hag

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

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Kirstie

As Kirstie squirted away from the men and ran toward the docks, she soon found a couple of fairies overhead and a couple of elves that ran with her. She ignored all of the fighting that went on around her. She hoped she would not come around a corner and find herself in the middle of it. Oddly enough, it never occurred to her to ask Elgar, or Diogenes or the Princess, or even better, the Nameless god to run for her. When she thought of Nameless, she got a clear picture of exactly where the hag was located and adjusted her run accordingly.

She arrived before an open space and saw the hag beside a building that saddled up to the water’s edge. Her men were hunkered down in and around the building, holding back the seventy from the ships that had come to shore. “It’s just a little old lady,” Kirstie said, surprised. One of the elves nodded as she pulled her long knife defender and looked at it closely, wondering how one kills a hag.

The hag started to yell but stopped suddenly. Kirstie saw the head turn and look in her direction. Then the hag began to change. The hag grew and became covered everywhere with hair. She ended up about seven feet tall and let out a roar that would have frightened a bear. Kirstie stepped from her place when she saw Frode and Rune with many men catching up. She stopped when she got struck by an arrow. It bounced off her chain mail, but it would leave a small bruise and she said, “Ouch.”

The fairies responded. That man did not live long, and in fact all the men on that side of the building either died or had to duck where they would be no threat. Kirstie just wondered what her elves were doing when she saw Chief Birger come racing up with some men in his trail. Those men from Strindlos attacked the building from the other side and took many of the hag’s defenders with them into death. Chief Birger attacked the hag and planted his bloodaxe directly in her chest. She scoffed and pulled it out.

“No weapon forged by men can hurt me,” she said, and with lightning speed, the monstrous hag crushed the chief and left his own axe in his own chest.

Kirstie looked again at Defender. She wondered if it would even make a scratch on such a beast. She knew her sword was too heavy for her even if it was not made by men. She did not know what to do.

The elves fired and three flaming arrows struck the hag in the chest. She roared. She felt those arrows not made by men, but then the flames spread, and the hag looked like she became even bigger and stronger. At eight feet, a ball of flame, she roared again in an even deeper, more powerful, and frightening sound.

“Look out!” the word came from over her shoulder. Vortesvin, the mountain troll rushed past her like a cannon ball. He was not quite as tall as the hag, but he was as wide. Kirstie wanted to shout, “No!” but she could not get her mouth to move as she watched, stunned. The hag swung an arm, and Kirstie knew that swing would take even the troll’s head right off, but the troll had ducked. It had no intention of fighting the hag. It tackled her instead, and while she shoved the troll away, she lost her balance and tipped straight back into the sea.

Kirstie heard the scream. It sounded like the old lady screaming as the fire that covered the beast went out all at once. Massive amounts of steam poured into the air, and Kirstie raced forward to see. The elves and fairies came with her to cover her. Frode and Rune and their men came behind, wary about getting too close to a mountain troll. Chief Birger’s men from Strindlos also came from the other side of the building, but carefully. They found the Vanlil stopped resisting and appeared to be willing to surrender.

Kirstie looked into the water’s edge. The monster had turned mostly back into the old lady, but she appeared to be melting. It would not take long for whatever melted hag remained to be carried out to sea and vanish in the deep. Kirstie looked up and saw Lord Amber there.

“Abraxas, son of Janus and Morrigu, born just before the dissolution of the gods, is the god of fire and water. He claims to be a god over good and evil, but no one has seen the good in him. The creature of Abraxas, the hag is empowered by the fire and water. Thus, she must be set on fire first, though it is a dangerous thing if there is no water handy because it makes her much bigger and stronger. The water that follows right away puts out the fire and breaks the bond of life in the creature. They end up melting as you see.”

Kirstie looked up and nodded. “Thank you very much. Thank Lord Bjork and Bellflower. Thank all the elves and fairies, and the dwarfs, though you might tell Booturn if you see him, I am thinking of having words with him.”

