visitors, which is what the circus called the people who came to be entertained and paid with coppers, and sometimes silver coins. The cooks sat at one end of the midway, next to the big tent. The small tent they called the tent of wonders sat across the midway from the food. Those two framed the entrance to the big tent when the big tent got set up in the bigger towns and cities. The so-called circus tent sat at the other end of the midway. It was a tent about the size of the center ring in the Big tent so big enough to give a very short version of the show. It was the only show they gave in the small towns and villages where they did not even put up the big tent, but it got designed as both a show in itself and also a taste of what the people might see in the big show, in the big tent. Between the tent of wonders and the food at one end, and the circus tent at the far end, the midway ran full of glitter, flags, banners, bright colors, and games on both sides as well as some special tents, like the tent for the fortune teller. Everything cost a penny or two, but nothing was very expensive.

The circus, as Giovanni’s father explained, was supposed to be for the common people, the ones who did not have many, if any coins to spare. “It is a way for the ordinary people to get a break from their dreary, ordinary lives. A bit of exciting, exotic, different entertainment that they can talk about and remember in the many months ahead, and especially through the long winter months.” Father said, “I like to think of it as a way to help make their lives worth living.”

Giovanni paused to wonder if he liked to hang out near the food because he was becoming a teenager, or at least a preteen at ten years old. He smiled and nodded. He liked food.

He paused again and thought about Otto, and changed it to his friend, Otto. As can happen with young people, in the moment they met they became friends and would remain friends in all the years to come no matter what time or distance separated them. He hoped Otto liked the show. He imagined Otto was a count or baron of some sort. That would not matter to them. He also imagined Otto would have important things to do, and especially when he got older. But at least he should not have to clean the stables. Giovanni grinned but stopped abruptly when he heard a voice.

“And you also have important things to do.” It was a man’s voice. Giovanni quickly looked around, thinking his hiding spot got discovered. No one was there.

“Who are you?” he asked, but softly so as not to reveal where he was.

“You,” the man said. “I am Nameless, but that does not matter. What matters is you cannot let a Flesh Eater ship fly off to the north without checking it out. This is a genesis planet, and they have no business even being here. If they need sanctuary for a time or need to make repairs, they might visit, but there are rules they must follow. They must be told. Best if they are not even seen by the human population. And for these Flesh Eaters, they must be told and underlined that they are certainly not allowed to eat any people.”

Giovanni paused again before he answered in his whisper. “I understood most of that.”

He heard Nameless sigh in his mind before Nameless spoke again. “As happens far too often, you really are too young for this. Your personality, or I should say your personhood is not yet fully formed. The last thing you need is a bunch of other persons messing up your future and the way you see yourself and the world. I will try to make this like a dream experience that might fade for a time. When you are of age, it will come back to you, but in the meanwhile…”

Nameless stopped speaking and appeared in that spot in place of Giovanni. Where Giovanni went was a question, but for the moment, the Nameless god the grandson of the Alfader Odin, had work to do. He vanished from that place having got an instant reading on where the Flesh Eaters came down. He reappeared in a forest of Bavaria, near the Danube, between Augsburg and Ulm.

One of the Flesh Eaters saw him right away and pulled his gun. As Nameless walked to the edge of the camp, the Flesh Eater fired. The weapon did not even slow Nameless down, and as he raised his hand, the Flesh Eater handgun appeared to hover just beyond that hand. Nameless closed his hand, making a fist, and the handgun crumpled into a little ball of metal before it dropped to the ground.

The Flesh Eaters came in a twelve-person shuttle that parked in the clearing; its engines shut down. Nameless felt it best to speak to all the Flesh Eaters at once so later they could not say they did not hear or were not told or did not know. He waved his hand and they all appeared in front of him. Several shrieked, and Nameless nodded. Twelve humans instantly transported that way would make a similar sound.

“This planet is marked do not go in your navigation system. You do not belong here. You cannot park here.” Nameless smiled at that last phrase. He had been saying that for more than five thousand years.

“We have no choice,” the Flesh Eater chief found the courage to speak when Nameless toned down his awesome nature to almost nothing. “We are survivors. Our ship was destroyed in a great battle. Our shuttle is badly damaged. We noted this world is also marked as a sanctuary planet. We came here to hide in case the enemy tries to follow us. We have sent out a distress call, but we do not know if there are any of our kind left alive to rescue us.”

Nameless noted that the twelve were all males. At least he should not have to worry about them multiplying. “I cannot say about the possibility of rescue or not, but I can say there are rules you must follow in this place. If you break the rules, I will know. You came here to hide in hope of rescue. Very well, then you must also hide from the people of this world. It would be best if you and your ship are not ever seen by the people. Also, you must not eat the people.” He paused and waved his hand over the group to make it so before he told them. “If you eat a person, it will be poison to you and you will die. You may eat of the animals of this world, but never the people. Is that clear?”

Several Flesh Eaters quickly jutted out their tongues and ground their teeth which Nameless understood as something like a human nod of agreement.

He finished. “Killing or interfering with the natural course of development of the people is not allowed. Do not abuse your time of sanctuary, and you may live. Better yet, repair your craft and find another world to hide. Is that clear?”

This time, most of the tongues came out and most of the teeth showed.

“Good,” Nameless vanished. He reappeared in Giovanni’s place by the cooking wagon where he traded places with a different life, Amun Junior, the son of Amun and Ishtar from Egypt and the Middle East. He let his consciousness travel all the way to India where he found a man and his son who performed some tricks with an elephant. Not at this time, he thought. But maybe if the son got older and got a baby elephant he could train from birth. He put that thought in the boy’s head and stood behind the chuck wagon in time for Giovanni’s father to come around the corner looking for him.

“Vincenzo,” the man called before he stopped and stared at the stranger. “Who are you, and what are you doing by the food wagon.”

“I am your son,” he said. “I just borrowed his time and place to run an errand. Listen.” The elder Giovanni found he could not do anything but listen. “Your son is still too young and impressionable for this. It would be best if you did not talk about me. I will be like a dream to him. You can talk when he is eighteen, but not before. Is that clear?” He said is that clear because that was the phrase Nameless used. He really was the same person after all, no matter how many different people he might be throughout time.

Junior nodded and vanished. Giovanni appeared right where he had been sitting. He sat up suddenly and rubbed his eyes. “I must have fallen asleep,” he said, before he added, “What is that great smell?”

Giovanni Senior stared at the spot where Junior vanished before he shook himself and turned to his son. “Cook is baking some honey cakes for supper. Aren’t you supposed to be feeding the oxen?”

“Oh yeah,” Giovanni said. “I’ll get right to it.” He would have run off, but the elder Giovanni slipped his arm around his boy and walked him to the animal pen. The elder thought about what he just saw and had no idea what that was or how to interpret it. The younger one thought about the elephant and smiled.

