hag

Golden Door Chapter 11 Chris in the Dark, part 2 of 2

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When he came to the actual end of the tunnel, he came to a tremendous underground cavern. Chris could neither see the far walls nor the ceiling, so he wondered how big the cavern might be. Then he heard something he had not expected—the sound of water, waves breaking on a shoreline, and it sounded close. He stepped into the light.

Two braziers stood against the stone wall, and the shoreline of some underground sea looked hardly fifty feet away. The water appeared black dark and hard to see, even with his night eyes, but at that point on the shore, it looked as if someone built a kind of dock made of stone. He looked over the water and thought there might be something out there, far off. He imagined it was not likely the other side of the sea, but perhaps an island of some sort. He squinted and tried to focus when someone grabbed him by the arms from behind.

“Got him,” a male voice said. Chris did not struggle, because he saw a female step into his line of vision, and for a moment her red hair appeared to be on fire, though otherwise she looked very attractive.

“Who are you?” The woman asked.

“Chris, and you?” Chris spoke as calmly as he could.

The woman looked young. Chris guessed her to be about his age or a little older when she cocked her head to get a good look at him before she answered. “Heathfire. And my companion is Broomwick.”

“Well, you must be good at sneaking up on people because I didn’t see you at all.”

Heathfire looked at Chris like he had to be dumb. “We were in the braziers. Duh!”

“I’m sorry?” Chris did not understand.

“Hey! We are supposed to be asking the questions. Now, where did you come from?”

“Home, originally,” Chris answered. “I came down the tunnel with Deathwalker. The troll road.”  He pointed with his head.

“Deathwalker?” Broomwick slackened his grip, but he did not let go. Heathfire appeared curious as if she knew something, but it would not come together in her mind.

“Yeah,” Chris said. “I haven’t done anything if that is what you’re thinking.”

“Hey! You there!” The shout came from behind them.

“Chris!” Heathfire suddenly shouted. “You’re the Storyteller’s son.”

“I am?” Chris smiled as Broomwick let go and even took a moment to straighten out Chris’ shirt where he had wrinkled it.

“Sorry,” Broomwick said. “Just doing my job you understand. Guarding the wharf and all that. All okay?” Broomwick did not wait for an answer. He became a ball of flame and rushed back to one of the braziers while Heathfire laughed.

Deathwalker came up beside Chris and made sure no damage got done. He gave Heathfire a stern look, which she ignored.

“First stranger in a month and it turns out to be you, and we even knew you were coming.”

“Did he just go on fire?” Chris asked.

Heathfire nodded. “He’s a fire sprite. So am I,” she said. “I take it you’re human, mortal I mean.” Chris returned her nod.

“Now, young woman.” Deathwalker started, but Heathfire interrupted.

“Put it out, Gramps.”

“We need a ship.” Deathwalker finished his thought. “And young man, you might as well join us.” He spoke to the brazier and a flame face with a slightly worried expression stuck up for a second before it scooted away from the brass and took the shape of a burly young man.

“Sorry,” Broomwick said.

“You already said that.” Heathfire teased.

“No, I mean sorry. There haven’t been any ships in dock since that one, you know, took over.”

“That’s right.” Heathfire looked serious for a minute. “And no relief, either. I swear, if I ingest another faggot of charcoal I’ll up-chuck.”

“Charming thought,” Chris said. He wondered what a fire sprite might throw up.

Heathfire stepped close. She took Chris’ hand, and he felt a momentary spark between them which made Chris blink and Heathfire smile.

“Most guys think I’m pretty hot. What about you?” She looked at him in a way which only a fool could misunderstand.

“An understatement,” Chris said, diplomatically. Heathfire giggled, but Chris could feel the heat coursing through his hand.

“Ahem!” Deathwalker interrupted. “We need to get to the island of the castle,” he said. “Our mission is to set Lord Deepdigger free of his enchantment and set the women free as well, if possible.”

“Just the two of you?” Heathfire let go of Chris’ hand, stepped back and covered her giggle. “I mean, Kairos’ son and all, but still.”

“I’ll help,” Broomwick stepped forward. Chris looked at him. “Least I can do,” he admitted.

“Thanks.” Chris offered his hand.

“Me, too,” Heathfire said. She put her hand up like a real volunteer and let her eyes roll up toward the ceiling to suggest that she still thought they were crazy. “Maybe we can at least find something better to eat.”

“May I come?” All four turned to see an ugly old woman stand in the shadows by the sea. Chris did not understand, but Heathfire screamed, Deathwalker gripped Chris’ arm with something of an iron grip, and Broomwick rushed for the comfort of his brazier.

The old woman appeared to have risen-up out of the underground sea.

“Hag.” Deathwalker whispered the name of the thing, and as he spoke, the old woman cackled and began to change. She very quickly became seven feet tall and appeared to be covered with prickly, matted hair or fur. The monster looked incredibly strong. Chris especially did not like the way she or it drooled while looking at him.

“Stoked up.” They heard Broomwick’s voice behind them. “Football tackle,” Broomwick yelled, as he shot out of the brazier, a streak of flame, and set the creature on fire. To Chris’ dismay, far from being hurt, the creature seemed to revel in the flames, grew another foot taller and appeared stronger than ever.

“Football tackle.” Deathwalker repeated Broomwick’s words and yanked on Chris’ arm. To be sure, Chris would have rather run in the opposite direction, but he could hardly let Deathwalker tackle the monster alone. Deathwalker might have been far stronger than he looked, but he was not nearly strong enough to take down that beast alone; so, Chris ran beside Deathwalker, and together they bumped the beast while it was still distracted and reveling in the flames. It swatted them both aside like two troublesome insects, but it also lost its balance for a second.

A new figure, someone much bigger than Chris hit the off-balance beast, and though even the hulking person had only a little effect on the monster, it became enough to knock the beast over. The hag fell back into the sea and screamed at the last second when she realized she would hit the water. The fire with which the beast became covered, the fire that made the beast grow in size and strength, got doused all at once in a great cloud of steam, and the cavern filled with the agonizing screams of death. Chris could not tear his eyes away. Almost as quickly as the old woman transformed into the frightening monster, so now the monster changed back partially into the woman. Then the arms and legs, chest and face of the old woman collapsed and sank, in a sense imploded. It looked as if the bones and muscles which had once given the body shape had been liquefied and could no longer hold the skin to that shape. When it was over, Chris saw very little of the hag that remained afloat. He saw less than an oil slick on the surface of the water.

“My thanks,” Deathwalker said. Chris looked. Their help had not been Broomwick in solid form, and certainly not Heathfire who spent those few short moments trying hard not to scream again. This brute looked young, had fangs for teeth and claws for hands, but he grinned and shook Deathwalker’s hand, so Chris imagined he might not be too bad.

Medieval 6: K and Y 17 The Rainbow, part 1 of 2

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Kirstie

The next morning, Kirstie did not feel a great deal better. She tried to shrug it off, but her heart and head knew there was more to it than that. The excited cries and shouting in the far distance woke her. She wondered if they caught the murderer. Poor Father Damien. He worked tirelessly to bring the good news to her pagan people. He seemed to be making some real headway in Nidaross and up on the Frosta Peninsula, but then he got found three days ago by the Varnes River, shredded to pieces. Some said a bear did it, but others whispered the word Hag. Kirstie thought it could not be a hag. Abraxas, the would-be-god, and hag maker was banished to the second heavens and not allowed again on the earth. It had to be something else, but what?

The shouts came again all the way from the village. She recognized that sometimes, in the right weather conditions, the sound would echo off the mountains around the fjord. Still, this was shouting and loud. She could not imagine Strindlos making all that fuss over a sail on the horizon. Old Captain Olaf was expected. She imagined it was him coming from his stop in Nidaross. She sat up with hope. Wilam stood by the window and tossed Kirstie her dress. “Hurry,” he said. “They are coming this way.”

Kirstie took a moment to reflect. That much sound coming all the way from the village suggested something more, like maybe fighting. She stood and rejected the dress. She called to her armor back and it arrived, but with the weapons all detached. She grumped and had to attach everything by hand. She just got all the blades and accoutrements exactly where she wanted them when she heard a knock on the door.

“Kirstie.” Thoren, Kare’s friend called. “You, too, Halfdan.” He called Wilam. “The council wants to see you.” Kirstie let him finish speaking before she opened the door. Inga came with Thoren, but quietly stood a step behind. She would not look up. Kirstie sneezed.