The five exiled men at the king’s house slept on the king’s ship, but the fifty Vanlil, not being sailors, camped on the ground around the burned house where they could keep their eye on the men camped in the king’s field. The dwarfs were told that any man who got to the ship should be allowed to surrender, so they moved in first to make a wall between the Vanlil and the ship so none could go there, then they proceeded to chop the Vanlil to pieces. The exiled men on the ship were presently cowering in the bow as far from the dock as they could get while the dwarfs taunted them, called them cowards, and told them to come to the dock so they could get their reward.

Kirstie shook her head and hugged Lord Amber briefly while she told him he better go. “And take that smelly mountain troll with you, please.”

Lord Amber smiled for her and faded from sight until the elves all vanished, taking Vortesvin with them. The fairies were already gone. The dwarfs eventually marched back to the mountains singing some strange marching song, and for nearly a decade after, people reported they could still hear the song echoing in the wilderness.

Mother Vrya caught up with Kirstie on the docks. She said now she had to go to work. Kirstie nodded and traded places with Mother Greta and said she would help, but when it came to the arrow in Kerga’s leg, she had to let Doctor Mishka take a turn. In fact, Doctor Mishka removed plenty of arrows that day, and Mother Vrya and Inga stood right there, looking over her shoulder, learning all they could.

When the day was done and Kirstie finally got to come home, she backed Captain Stenson and Frode into a corner. “Rune, you are no navigator, and Frode, you are a good skipari, but you are not any better as a navigator. My father taught me all there is to know about navigating the seas. I have all of his old charts and equipment and know how to use it. You take your new longship and go on your practice trading voyages, and when you get lost and have a hard time getting home, you come and see me. By then, I should be old enough and practiced enough with my weapons to sail with you and be your navigator. I’ll be ready when you are.” She harumphed at them and walked off without letting them object. They looked at each other and shook their heads, but that was what they did.

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

MONDAY

Kirstie plans to sail off on an adventure with Rune and Frode, but first she needs to review her father’s notes on navigation, then she needs to learn to use those weapons she is carrying. Until Monday, Happy Reading

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Medieval 5: K and Y 5 The Norwegian Hag, part 1 of 2

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Kirstie

There were no incidents in the night, and Kirstie actually slept well when she did not expect to sleep at all. Mother Vrya and one of the Witcher Women came with her so she would not be the only female among so many men. Who knew what the men were told, but they kept away from her in the night as well. Rune and his number one, Frode kept a good watch, so that may have had something to do with it.

The men gathered even as the sun first touched the horizon. They moved on the town as quietly as a bunch of clunky men could move, and as far as they knew, they would surprise the enemy. Thus far, neither the people of the town, who were likely under house arrest, nor the Vanlil nor the exiles showed any sign that they knew an army was on their doorstep. Kirstie, however, got a different word.

Svator came to her first thing and said the hag must have discerned their plans. She had men in the houses, the ones they had not burned, and they were prepared to repel the attack. Kirstie took a moment to hear from Elgar, Diogenes, and the Princess about what to do.

“Halt,” she said and sent Rune’s men to get the advance to halt because otherwise they would not see in the dim light. They made a ragged line, but Chief Birger and a couple of other chiefs at least came to Kirstie to ask why they halted.

“They are prepared for us, thanks to the hag. I’ll be sending the fairies in to try and route out their defenses and at least throw them into some confusion. Chief Birger, you need to take about forty or fifty men, about a full shipload to the east side. Don’t worry, the elves there will let you in and keep the dwarfs away.” She spoke to the Chief of Oglo. “You need to take about forty or fifty men to the west side. I want you to attack them from the side before the main army arrives. If you hit the sides, maybe even get a bit around to their back, they should feel like they are in a trap and need to escape. I do not want you to try and trap them. They do outnumber us two to one. I just want them to feel like they are being trapped when the main army comes up in front of them. They should pull back, and hopefully begin the exodus toward the docks and the fjord. Is that clear?”

