Author: M G Kizzia

Medieval 6: K and Y 9 The Journey Begins, part 1 of 2

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Kirstie

Kirstie packed her things. She dressed Soren to travel, and Hilda said Hodur would cry and miss his friend. She hugged Erik and told him to stay out of trouble. She also told him to take care of his mother and brother while his father Thoren was away.

“And if you need anything, food or anything,” she told the boy. “You find Inga or Yrsa and let them know right away. They will help you with whatever you need.” Erik nodded, but Kirstie was not sure he exactly understood, so she asked Alm to have someone keep an eye on the situation. There was no telling how long Kare might stay away now that she divorced him. And that meant it might be a long time before Thoren came home.

“Don’t worry about the farm or the tenants,” Alm said. “You have good people in your tenancies, and Thomas and Gustavs are doing a good job running the farm. Gustavs is content. He says if he did not have the work to keep him busy, he might join a monastery. He is a true believer. As for Thomas, I may talk to Sten, Captain Harroldson’s man up by the Varnes River. He has a young thrall that cooks and cleans and all that sort of thing. Her name is Lyall, from the border of Strathclyde and Pictish lands. She is very unhappy where she is, so maybe Sten might sell her for a reasonable price.”

Kirstie smiled at the thought of Thomas and a girl being in love. “Whatever you think is best,” she said. She knew her little ones were very perceptive in the ways of love. It came from hanging out with Mother Freyja over so many centuries. Mother Freyja loved on the little ones even before she had her Nameless son.

Yrsa stepped up dressed in her leather, a knife at her side. “Ready to sail,” she reported.

“No. Wait.” Kirstie responded. “We are going to meet Wilam’s family. This is not a dangerous mission. No need for you to go.”

Yrsa looked at Alm, but Alm’s expression did not change. Yrsa spoke. “You have a four-year-old and a new husband. You can use the help. Besides, it is practice for when Alm and I have a son.” She looked at Alm again and he smiled at that suggestion.

“But we will be gone a whole year. We won’t be back until next spring.”

“I know, but Alm and I have hundreds of years to live together. We are not short livers like human mortals. Besides, I got my muscles ready for rowing.” She lifted her hand to show off her skinny little arm.

“This is a two-decker ship. I don’t know how much rowing they do.” Kirstie put her hands up in surrender. She really could use the help.

Yasmina

It took some honest effort on Yasmina’s part to drag al-Din out of the pit of depression he had fallen into, but finally, one evening over a campfire, al-Din opened up enough to explain what happened.

“It was my servant girl,” he said. “She is a very kind and good person, always trying to do good for others. She is what my Christian friend, Francesco would call a real saint. You remember Francesco?”

“Yes,” Yasmina said in a small voice. She had thought of him regularly over the last four years of her “captivity” as she now thought of her time in the palace of Mahdiya. She felt bad for al-Hakim. He had been a nice boy despite being a servant of the Masters. But, yes, she remembered Francesco. She remembered his kiss. She thought she might like to see him again. She thought she better pay attention.

“So, the merchant offered new lamps for old ones, and it never occurred to her how senseless that was.”

“Not senseless,” Yasmina objected. “The old lamps—many are solid copper. Most new lamps are cheap tin with a copper coating to make them look good, though they are cheap. Good copper is worth way more, so not entirely senseless.”

“Huh,” al-Din said. “I never considered that.”

“So anyway…” Aisha wanted on with the story.

“So, she traded the lamp of the Jinn for a new tin one. She did not know. All she knew was the dirty old lamp was impossible to clean.”

“That was Suffar,” Yasmina said.

“What?”

“According to the story a thousand years from now, the lamp dealer was Suffar, the Sultan’s Vizir disguised as a poor tradesman.”

“What’s a Sultan?” Aisha asked to the side, but Yasmina waved off the question.

“That makes sense,” al-Din said. “Because Suffar ended up with the lamp and he ordered the Jinn to get rid of me. You see, I asked twice if Badroul would marry me, and twice she said yes. The first time the governor said she was still too young. The second time, he said he would think about it. But I know Suffar asked on behalf of his son and I believe the governor told him the same thing, that he would think about it.”

Al-Rahim spoke up. “I have not had the pleasure, nor the headaches, but I believe it is a natural reaction for a father to dislike their daughter’s boyfriends. I suspect he will always say no until the daughter says she is going to marry the boy anyway, so he might as well say yes.”

“What about me?” Yasmina asked. “I’m like a daughter, or a granddaughter anyway. I give you headaches.”

Al-Rahim nodded. “You are right about that.”

“So anyway, I think Suffar had the idea that the Jinn would kill me by accident or by design. But what he did was whisper in the governor’s ear that I would be a good addition to the diplomatic group. Considering my interest in his daughter, I suspect he did not take much convincing.”

“What about the diplomatic mission? Did someone honestly believe the Mahdi would be interested in peace?” Al-Rahim asked since he did not get the straight story.