“You didn’t sail with Frode?” Kirstie asked.

Thoren shook his head. “We had a falling out. Mostly, I was not willing to move Hilda and the family to Nidaros.”

Kirstie understood. She deliberately took Wilam’s hand. “I’m ready,” she said. “Did they catch the murderer? Is there more trouble looming around on the horizon?”

Thoren laughed. “Captain Harrold asked, what murder? Does another dead Christian count?”

“Yes,” Kirstie said firmly and hit Thoren in the arm hard enough to be sure he felt it. He stopped laughing.

“A shame on our homes and hospitality.” Inga finally spoke.

“You’re right,” Thoren admitted. “But no murderers caught. It’s the bow,” he said, and then he said no more.

Kirstie did not ask.

When they arrived, Mother Vrya met them at the door and led Kirstie away from Wilam and the men, or maybe Kirstie led the crippled old woman to a seat. Captain Olaf sat there along with the captains Jarl, Harrold, Frode, and Kerga the Chief. Kirstie turned to get Inga’s attention and only then noticed Inga had moved away.

“This is foolish,” Jarl said and pointed to the rainbow clearly visible in the middle of the room. “It is a mirage, such as one sometimes sees when at sea. I can walk right through it.” He did, and Kirstie noticed the rainbow came down through the roof and shot to the floor.

“What need have we to hear from the women?” Frode wondered with a glance at Kirstie.

“I have said Inga may tell what she knows.” Kerga said, gruffly. Kirstie caught the chief looking at Mother Vrya and her slight nod in agreement.

“And I have said I will listen.” Harrold growled. “Sit down, Jarl.”

The captain sat. Brant Svenson said nothing since everyone knew of his closeness with Inga. Likewise, Olaf, now with Wilam beside him, knew it was not his village and not his turn to speak. Behind the Northumbrians, Kirstie saw Hilda and Thoren’s Erik at the front of the crowd of witnesses. Erik, seventeen-year-old, newly married, and newly accepted by Frode for a spot on Frode’s ship pulled up a spot right behind Wilam as Inga stepped up to speak.

“It was the year the Vanlil came, and the Hag drove them to war. I was eighteen, and my young charge was ten and a handful. Kirstie’s parents were already killed, but she did not know her father was also gone, and so we used to sit along the south beach as she looked for signs of a sail. I remember the day as if it was today. We were always searching the horizon and so we did not notice the boiling of the sea which began at our very feet. Soon, however, the boiling of the sea became violent in that one small place before us. Then, to my shock and near death at the sight, Njord himself rose from the waters, larger than this big house and more awesome than all the men of Valhalla put in one place.”

“Nonsense!” Jarl began, but Harrold slugged him. Harrold liked a good story, even if he did not believe a word of it.

“Kairos.” Njord spoke to the girl as you might speak to a good friend not seen in years. “Traveler.”

“Once Grandfather,” Kirstie responded with the slightest bow as if the Lord of the Seas himself deserved no more. “But why are you here? Did you not cross over with the others, ages ago?”

“More than eight hundred years ago,” the Great God spoke.

“Yes, and Old One Eye wasn’t too happy about it, I bet.”

“Frigg had to drag him,” The god said, and young Kirstie giggled. I tell you, she laughed. I did not know what to think.

Kirstie felt beet red at the moment, and surprised that Mother Vrya was not appalled at the flippant way she spoke to the god and referred to the King of the Gods as Old One Eye. Certainly, the others in the room looked appalled.

“But what are you doing here?” Kirstie continued.

“Where the Waters are, my Spirit will always linger and never be far away,” Njord spoke again. “But I am not really here. I am just reacting to the fire still loose in the world that is seeking to harm my grandson, though at the present you happen to be my granddaughter.”

“I don’t understand,” Kirstie admitted. I remind you; she was only ten.

“Just open your mouth and close your eyes and you will get a big surprise.” Njord said, and she did, trusting him with a complete trust. Then I saw the Great God change into a mighty river, then a roaring stream, and last a gentle fountain of water that filled Kirstie, entering her mouth, and vanishing away.

“The girl seemed the same after that day, but in some ways, she was also subtly changed. You know how she swims, and the cold of the waters do not harm her. You know how the fish always come when she casts her line, and how she knows the storms at sea before their time.”

“A fantasy!” Jarl interrupted.

“A fanciful tale.” Harrold agreed. “But what of the truth?”

“It is true.” Kerga astonished everyone. The room became completely still. “The good Mother Vrya and I were not far from that very spot on that day. I would even say that was a very plain telling. The truth, Harrold, was far more frightening and hard to believe even when seeing and hearing it with my own eyes and ears.”

Several people looked at Mother Vrya, but all she could do was nod her assent to what Kerga said.

“But Lord.” Inga struggled to regain the floor. “There is more.” The quiet came slowly. “I did not understand the references to Grandfather, Grandson, and Granddaughter when the words were spoken. All these years I kept those mysteries in my heart. But now, after the events of the evening when Father McAndrews came to us in peace and we brought shame on ourselves in his murder, events which I suddenly remembered in great detail when his young companion, Father Damien was most recently slain, I begin to understand. It was not Elgar the Saxon, or Mother Greta, or the good doctor, but one we have not met. My heart keeper, the beautiful Fryja was his mother, wasn’t she?” Inga and all eyes turned suddenly toward Kirstie. Where she had been embarrassed and then felt very uncomfortable. Now she felt mortified. She could not even look up.

“More than two thousand years ago,” She mumbled in utter softness.

The crowd began to make noise again, but somehow Thoren stood and said, “Wait. There is more.” He shouted in echo of Inga’s words, “There is more,” and the people quieted to hear.

Medieval 6: K and Y 14 And Back Again, part 1 of 2

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~*~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Worth it,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. You said you found her.”

“Found her and married her,” Wilam said.

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

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

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

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

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

MONDAY

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

*

Medieval 6: K and Y 13 To the New World, part 1 of 3

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Kirstie

The storm came quickly. Kirstie, who was presently tuned into the sprites of the water and the air got the impression that the ship stayed on the edge of the storm. The wind and waves pushed them toward North America as it slowly turned to swipe the southern point of Greenland. The water sprites made something like a stream in the sea that kept them moving in the right direction, though it was hard to tell given the way they went up great hills of water and zoomed down the other side. The crew certainly had no control over their vessel.

The rain pelted them all day and night. In the morning, Wilam thought the rain slackened off, but Kirstie knew that was wishful thinking. She could sense where the tail edge of the storm was located and knew when they finally broke free of it about two that afternoon.

Everyone weathered the storm, and they lost no one overboard, but there were any number of cuts and bruises as men banged into the wall, the deck, the railing, the mast, and seemingly whatever else they could find. One man busted his arm on his own rower’s bench down below. One man, one of the three on the steering board that held on for twenty-four hours, got thrown from the board at the last and cracked his head against the stern dragon’s tail, giving himself a concussion.

No injury was life threatening, so after a hot meal of fried fish and being warmed by some particularly strong mead that Olaf had down in the hold, they raised the sail and continued their pursuit.

Traventor reported that they lost about half a day on the Viking ship, but that ship, once they hit the coast of Labrador, began to sail slowly to the south along the coast looking for something. Traventor said they could make up the half day by cutting the corner and heading for where they anticipated the Viking ship would be. Kirstie hoped they could catch sight of the ship once they hit the Labrador coast, but they were still too far away for that.

Yrsa got Kirstie’s attention when she reported that she was picking up something like a spiritual broadcast. The hag was reaching out to the tribes as she went by, looking for a people that would be amenable to her word about Abraxas. Abraxas might have been banished from the earth, and everywhere on the earth that he had some connection. But Kirstie understood if he forged a new connection with people unknown to him, he might yet come back to earth and ruin everything.

History has no record of Abraxas being worshiped in the new world. He has no more place here than in the old world.

Captain Olaf’s ship had a small mizzenmast for a second sail. Even though his ship was heavier and sat deeper in the water, it could almost match the speed of the longship. It could not maneuver as well, and when they had to get out the oars it lagged behind, but as long as they had the sails up and a good wind the Viking longship would not get further away.

“The hag needs to find a people confronted with two different worldviews and confused about what to believe,” Kirstie said to Yrsa, Wilam, and Brant. “She seems to be reaching out to the tribes along the shore, looking for the right set of dynamics.”