Medieval 6: Giovanni 1 Friends and Strangers part 1 of 2

December 16, 2024November 23, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

After 979 A. D. Venice, Italy, and the Holy Roman Empire

Kairos 106 Don Vincenzo Giovanni, Ringmaster

“Hey, kid. Over here.” Giovanni hid between a wagon and the back of the Circus tent. The kid came quickly and ducked down. He said something Giovanni did not understand, like he was speaking a foreign language. Giovanni simply nodded and pushed the back of the boy’s head to keep it down as the acrobats went by shouting for Otto, whoever that was.

Giovanni dressed in his Sunday best, though his clothes were not the best. He got forced into a bath and made to dress. They were giving a command performance that afternoon. Giovanni was not sure who it was for unless the pope or some cardinals or archbishops got some time off from their prayers. Rome was full of self-important people with big egos who liked to be in charge.

He looked at his companion. The boy was dressed in fancy, expensive clothes. Real Fancy. Maybe he was part of the group for the command performance. “Otto?” he guessed and asked the boy. To his surprise he understood what the boy said in response. It came as a bit of a shock to Giovanni because up until that point he had no idea how to speak German.

“Mother wants us to go in and sit and wait for the show to start, but I want to see the mermaid, and the wolfman, and the lion. My god, there is a lion.”

“You will see them in the show,” Giovanni said. “Well, not the mermaid, but all the others. I’m Don Giovanni. This is my circus.”

“No. You are too young, like me. I’m nine.”

Giovanni lifted his chin. “I’m ten. But, okay. It is my father’s circus, but someday it will be mine. The Don Giovanni Circus will be the greatest show on earth. Someday, I am going to get an elephant.”

“What’s an elephant?”

Giovanni considered describing the beast, but he concluded with, “You’ll see when I get one.”

Otto nodded and had another thought. “I would like another one of those hot cakes.”

“Honey cakes. Full of sweets. Bad for the teeth.”

Otto stuck his head up to look, but Giovanni quickly pulled him back down. A big man stepped around the corner of the tent and looked toward the wagon but did not see the boys. They were well hidden but might be caught if they did not keep quiet. Giovanni whispered.

“That’s Corriden, the strongman. He is mean and greedy. He has a big mouth and likes to be in charge.”

Even as Giovanni whispered, Corriden opened his big mouth while two more men came running up. “Porto, check the midway again. Damien, check around the animal pens. I’ll try the circus tent.” The men split up and went off in different directions and Otto spoke again, completely changing the subject.

“We came here to see my father. He died in Italy. We went to the grave, to churches, said prayers and went to masses, and talked to all kinds of important grownups.”

“Sorry about your dad.”

Otto shrugged. “I was three. I hardly remember him.” The boys looked at each other and Giovanni decided Otto needed cheering up.

“My mom died when I was about three,” Giovanni said. “It was hard for a while.”

“Sorry about your mom.”

“You know, everyone in the circus has faced some terrible tragedy or other. Some people run away to the circus to grieve, or to hide from people who want to harm them, or something. What people share at the circus stays at the circus. But in your case, I believe you qualify to learn the secret circus handshake.” They shook hands. They cupped their fingers and shook. Giovanni fist bumped the top of Otto’s fist and had to wait a second for Otto to fist bump the top of his fist. They slapped hands and pointed at each other, and Giovanni wiggled his fingers.

Otto smiled and went through the motions again on his own. Giovanni heard a voice. His father called.

“Vincenzo.”

He did not sound mad, just perturbed.

A woman said, “What is that? In the sky.”

Otto and Giovanni both looked, and Giovanni stood and yelled. “No. Elgar already did that,” he complained. “Every time I think it is over between you two, you come back. Just stop it!” He picked up a pebble and threw it at the Flesh Eater ship that hovered over Rome before it shot off to the north. Of course, the ship was twenty-thousand feet up, way beyond where his pitiful little pebbles could reach.

“What was that?” Otto asked as he stood.

“Flesh Eaters,” Giovanni spit. “They are people who are exactly like they are called. They eat people.”

“How do they fly like that? What kind of a ship was that? Is that part of the circus?”

“No. Not part of the circus. It’s complicated. Maybe if we had an hour, I could explain the basic ideas.”

“Otto. Come here.” The old woman with the cane spoke sharply. Giovanni’s dad stood beside her with a mix between a frown and a smile on his face and his fists on his hips.

“Vincenzo,” he called and then turned to the old woman. “If Otto was with my son he was in the safest place in the world he could be, though my son does tend to misbehave.” He turned to Giovanni. “Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning out the horse stalls?”

Giovanni found his tongue automatically slip back into his native Venetian. “I was just taking a break. My friend Otto and I needed a rest from all the grownups.” He looked. The old woman evidently spoke the language and understood. He turned to Otto and spoke German again. “Your mother?” He asked because mother did not sound right.

“Grandmother,” Otto said. “Adelaide of Italy.”

“Otto,” the woman spoke and leaned heavily on her cane. “Your mother is very worried. You should not run off like that. Come. The circus is about to start.” She slipped her arm around the boy as if to say he was not going to escape again. He looked sad at being caught, but he perked up when Giovanni spoke.

“You are going to really love the show.” He noticed the soldiers standing in the background, watching the woman and the boy, and Giovanni’s father. “The Greatest Show on Earth!” He spouted, and with a look at his father he softened his voice. “Going,” he said, but he could not resist one shout back as he ran off. “Catch you later.”

Otto looked in Giovanni’s direction and waved. “Later.”

Medieval 6: K and Y 20 End and Beginning, part 2 of 2

December 11, 2024November 23, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Yasmina

Yasmina wandered through the meadow where the wildflowers grew, and the bees came to collect the pollen to make their honey. It was not exactly the sculpted garden she grew up in, or the imitation garden in Fustat, the Princess garden in Alexandria, or the newly planted and manicured garden she practically lived in when she was held prisoner in the palace in Madhiya, but it would do. In some ways, the meadow was better. It was natural. The flowers, many different kinds, grew wherever they found a place, or more accurately, where the local fairies encouraged them.

The nearest fairy troop live in the hills some distance away, but she spied one every now and then. In exchange for a bit of honey, they kept the flowers growing big and strong for the bees. Of course, the people saw them as little birds, if they even noticed, but Yasmina could see beneath the glamours, and even see the gnomes who mostly worked invisible and insubstantial, if she cared to look.

Aisha fell in love with a local elf and joined a troop that lived in the distant woods where only a few human farms interrupted the verdant wilderness. Of course, Aisha and her husband Castaneis visited once or twice a year, “Just to check up and make sure all was well.” Yasmina was happy for her friend.

Also, once or twice per year, or at least every other year, Norsemen began to come to the port of Amalfi to trade. Amalfi was easier to reach than sailing all the way to Byzantium. The Rus had trade down the rivers blocked to competition, especially since they took Kyiv a couple of years ago. The Normans in particular had to come the long way around, through the so-called Pillars of Hercules. Still, Amalfi was closer and less taxing than Constantinople.

They brought furs like ermine and beaver, and sometimes amber and ivory to trade for silks, fragrances, glassware, and wine that would fetch a fortune back home in the north. It was all due to Captain Frodesson, Oswald the elder, and Edwin the dog. By 945, southern Italy had regular and friendly trade with the north, in particular the Normans, as they came to be called. Yasmina understood the general thrust of history. It would be fifty years before the Normans came to settle southern Italy, piece by piece. She would be gone by then, but her children and grandchildren, and maybe great-grandchildren would be part of that.