“As I understand it,” al-Din answered. “The Caliph sent a letter to the governor of Egypt that said make peace with the Fatimids. The governor of Egypt sent a letter to the governor of Alexandria saying, make peace. The governor of Alexandria told his advisor, go and make peace, and I got caught up in the mission.”

“And what will you do when you get home?” Yasmina asked, kindly changing the subject before al-Din once again turned morose.

Al-Din looked at her with blank, staring eyes before he made his pronouncement. “I will marry that girl no matter what.”

“Hope,” Yasmina said. “Hang on to that. As long as there is life, there is hope.”

Al-Din smiled briefly before he turned it on her. “But what about you? What will you do?”

“My needs are simple,” Yasmina said. “All I want is a safe place, a place I can call home. So far, every place I have been has failed to provide that.”

“Aren’t you afraid of running out of options?” Al-Din asked.

“No way,” she answered. “We have a whole world to explore, and I can’t imagine living long enough to explore it all, at least not in this lifetime.”

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

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Wilam said thanks to Alm and Yrsa for being there for Kirstie. Hilda was also there, but it was mostly to pick up Hodur and Soren and take them to her place for the night. No telling where Erik went. Wilam also said thanks to Thomas and Gustavs, whom he had met. They seemed extra happy, Kirstie figured, not the least for being relieved of Kare. There were also small presents from her tenants, Tove and her young family, and Helga’s family.

Wilam met Mariwood and Buttercup who stayed big the whole time they were there out of deference to the humans. He also met Booturn and Buckles who went with Birdie and Missus Kettle, and who came dressed as dwarfs and did not care about the humans. They had more food and drink which Booturn said was fit for human consumption, the drink being Bjorn the Bear’s recipe. Also, Inga and Brant Svenson were there, sort of a couple. It was a feast on top of the feast, but after a couple of hours, Wilam and Kirstie slipped away to their room.

 Around nine o’clock, Wilam and Kirstie got up. Kirstie felt uncomfortable about something, and after assuring Wilam that she was not uncomfortable with him, she lay there in the quiet trying to puzzle it out. Wilam pointed out that someone was in the main room, talking. They found Inga and Brant Svenson still there. They must have stayed when all the others left.

“Wilam,” Brant said, and smiled. “Inga tells me it is a Norse tradition that people stay by the couple to make sure they are undisturbed on their wedding night.”

“We are undisturbed,” Wilam said, but I think Kirstie is having some kind of premonition. No idea what about.”

Kirstie confessed to Inga that she imagined that whatever troubled Avalon also troubled her; but it was not that. It was more than that, like something else. “I did not feel troubled by Avalon all week. It just never occurred to me. Soren got well, and I got well all at once, the minute Wilam showed up. But now, something is wrong somewhere. If not Avalon, then where?”

“I feel the trouble myself, now that you mention it.” Inga said, and that seemed all Kirstie needed to trigger her actions. She stepped back into her room and to her closet.

“What’s up?” Brant wondered.

Kirstie looked at her armor. She kept it with her rather than sending it back to Avalon as usual. She felt afraid, even then, that if she called to it, it might be slow to respond. She decided not to risk it and stripped to dress the old-fashioned way. Inga kindly averted Brant’s eyes.

“She’s not my little girl anymore,” Inga said while she kept Brant from peeking.

Wilam asked, “Where’s the fire?” Always ready for adventure, it was one of the things Kirstie liked about him.

“I’m not sure,” she said, but with her weapons in place she felt ready for it.

“I’m not sure either,” Inga agreed. Kirstie and Inga looked at each other for a minute while the men stared. They agreed to go to the big house. Kirstie was not certain if the trouble would be found there, but it seemed a logical place to start.

They stepped outside to find someone peeping through the window. Young Erik escaped from being stuck with the babies, Soren and Hodur. He was out much later than he should have been. Hilda was probably worried about him. He started to turn, to run away, but stopped and spoke instead.

“Where are you going?” he asked, with a bright smile but some embarrassment at having been caught.

“Just looking for trouble,” Kirstie answered and smiled her reassurance. She didn’t mind, even if he peeked through the window while she changed. She simply did not have that sense of prudishness common among some. Instead, she would have felt sorry for him if he had not looked. “Come along,” she told him on a whim. Wilam responded by putting his arm around the boy and bringing him to the front of the line.

“Captain,” the boy said, sheepishly. He appeared a bit awed by a real longship captain, though Wilam was the navigator, not the captain. At eight years old, Erik already angled for a place in someone’s ship. He wanted that nailed down before he got old enough.

“We must hurry.” Inga was the only one paying attention to the task at hand. The rest of them seemed more like they were out for a moonlight stroll. They hurried at her word.

The big house looked still lit up from the all-day feast. They saw a big man, running away from the building at all speed. He showed clearly against the bright windows of the house for a minute, but rapidly vanished into the dark. By the time they arrived, the drama was over. They found broken furniture in several places and a broken man sitting against the wall. He bled profusely from his stomach and his left hand did little to stop it. His right hand hung limply at his side.