“She is looking for people with no faith that she can fill with faith in Abraxas?” Brant asked.

“No. I think it is more people whose view of the world seemed rock solid and are suddenly confronted with something that tears down that view. It is people who have always believed, but now don’t know what to believe. That is where she can gain converts, and with enough believers, she can invite Abraxas to return to the earth and start all over again.”

Kirstie imagined she knew where the hag would end up. When the Vikings came to Belle Isle and turned into the strait, she felt sure they would park a L’Anse aux Meadows on Newfoundland. That was where the future said the Vikings built a settlement. She figured they were about fifty or eighty years too soon, but maybe the stories would pass on and one or more of the men might help guide Eric the Red or Leif Ericson in the future.

In fact, the Viking ship hardly slowed when it entered the strait. It sailed all the way down to the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and for a day, Kirstie feared they might sail up the river, but they turned. They reentered the Atlantic, turned again, and sailed down the coast of Nova Scotia.

Captain Olaf’s ship had some difficulty following that course. When they reached what would someday be called the Cabot Strait, the wind turned completely against them. They had to row their way back out into the Atlantic, and that lost them another day.

Captain Ulfsson’s ship left Nova Scotia and skipped over the Gulf of Maine, making a beeline for Cape Cod. Still not finding what they were looking for, they sailed around the islands off the coast and headed into Long Island Sound. When they reached the East River, they pulled up to the eastern shore of Manhattan and went to work.

The island was divided between Iroquois speakers and Algonquin speakers. The struggle for dominance was as much cultural and psychological as physical warfare. It was the earliest version of West Side Story with the Jets and the Sharks struggling to control the neighborhood. Most of the innocents on the island got caught up in the struggle, and frankly did not know what to do.

It did not take long for the hag to gather people to her side. A demonstration of power and the promise of having a god with us was all it took. Many came willingly, wanting an end to the struggles. Some did not believe, but they soon moved out of the way. The Iroquois fled to the Bronx or abandoned the struggle altogether and tried to navigate the paths between the Lenape and Mahican tribes to get back to Mohawk land. The Algonquins crossed over to Brooklyn where they had a strong base, made strong by the twelve-foot giant, Anenak, who lived and all but ruled there.

When Olaf’s s ship arrived in the East River, Kirstie had them row first to Brooklyn. It would be dangerous, but they would need allies against the hag if the Lenape were willing. They were met on the shore by an armed party, and the giant. At least they were not met with arrows.

The captains, their officers with Kirstie and Yrsa came ashore and walked a short way to where the natives stood armed and ready. Wilam whispered. “Thank you, Yrsa, for contacting the light elves in this region and gathering the information we need.”

“And they are watching the hag and Ulfsson’s crew?” Brant wanted to be sure.

“They are, but we have our own problems first,” Wilam answered, and just missed grabbing Kirstie’s arm because of the distraction of the question. Kirstie, as was her way, rushed out in front of the captains and the officers, Yrsa on her tail, and she shouted.

“Giant. Why are you here? The only giants remaining in the north are around the great lakes or scattered across the distant mountains. Anenak, do you not fear the wasting disease being around so many ordinary humans?”

“Who are you to know about the wasting? Are you the one I was told was coming, or is there another?” he asked, even as an elf-like man came to appear beside the giant. Many Algonquin warriors stepped back from the sight, and the captains and their men looked uncomfortable. The man did not exactly look like an elf. He looked like what the Kairos sometimes called a new world elf. He went to his knees in front of Kirstie.

“I am the only one in this time and place,” Kirstie said. “But why are you not with the last of your kind?” she asked.

The giant conceded and told his story. “When I was a child some four hundred years ago, my mother told me the tale of Yazu the Great and his companion, the young mortal girl Huyana not Ugly. They came from the west, far and far. They came to destroy the serpents who walked and talked. The battle was fierce, and in the end, Yazu the Great destroyed the last of the serpents, though he gave his life to do it. The serpents who walked and talked were removed from this world to never return, and Huyana not Ugly buried Yazu in a great mound of all honor. I do not know the truth of this tale, but when the last of my tribe became taken by the wasting, I escaped and thought to come to this place and see if I might find the mound of honor. I have not found it, and now I wonder if the tale is true or just a story.”

“That was ages and ages ago,” Kirstie said. “But it is true. The great evil was utterly destroyed. I know this,” Kirstie said, and reached into the deep past for a life she once lived. She traded places with the young woman. “I know this because long ago I was called Huyana.” She opted to leave the not ugly off her name.

Anenak went to his knees and found a few tears. The natives did not know what to think, but they lowered their weapons, and some of them also went to their knees.

Huyana felt the dizziness come upon her and thought it prudent to trade places with Kirstie again, and Kirstie spoke. “Anenak, my friend. In this life I am called Kirstie, and this time I have come from the east, far and far. There is a new evil that must be utterly destroyed. They are women who become monsters of great power and who speak to the mind about a god that must not be. We chased them across the endless water and came to this place where they plan to do their evil magic. Will you go with us to end this threat to all people?”

Anenak agreed and many of the warriors agreed with him. After all, it was their land and their people at risk.

“Lord Chestnut” she spoke to the elf on his knees. “Please rise. You must ride with us on the ship and explain to the captains how Ulfsson and his crew are preparing to defend themselves.”

Anenak, bring your warriors across the river and we will meet you on the shore and go together.

“They are building a fort by the lake,” Lord Chestnut told the captains as they went to the lifeboat, returned to the ship, and went to the other side.

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

MONDAY

Yasmina reaches Alexandria only to run into trouble but there is both a ship from Amalfi pulling into the docks and the last ship she ever expected to see and hopefully both crews might help. Until Monday, Happy Reading

*

Medieval 6: K and Y 12 Follow, part 2 of 2

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

“But, Mary Katherine,” Wilam said.

Kirstie set aside her worry about Soren to comfort her husband. “We don’t know which woman is the hag,” she said. “It might not be Mary Katherine.”

“But I fear that it is,” Wilam answered. “I was not there to watch over her like a good big brother. She became a teen and I lived with Brant’s family in Lucker. When she married at sixteen, I was at sea. I never met her husband. I asked, but no one could give me a good description of the man.”

“He had a name?”

“Adam,” Wilam said. “She called him the first man. No one knows where he went when he disappeared, but after that, Mary Katherine became different. She brooded, never said much, and never showed interest in other people, girls or boys.”

“And where were you? At sea for the whole month?”

“No, actually. I got home just two days before I found you in Ellingham.”

Kirstie shook her head and said, “I found you.”

Wilam smiled but stayed serious. “He left the day before I arrived. Said he had some business to attend to, but he never came back, and nobody has any idea what business he may have been talking about.”

“And two days later you found me?” Wilam nodded, and Kirstie had to think it through. Two days before she found Wilam in Ellington, they were gathering in the inlet above Howick. Someone helped them when the workers on that farm all left just before the body of Vikings arrived to cross their fields. And Captain Ulf. He seemed to know all about her connection to the spiritual world and all the sprites she had responsibility for. He knew more than Harrold, her own captain from her own village. Granted, Harrold was not there for the Vanlil invasion. He did not see the hag that came with the invaders. But still, Harrold must have heard all the stories, and yet Ulf was the one who knew she could get directions to Ellingham that would avoid all the farms and villages along the way. Abraxas showed up on Lindisfarne right after she killed Ulf, and he called her a cheater. Why should he care about one more mean Viking? He might have wanted her to be killed, but the circumstantial evidence pointed to Abraxas being more involved in that whole enterprise. Ulf was the one who got them to invade Lindisfarne.

Kirstie looked at Wilam but said nothing. Mary Katherine getting married, and the timing of her husband’s disappearance coincided to Abraxas meddling and appearance on the Holy Island too closely for coincidence. If Abraxas was Adam, Mary Katherine could very well be the hag they were after.

“Nolsoy Island on the right,” Brant said, interrupting the couple. “The port of Havn is dead ahead.”

“Yrsa?” Kirstie said as she and Wilam got up and went to the railing.

“I’m looking,” Yrsa responded, but it was an hour yet before they were close enough for even an elf to see anything. It turned out she did not have to report. When they got close, Odger’s longship came out from the port and turned north to try and escape out the top side of Nolsoy Island. Fortunately, Olaf sent Captain Otto to come around the island and approach Havn from the north. Otto moved his ship to block the way and managed to maneuver to force the longship toward the island. Odger had to fight if he wanted to break free, and it got bloody.