Yasmina sometimes got called on to settle things when there was a dispute, since she got credited with setting up the Norse trade in the first place. Those disputes were usually minor and easily resolved. It was a different story when Islamic ships came to the port. Yasmina got called on then, too, and sometimes those disputes were not so minor.

Yasmina herself donned her armor three times over the last ten years to fight off Muslims that tried to establish settlements in southern Italy. She fought alongside Naples, Salerno, Capua, the Byzantines, and plenty of princes, dukes, and counts from here or there. She was instrumental in keeping Italy Muslim free. Al-Rahim taught her well. She knew Islamic ways, weapons, tactics, and what the Muslims in general and in particular the Isma’ili fanatics were capable of. Francesco got knighted after one victory. They did not knight women. She did get a thank you note from the Pope, but that was it.

It was not that she turned away from her faith, but she knew if Italy became divided, her children would never have peace. As Kirstie often said, trade was better, and trade works, or as her Kairos self said in many lifetimes, peace was better than war. And she knew the way Muslims and Christians viewed the world and everything in it was incompatible. There might always be war between the two, sad as that would be for the human race, but at least she could help keep her corner of this world from all that bloodshed.

Yasmina had some pieces of the Koran which she diligently read. She kept her Islamic traditions in Italy, and celebrated all the festivals, at least as well as she could. It was hard to fast on Ramadan when the children came along, and especially when Francesco’s mother cooked a huge meal for the whole family after church on Sunday. Mama Rosita lived in a castle-sized house, but then the woman had eleven children, so the room was needed. Francesco was the third child, the second son.

Interestingly enough, Francesco’s father, uncles, and all the boys, brothers and cousins accepted her right away. A few were jealous of Francesco. Yasmina was very pretty. It took the women longer to get adjusted to this foreign girl. Mama Rosita and Francesco’s older sister, Maria were especially stubborn. They finally softened when Yasmina had sons. Peter was first. Antonio, a well-used family name, came two years later. They did not fully accept her, though, until she had a daughter, Sophia, and she wore a small crucifix around her neck and went faithfully to mass on Sunday besides, and she kept her head and hair covered, even if she rarely wore a veil in Italy. She worked hard to fit in with the family and the people of the town because, quite the contrary to Yasmina’s upbringing where she was ignored by her mother and father as often as not, and she only had the grandfatherly al-Rahim to care for her before Aisha arrived, in Amalfi family was the most important thing. Children mattered, so Yasmina had some adjusting to do, but in the end she decided she liked it that way.

Francesco was not the most faithful husband in the world. He loved Yasmina passionately when he was around, and she was all he wanted. But he traveled. He was part of a family of tradesmen—Italian tradesmen. And when he traveled, he often sought comfort in the arms of a local woman. Yasmina did not feel terrible about that. The women in the family understood that was normal, healthy behavior for the men. If he did not dally, like Don Giovanni, they would have thought something was wrong with him. Then again, Yasmina did not have to worry about Francesco having concubines, or a harem where she might be demoted to second or third wife, so there was that. As long as he came home and loved her when he was home, she would not rock that boat.

“Sophia,” she called to her three-year-old and the girl came up holding some wildflowers she had picked, and she smiled for her mother. Yasmina returned the smile as she took her daughter’s hand and started down the path toward home. She thought about how Kirstie ended the days of Abraxas. She completed her work in the world. In fact, Yasmina smiled for the last three days, and considered visiting Avalon herself and how wonderful that would be, but by the time she got home, Kirstie got home.

Yasmina began to cry and stayed a moment on the front porch of her home. When Kirstie found armed men in the streets, she had to sit down right there in a chair on the porch. She could hardly focus on what was going on around her. She felt as though her whole being was absorbed by events that happened thirty-one years ago in another land—in another world. The boys came out on hearing their mother. Aisha who came for a visit followed. Francesco and Castaneis were just coming up the road.

“Liv!” Yasmina shouted for no reason anyone could see. Even Sophia and the boys could not get her attention.

“Two for two,” she mumbled before she shouted, “My scimitar.” The weapon appeared at her feet. Big Sister Maria who also came for a visit raised her eyebrows at that and looked again at Yasmina like maybe something was wrong with the girl.

“No!” Yasmina banged into the arms of the porch chair she sat upon. The arm of the chair cracked, and Yasmina grabbed her own arm, and then rubbed her side. Her arm was not broken, and her ribs were not crushed, but she felt the blow like the pain was her own.

“Now. Do it now,” Yasmina cried out, and her own hand looked for a second like it was on fire before water came from her mouth, like she filled her mouth with water and then spit it out. Yasmina sighed. The job was done. It was enough.

Yasmina knew as surely as Kirstie knew that the big house in Strindlos would burn to the ground. Chief Kerga was dead. Mother Vrya was dead. Whoever remained in the village would move. The farms in the north would be attached to Varnes. The farms in the west would connect with Nidaross and Strindlos would be no more. In the future, Nidaross would be dedicated. The Jarl of the Trondelag would build there, not a fortress, but a strong house, and Strindlos would become a memory.

Yasmina wanted to cry, but her eyes went wide instead. “Gruden,” she said and practically growled. Kirstie could not twist out of the way. Yasmina tried to twist for her, but she could not. Yasmina pushed with her hand, Kirstie’s hand that still worked. She felt the sting in her belly but felt satisfied that Gruden was a dead man. Then Yasmina slid out of the chair and collapsed to the floor.

Francesco picked her up and carried her inside, to her bed. “Wilam,” she called him. She cried. She wailed, “I died.” Then she felt something she could never explain. She was not nothing. She was not something. She became like the wind, or perhaps like light, and for one brief moment she felt all the warmth and peace of her mother’s womb before the memory stopped.

Yasmina cried all afternoon and into the night. In the morning she felt a wreck, but she got up, hugged her children, gave Francesco a kiss, and began her daily routine. She said only one thing of note that morning. “Kirstie died. Now it is up to me. She did not live beyond my age so what I do from here is all new. I hope it is a good story.” Then she did not want to talk about it.

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

MONDAY

The last of the Kairos Medieval stories, the story of Don Vincenzo Giovanni, Ringmaster and his adventures in Venice, Italy, and the Holy Roman Empire just in time for Y1K. Don’t miss it. Happy Reading

Medieval 6: K and Y 20 End and Beginning, part 1 of 2

December 10, 2024November 23, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

Benches and tables had been turned over all around the big house. Chairs were broken and tables were moved every which way. Kirstie thought the big room was empty at first, but she heard a sound in the corner of the dais opposite the door and saw some movement behind a table.

“Hello?” she called.

Wilam went to the door, while Inga and Erik stared at the wreckage. “A battle?” Erik asked, not really knowing. Inga shrugged as if to say she did not know, but she added a thought.

“No bodies.”