“Father McAndrews!” Inga jumped to his side. She was the Volva in training, after all, and no doubt would fill Mother Vrya’s place soon enough. She quickly checked the wound and just as quickly concluded. “There is nothing I can do.” Inga pleaded in Kirstie’s direction.

“Erik.” Wilam got the boy’s attention. “Go find the strangers, Lind and Gruden. Just find out where they are and come back here immediately.” Wilam looked at Inga, questioning, because he did not want to put the boy in danger. All she could do was wave without looking up. Kirstie and Inga were too busy. “Go.” He scooted the boy out the door.

“Wilam.” Brant paused. “No, I had better fetch the young priest, and Kerga. You don’t know the village well at all.”

“Nor you,” Wilam said.

Inga stood, shaking her head for the man on the ground and for Brant. “No,” she said. “I’ll go. Your arm may be needed if the murderers come back.” She hid her tears as she gave Brant a quick peck on the cheek and left.

“I failed.” Father McAndrews became conscious. “I fought. I raised my hand to them. Lord, forgive me. I failed.”

“You did not!” Kirstie shot at him as she tied the old priest’s shirt securely around his middle in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. “You did not fail. Jesus never said turn the other cheek to the devil. He said resist the devil and he will flee.”

“They did not flee.” The Priest took her hand. “They are merely men, not demons. They lured me here with the promise that they would hear my testimony, and I suspected they were lying. And even knowing this, I struck back. I failed.”

“Whether men or demons I will not argue.” Kirstie said, even more softly. “But do not worry. Our lord already paid the penalty for all of our failures.” She would not argue with the priest any further.

“Yes,” he said and suddenly smiled. “It is right I should enter heaven in total dependance on the Savior.” He closed his eyes.

Wilam gently lifted Kirstie by the shoulders. “Inga’s back with young Damien.” Brant spoke from the window. “And Erik at a run. Good boy.”

“They left.” Erik interrupted everyone and then took a long breath because he was winded. Father Damien knelt by his mentor. Inga said Kerga was coming in a minute but slow to react to the news. “They sailed off just now on the evening tide,” Erik finished his report. “I saw them untie the boat.”

A crack like thunder shook the big room, and everyone shielded his or her eyes for a minute against the great light.

“The old priest?” Wilam wondered.

“No.” Inga pointed when the light became bearable. They saw a shimmering figure, a woman, floating near the ceiling, a couple of feet off the ground, looking around as if trying to orient herself to new surroundings. Kirstie recognized her, or rather, her Nameless self far in the past saw her through Kirstie’s eyes and gave her a name.

“Mother Freyja.” She called the goddess and the attention of the goddess focused on her. Freyja continued to shimmer and float in an eerie ghost-like way, and Kirstie alone knew it was because she was a ghost. She, and the other Gods of Aesgard and Vanheim passed over to the other side ages ago.

“Kirstie, my daughter.” The ghost spoke. The others stared while the goddess continued. “You are my son even when you are my daughter.”

“Mother Freyja.” Kirstie interrupted before the others could start asking questions. “Father McAndrews.” She pointed.

“No, my heart,” Freyja responded. “My Nameless son knows the laws of the gods. Rule number one is that mortals die, and number two is the gods must not change rule one, even for favorites.” Kirstie dropped her head. She knew Freyja was right.

“But now, listen closely because I do not know how much time I will have to speak,” the goddess continued. “Your soul, Avalon, has been far more plagued than you imagine. It has been hidden from you. That was part of the problem, yet it may also help you in the time to come. The one of fire and water found my secret way between Aesgard and Avalon, but your father found him and drove him back to the golden streets of Aesgard. My love now guards the way. But soon you must go the way of the heart and with my son within, you will not go alone. Send my love to me.”

“Mother.” Kirstie spoke loudly because the goddess started to fade. “Freyja, what do you mean, the way of the heart?” Freyja smiled a smile so warm and loving the people could hardly take it all in. Every heart felt warmed, and everyone there thought for the first time they knew what love was. Something like golden sparkles came from the goddess and settled on Kirstie’s head. Then Freyja looked sad, and everyone gasped to see that love vanish. A small tear fell from the eyes of the goddess before she left. Kirstie reached down to the floor and picked up the teardrop of solid gold.

“What is this?” Kerga burst into the big house.

“He’s gone.” Father Damien spoke of Father McAndrews at almost the same time.

“A shame on our homes and hospitality,” Inga said.

“Wilam, take me home,” Kirstie pleaded, and he did. Kirstie suddenly felt very sad, but she did not cry.

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

MONDAY

The Journey Begins. Kirstie is headed toward Northumbria, and Yasmina is headed out into the desert still looking for a safe place to call home. MONDAY. Happy Reading

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

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Elgar, your Saxon,” Wilam said.

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

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

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

“A giant?” Wilam asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“What crimes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lind and Gurden?”

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

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

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

“In the time of the Christ?”