In those days, ship to ship battles were fought on the decks of the ships, often grappled together. Otto’s ship, like Olaf’s was built on the Viking model, slim and fast, but like Olaf, he had a below deck. His main deck stood higher in the water than a typical Viking longship, especially when there was not much in the hold. It was from the high ground that Otto’s crew threw several hooks to the Viking ship, to fasten the two ships together. Then the crews went at it. Odger had forty-eight in his Viking crew. Otto had sixty-three, many of whom were men from Lucker and Ellingham, who were still angry enough to want revenge. So the sides were about even. Odger’s men were killers.

The third and final belly boat pulled into Havn to unload their goods, but Olaf sailed north in the wake of the longship and came upon the battle. They rowed to the ships and lowered their anchor on the far side of the Viking longship, far enough to not be caught up in the flames. The longship was on fire. Otto’s ship looked like the place the fire started and it would sink soon enough.

Several men, those that could, swam to Olaf’s ship. They risked serious hypothermia in those waters, even in August. Otto’s longboat came around the back of Otto’s ship. There were some fifteen men squeezed into the boat, and about half of them looked wounded.

Brant took six men in Olaf’s longboat to risk the flames. They gathered another six wounded men before the fire threatened to engulf them. Back aboard, they watched the two ships sink. There was nothing more they could do for any men there who were not yet dead.

Captain Otto made it to Olaf’s ship with a cut in his arm. Greta sewed up lots of deep cuts that day, while Brant turned the ship around and headed for the port. Greta also questioned the few Vikings who were wounded but she did not get any good information until she found Captain Odger’s Skipari.

“Njal is not the captain of the other ship,” the man said. “Gottard Ulfsson has taken the place of his father and says he is sailing to America so he can start again. I do not know where America is except it is west. Far to the west.”

“And the hag is on Ulfsson’s ship?” Greta wanted to be certain they did not drop the hag in the Faroe Islands to begin her work there.

“She is. She is the one who said they must go to America. I thought that was the ancient name for Brittany. I have seen it on some ancient maps.”

“Similar,” Greta said just before the man passed away.

Six young women got taken from Ellingham. Mary Katherine at twenty was the eldest. Mildgyd, Hild, Heather, Cyneburg, and Elizabeth followed, with Elizabeth being just thirteen. Most of the crew imagined they were taken to be thralls, but Kirstie, and a few others, namely the leaders of this expedition understood. If Ulfsson said they were beginning again, they would need some women to do that. The men on his ship could not count on capturing enough native women to make that happen.

“Mary Katherine is the hag,” Wilam said for the hundredth time as they pulled out of the harbor in Reykjavik. They were a day behind Ulfsson, and they did not appear to be getting any closer.

“You don’t know that.” Kirstie tried to sound certain, though all the circumstantial evidence pointed to Mary Katherine. “And if she is, you are not responsible for that. She is a grown woman, able to make her own choices, and has to deal with the consequences of her own actions.”

Wilam heard her, but he still looked at her like he felt responsible no matter what she said. “She is, and now I will have to kill her.”

“That is not your responsibility either.” Kirstie did not say it was her job, but she thought it real hard.

When they reached Greenland, the water sprites who directed their voyage brought them to a native village along the southern coast, or what was left of it. Ulfsson landed there, as the water sprites followed Ulfsson’s path, but nothing remained of the people in that place. The men, including Captain Olaf and Captain Otto hoped that some of the people escaped.

“Maybe there is another village not too far inland,” Captain Olaf suggested.

It looked like a massacre. And some of the men in that place were shredded, clearly the work of the hag.

“We can assume they took whatever food and water these villagers had,” Brant said. “They will eat while we go hungry.”

“Maybe we need to stop and see what we can gather from the wilderness.”

“No,” Kirstie said. “We push on. The water sprites can supply us with fresh water, and we can fish.”

“How so?” Captain Olaf wondered.

Kirstie turned to face the water and shouted to the sea. “I need three salmon, three mature cod, and three mature redfish.” They waited, but eventually three salmon, four codfish and seven golden redfish leaped out of the water and landed on the deck. Men gathered the fish and began to clean them for the fire while Kirstie said, “Thank you.”

“I count seven redfish,” Wilam pointed out.

“So? Fish don’t count well,” Kirstie said, and she called to Vingevourt.

Vingevourt came with a friend. “This is Traventor, Lord of the Labrador Sea. I must return to the North Sea and to my work, but he will take you from here, and he has important news.”

“Lady,” Traventor bowed. “I have spoken with your children in the clouds. The hag has called on some unknown power and called great winds from the north. It will race down the straight between the lands and strike the sea when you are half-way across. The rain will come with it, and there is no stopping it.”

“Sky babies,” Kirstie immediately called to the clouds. “Come to me my children.” Two small clouds separated from the already darkening clouds overhead.

“The storm is coming,” the clouds spoke.

“We cannot stop it.”

Traventor also spoke. “The waves will grow big as is their way.”

Kirstie nodded. “I do not ask you to stop the storm, but can you turn it some toward the land we came from.? And Traventor, can the sprites in the waves keep this ship steady and on course?”

“We will do all we can,” the clouds spoke again.

“May it be enough.”

“We can keep you from tipping over or sinking,” Traventor said. “We may even move you faster than you have been moving if the cyclone cooperates. If not, we will try to keep you from falling behind. But you better hold on.”

Kirstie thanked them and the sprites went back to their business while Kirstie turned to Captain Olaf. “Prepare for storm running,” she said. “We better tie ourselves down.”

Brant, Captain Otto, and Captain Olaf all tried not to panic as the sky darkened.

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

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

Kirstie leaned over the rail when they went by Stadr in the narrow place. She shouted, “We’re going hag hunting.”

The captain had the decency to yell back, “Lykke til,” which was good luck.

When they reached Solvi at the end of the fjord, Kirstie repeated her performance. The men there just laughed and waved.

After they reached the North Sea, Captain Olaf turned the ship to the southwest and did not start right away for the English shore. Kirstie asked, and Wilam showed her the goods still in the hold. They were neatly divided into three equal parts, and that took them to three stops which turned into four stops on the Norwegian shore.

“We did contact a number of villages along the way to find you, you know,” Wilam explained. “At least three of those expressed interest in possible trade.”

“Good thing Yrsa and I speak Norse like a native, and without Brant’s Danish accent.”

Wilam nodded, but he was not sure if Captain Olaf would let her get near the bargaining.

They stopped at Husastadir just over the border into the province called Raumsdalr. The people there gave them good directions to Trondelag when they were coming two years earlier in search of Strindlos. They seemed nice enough, and they bargained in good faith. Captain Olaf got plenty of the furs and grain he wanted, and the people seemed happy with their ironworks.

“It is a good day when both sides get what they want,” Captain Olaf said. “We may come back here again.”

They made a wide swing out to sea to avoid some place and came back into Borgund, a town on a small island off the coast of Norway in South Moeri. The people there were not so nice. They encouraged Captain Olaf when he passed through, but now they wanted the goods for practically nothing. Kirstie could not help herself. She stepped into the middle of it since the local men came aboard the ship to bargain.

“You should deal more honestly with these men if you ever hope to see them again. You know full well the value of these goods.”

The big man looked at her with all the disdain some men have for any woman who steps into his business. “And you are?”

“Lady Kristina from Strindlos in the Trondelag.”

“The witch from Lindisfarne.” One man tried to whisper.

“You killed Captain Ulf Hakenson?” the big man asked.

Kirstie said simply and calmly, “He was on the wrong side.”

One of the elders stepped in front of the big man. “We might double our offer if you come again. We can use more of the same if you have more. The quality of your goods speak for themselves.”

Captain Olaf took the offer. “For a reasonable payment we can certainly bring more, say, in two years’ time? We already have contracts for next spring and summer unless I can manage a second ship.”

“Two years is better than never,” Brant added.

The elder looked at his people, but no one objected. “We will look for you in two years,” he said and did his best to smile. They, in fact, got one and a half the original offer, not double, but Captain Olaf knew better than to complain. Instead, when they sailed off, he said, “Maybe two years.”

The next stop was in the village of Birdla, another settlement on an island just off the coast in Firdafylki—Firdir province. The people there were nice, but poor. They said the weather had not cooperated in the last year, so their crops were slim. Also, the winter was long, so they were not able to hunt much on the mainland. Captain Olaf felt sorry for them, but Kirstie assured him. “The fish are plentiful, even in the winter. They are hardly starving.” The captain nodded and said they might try again in another year.