The chiefs nodded and Chief Birger paused to say, “When did you get so smart?”

Kirstie smiled a little. “I have good teachers, Elgar included.”

“I figured there was more than one in there,” he said and left, and Kirstie did not feel obliged to correct him. The others were not in her. They were in their own time, living their own lives. When she borrowed them, they traveled through time to take her place in the present. Where she went at that time was a mystery, but in any case, that was more or less how it worked.

“Should we start moving?” Rune asked, but Kirstie shook her head. She looked at Svator who got big to present himself around the humans as a hunter dressed in his green outfit. Svator looked at the sky, but Kirstie knew he was not looking at the sky. He was listening for the reports from the fairies watching over the Chief of Oglo and Chief Birger and waiting to first tell the fairies on the edge of town to start the bombardment of the enemy positions, and then tell the humans to resume their slow march to the town. All of that did not take very long. It was all rather sloppy work, but by the time the hundred and fifty with Kirstie reached the town, the enemy had abandoned their positions and headed toward the docks.

The fairies hidden around the docks had to send the message to Buttercup and the waiting ships. Lord Amber moved a few elves in toward the docks as well to alert Yrsa when the time was right to make double sure the message got received by Captain Kerga. Those fairies and elves had to work hard to make sure the enemy did not escape aboard the ships before the trap could be set. Even so, fifteen men, twelve of whom were exiles who knew how the ships worked, made it to one karve and got it out into the deeper water. Captain Kerga on the lead ship caught them in the river delta.

The struggle in the delta did not last long. Kerga had some forty-five men aboard his longship. His longship was not damaged, though the karve burned. Kerga lost five men in the mele, and seven were wounded. None of the fifteen were allowed to surrender. Captain Kerga himself took an arrow in his thigh, but he ignored it and got his ship back out into the fjord and into position before anyone else could escape.

The other two longships sent longboats with men to take the actual docks. Shortly after that, two of the karve pulled up to the docks and unloaded. That put about seventy men on the docks itself, and the fairies and elves continued to strike at whatever enemy stuck his head up. Of course, they had to be careful not to shoot any of the men from Kerga’s little fleet.

There were some face-to-face fights in the streets among the mostly burned buildings. The Vanlil were not sailors, and besides, they were being driven by the will of the hag who herself did not have a very good military mind. Any human commander would have sued for peace almost from the start, at least as soon as their plan to repel the invaders went bust. Certainly, when Captain Kerga’s fleet arrived to blockade the town, even Lord Cornwallis would have surrendered. But the hag seemed to enjoy the death and killing, and seemed willing to sacrifice every life she controlled, even if and when she realized she was not going to win.

Soon enough, Kirstie knew she had to confront the hag, like it or not. She called to her armor and weapons and made a side comment to Mother Vrya. “The men will need healing hands when this is over,” though she supposed Mother Vrya was thinking the same thing. Kirstie turned to Frode who looked surprised when she became clothed in her armor. Frode was the one Rune commanded to stay with her and keep her safe. “I’ll square things with Captain Stenson when I get back.” Kirstie squirted away from the men and ran toward the docks.

Medieval 5: K and Y 2 Gifts of the Gods, part 2 of 3

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Kirstie

Inga kept an eye on Kirstie over the next three days. Kirstie did not appear changed in any noticeable way. She seemed to be grieving and Mother Vrya said that was healthy. Sometimes she wandered the village streets, watching the vendors in the marketplace. She mostly avoided both Hilda and Liv for the first couple of days. Sometimes she watched the boat builders. They were building a karve for the village to trade with other villages up and down the fjord. They were also nearly finished building a longship for Rune Stenson who had gathered a crew to sail with him to distant ports.

On the third day, she finally visited Hilda in her home in the afternoon. She stayed long enough to have supper with Hilda and her family, and Hilda’s father Haken walked Kirstie home in the dark, what with Vanlil and other enemies about. On the fourth day, Inga saw Kirstie head for town and thought nothing of it, but Kirstie felt the need to be alone for a while, so she veered off the path as soon as she was out of sight. It did not take long to make her way to the long field.