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

“But not all.”

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

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

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

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

“This is my home,” Kirstie said defensively.

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

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

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

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

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Kirstie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not nearly enough.” The priest admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

“So?” Kerga did not understand.

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

“What do they prattle about?” Kerga guessed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Some other day, perhaps,” she said.

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

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

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

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Kirstie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wake up, sleepy,” she said.

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

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

“Wilam?” Kirstie asked without a pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They kissed.

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

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

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

MONDAY

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

*

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

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Yasmina

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you. Are you all right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Medieval 6: K and Y 6 Sickness and the Cure, part 1 of 2

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Kirstie

Kirstie found Soren in the water off the edge of the rocks where she told him not to play. Kirstie jumped into the half frozen, early spring water in a flash. She hauled the boy to the shore and stripped. She wrung out her dress and threw it around him as fast as she could to keep him warm, thinking that if she got too cold in the air she could always return to the water for a time. The water never felt cold to her. On the coldest winter days, the kind that chilled to the bone and even the blazing fire could not thaw, she had been known to walk to the end of the dock and throw herself into the icy water. After ten minutes or so underwater, she always came out warmed and refreshed. It occurred to Kirstie that maybe she was a sort of Viking mutant. She didn’t know.

Kirstie rubbed Soren’s back while Inga rubbed his arms and legs, but Soren kept looking over his shoulder until Kirstie finally looked with her own eyes. A bear stood about twenty feet away, down by the water’s edge, evidently hungry.

“Most bears will leave you alone if you leave them alone,” she told Soren. All the same, she got him up and they headed back to the skiff.

“But he ran at me and frightened me, and I slipped,” Soren explained.

“If he wanted you, he would have dived in after you.” Inga told him. “Bears are good swimmers, like your mother.”

“Stupid, freezing mother.” Kirstie said. She had forgotten that she had clothes on call, and her armor, of course. All was kept safe on Avalon for whatever need she might have according to whatever life she was living. “Foolish me,” Kirstie said. She reached out with her heart and called to the dress she wanted which was made by the fee of the glen. Nothing happened.

“What was that call?” Inga asked. Kirstie didn’t answer. She just stomped her foot in annoyance. She called to another dress, and boots besides. The dress should have simply appeared, fitted to her form, and the boots on her feet, but again nothing happened. She became angry. She pictured her armor and herself wearing it, with her battleaxe at her back, her long knife across the small of her back and her cloak around her. She demanded it, and it came, but after a moment’s hesitation. Kirstie felt stymied. The outfit had been made for the Traveler by the ancient Greco-Roman Gods. Its’ appearance should have been instantaneous and automatic. Something felt wrong.

Unfortunately, she did not have time to worry at the moment. She had her soggy dress off Soren and had him stripped down so she could wrap him in her dry cloak. She carried him to the skiff while he sneezed once. It took them about an hour to row back home against the wind, and by the time they arrived, Kirstie felt sure Soren had a fever.

Yasmina

Yasmina and Aisha wore their riding clothes. Al-Rahim had hers and Aisha’s horses ready and waiting in the gate. Hasan, captain of the harem guard in Mahdiya and al-Rahim would ride out front. Yasmina and Aisha would follow, and a half-dozen guards would ride behind them. The people in the streets just had to get out of the way. They came at the back of the column of soldiers that followed al-Mahdi and al-Hakim, so they got all the dust. Yasmina was grateful for her veil on that ride.

Al-Qa’im wanted to encourage his son but opted to stay in the palace with his wife. He did not feel well, or so he said. Yasmina knew that Creeper the imp and a few of his select friends had a talk with al-Qa’im. The heir apparent had begun to make noises about wanting a grandson, and if Yasmina could not produce a child, they would find someone who could. Camela, the imp disguised as an old lady in the palace got her husband to scare the man half to death. No wonder he did not feel well.

They headed toward the factory which was outside of town in a secluded area. There was something al-Hakim wanted to show the Caliph. He called it a demonstration but did not explain what he was demonstrating. Yasmina badgered the poor boy until he allowed her to tag along. She was just glad to finally find out what was going on in that secret factory. Only one thing surprised her. She found her saddle bags packed with some of her personal items, like her hairbrush and things. When she asked Aisha about it, Aisha told her al-Rahim imagined one of those hags she told him about, or anyway, something that was not good, and we might need to make a quick getaway.

“I thought that, once,” Yasmina admitted. “But al-Hakim is such a nice guy. I can’t imagine it.” When they arrived and dismounted, Yasmina heard a distinctive cracking sound in the distance. She figured it out in seconds and hardly needed Doctor Mishka to tell her what made that sound. “Shit,” she said, plenty loud but fortunately in English so only her elf maid caught it.

“Al-Rahim,” Yasmina got his attention as al-Mahdi and the men with him went inside the building. “How many of your men can we trust?”

“Possibly all. I personally picked them. That depends on the assignment.”