The last stop was Dinganes, the village at the entrance to the Sogn fjord. Captain Olaf had hoped they did not have to stop there. When they came there before, they had heard that Sogn was a great fjord that went inland for miles. The people in Nordaland said Strindlos might be located there if it was on a great fjord. They sailed up the fjord a short distance and came to Heyangr where the village elders confiscated a portion of their goods for what they called a safe passage fee, though at the same time they confessed that Strindlos was not anywhere on the fjord. They left there and headed back to sea only to be stopped by the people of Dinganes. Those people were not surprised by the way the elders in Heyangr acted. They did not trade for much or have much to trade with, but they were the first to suggest Trondelag was in North Moeri and surely Strindlos would be there.

It turned out Dinganes had enough to buy the last bit of trade the ship carried, so it worked out. They even said they would be interested in more if they should come their way again. They said what they could not take, the town of Gulaping would certainly take. Gulaping was located just south of Dinganes on the same peninsula. It was where the Althing met.

Captain Olaf nodded, smiled, and waved as they headed back out to sea. Then he asked what an Althing was.

“A gathering of the village chiefs and representatives from the whole province,” Kirstie said. “They gather now and then to settle property disputes, village boundaries, hunting and fishing rights and act as a high court for the province. It is really a better way of settling disputes than yelling and fighting.”

“Peace is better than war,” Yrsa said, and Kirstie lifted up her son so he could wave good-bye.

Yasmina

“Lady,” Aisha got Yasmina’s attention. “Aren’t you afraid if we go back to Alexandria, they will find you? People know you were there before being taken to the Fatimid court. You are familiar with the place. And now that you have escaped from the Fatimids, they might expect you to go there, or Fustat, or Petra where you have been before in case you made plans only did not have time or the opportunity to carry them out.”

Yasmina looked at her companion. “Al-Rahim mentioned the same thing, but he said something about a dog returning to its vomit, for which I thanked him. Lovely picture. But I figure we don’t have any choice. We can’t go west through the heart of Berber and Fatimid territory. To what end? So we end up in the hands of the Caliph of Cordoba? That does not sound like a winning strategy. Then we can’t go south into true Africa. We would no doubt be taken as slaves for one tribe or another. Then, east is Egypt and the Qarmatians that we ran away from in the first place.”

“Yes, but Alexandria?”

“We have contacts there through al-Din. We have access to ships through him. If we can help him settle his affairs positively, we can take a ship into the Mediterranean. Then all the Isma’ili fanatics on both sides, east and west, and whoever else may be seeking us will have no way of knowing where we have gone. Then we can truly have a fresh start.”

Aisha rode in silence for a minute while she considered their position. Finally, she said, “Good luck with that.”

Yasmina nodded. “The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft a-gley.”

Medieval 5: K and Y 15 The Norman Hag, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

Kirstie blinked. “Kirstie,” she said. “I’m a Christian too.” She pulled out her little wooden cross to show.

“Wilam,” he answered, and examined the cross carefully even if it was plain as can be.

“Wilam Halfdan,” the old man named the young one.

“Kristina Arnedottir.” Kirstie named herself as Wilam blinked.

“And the old man is Captain Olaf.”

“I’m not that old.”

Kirstie shook her head and looked away from Wilam as she spoke. “I killed the hag in Scandinavia, and the one in Saxony. I’m here to kill this one.”

“Oh, that would be very dangerous,” Wilam said.

Yrsa interrupted. “My Lady can be stubborn.”

Skarde interrupted the interruption. “We are as ready as we can be.”

Kirstie looked around at all the men who were looking at her. She pulled herself together as she walked to the door, Wilam on her tail. She handed Wilam her sword. She handed Captain Olaf her long knife and drew her axe and grabbed her shield off her back. The shield, a bit bigger than an ancient round Roman cavalry shield, had a dull red circle around the edge, a dull blue circle in the middle with a bright white star painted in the very center. “Try not to kill any innocent civilians unless they attack you. Self-defense is acceptable, but you will likely have to focus on the soldiers and mercenaries. Ready?” She did not give them any time to answer.

Kirstie burst out the front doors and some hundred and thirty men filed out after her. They stopped on the front steps. The square was covered, all exits blocked by at least three hundred well-armed soldiers. The men were reluctant to attack trained men holding spears and pikes with only chair and table legs. Besides, the hag stood in the midst of them and took everyone’s attention, towering over her men like a bear or a hairy giant.

“Kairos. You are too late,” the hag said.

“I don’t see the Ass here,” Kirstie responded.

“The invitation has been sent. He will be here shortly and all the continent will be his.”

“That is a long stretch from a little port on the coast of France to all the continent,” Kirstie answered.

“Perhaps, but it is inevitable. Abraxas is the one true god, and unlike my sisters, you see there is no great water handy in this place.”

“The fountain,” Kirstie said, but the fountain dribbled at best, and the hag laughed.

“So, what are you, like the three witches in Macbeth? No, more like the Sanderson sisters in Hocus Pocus. You know I killed your sisters in Norway and Saxony.”

“Lady,” Yrsa whispered loudly. “Don’t provoke her.”

The hag stepped forward into the open space between the men on the steps and the soldiers but stopped when Kirstie raised her battleaxe and shield and said, “You know my weapons were not made by men.”

The hag roared. “You are as nothing, just another stinking mortal. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It is too late.”

A great light that became almost as bright as the sun slowly entered the courtyard. as it grew in strength, all the men present had to cover their eyes. Yrsa was not bothered by looking directly into the sun. Kirstie could do that as well, and she could certainly handle this light because the light was not pure luminescence. Abraxas was not a sun god, so in the place of pure light, Abraxas’ light shone with the sense of awesome majesty and power, the kind that would cause ordinary men to fall to their knees, or their faces in abject terror and worship. Most of the men did that very thing. The Christian men maybe did not go to their knees, but they did have to close their eyes and turn away. Even Carrots and the gnomes trembled. Kirstie just lowered her axe and frowned.

Before Abraxas could fully manifest in his moment of glory, Kirstie found herself set aside and Danna, the mother goddess of the Celts and of Gaul, the very land she was standing on, came to stand in Kirstie’s shoes. “He was warned,” she said generally to whomever heard. “He was told to set foot on the continent would be his death.”

Abraxas caught a glimpse of who was waiting for him, and he shrieked, sounding remarkably like Leif. He vanished, no doubt going back to Northumbria. Thus it was, in Ancient Egypt when Osiris banished Set from upper Egypt, Set tried to get the people of Abydos and Thebes to build him temples and invite him to return to the land. He thought a human invitation might outweigh the god’s decision. That debate among the gods never got settled. Clearly, Abraxas did not want to test it. He knew Danna owned that place and would have power over him in any case. It just was not safe.

“What? How? What happened to the girl? Who are you?” The hag sounded remarkably like Carrots, and like an astonished little old lady, even if she appeared like a monster.

“Your end,” Danna said. Danna’s primary element was fire, the fires of the earth, and the molten metal that her dark elves and some of her dwarfs loved so dearly. She simply waved her hand and the hag caught fire. “Away,” she said, and the hag flew instantly to the sea where she screamed and melted to wash out on the tide. “End of story,” Danna said, and remained aware that the people and soldiers would come quickly from the enchantment. She showed just a bit of her own divinity to keep the soldiers and pagan men inclined to want revenge on their knees.

“Captain,” she called to the mercenary captain. He appeared before her, still shaking his head from the enchantment. “You and your men are supposed to be in a battle that is ten miles in that direction.” She pointed and he looked. “Prepare yourselves,” she said as her only warning, and waved her hand. All the soldiers disappeared and reappeared ten miles away in the midst of the battle.

“Harbor Master and Loudmouth,” Danna called, and the two men appeared before her, each holding out a piece of amber. The harbor master immediately turned on the Loudmouth.

“You said they only hid the one piece of amber.”

Loudmouth looked sheepishly at his employer and finally did not know what to say. Danna spoke for him. “No more stealing in the name of confiscation or anything else. If you find some hidden goods not listed on the inventory, you must add them to the list and deal honestly with the merchants or I will send you somewhere you don’t want to go.” She let them glimpse a little hellfire.

“Please. Mercy.” Both men fell to their knees and cried out.