Wilam wisely peeked before he opened the door. He saw armed men in the street and marketplace, and there appeared to be bodies outside. He shut the door carefully and returned to report to the others but found Kirstie up on the dais.

“Hello,” Kirstie said, pushing a turned over chair from her path.

“Kirstie?” the word came back, a girl’s voice.

“Hilda?” It sounded like her childhood friend. she helped move the table as Hilda stood from where she hid.” What happened?” Kirstie asked as she took her friend’s hand and helped her come to join the others. Hilda began to weep so her words came out in bits and pieces.

“Liv’s men from Varnes… The king’s men… Other men… Kare.” Hilda tried to sniff and pull her thoughts together when Inga reached out and held her. “They came to the house. Thoren took the boys to your house, to Yrsa and Lyall. He said he would get help, but I think he feared the men might be at your house. He told me to go to the Witcher Women across the way. He said I should be safe there.” She began to weep again in earnest. “The women were all dead… They killed Mother Vrya…”

Kirstie picked up the story for Wilam and Erik as Inga began to cry with Hilda. “I’m guessing they went to the Witcher Women before invading Hilda’s home. She probably ran here looking for a safe shelter when they gathered on the road to attack our house.” She reached out to touch Wilam’s arm while she fought her own tears.

“What about the men in town? Where is Chief Kerga? Where are the village elders and the captains and their crews? There are bodies outside, and armed men I don’t recognize in the streets.”

Kirstie nodded and sniffed herself. “The men are at sea or living in Nidaross. They may be the king’s men, but you know the king did not send them. You, me, and the king were fighting the Swedes just a month ago, and the good men of the Trondelag are probably still there, fighting. Kare probably recruited all around the fjord. Don’t be surprised if Bieger, Lind, and Gruden are around. As for Liv… I don’t know what to think. She was a strange one when we were growing up.”

“Liv,” Hilda interrupted. “Liv is here, and her men.”

Kirstie nodded. “She got more strange as the years went on. I don’t know how she became the owner and captain of her own ship.” Kirstie shook her head.

They heard the noise from the outside. It sounded like it was increasing in volume and intensity. Kirstie and Wilam had to look. The elves and fairies of the woods had arrived and were driving back the so-called king’s men. Kirstie saw that Booturn brought a whole company of dwarfs with him, and they were attacking with hammers and axes. Vortesvin ran at the men and the king’s men scattered and ran away from the big troll.

“In here. Quick,” they heard, and Kirstie shouted as she and Wilam closed and barred the door.

“Liv.” Kirstie spat at the door. “Inga, take Hilda to the storeroom and lock yourselves in. There is one window if you need to get out.”

Inga did not argue, but Hilda kept staring, open mouthed, and was slow to respond. Kirstie called for her armor and weapons and found a couple of additions to her ensemble. Yasmina’s small cavalry-shield and scimitar appeared in her hands. She quickly handed the small shield to Erik who stood beside Wilam. Wilam pulled his sword and grabbed a broken chair to serve as his shield. Erik still had the mace he took from the castle wall in Avalon.

Something banged on the front door, hard. Kirstie looked to be sure Inga and Hilda got out when a dozen men burst out of the storeroom. Kerga, Alm, and Thoren led the way. Then the front door got ripped off the hinges. A twelve-foot hag stepped into the room, ducking her head a bit under the ceiling. Plenty of men followed her.

“How can there be a hag?” Kirstie asked. “And one as big as the one in America which was six girls combined.”

The hag answered. “You killed my father!” It was Liv. Kirstie imagined she should have been more surprised, but somehow, she knew all along. She wondered instead how Liv could be a hag without the power of Abraxas behind her. Then she got too busy to think.

She dragged the scimitar across the throat of the man that came at her. It happened by reflex. She nearly cut the man’s head off. It was Lind. She mumbled, “Two for two,” and let go of the weapon. The scimitar vanished and her battleaxe flew to her hand.

Chief Kerga and two others went at the hag. Kirstie tried to yell, “No.” but it was too late. She tried to run and help, but the Liv-hag caught her with a backhand that sent her across the room. Her shield cracked, her arm broke, and her ribs caved in all from that one blow. She could only lay there and watch.

Wilam killed Bieger. Thoren, Alm, and the others drove the king’s men back outside, but then stayed near the door. They did not want the elves or dwarfs to mistake them for the enemy. Wilam stood out front knowing the little ones would recognize him and he could turn them away. Alm stood with him.

With the room mostly empty, Liv turned on the broken body of Kirstie at her feet. “You killed my father,” Liv repeated, and Kirstie thought with cool dispassion.

Of course. Liv is a demigod, daughter of the evil Abraxas. She thought of what both Grandfather Njord and Father Fryer said when they gave her the gifts of water and fire. It will be enough. She could only try.

Kirstie sat herself up, her back to the wall. She raised her good hand and poured the fire of the sun on the hag. She gave it every ounce of fire she had in her. The hag reveled in the flames and grew to eighteen, maybe twenty feet. Kirstie dispassionately thought this was the last gasp of the titans whose blood still ran in the gods of old.

Liv roared as she busted through the ceiling and roof of the big house. Great timbers came crashing down to the floor, and one wall busted free of the structure. She roared like the sound of a hundred lions. The building caught fire and it spread rapidly, but Kirstie could not help that. She simply opened her mouth.

A fountain of water flowed from her mouth. It quickly became a stream of water, and in the end a roaring river, more than the biggest firehoses combined. It completely covered the burning hag. In the future, Kirstie swore she heard a loud Snap or Crack when the glue that held the hag together busted altogether. Kirstie remembered the Grendel. She fully expected Liv would not melt exactly like the others. She would retain some of her size and shape, but she would surely be dead. It was enough.

Kirstie smiled, knowing that this was definitely the last. She looked around at the building and knew she did not have more water to put out the burning wood. The big house would burn rapidly to the ground with her in it. She did not mind. She felt certain she was dying.

She saw movement. It looked like a man with a sword at the ready. She recognized him when he got close and spat his name, though she could hardly talk. “Gruden.”

“Kairos,” he responded, and grinned. “The Masters have determined that if I can kill you before your time, that will disrupt your rebirths and end them. Then you will not be around to stand in the way of their plans, and they can ruin the world as they please.”

Kirstie shook her head. It did not work that way. The God who knows the end from the beginning would know ahead of time the precise moment of her death. That would be her proper time, no matter what the Masters did.

Gruden stepped up to her, sword in hand, pointed down at her middle. She did this once with Captain Ulf on the field below Lindisfarne, only that time she sat up and turned so Ulf missed her. Now, she could hardly move. Her entire left side felt numb.

Gruden looked ready to strike. Kirstie called for her long knife, Defender. The knife vacated its sheath and flew to her hand, so when Gruden came down with his sword and pierced her in the middle, her knife went up into the man’s chest, cutting him in the heart, using the man’s own motion toward her to make up for her failing strength.

Kirstie knew she would not survive the cut in her belly. She would soon bleed out her life. But Gruden’s eyes went wide with surprise when Defender cut him deeply. He fell and died quickly.