Yasmina called to her armor and got out her bow and arrows. Aisha followed her lead. “I am probably going to have to kill some people, probably including al-Hakim, and blow up the building and everything in it.”

“Ziri and Gwafa, follow,” al-Rahim decided. “The rest of you stay here and guard the horses.”

Captain Hasan stepped up to ask, “What?” He took a second look at Yasmina in her armor.

“There is trouble inside. Expect a fight.” Ziri and Gwafa drew their weapons and shields, then grabbed bows and arrows like the women.

“What trouble? Fight who?” Hasan asked.

Yasmina interrupted and turned to the four guards for the horses. “You four men need to ride back to the palace in all haste in case the enemy goes there. Do your duty and guard the women. Hurry, hurry.” They mounted slowly, eyeing Hasan and al-Rahim. Al-Rahim waved them off and they started out, but they did not hurry.

“What are you talking about?” Hasan insisted on an answer.

“Hush,” Yasmina said. “You talk loud enough, and the enemy will hear us coming.”

“Quiet,” al Rahim said, and Hasan quieted for the moment. They stepped to the door where Yasmina stopped them. She touched Ziri and herself and waved to the left. She pointed to Aisha and Gwafa and waved to the right. To al-Rahim and Hasan she said quietly, “Guard the door.”

Medieval 6: K and Y 5 Divorce, part 2 of 2

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Inga let Yrsa go home while she came up with Kirstie’s four-year-old son, Soren. Kirstie grabbed Soren and rocked him gently with her tears, and Inga stayed right beside her.

“Mama?” Soren cried a little, too, but he was not sure what he was crying about.

“Every time he was home, I tried to make it work. I tried for four years, nearly five.” Kirstie told Inga. “How stupid was that?”

“Not stupid.” Inga said. “You want a husband and a home, and you did everything you could to make it work. There is nothing stupid in that.”

Kirstie cried a little more. “He is so mean. He’s meaner than Severas, greedier than Corriden, far uglier than Sabellius, and stupider than Otto, Louis and Charles, the Three Stooges put together.”

“Who are they?” Inga asked softly.

Kirstie shook her head wistfully. “People who will live a hundred years from now, right before Y1K. It doesn’t matter.” She paused, then shouted as if the little speck of a ship in the distance could hear her. “I wish you lived a hundred years from now. Then I would not have to suffer with your mean, greedy, stupid, ugly self!”

“Mama?” Soren watched her closely.

“It will be all right, dearest. You will see. Some day you will be a good man, a good captain, with your own ship.”

“Like Papa?” he asked.

“No.” Kirstie said flatly. “Not like your father. I said you will be a good man and have a good wife and many happy children.”

“Kirstie.” Inga touched her arm. “You have been a good wife. Even if it is over, you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Wilam?” she whispered.

“You deserve him.” Inga said to Kirstie’s surprise. “A good wife needs a good man and a happy child.” She included Soren.

“Soren,” Kirstie said, holding him back a little to look at him. “Are you happy?”

Soren looked at his mother, turned to Inga, and then looked back at his mother. “I guess,” he shrugged.

“Well.” Kirstie said, feeling a little better after her cry. “Let us do something to make you happy.” She stood and took him by the hand. Inga took his other hand and they all decided to get out the little skiff to picnic on the other side of the bay, and maybe catch a few fish.

“Inga.” Kirstie said later in the day. “What am I going to do?” It was a problem for women in her world. The Viking lifestyle produced too many widows, lonely women who became a burden to their children and the community. Many of those women suffered from hunger and hopelessness for years. It was why men got away with so much, and why so many women stayed home despite their better sense. At least her village had a tradition of bringing such women together for mutual help and support. The Witcher Women worked in linen and wool and worked as tailors and seamstresses, so they contributed to the community and were not just burdens.

Kirstie was rich compared to most women. She was rich like the nobility. She had properties and tenants. She had thralls to work her land. She was looking at another piece of property on the other side of her house. She was thinking about getting some horses to ride like Yasmina. She would need more thralls or hired men. Maybe a family of farmers, like serfs. Still, it would not help her in her loneliness. What if Wilam changed his mind over the last year? Surely Kare will move to Nidaros full time. Let him go, but that would leave her alone.

Kirstie repeated the question. “What am I going to do?”

“Do not doubt Wilam,” Inga said, and indicated she had been thinking about it.

“I don’t,” she said without much conviction. “But he is an outsider. He might never fit in here. I don’t know.”

“Well,” Inga drew out the word. “You could always sell your properties and with all that money you and Wilam could buy a fine home in Northumbria. I am sure King Eadwulf would make room for the savior of Lindisfarne.”

Kirstie paused before she shook her head. “My place is here. I need access to longships and their ability to travel long distances. I have a feeling this struggle with Abraxas is not over, banished from the earth though he is for all time. I don’t know what Wilam will say. There is so much about me that he does not know. He may yet change his mind.”

“Well, you could come back to the Witcher Women. Mother Vrya would not mind if you did,” she said.