“Here is my decision. These men came here in good faith, and you have all of their goods they hoped to sell. Since you have already seen fit to resell some of their things, there is no point in returning their items. Therefore, you will pay for the items at the preferred price. Both of you will become beggars until you can sell some more. and, furthermore, since together you do not have enough gold and silver to fully cover the costs, the money will beggar the guilds as well. Half of the amber and ivory will be returned to Captain Hagenson because even all the guild coins are not enough. The rest of these men will return to their ships where they will find the silver and gold waiting for them. It will be up to you two and the guild masters to decide how to sell the remaining goods and recoup your money. It is so.” She waved her hand and the two men disappeared, presumably going back to where they came from.

“Captains,” Danna said, talking to all four ship captains at once. “You have been paid for your cargo. It may not be as much as you wanted, but it is more than you might have expected. Please leave this town in peace, and Wilam, Kirstie hopes that she may see you again.”

Jarl Hagenson found the courage to say something that was on all their minds. “I’ve lost a third of my crew.”

“I am sorry for your losses,” Danna said and vanished, letting Kirstie come back and face the men.

The Danish captain spoke first. “I’m glad we did not have to fight them with pieces of furniture.” The captain from Wessex said nothing. They simply left. Captain Olaf smiled for her.

“Thank you. We were sure to all be killed if we did not convert.”

“You’re welcome,” Kirstie said, but honestly, she was still processing what all just happened.

“My Skipari here is Brant Svenson. Wilam is my navigator, though he is just twenty-two and still learning the ropes.”

Kirstie suddenly looked at the young man and smiled. “I’m a navigator as was my father.”

Wilam returned her smile. “I hope to see you again as well.”

What Danna said caught up to Kirstie’s brain. “How could I do that to myself?” She looked up at the clouds or the heavens. “That was mean.” She looked at Wilam. “Sometimes I don’t like myself very much.”

“So, I take it what the lady said was correct.”

Kirstie growled at him. “Yes. Maybe. Come on Yrsa, back to the ship.” She raised her voice. “Thank you, Carrots and all of your friends.” She marched off without looking at Wilam. “Come on Old Man Skarde, you are falling behind.”

Medieval 5: K and Y 11 Troubles Come in Threes, part 2 of 2

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

Kirstie got up one morning and felt anxious all over. She felt afraid she might get some bad news, but she could not think of what it might be. Hilda recovered well. The Witcher Women were happy. None of the elderly in the village were near dying. The world, or at least her part of it was at peace. The farm was in good hands. The sun was shining. Still, Kirstie felt anxious. Something or someone reminded her that trouble came in threes.

Kirstie countered that thought. “Kare is annoying and obnoxious, but he is no trouble. And everything worked out fine for Hilda.” Someone internally said third time is the charm, a word that someone else immediately contradicted with three strikes and you’re out. Kirstie did not have to wait long. She sensed the oncoming dwarfs before they arrived.

Kirstie went outside and glanced at Fiona who was in the cooking area, talking to Yrsa. Yrsa looked up, but Kirstie waved her hand in a way to say stay there and maybe keep Fiona busy. The dwarfs came through the woods and in his way, the dwarf chief Booturn started right up.

“So, we got the word through the trade lanes,” Booturn said before he even stopped moving. “There is a hag in the place they are calling Normandy because so many Northmen have settled there. Some have gone there from Danelaw and Northumbria since the Anglo-Saxons keep pressuring the Danes. Abraxas must have sent the hag with one of those Danelaw groups. The hag is in a village on the sea called Fiscannum. We don’t know if she has already invited Abraxas to come to the continent or not, but it won’t be long before that happens.”

“Damn,” Kirstie said before she jumped. She was so anxious to hear the news, she did not pay close attention to who Booturn brought with him. Her eyes shot to the cooking area. Most of the dwarfs naturally went there first, being attracted to the food. She saw Vortesvin, the big ugly mountain troll there, but saw Fiona talking to the beast with a smile on her face. That was not what she expected. In fact, Fiona talked to the troll and ignored the dwarfs except to make sure they did not snitch any of the roast she was cooking.

“I belong to the Lady Kirstie,” she said.

“So do I,” Vortesvin answered and appeared to smile for her. Wonder of wonders, Fiona did not appear repulsed by the smile.

“I would not say you are one of her little ones,” Fiona said. “More like a big one if you ask me.” she reached out with her good hand and touched the monster on his upper arm which was about the size of her younger son.

“Yes, mum,” Vortesvin agreed. “But you are missing part of your arm, I see.”

“Yes, I am, and my name is Fiona.” Fiona said.

“I’m Vortesvin,” the troll said and reached out to gently touch Fiona’s arm.

Fiona kept her elbow covered so as not to offend. She watched the troll touch the spot and explained. “It got taken by an axe, and a man burned it in the fire until it stopped bleeding. It hurt something awful.”

“May I see it?” Vortesvin asked kindly.

Fiona nodded and unwrapped the cloth she kept tied around it and warned the troll. “It is terribly ugly to look at. About like you.” Fiona smiled. Kirstie saw it once, and that was enough. She nearly threw up.

“Lor, but that looks mean. It must have hurt badly.”

Fiona nodded, and Kirstie turned her eyes back to Booturn since she did not need to intervene around the cooking fire. “Normandy,” she said, and Booturn nodded. “Good thing you are here. The elves and fairies in the woods have been a great help around here, and I am sure you don’t want them to get all the credit and say they are better than the dwarfs.”

Booturn frowned. “What do you want?”

“Two things,” Kirstie said. “First, I want you to make a cup to fit on the end of Fiona’s arm. It should cover the ugly area but be made so she can take it off or put it on as she will.”

“A cup?”

“Like the cup that was made for Father Tyr of the one hand after the wolf Fenrus bit off his hand, but it doesn’t have to be gold or jeweled. Not lead, but Iron maybe, strong.” Kirstie said.

Booturn looked up at the mention of the god Tyr, like he forgot she was counted among the gods of old. He quickly removed his hat and listened closely. “With fingers?” he asked.

“Not long and heavy. Just a cup. But it might have a hook, or maybe two.” She showed with her two fingers. “But blunt, not sharp. Something so she can pick up a pot or hold things in place while she cuts the meat. You know.”

Booturn nodded.

“I have seen your blacksmith shop in the village,” Booturn protested “That is some poor excuse for a furnace.”

Kirstie widened her eyes. She was not aware he had been to the village until he mentioned it. But now she knew that he and several others went to see what sort of weapons the humans were preparing for the battle at the king’s house. Nothing untoward happened so Kirstie was not needed to intervene at that time, so no need for her to know about it. But still… “Maybe you need to go and help Svend build a better furnace. He is a nice man, though. I don’t want you to scare him.”

“I might look again,” Booturn said in a noncommittal way. “What is the other thing?

“I need to borrow your wife for a few seasons. Maybe a few years if she does not mind.”

Booturn slowly smiled at the prospect of being like a bachelor for a few years. Kirstie could practically see the wheels turning in that warped dwarf mind. “I should ask what for.” he said.

“She is a seamstress but works with a loom and needle without a bunch of magic. The local elf ladies have been very kind to keep me, Fiona, and the boys clothed, but I want someone who can work with plain linen and knows how to card and spin wool, now that we have some sheep, and make things, more human things.”

“Human things?” Booturn raised his voice. “She would be insulted by that… but I know what you mean.”

Kirstie thought to explain. “With just one hand, Fiona has a hard time threading the needle and working the loom. Fiona is a good cook, and she can butcher the meat and pluck a chicken just fine, though the boys help. But she needs help with some of the more two handed and delicate tasks. I was thinking Birdie could help, and maybe share a few recipes.” She named Booturn’s wife and Booturn twisted his hat a little as he again remembered that Kirstie was his goddess. He got serious.

“I can see the cup with the fingers will need to be strong and attach in a way that will keep it in place.”

“Yes, please,” Kirstie said, and looked again toward the cooking fire. She saw the troll lean down and Fiona planted a kiss on the troll’s cheek. Wonder of wonders, she swore the troll turned red with embarrassment, but Fiona moved on.

Alm and the boys came around the corner of the barn and Fiona called to him. “Alm. We need to find something to feed our visitors. They must be hungry after their long trip down the mountain.”