Wilam braved the flames and the collapsing big house. He found her readily enough. The sword fell out from the weight of the handle. It made the cut worse, but that hardly mattered. Wilam lifted her and carried her outside to lay her down gently.

Kirstie wanted to tell him she loved him. She wanted to say, sell the properties if you can, though she imagined the survivors would move to Nidaross and abandon Strindlos. Strindlos, without Chief Kerga and without Mother Vrya and without the meeting hall to designate the center of the village would become a ghost town, like the village never existed. She wanted to tell him to take the children to Northumbria to his family and live there, but she could not breathe. Her lungs were punctured and collapsed, so she opted just to kiss him until she passed out.

Medieval 6: K and Y 19 To Abraxas, part 2 of 2

December 9, 2024October 1, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

“You evaded my traps much too easily. I felt sure the dragons would devour you right at the beginning.”

“Dragons are smarter than you think. They will not bite the hand that feeds them.”

Abraxas squinted at her. “I did not know you could move from place to place here like one of the gods.”

“There is much you do not know about this place.”

“I know I have shut down your access to other lives. You cannot call on one of your godly lives to challenge me. It is just mortal you in this place.”

“But this is my place, and you have no business being here.”

He whined and his face contorted with anger. “You shut down the rest of my options. I was all set to go to a completely different world on the other side of the earth. I wouldn’t have bothered you. I had followers. But no, you killed them. You went all the way there and killed them. This place is all I have left.”

“Now is your chance to let go and go over to the other side.”

“No!” He sounded like a three-year-old. And he screeched. “You don’t know what that means. The gods are immortal. I haven’t had a chance to live. I’m not finished. I’m not ready.”

“Now,” Kirstie thought and said out loud.

“You mortals cannot hurt me. Your weapons cannot hurt me.” He yelled, but as he spoke he got pelted with keyboards, wires, and all kinds of equipment from overhead. Cassandra shot her arrow and scooted behind a desk chair. Inga threw her vial which burst and filled the room with smoke and a noxious smell. Wilam and Brant, now behind him, yelled a war cry like they were ready to attack him with their swords.

Abraxas threw his hands forward and made Cassandra and Inga push back to the wall. The force drove Erik right back into the hall, but Kirstie ducked. He threw his hands up and scattered the elves that were bombing him with equipment from the skylight above. He spun around, angry at the annoyance and shot a poison spell at Wilam, but Brant jumped in front, so he caught the full spell.

When Abraxas turned back around, he found Kirstie in his face and her battleaxe cut deeply across his middle. She cut deeper into his side on her backswing and the axe caught in his ribs. He looked down as his life began to quickly bleed out and he looked like he did not understand. “But no mortal weapon can harm me.”

“Made by the dwarfs Eitri and Brokkr under the blessing of Odin himself,” she responded, as her long knife Defender vacated its sheath and flew to her hand. “The others were just distracting you.” She shoved the knife in the heart of the god and Abraxas collapsed, still not comprehending what happened. “Made by the dark elves in Mount Etna under Vulcan’s watchful eye.” Kirstie held her hand out and the long knife vacated Abraxas’ chest, pulling a piece of his heart with it. “And I have been counted among the gods from the beginning, even when I am strictly a mortal nobody.”

“But…” it was Abraxas’ last word.

Kirstie stood while Abraxas died, or as they say, went over to the other side. Everyone else stayed on their knees, gagging for their breath, not the least because of Inga’s stink bomb. They rubbed their sore muscles, looked for cuts, and examined their bruises. They all turned their heads to the door when they heard a clinking-clanking sound.

A knight dressed head to toe in plate armor such as had not yet been invented stepped into the room. He said nothing but went straight to Abraxas and lifted the body off the floor. He easily slung the skinny dead god over his shoulder, turned, and exited the room to disappear down the hall. Inga, Cassandra, and Erik all spoke at once.

“Who was that? What was that? Where did he come from? Where did he go?”

“A Knight of the Lance,” Kirstie said as she sat at a desk and began furiously poking at the flat box with the letters and symbols on it.

Brant collapsed and moaned. Wilam held up his head and Brant smiled for him. Inga ran as much a she could. She got down beside him to examine him. She found some tears in her eyes and turned to Kirstie.

“I don’t know what it is. There is no wound. He is growing cold.”

Kirstie paused and got down with the others. She traded places with Mother Greta because she could do that again, now that the source of the pressure that closed off her personal timeline was removed. Mother Greta had little magic, but one thing she could do was diagnose internal problems much easier than Doctor Mishka who would have to draw a blood sample to analyze. It did not take long.

“Sorcerer’s poison,” she said, and shook her head as if to say there was nothing she could do.

“He obviously meant it for me,” Wilam said. “But Brant got in the way.”

“He wanted to hurt Kirstie as much as he could,” Greta said before she went away, and Kirstie came back to finish the thought. “That is the way an evil mind works. Abraxas claimed to be a god over good and evil, but no one ever saw the good in him.”

Brant struggled to talk. He looked at Inga and whispered through uncooperative lips and tongue. “It is what we do.” He tried to turn to Wilam, but all he could turn was his eyes. “I’ve been watching out for you since you were a baby. Give me this one.” He looked again at Inga, and she bent over him, eyes full of tears, and planted her lips on his. He closed his eyes, and after a moment he turned cold, and Inga pulled back from his lips and cried on him.

Kirstie and Wilam cried with her, but eventually, Kirstie got up and went back to her workstation. She traded places with Alice of Avalon because Alice was the one who set it all up in the first place. She would correct whatever was amiss. And while she grieved for Brant, as any life of the Kairos would, she did not feel the immediate sting as certainly as Kirstie.

Erik and Cassandra stood by the door. The elves that escaped to the roof when Abraxas came and pelted him with electronics when the time was right, came first. They worked in the control room and quickly returned to their stations to help. They acknowledged Erik and Cassandra as they came in. Erik smiled, remembering the elves he met the last time he, Inga, and Kirstie visited Avalon. Cassandra looked more astonished and inclined to bow her head to the people of legend and look down like one who felt unworthy.

Erik questioned her, and she answered forthrightly. “The Amazons have always seen the little ones as a sign of good fortune and great blessing.” Erik understood .and pointed down the hall.

A delegation of little ones came toward the control room. It looked like the kings and queens of the dais—the elves of light and dark, the dwarfs, and the fairies, with their attendants. It also looked like the lesser gods who called Avalon home; the Naiad of the spring that burst from the rocks beside the great tower that housed the Heart of Time, the Dryad of the deep forest that began at the back of the castle and climbed all the way up the distant mountains, and the oread of the mountains themselves that kept Avalon and the many isles grounded in reality. Erik had to keep Cassandra from falling to her knees.

Alice came to the door. “Welcome friends. All is settled. The evil one who disturbed your peace is no more. He has gone to the other side. But we lost a man in the struggle. He was a great man and should be treated and buried in all honor and respect. Please take him and prepare him.”

Several attendants broke from the group and waited patiently until Inga indicated they could take Brant’s body away.