“I don’t know if I could.” Kirstie sounded pensive. “It is honestly not my place.”

“Faugh.” Inga said with a smile and a touch on her arm. “You have been blessed by the gods. The water and the fire, Njord and Fryer themselves have gifted you beyond any ordinary women. You have more real magic in your little finger than all the Witcher Women who ever lived. Things changed mightily the day Elgar the Saxon killed the Hag that drove the Vanlil to make war on the fjord.” Kirstie nodded. She understood.

“Then again, you changed everything for all women on the day you picked up a sword. Why, you went to sea with the men, not once, but three times in your youth. You know how to navigate. You know about sails and sailing. You have even slain a man, a rite of passage that only boys hope to attain.”

“All that is true.” Kirstie said. “But it means nothing. For four years now I have been a wife and mother, just like any other in the village and whether I picked him or not, Kare has been my husband and father to my son. Now that we are divorced, where will I go? What will I do?” Kirstie sounded more distressed than she actually felt.

“I would say you can do anything you want.” Inga said. “You proved that much on more than one occasion.”

“Perhaps Soren and I should run away and join the circus.” Kirstie said out of frustration.

“What’s a circus?” Inga asked. She always asked, though Kirstie rarely answered.

“Mama!” They heard Soren’s cry from a distance. “Mama!” It was his cry of distress and Kirstie got to her feet and ran as fast as she could.

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

MONDAY

Yasmina does not want to be left out of this divorce business but unexpectedly faces the servants of the Masters and Kirstie is called on to fight in Sickness and the Cure. Until then, Happy Reading

*

Medieval 6: K and Y 5 Divorce, part 1 of 2

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Wilam and Kirstie spent as much time together as they could over the week his ship was in port. Sadly, it did not amount to much time. Fortunately, it was enough time for Kirstie to know she would say yes when he asked again. She realized how important it was that she decided to divorce Kare first, back when she never expected to see Wilam again.

Wilam left all too soon, but he promised to be back in a year. They had a contract with the village. Kirstie swore the divorce would be settled by the time he returned, but then Kare did not come back to Strindlos for almost the entire year. She heard he returned to Nidaros after a roughly five months of good weather. He stayed there a couple of months, sailed off again for another couple of months before the winter came full on. He landed again in Nidaros and returned to Strindlos only in the early spring. He saw the grain and wool as well as the furs and hides she collected and tanned for trade. He also found the two ivory walrus tusks the dwarfs brought her in early March, around Soren’s fourth birthday.

“They rut in February and the old ones die off then, sometimes,” Booturn said.

Kirstie asked if she could keep Birdie and Missus Kettle for another year. He said, “By all means,” but she could tell he was beginning to miss her. She vowed she would find a cook she could hire, which is how she preferred to think of it, and another woman she might get to do the wool, linen, and the general sewing and constant mending and washing needed around the place.

“Too bad Mother Freyja is not around these days,” she told Yrsa one afternoon when they walked home from visiting Kirstie’s properties. When Yrsa asked why, she said, “Because she could find just the right two women for Thomas and Gustavs, and I would not have to worry about them so much.”

“They seem content,” Yrsa said.

Kirstie agreed. They had no complaints. But content and happy were two different things. “I guess now I have to depend on the Lord to direct my steps,” she said, but did not explain what she meant.

When they got home, Kirstie found Kare rummaging around in the barn and drooling over the ivory, which he found, picked up, and covered with a blanket so no one would know. He started toward the barn door and got caught with the goods. He had to quickly toss them aside.

“Get out,” Kirstie yelled first thing before she even realized he was stealing her stuff.

“What?” He played stupid.

“You no longer have any business being here. I’m divorcing you.”

“What?” He got suddenly serious. “You can’t do that. You are my wife.”

“I can do that, and I am doing that.” She let out some steam. “Get out and don’t come back.”

He got triggered. Kirstie saw the red boil over in Kare’s eyes. He had to have heard about her decision to divorce him and maybe he thought he could talk her out of it, but she knew how to push his buttons. He clearly wanted to hit her but paused when he heard a voice behind him.

“You heard her,” Thomas and Gustavs both stood there, and Thomas had a hoe while Gustavs carried the pitchfork.

“You heard her,” Yrsa mirrored the words and appeared beside Kirstie, her knife in her hand. Booturn also stepped up, and he held an axe as big as himself.

“Get out,” Kirstie yelled again.

“I would do as the lady says,” Booturn spoke calmly.

“Okay. All right. I’m going,” Kare backed down, but he kicked the ivory tusks and slammed the barn door as he left.

Kirstie fought back the angry tears. “He came back to steal my stuff,” she concluded.

“You need to get to Inga, Mother Vrya, and Chief Kerga first thing in the morning,” Yrsa said, showing a remarkable bit of sense. Kirstie nodded and went into the house. When Inga came with Soren, she told Inga what she was going to do.