The boys stared without the wow, as had become their way, but Alm threw his fists to his hips and gave the dwarfs a stern look. “A troll and a pocket full of dwarfs. They could eat everything on the farm and still be hungry.” The dwarfs nodded and smiled in agreement. Alm smiled for Yrsa as she came to stand beside him. She gave him a peck on the lips. He said, “If Yrsa and the boys fetch their bows and arrows, and maybe if Bucket and Toodles came with us, we might find something in the forest that we could shoot and eat.” Clearly, Alm knew these dwarfs, or some of them anyway.

The boys shouted and raced to get their things. Yrsa already had hers handy. She kept it in her elf slip, a small, invisible pocket not entirely in this world that only she could access. All the same, she chased the boys to make sure they did not break anything in their excitement.

Kirstie imagined Yrsa would make a great mom. She felt glad that everything seemed to be working out so well. She watched as Fiona turned again to Vortesvin. “You are a troll?”

“Mostly.” Vortesvin said and looked down at the ground for fear of how she might react. “My mother was some ogre. They say I got her nose.”

Kirstie watched Fiona return to her cooking and almost smile. “I don’t mind,” Fiona said, and Kirstie thought she better not eavesdrop anymore.

“Booturn,” Kirstie said and glanced at the sky. “We need to go to the village center before it gets any later. I need to introduce you to Svend the blacksmith. Bring Buckles and Tiny. We will see if he is willing to let you help him and maybe teach him a few things about working in metals.”

It turned out Svend had been praying for just this thing. Apparently, he caught sight of the dwarfs when they checked out his shop several years earlier. His apprentice and two workers were wary and not entirely happy, but Kirstie understood that was mostly because the dwarfs were strangers and not necessarily because they were dwarfs.

Booturn explained to Svend about the cup they needed to make. Svend had met Fiona, the whole village had by then, and they found her to be a kind and good person. Svend thought a cup would be a wonderful idea.

Buckles spoke right to task. “We will need to line the cup with fairy weave, much as I hate depending on the elves for the cloth.”

“Fairy weave?” Svend asked.

“Made by the elves of the wood. It has magical properties,” Booturn told him, and Kirstie thought he deserved a better explanation.

“It does not stain, always stays fresh and clean, and it absorbs sweat and will push the moisture out, so it always stays dry. It will keep her arm warm in the winter and cool in the summer, so the cup will not be a burden.

“Not iron though,” Tiny said and pulled on his beard. “We don’t want it to rust up in a few years.”

“Need a better furnace for real steel,” Buckles agreed. “One that can get really hot.”

“Hot as hell,” Tiny agreed and Kirstie explained again, though Svend was not a Christian to exactly understand.

“That is just an expression. He isn’t literally talking about hell.” Svend imagined Hella’s place for the dead, but he accepted the expression as just that. Kirstie turned to Booturn. “I need to find a ride to Normandy. I am sure you will work things out equitably.” She turned back to Svend. “If the dwarfs give you any trouble, just let me know when I get back. And don’t let them eat all your food. They are always hungry, so if you feed them… Well, just don’t let them eat you out of house and home.” She turned back to Booturn. “Make sure you take good care of Fiona and the boys. I’ll want my farm to be there and prospering when I get back.”

“Don’t you worry,” Booturn spoke loudly, “We will take care of everything while you are gone.”

Kirstie mumbled softly as she walked away. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Medieval 5: K and Y 8 The Saxon Hag, part 2 of 2

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Kirstie

“But wait…” Captain Otto started to object but got interrupted when a half dozen fairies flew up in front of him. They immediately got big and bowed to the girl.

“Lady,” the head fairy said, and Yrsa still translated for Otto and his men. “The hag is on the road bringing forty families and forty more men to Bremerhaven. I suspect they will attack the town to take control. I have no doubt they intend to invite Abraxas to cross over the channel and come to the continent.”

Kirstie paused and flipped to a totally different subject. “You look familiar,” she said to the fairy. “Why is that?”

The fairy smiled. “My father was Maywood and my mother Marigold, if you remember them.”

Kirstie smiled more as if to say she remembered. That was back in the days of Margueritte, and Genevieve. She stopped smiling when the fairy’s words penetrated. She called to her armor and weapons, and that shut everyone’s mouths. She quickly picked ten of the crew and told them to stay and guard the treasure,

“But wait…” Captain Otto said the words again, but he did not appear to know what else to say.

Kirstie grabbed the man’s hand. “Christian Otto. You better come and bring your twenty soldiers. The rest of you men follow me.” The men were typical Vikings, not inclined to listen to any woman other than their wife or mother, though they might give Mother Vrya and the Witcher Women a hearing. Kirstie, however, they knew in a different way. They followed her in the battle against the Vanlil, and they were dramatically reminded of just how special she was when the fairies came and bowed to her.

“Mariwood.” She named the fairy. “Please lead the way.” The fairy bowed again, got small with his companions, and flew in front. After a short way, Kirstie tapped her shoulder and Mariwood gladly came to rest there and ride where he could whisper the directions in her ear.

“I can tell you have done this before,” Mariwood said. “I would have thought you were still too young, no offence.” he pulled a little on her hair to get comfortable.

“Buttercup stays mostly with my friend Inga, but she rides on my shoulder sometimes.”

Mariwood thought for a minute before he added. “Buttercup sounds nice.”

“I don’t know,” Kirstie said. “She is what some call a frost fairy. It gets pretty cold where I live.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Mariwood said and got silent for a time to think about it. They had gotten to the Bremen Road that the hag and her people were coming up, so there were no more directions to give. It was just as well because Captain Otto finally had some questions he thought to ask.

“Are you a Valkyrie?”

Kirstie thought before she answered. “No. I’m a Shield Maiden. That is a female warrior among my people. Apart from that, I am a Christian as I confessed, and you should be the same. The old gods have gone away, and the new way has come. Do not doubt that. The hag we go to face, the servant of Abraxas who calls himself a god, is a terrible creature that has a whole town of people enchanted under her evil spell. Any doubt or confusion on your part and she will attack your mind.” Kirstie took a deep breath and said softly, “Although the Valkyrie used to work for me in the old days, or rather, they worked for themselves. I’m just the one who got blamed when they screwed up.” She remembered one time in particular before she quickly threw her hand over Yrsa’s mouth, so she did not translate that last part about the Valkyrie.

In a short way, they ran into the hag and her followers. The numbers were about even, and though the old lady hag looked surprised that the Vikings and townspeople appeared to be working together. Even so, much like the hag in Norway, this old lady hag anticipated their arrival. Her men came out from the trees and bushes and Kirstie’s and Captain Otto’s men barely had time to defend themselves.

Kirstie managed to get her shield to the front in time to block a spear. She stepped forward, making the long spear useless and swung her battleaxe, practically taking the man’s head off. Yrsa shot the man to her left. Mariwood got down and got big to stab the man to her right. It seemed they were ganging up on her position, but her Vikings pushed forward and pushed the enemy back, while Captain Otto and his soldiers kept the men away from her flank.

Kirstie, who stood by the river, had a moment to focus on the hag. Apparently, Kirstie noticed she picked up some elves during her march through town. The hag, reverted to a big, hairy monster, had taken several elf arrows. The arrows stuck, not being made by men. Yrsa managed a perfect shot in the hag’s eye. but while the hag roared from the pain, it pulled the arrows out, including the one from her eye, and she healed over. She instantly grew a new eye once the arrow was removed.

Kirstie did not know what to do. The road ran along the river, but the hag stayed on the far edge of the road, far away from the water. Someone shot a flaming arrow. It got followed by several flaming arrows, and like the last time, the hag roared in delight. It grew bigger as it became covered in flames, and it looked far stronger as its roar deepened. Kirstie panicked. She felt sure no convenient ogre would tackle the hag and shove the hag into the river.

She thought of Njord. It should be enough. Grandfather Njord said it would be enough, but before she could do anything, the burning, monstrous hag rushed to attack her. Kirstie screamed and backed up, only to trip over a rock by the river and fall on her backside. The hag was not so lucky as she reached her claws out to rip Kirstie to shreds, only to paw at the air. Kirstie proved to be a stumbling block. The hag’s forward motion caused it to trip over Kirstie and arms flailing, land smack in the river. Kirstie heard the hag yell.

“No. Abraxas, help me.” Then came the scream, and the hag quickly reverted to the old woman and melted to a puddle on the surface of the slow-moving water.

Captain Otto and his soldiers stopped fighting first when the enemy turned away, went to their knees, threw down their weapons, held their heads and moaned. Not to their credit, Kirstie’s Viking shipmates stopped last and killed a few of the enemy even when they were in no position to fight back.