Brant was buried in the cemetery near the tower of the Heart of Time, and the others stayed three days in the castle. When the time came to go home, Kirstie first sent Cassandra back to the Isle of the Amazons. The others gathered in the Great Hall beside the Hall of Feasting.

“We cannot go back to Aesgard, or to Freyja’s Hall in the place of the Vanir. Our route is simpler, and direct. She waved her hand as she did many times by then, and a door appeared between here and there. The little ones all waved goodbye and said encouraging words, though Inga and Wilam seemed barely able to smile.

When Kirstie opened the door, she found the Big House back home on the other side, but something did not feel right. The place was empty, though it was the middle of the day, and she saw signs of violence in the big room.

Medieval 6: K and Y 19 To Abraxas, part 1 of 2

December 4, 2024October 1, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

The room was similar to the one they came from. Kirstie went straight to the end opposite the fireplace, and she sat down at the table where she pulled up a screen of some sort, and a keyboard. She went to work, mumbling something about how it would be much easier if she could get Alice to do it, but somehow her access to her other lives was shut down.

Erik wandered to the windows without glass. He looked out on the garden, but it appeared planted in the clouds. “Is there dirt under that? It doesn’t look like there is any dirt under that. It looks like if you step out there you will fall straight through the clouds to the earth.”

“The castle in the clouds,” Casandra called it, as Inga, Brant, and Wilam came to take in the view. Casandra continued. “As I understand it, there are four castles, but they are all one castle, and a person can transition…” she shook her head, like she was not sure if that was the right word. “A person can change from one castle to another if they know how. The castle of the Lady Danna is in a great cavern underground. It is where the dark elves and fire sprites live and work their great metal forges, and where the dwarfs work in gold and precious stones. That was the first place we changed to. The castle of the Lady Amphitrite is under the ocean, and the water sprites and mere people and others live there and guard the ways of the sea. That was the second place. The castle of the Nameless one is on the land such as people know, and the elves of light, the dwarfs and fairies keep it. That was where we started. Then the castle of Amun Junior is in the clouds where the sprites of the air and mostly the fairies keep watch over the earth. That is where we are now, in the clouds.

“And… Enter,” Kirstie said and hit the button. Everyone heard a prolonged wail not far away. The glass appeared on the windows and the ground looked solid outside. “I gave him an electrical shock and locked him out of the system, hopefully permanently. He can’t pull any more surprises unless he wants to be electrocuted.

“Would that kill him? Electrocuted, whatever that means,” Inga asked.

“No, but it certainly would not feel good. This way,” Kirstie said, and she opened the same door they just came in, but it led to a completely different hall. She felt this time that she finally had to explain something. “Space, I mean area or areas in the Second Heavens are naturally unstable. Areas fold in and back on themselves in ever changing ways, something like a kaleidoscope.” she waved her hands to prevent questions as they walked. “You don’t know what a kaleidoscope is. Anyway, you can walk down one hall, blink, and find yourself in a completely different part of the castle altogether.”

“Someone could get lost in here and never find the way out,” Brant said.

“It is a bit like a labyrinth,” Inga agreed with him. “Maybe a maze.”

Kirstie responded. “Normally, there are people here and there, working, playing, or going on about some errand or other. You would not wander aimlessly and alone for very long before running into someone.” She shook her head as they turned into a different hall. “I am a little concerned to know where they people have all gone.”

“By people, you mean little ones mostly,” Wilam guessed. Kirstie nodded and took his hand.

“Aah!” Erik shouted, and everyone stopped moving and asked, “What?”

“That picture,” Erik pointed to a hallway off to the right. It looked dark, like no one lit the torches in that hall. Erik breathed and clarified. “I was looking at a picture of the sea. It looked real. I thought the waves were moving, and suddenly it vanished.”

“The picture?” Cassandra asked. She had been keeping one eye on the boy since he almost went out the window and the others seemed preoccupied with their men.

“No,” Erik said. “The whole wall. It turned swirly, all different colors, and some colors like I never saw before. I felt dizzy, but then it stopped moving around and a hall appeared where the wall had been.”

“The natural chaos of the Second Heavens,” Kirstie said softly.

Inga understood something. “If everything is becoming unstable, might he make us walk in circles and never find him?”

Kirstie shook her head to say no. “Usually, Alice and the Captain keep the structures stable, but Alice is ill, and the sicker she becomes, the more things slip out of her control and begin to break down. Avalon and the seven isles and the innumerable islands beyond are in danger of breaking apart and collapsing into the natural chaos that is the Second Heavens. But I believe I have stabilized this section of the castle for the time being… Mostly… Hurry.”

It did not take long to reach a dead end where the hall went left and right but they could no longer go forward. Kirstie stopped and stared at the big, blank wall directly ahead of them. She waved her hand. Nothing happened. She looked angry and stomped her foot, but after a moment, she deliberately calmed herself, took a deep breath, and waved her hand again. Slowly, great wooden double doors appeared in that place, and she talked, perhaps some to herself.

“He tried to keep the entrance closed and covered, but Avalon is my place, and I have the final say here.” She waved to Brant and Wilam who each took a door handle. They planned to swing the doors wide open at once when Kirstie was ready.

When Kirstie indicated she was ready, they yanked on the doors. They were locked tight. Wilam gave an extra tug, but it was no good. The doors did not even jiggle.

Kirstie made them stand back, and she tried the hand wave again, several times, but the doors would not budge. She felt frustrated, but clearly Abraxas used some exercise of his own godly power to seal the doors shut so he would not be disturbed. Again, she spoke mostly to herself, though this time she looked at Inga.

“The gods can do almost anything they want, and some of it is as easy as breathing. But much of it has to be learned and practiced, like learning to read or learning to sail. Some of it is beyond the ability of some or many of the gods to learn, like most people would not be good at navigation, or making compound medicines, or higher mathematics, or control programming.” She gave the doors a mean stare. “Abraxas was very young when the gods went over to the other side. He did not have the time or the chance to learn much. He is mostly self-taught on the few things he can do. But one thing he knows less about, and it was sort of a weakness of all the ancient gods, is the kind of brute force humans sometimes have to revert to. The gods have no need for crowbars.”

With that, she raised both of her hands and shouted, “Get back and close your eyes. Tight.” She let the fire given to her by Fryer, god of the sun, shoot forward furiously. The wooden doors turned to ash and the metal braces and hinges all melted. Kirstie grabbed her battleaxe and shield from her back. Following her lead, Wilam and Brant both pulled their swords and Cassandra put an arrow on the string of her bow. Inga grabbed a vial of something she had in her purse. Erik looked around and grabbed a decoration off the wall. He did not know what it was, but it had a wooden handle and a ball on the end covered in spikes, and it looked deadly.

They hurried into the room and found a man, alone, standing in the middle of the room. Behind him, one whole wall looked like glass, but it had moving pictures all around. To the sides there were desks and chairs with their own glass with moving pictures and flat boxes on the desk with letters and symbols on them. The man laughed at his intruders and shook his finger at Kirstie. Cassandra and Inga came up alongside Kirstie. Erik stayed behind her. William and Brant split and moved to get behind the man as the man spoke.