“I’ll be ready,” Inga said, and Kirstie thanked her. She fed Soren and put him to bed. She crawled into her own bed alone until Soren toddled in and got up in the bed beside his mother. Then Kirstie slept.

When the morning came, when the sun just touched the horizon, Yrsa came to take Soren’s hand. They followed Kirstie who went straight to the Witcher Women. Despite the early hour, Mother Vrya was ready and waiting, and Inga stood with her. They got to the big house in time to see Chief Kerga go in ahead of them.

Chief Kerga had to send two men to fetch Kare. Kare was preparing his ship for departure, and he refused to come on his own, by request, or by an order from the chief, so he had to be brought in. Jarl and Harrold were there to witness along with Mother Vrya and several of the village elders. It did not take long for Kirstie to explain. Kare was unfaithful, a drunk and a thief besides. Yrsa was a witness to his thieving. He tried to walk off with her ivory.

“The word of a woman supporting a woman,” Kare said. “That hardly counts as proof.”

“Thomas and Gustavs were both witnesses, too,” she said.

“The word of thralls? What did you promise them to lie for you?”

“There are other witnesses, but I hesitate to call them. Anyway, it does not matter. You were caught stealing before.”

“What? You have no proof of that.”

“But we do,” Jarl interrupted. He called two men to testify. They were once part of Kare’s crew, but Jarl enticed them to sail on his ship, and they did not take much enticement.

“Yes,” they said. “We were with him last year when he tried to take the grain and wool from the barn. He said it was his to take. We did not know.”

“But it was not his to take,” Kirstie said. “Besides, he sold my thralls, my property without permission. He owes me thirty pieces of silver. Better yet, he should be forced to go and get my thralls back at whatever cost. Besides that, he hit me once, and more important, he hit my son. You all saw the black eye. I know, some men beat their wives and children. Some men take from the family and from their wives and get away with that. Some men even have lovers on the side. But all these added together say I cannot trust him. The marriage is dead and should be ended. Besides that, he never paid the bride price, and for that the marriage should be counted as if it never happened. I would rather have poor Soren be a bastard son than continue in this farce.”

Kare choked on the words “bride price.” He tried to think of some defense, but he had nothing. The beating, the mistress or two, even taking the wife’s property without permission might not of themselves be grounds enough for a divorce; but he forgot all about the bride price. It was too late. He could never pay enough. She would not accept it, and without paying the bride price, they were not really married. He finally said, “But you are the one I was always going to marry. You are my wife.” His anger flared, but he got cut off by Harrold’s words.

“Not anymore.” He looked up, not at Kirstie, but at the ceiling, and said, “Divorce.”

Jarl said “Divorce.”

Mother Vrya and Chief Kerga said, “Divorce,” and the rest of the men said it, though some of them whispered it.

Kare roared. “I’ll be back soon enough, and then we will settle this.” He stomped out of the building.

“It’s already settled.” Kirstie shot after him with her anger. She raced to the door. “I won’t be here when you get back.”

“You had better be.” Kare shouted. “Or I will find out who he is and kill him.”

“No.” Kirstie shook her determined head, her light blond hair going every which way. “It is over between us.”

“You are my wife.” He roared once more.

“Forced.” She growled. “But no more.”

Kare rushed back and his hand came up to slap her face, but Kirstie stood her ground ready to fight him off. “You know what will happen if you ever strike me.” She said in a low, hard voice. She would kill him, and he knew it. He thought better about the slap. With a growl of his own, Kare spun around, raced to his ship and they cast off. As the oars came out and the ship began to pull out into the fjord, Kirstie sat down, right on the dock, and cried. All those years of pent-up frustration, disappointment, and feelings of hopelessness came out all at once.

Medieval 6: K and Y 4 Happy Soon, part 3 of 3

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Kirstie

“It is well known that a woman warrior, a shield maiden stood alone on the field beneath Lindisfarne Abbey. She alone faced four hundred Norsemen and asked them, no, demanded that they not do any evil on that holy ground. Some say it was arrogance. Some call it hubris. But the Holy Church has determined that the angels of the Lord came around her to protect and strengthen her arm for the trial. Indeed, she fought the devil on that field and prevailed, and the Northmen, being men of honor, accepted the outcome and withdrew from that place, thus sparing the abbey and the holy island.”

“That was not exactly how it went,” Harrold mumbled.

“Near enough,” Rune whispered.

“Lindisfarne is ruined these hundred years. They have no gold, no silver, no jewels of any kind. Only a few ragged monks remain to keep the fire burning. But it does remain a symbol of peace and salvation for all the people, and this the church knows well. Therefore, they established a small purse and went to King Eadwulf II to find the woman and reward her with all of their thanks. The king was so moved by the courage of the woman who faced certain death, he doubled the purse, and we were contracted to find her and bring her the sign of our gratitude.”

“And Fairhair?” Jarl asked. “You said the king’s business.”

“Hush,” Harrold said. He liked a good story.

“Quiet,” Chief Kerga added.