The women and children under control of the hag that kept back during the fighting came up weeping. The men also wept. Kirstie thought it best to shout and Yrsa also shouted the translation. “Shipmates, back to the ship. Help the wounded.” She yelled at seven men to stay with her to help clean up the battlefield. and to the rest to remind them that they have a treasure to guard until we can sell it. “Captain Otto, sorry to leave you with the surviving men, women, and children. You can practice some Christian compassion. Remember, they were enchanted and could not help themselves. You might also find some converts among them.”

Kirstie stopped suddenly when she realized she killed a man. It all happened so fast. She just responded. It was reflex, like Bjorn the Bear said. She felt like throwing up. She did not want to do that in front of her shipmates. She looked at Yrsa and saw tears forming in the elf’s eyes. Thorsten, the big man who rowed behind her must have recognized the signs of distress. He hugged her with a soft word.

“You are one of us now.” He added a softer thought. “This is a terrible world we live in.” Kirstie did let out a few tears as Thorsten turned to the task at hand. They had three dead that needed to be buried. Captain Otto lost five. Kirstie had one shipmate who was so badly wounded he would probably not live the night. The enemy lost twelve and many were wounded. They did not fight well in their enchanted state. Fortunately, now that they were out from under the hag’s influence, they were more than willing to carry the dead into town where they could be properly buried.

Kirstie pulled herself together and called to Captain Otto. She grabbed Thorsten’s hand and one from the captain. “Don’t let go,” she insisted, but that was all she said as she went away, and Mother Greta came to take her place. Captain Otto let go, but at least he did not shriek. Thorsten surprisingly held on. In fact, he smiled and lifted his chain and leather to show the scar where he had been cut in the side.

“From the king’s house,” Thorsten said, and Greta returned the smile. She recognized her own work, but she did not dwell. She turned to Captain Otto and asked a question.

“How is your Latin?” She asked in Latin.

That question seemed to bring the man back to reality. He shook his head. “Not good.”

“Yrsa,” she called. “You will still have to translate.” Then she had a thought. “Mariwood.” he was right there. “You need to send a couple of your people to Rune and Frode in the guild hall or wherever they are. They may need help driving a good and fair bargain, so one of your people needs to be good at bargaining. We don’t want to beggar the people of Bremerhaven, but we want a fair return for the value of the goods we carry.”

“Right,” Mariwood said and reverted to fairy form. That got the shriek out of Captain Otto, and Greta could not help commenting.

“What? I still have blonde hair.” Greta knew Kirstie’s hair was more of a dirty blonde where hers was more platinum, almost white blonde, but still, it was not dark brown like Margueritte’s hair.

“But who are you?” Captain Otto asked. “You are older than the girl, and more…”

“More round?” Greta admitted. “I am Mother Greta, and the nearest you have to a healer in this place. Doctor Mishka is not authorized to come and help. Come. Let us see who we can help, even if my skills are seven hundred and fifty years out-of-date.” Greta already looked around and knew where she wanted to go first. Many of these men could be saved if they were careful to not let their wounds get infected. There was honestly nothing she could do about the worst.

“Valkyrie,” Captain Otto mumbled as he, Thorsten, and Yrsa followed Greta all afternoon.

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MONDAY

The ship still needs to return home which is difficult when they get stopped again in the delta. Until Monday, Happy Reading

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Medieval 5: K and Y 7 Buying a Ride, part 1 of 2

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Kirstie

Kirstie got word through the elf and fairy grapevine that a hag was seen in Saxony, around Bremen on the Weser River. She imagined she guessed right. She would have to direct Rune’s ship to the Frisian shore and up the Weser to find the hag and put her out of business.

She looked at her hands and thought about the fire and the water that killed the hag of the Vanlil. She could start a fire by merely pointing at the wood and thinking about it. She could project a light from her hands, like two flashlights on a dark night, and could make herself glow in the dark if she wanted. Then, she could shoot the fire from her hands, or put the heat and light together, like some alien heat-ray. She only tried that once, but the result was a pile of ash where a tree once stood. Kirstie remembered when Fryer visited her, he turned a whole copse of trees into ash just by his mere presence.

She also thought about Njord’s visit. It did not seem like much at the time, but since then she found she could stay underwater for an indefinite amount of time. It was like she was breathing underwater, and she could see and even hear underwater just like she was on land. That was about the best she could describe it. What is more, she always felt warm in the water, even when it had ice by the shore. On cold and blustery winter days, she often threw herself into the ice water of the fjord to warm up. She could swim fast as a dolphin, almost like flying through the water, and she could call to any fish that were nearby. She could actually tell the fish to jump into her boat, so she always had a good catch of fish and without having to cast a net or fishing line. It felt strange that she could do these things, but she figured they were gifts and more than she needed. She knew that basically she needed the fire and the water to kill whatever hag she encountered. Kirstie pictured herself setting the hag on fire with the fire in her hands and then putting it out with the water she carried inside. That would do it, and it would be enough, as Grandfather Njord and Father Fryer said.

When Kirstie turned thirteen, she first wondered why the Norwegian hag went all the way to Jamtaland in the first place. She must have been a Norwegian from Northumbria in the British Isles; the only place Abraxas was permitted to go. She must have done a kind of reverse immigration, but she could have landed at Hof or Upphaugr on the coast in the first place and worked on the people there to invite Abraxas to come across the sea to their homes. Why travel all the way to Jamtaland where she had to invade and fight her way to the sea?

Kirstie imagined she figured it out when she thought of the hag in Bremen, and when she remembered Margueritte, a life she lived in Brittany some two hundred years earlier. Margueritte fought her own hag and found the hag gained power over the people when the celts and their druids were confronted with Father Aden and his Christians. The people became confused and no longer certain what to believe. That was when the hag stepped in with word of Abraxas, a god of the ancients, but a living god to be worshiped.

The people of Hof and all the Trondelag worshiped the gods of the Aesir and had no confusion in their mind. Likewise, the Vanlil—the Jamts worshiped the Vanir. but then they took in many Aesir worshiping exiles who claimed that some of the Vanir had become Aesir. That happened as a result of a war in the lifetime of Faya, daughter of Fryer. Kirstie remembered being Faya briefly when Fryer came to visit. Faya, as an outsider, found a way to make peace and bring the two waring houses of the gods together. That happened ages and ages ago, but the Vanlil, just now learning about that, must have thrown their minds into confusion, not knowing what to believe. They became fodder for the hag and the worship of an actual living god, Abraxas.

Kirstie thought about the hag in Saxony. There were certainly plenty of Saxons in the British Isles for Abraxas to choose from. He no doubt sent the woman back to Saxony, but then she needed to find a place where the people still clung to the old gods and the old traditions but were being confronted with the Christian world. The Storyteller life she lived in the future told her about how Charlemagne slaughtered some four thousand five hundred Saxons between Verden and Bremen. The Saxons there were in rebellion against the empire and thus against the Christian faith the empire promoted. Now, all these years later, more confusion. Another opportunity for Abraxas. Kirstie remembered Margueritte’s friend, Boniface did great work among the Saxons and Frisians alike, but sometimes and in some places the old ways died slowly.

That must be it, she thought to herself. He needs to find a people who don’t know where to turn so he can offer stability if they turn to him. Sadly, that did not help her get to where she needed to be. But then she turned fourteen, and Rune and Frode returned from a second trip. Captain Harrold sailed into the docks a week earlier and the people mourned for the crew members he lost. When Rune came home, several men deserted his ship to sail with Captain Harrold Harroldson, including Kare and Thoren.

Captain Stenson and Frode finally came to visit Kirstie in her house, not exactly carrying their hats in their hands, but near enough. She had ale and snacks prepared and sat them in her living area. “The ale is from the special recipe of Bjorn the Bear. Tell me what you think. I know he enjoyed it while he lived.”

“Bjorn the Bear?” Frode asked, knowing the name well.

“He taught me to handle my weapons, especially the battleaxe. I understand he was an expert who killed many men.”

Captain Stenson drew a long face. “I do not doubt you know how to defend yourself. Bjorn the Bear was an expert, as you say.” He looked around the room before he thought of what to add. “But it will take more than just knowing how to defend yourself to sail in a longship.”

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MONDAY

Kirstie needs to secure her ride and then get to Saxony to confront the hag. Until Monday, Happy Reading

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