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

MONDAY

They reach the control room where Abraxas is hold up… Until Monday, Happy Reading

Medieval 6: K and Y 18 Aesgard to Avalon, part 2 of 2

December 3, 2024October 1, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

The cave disappeared, and they found themselves in a room, much like the meeting room in the big house in Strindlos. The room had wooden benches, a couple of tables, and a raised platform on one end with a couple of chairs, presumably for the chiefs. Fortunately, no one appeared to be present at the moment.

“Everyone here?” Inga asked, because somehow she lost hold of Erik, but all were present. Erik managed to squeeze himself between Wilam and Brant when the chittering started behind them.

Erik asked, “What was that chittering?”

“Dragon babies,” Kirstie said offhandedly. “Not something to get tangled with. Really sharp teeth.” Kirstie seemed to be focused on the lines again as they appeared in mid-air.

“Looks like home,” Wilam said, looking around.

“Except it looks clean,” Inga countered. “The floor has been swept.”

Brant supported Inga. “They have picked flowers in vases on small tables by the windows off to the sides and on the altar at the back of the dais.

“And it does not smell like too much beer and sweat,” Inga concluded.

“We have been here before,” Erik added his own conclusion, which got Inga to take a second look around.

“Not here, exactly,” Kirstie said, and she touched something in the air that caused the lines to temporarily disappear.. “This is Amazon Island. The Amazon women control all this land.” She looked at Wilam and added, “I hit the reset button,” even if he did not know what she was talking about. “The transport program should reset to the default settings.”

The door opened at the far end of the hall, and a handful of armed women came in to welcome, or maybe confront their visitors. The women stopped by the door and one asked, “Who are you and what do you want?”

Kirstie quickly stepped in front of Wilam, and Inga took the hint and stepped in front of Brant. She had to shift her bag to the other arm to do it. Erik still stood between the two men, but Kirstie figured he would be fine. At seventeen, he still looked mostly like a boy. “Kirstie,” she said. “Kairos of this present time. And Thriacia, why have you let Abraxas come into this place?”

The women pulled up. The two with spears raised them from their threatening position and backed to the door, like guards. The one on the left and the one on the right both looked at the one in the middle, no doubt Thriacia. Thriacia looked startled. “Lady,” she said. “Why have you let men into the sanctuary?”

“Women sit in the meeting house back home. Men are allowed here as long as they sit to the side and only speak when they have permission.” Kirstie returned to playing with the lights in mid-air. Wilam, Brant, Inga, and Erik had no idea what she was doing, or how she could cause lights to appear in the middle of the air, though Inga maybe guessed the closest. The Amazons looked like they were equally unsure how Kirstie was doing what she was doing, or even what exactly she was doing.

“But…” Thriacia started again.

The woman on the left interrupted, speaking to the question. “We did not let Abraxas come here. We could not exactly stop him. The evil one has done much damage while we have awaited your arrival. Lady Alice is stymied and can hardly hold things together.”

The one on the right added softly, “She may be ill.” Thriacia nodded and pointed to the woman, like she spoke the truth.

“May I ask,” Brant said in his formal best. “Where is this evil one and how can we reach him?”

Thriacia and the women looked hard at the man for speaking out of turn, but Thriacia softened after a moment of reflection. “You may ask, though it would be better if you let your woman speak for you. As for the enemy, my report, as the mermaids who cannot shut up tell it, they heard from the elves that the man is in the castle on Avalon proper and he has found his way to the main control room where he is trying to puzzle out the, um, programming?” She looked at Kirstie who nodded to say she used the right word.

“How…” Wilam began, but Kirstie stomped on his foot. Fortunately, Inga caught the idea and spoke.

“How do we get there from here?”

“I am the queen here,” Thriacia said and pointed to the quiet one, “My healer, Lydia.” She pointed to the one who answered the question. “My hunter, Cassandra, and you are?”

“Inga, volva of Strindlos and the Trondelag, and skald of the Norse people.”

“The wise woman of the Norse is welcome here, but the way to the castle is a journey. Cassandra can guide you.”

Cassandra nodded. “I need to see to my son and kiss my husband and I will be ready,” she said, and Lydia leaned over to speak.

“You are always ready,” she said in her soft voice. “It is annoying.”

“No need,” Kirstie said all of a sudden. “The teleport is back online. I better use it before Moron messes it up again. Hold hands.” Kirstie took Wilam’s hand and Cassandra rushed forward to grab Inga’s hand just before Kirstie touched the line. Once again, the whole room around them changed to a completely different room.

Kirstie put her hands up, but this time the light did not come. “Well,” she said, “At least we are in Castle Turning. Let us hope he hasn’t figured out how to turn the place.” She stopped and looked around at the new hall they were in. It looked long and narrow with a fireplace at one end and a table and chairs on a platform at the other end. One wall was lined with alternating bookshelves and tapestries. The other had windows with some sort of glass that looked out on a balcony and over to a lovely garden area.

“Cassandra?” Inga asked, wanting to get the name straight.

Kirstie let out a small laugh. “Aren’t you afraid the Princess will be mad at you for using her name, the name she hates?”

“Lady,” Cassandra spoke to the point. “Don’t start that argument all over again. The Amazons took a vote and approved Cassandra and Lydia and other names of yours, and the Princess already said she did not mind other people having the name, she just could not stand it for herself.”

“But if it is her name…” Brant was not sure how to ask the question, he never met the Princess and only saw her at a distance, and only knew her as Princess.

“She gets mad if we call her Cassandra. She goes by the name, Princess.”

Brant nodded and Inga interrupted with a comment. “We have been here before. This is Avalon.”

“I thought I recognized the garden,” Erik said as he stared out of the windows.

Kirstie nodded. “The hall of feasting is to the right. It has some windows that look down on the same garden.”

“Which way do we go?” Wilam asked.

“We go the opposite direction. There are several passages we need to navigate to get to the control room.” She headed toward a door between two tapestries, and the others followed. It seemed wide and tall but otherwise an ordinary enough hallway at first, with the occasional table with flowers, wall decorations, including a few paintings and more tapestries, and a few windows to the outside world near the occasional doors that led to some room or other. Now and then another hallway went off to the left or right, and twice they passed a crossroads.

“This is much further than I would have guessed,” Wilam finally said.

“This fortress must be bigger than any on earth,” Brant agreed.

“Endless,” Erik said, dredging up the memory from what the dwarfs told him.

“Don’t believe everything the dwarfs say,” Kirstie mused, and held her mouth while she walked. She got an impression from some elves in and around the control room. It came on her private wavelength, like a prayer to the goddess of the little ones. It was one place—one form of communication Abraxas could not tap into. They said they were in a position to distract the god when she was ready. Before she could answer the light dimmed, like the torches lost some of their flare, and every other torch disappeared altogether. “Oh no,” Kirstie said out loud and picked up her pace.

The air turned toxic. Inga, Cassandra, and Erik began to cough. Wilam held his nose and said, “Smells like your foundry.”

Kirstie shouted. “Hold your breath.” and touched something on the wall.