“That first year we sailed to Kaupang, the chief trading town of the Norse, the king’s town. Harald Fairhair took half of our goods without compensation, and we dared not complain. Somehow, he heard about the attack on Lindisfarne and became enraged. He asked who did something so stupid without his permission. He was told Ulf Hakenson from Steinker, but Ulf got killed before there was a battle, so the others withdrew. That calmed the king a little. “That is one bad situation I don’t want to get involved in,” he said. “Let the Saxons and Danes kill each other off. I have plenty of Geats and Danes by the shipload right here to deal with.” We got out of there and said nothing about Trondelag or Strindlos. So, if the king comes here looking for the men involved in the raid on Northumbria, he won’t hear about it from us.”

“Why would you care what happens to us?” Harrold asked. It was an honest question and got an honest answer from Wilam.

“Because we want a good trading partner, and it would not start things well by pointing a finger at you. Right now, we are the only ship from Northumbria who is brave enough to dare the waters of the Norse. Others will follow soon enough, but we would like to be established and on good terms before that happens.”

“Story,” Chief Kerga said as if the interruption was rude. Brant picked up where he left off.

“In the second year, we sailed to Agden, not wanting to get tangled in Vestfold again and not wanting to give up half our cargo for nothing. We sailed the shore all spring and summer. Rogaland, Hordaland, Sogn and the great fjord there. We had to give some of our goods again for nothing, but we also made some trades, so it was not a total loss. However, we did not find Trondelag. We found many fjords, but the best information we could get about Trondelag was further north, further north. By the time we got to South Moeri and we found out Trondelag and the fjord we were looking for was in North Moeri, the weather began to turn. We headed home with little to show for two years of trade, but now we at least knew where we were headed.”

“In the third year, the king got word that Aethelwold, the son of Siefried died under strange circumstances, and Cnut of York invested his sons, Halfdan, Eowils, and young Ingwaer to follow after him. King Eadwulf kept his ships close to home that year. We did not go out. Then, this year, we came straight to this place, but we were stopped at the entrance to the fjord. We told them we were on the king’s business and looking for the village of Strindlos. They were good enough to give us directions and let us go. We got stopped a second time in the narrow place by Stadr.”

“We are on the king’s business,” we said.

“And what business is that?” the captain asked.

“It is the king’s business,” I told him. “Should I turn around and go back and tell the king one man would not let us proceed?”

“We are headed to Strindlos with word of another hag,” Wilam interrupted. “Should we tell the hag that Stadr seems a very tasty village.”

“That won’t be necessary. You may proceed.” Several of the men that sat listening laughed, nervously.

“We almost got stopped a third time, but we told Captain Jarl that we were on the king’s business. We did not, however, say which king. The box.” The two men guarding the chest set it on the table in front of Captain Olaf. “Kirstie,” Brant said. “Please accept this reward and the thanks of both the church and the king, that is, King Eadwulf II.” he opened the box and the men saw it was full of silver and some gold coins.”

Kirstie did not blink. “Please bring the box over here,” she said, and walked to the table they used when a ship returned and had to divide up their take fairly under the watchful eye of the chief and the elders. They brought her the chest and she dumped it on the table. It did not have as much in it as it appeared. The chest had thick sides. It took her a few minutes under everyone’s watchful eye to divide the contents into eight equal piles. She had two pieces of silver left over and she handed them to Mother Vrya for the Witcher Women.

“Why eight piles?” Jarl asked. “One per ship?”

Kirstie shook her head. “Njal’s ship, Odger’s ship, and the other captain I can’t remember deserve nothing. They only left when they were outnumbered. One pile is for Chief Kerga and the village of Strindlos. One is for me, captain of this ship. It is the ship’s portion. A second is my personal cut, me and Yrsa. She pushed the two piles back into the chest and closed the chest. For these last five, I need two leather pouches if there are any.” She got offered three pouches. One was clearly too small, but the other two would do well enough. “These five piles are for the ships that came to their senses and to my side of the field. You deserve a fair share of the thanks.” Kirstie filled the two pouches with a portion each and that left three portions on the table, one for Rune, one for Jarl, and one for Harrold. Each portion had a gold piece, but Kirstie picked up the gold piece off Harrold’s pile and spoke to him.

“But you already received your gold piece.”

He did not argue. Instead, he reached for the inner pocket of his tunic and pulled out the little golden Cross Father McAndrews gave her. She was surprised he still had it and had not melted it down. “I have heard the story,” he said. “I think I will keep this if I may.”

“You may,” she said, and handed him the gold piece as well.

When all was done, she said, “These two bags are for Captain Erikson and Captain, the other one.”

“Roarson,” Rune said.

Kirstie nodded, picked up the chest and the two bags and juggled her way back to her seat where she tried to hide her face behind her hair.

After that, it got trade boring. Kirstie put her grain and carded wool into the pot of Strindlos trade goods, but then she and Inga snuck out. The men would have to work out the rest of it, and she felt glad to see Wilam right in there bargaining with the best of them.