Everyone tried their best as they found themselves suddenly underwater. The hall looked the same, though the torches were missing. Instead, they had skylights on the ceiling to let in light from some source, maybe the sun, and they had to swim, though they could walk or bob slowly through the water.

Kirstie was not bothered because of the gift of Njord. She could breathe underwater after a fashion, but she feared if it went on too long for her friends, they might all drown. Fortunately, she found another spot on the wall and the hallway changed again, and while most coughed and tried to catch their breath, they got pushed by a great wind that came rushing down the hall. Erik was too close to a window that did not have any glass in it. He almost got blown out. Inga and Cassandra grabbed the boy and looked down.

“It is nothing but clouds beneath us,” Inga shouted to be heard above the howl of the wind.

“In here,” Kirstie said, and she opened the door and shoved Wilam into the room. When they all got inside, Wilam had to help her close the door, but when the door was closed, everything became still.

Medieval 6: K and Y 18 Aesgard to Avalon, part 1 of 2

December 2, 2024October 1, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

Wilam opened the simple latch door and peeked. Kirstie pushed up to look over his shoulder. A hearth across the room held a roaring fire. Everyone suddenly felt the cold on their backs as the fire helped them feel toasty and warm in front. One old man sat in a comfortable chair facing the fire, a bowl of soup held up to his chin with one hand, and he sipped the soup with a big spoon. He spoke.

“Come in my daughter, and friends. Come in.” He even sounded old.

Wilam and Kirstie pushed in so the others could follow. Wilam and Brant looked around. The room was much bigger than they imagined from the outside. Inga and Kirstie looked at the fire, the several chairs that faced it, and the old man. There did not appear to be anything else in the room. Erik said “Wow,” softly, but did not otherwise know what to think.

“Come. Sit. Warm yourselves,” the old man said.

Kirstie pushed forward, so the others followed, and she was the first to speak to the man. “I expected this whole place to be deserted,” she said.

“Eh?” The man responded like he did not hear, but he followed up with a word. “It would have been. It should have been, but I stayed at the last minute. Someone needed to keep the fires burning for a while longer.” He set the soup down on a side table beside his chair and turned his head to take a good look at his visitors. He named them after a fashion.

The husband with the impossible legacy. The skipper who needs to captain his own ship. The brilliant and understanding heart who is a witch without magic. The rebellious, runaway boy whose parents could use his help. And my son who at present happens to be my daughter.” He looked at Kirstie and squinted a bit like maybe his old eyes were not very good. “That is what your mother used to call you.”

Kirstie looked again and saw the missing hand. It was possible he made an illusion of being two handed until she figured it out, though he practically told her who he was. “But Father,” she said, taking the seat next to his. “How is it that you have gotten old?”

“Idon has gone. The apples of youth are not tended.” he smiled and shook his head. “That is not entirely true, but it is what people have been told. To be clear, it is one thing I never experienced before.” he paused long enough to turn to the fire. “I see getting old is not fun.”

Kirstie sneezed again and shivered, which contrasted with the others who were well warmed in the face of the great fire. Wilam asked again if she was all right, and Inga seconded that question, but Kirstie answered in a straightforward way. “No. I’m sick. I’m cold. I feel as if someone is walking on my grave, which is odd because I have a hundred graves, but I am not dead yet.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Erik said. No one else interrupted, and as was her way, Kirstie did not explain.

The old man sat for a minute and stared at the fire. “Your Abraxas came here as I knew he must.”

Kirstie looked at the floor. “Three times I let him live, and three times he failed to do the right thing.”

“The right thing?” he asked. “I suppose,” he answered himself and turned to look at her again. “It took him years to discern your mother’s secret way between her home and your home in Avalon. Sometimes, she would disappear and go to visit all the little ones who loved her so dearly, and Lady Alice who keeps Avalon from crumbling to dust. She always came home refreshed and ready once again to take on her burden of humanity.” He got lost for a moment in some memories and she had to nudge him.

“He found the way?”

“Yes. A portal between one world and another. Yes. Then he attacked your son Soren with a debilitating disease, and while I was preoccupied with concern for the boy, he snuck past me and into your realm. He had in mind to attack you with the disease, but I chased him and drove him back out of your place. I have watched the way ever since, but in my old age, the time came when I slept. Such dreams I had. But he escaped my hand and went again to Avalon. That was several months ago, but now you are here, and you can stop him if you will.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Kirstie admitted her fears.

The old man finally smiled. “Just do your best. That is what you always say to others. The gods do not make promises, but we may pledge to do our best and leave the outcome in hands greater than our own.” he reached over to take her hand but ended up putting his good hand on her head. “Let me do this for you,” he said, and he gave her a gift, part of which was courage.”

“Father… Where is this way?” Kirstie felt the tears coming up into her eyes to see the man in such a condition, old and with trembling hands. She had to say something to distract herself.

“Right here,” he said. “You must walk through the fire.” he pointed at the fireplace. “But since you are not of the gods, since you are flesh and blood, you must first put out the fire. Just be warned. If you put out the fire, this realm will crumble away, and I will be no more. You will not be able to come back this way.”

Kirstie protested. “That is not fair.”

“That is the way it is,” he responded. “My life has been over for a long time. You will merely send me to your mother. Did she not ask this of you?”

Kirstie nodded, before she threw her arms around the old man. She hugged him gently because he was old, and she cried all over him until he pushed her away and she wiped her teary eyes. “I’m ready,” she said, and added, “Hold hands,” because she was not sure exactly what might happen.

“Thank God,” he responded and closed his eyes.

Kirstie took Wilam’s hand without looking back, turned to the fire, and searched for the gift of Njord inside of her. She opened her mouth, and a river of water came and put out the fire. As the fire went out, the room became utterly dark, as dark as a cave where no light ever penetrated. Kirstie stepped forward, and on the third step she seemed to see a light in the distance, or her eyes started paying tricks on her. After a few more steps it became a definite light ahead. She tried not to hurry but let them get there in good order. She saw then that the light appeared to be at the end of something like a cave or tunnel.

When they reached the light, she had a bad feeling and asked the others to stop and wait. She thought she recognized the place, and it did not look right to her. She could see mountains and fire, like volcanic maybe in the distance. She stuck her head out into the sunlight and immediately pulled it back. Tremendous flames came from somewhere above and covered the whole outside of the cave opening. They heard a roar.

“Dragon Island,” Kirstie said. “That is not right.” She lifted her hand, and something appeared on the cave wall. “Mother Freyja did not set her portal to come out on Dragon Island.” She pushed her hand up again and again as lines of some writing appeared to shimmer against the wall.

“There is something behind us,” Erik said. They all heard the chittering sound and Kirstie had to quickly choose.

“He has the whole program messed up,” Kirstie complained. “He doesn’t know how to use it. Moron.” The chittering grew louder. “Damn. Not the best choice. Hold hands again,” she yelled the last and grabbed Wilam’s hand as she touched a line of writing on the wall. Everything around them changed in less than a second.

Storyteller Tales & Thoughts

Stories and reflections on storytelling

Author: M G Kizzia

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