Kirstie wanted to go home, but she did not want to go. She stood for a long time looking in the direction of home, but eventually she moved to the edge of the trees. Something called to her, and she had to find out what. When she touched a tree, it began to burn.

Kirstie quickly pulled her hand back and stared. The burning tree was not her doing. She wondered what could cause a perfectly good tree to suddenly catch fire like some form of spontaneous combustion. She blinked and a whole section of woods right in front of her turned to ash, hardly having time to burn. The light came with the heat and Kirstie blinked, shielded her eyes, and complained.

“Please. Whoever you are. Can you tone it down a little? My fair skin is going to turn red as a lobster.” He did. It was one of the gods as she suspected. The light and heat lessened, and the man appeared, but up close he had a ghost-like quality she could not describe except to say he never fully manifested. She recognized him right away.

“Fryer,” she said, before she added, “Father.” Fryer had been her father, the father of Beauty who in Beauty’s language was called Faya. That was nearly five thousand years ago. Then Kirstie had a thought. Fryer was Njord’s son, so she should not have been surprised to see him. She wondered if Fryja the goddess of love and war was around. Fryja was Fryer’s twin sister, daughter of Njord. “What are you doing here?” she asked the same question she asked Njord.

“I am not really here,” he gave the same answer. “I am just a beam of sunlight able to break through the canopy and touch the forest floor.”

“My night owl,” Kirstie said, remembering something of Faya’s life. “My al-Rahim. My guardian.”

“My daughter,” he said. “A different daughter, but all the same. I have a gift for you.” Kirstie said nothing. She did this before. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth. “No, no,” Fryer said, and he took her hands. Kirstie caught fire. She flashed bright as the sun, and then the fire receded. The flames quickly became less as the man spoke. “I am sorry I was not a very good father to you.”

“Oh, no,” Kirstie said. “You were a wonderful father. You watched over me and kept me safe when no one else could, and I love you very much.” Without realizing it, Kirstie went away, and Faya came all the way through time from the deep past to stand in her place. She hugged her father, and Fryer tried to be as solid as he could so he could return her hug.

Faya pulled back, smiled for him, and went back into the past, letting Kirstie come home. Kirstie had a question. “What did you give me?”

“Enough,” Fryer said softly and lowered his voice against listening ears. “You must set the fire and put it out with the water to break the empowerment. They should fall apart.”

“Like the Wizard of Oz.” Kirstie giggled. “Fire the scarecrow and splash the mop bucket in her face. I’m melting. I’m melting.”

Fryer caught the images and grinned. “Something like that. But now you must listen.” He gave her a second to settle down and focus. “After you were my daughter all those millennia ago, I learned some about how you function. Time does not normally open for you early, and you learn you are the Kairos only after you reach puberty, or later. That way you make a firm foundation of who you are in each life before you become aware of the others. You really are too young for this.” He shook his head.

“I’m ten.” Kirstie stood up as straight and tall as she could. “I’m old enough. Besides, I already know about Yasmina, Mother Greta, and the good Doctor Mishka.”

Fryer nodded. “Rarely, maybe sometimes you open to other lifetimes earlier. Necessity is the driving force, and right now the Kairos is needed. First you must learn to call for your armor and weapons. The fairy properties in the material are such that it will always fit you no matter your shape and size.” He taught her right there how to call for her armor and how to call again for her regular clothes, which was important to know. She only made one side comment.

“Those weapons are heavy.”

“I am sure you will master them in time, though I hope you will not need them,” Fryer said. “But now, I am able to tell you this, that the exiled men and the Vanlil will meet in a week at most and assault the king’s house and the town on the Nid River. Kairos, you only have a week. You know if the exiled chiefs and men are able to retake the Trondelag area and kick out the king and the king’s men, history will be impacted, badly. And more than that, the hag that is driving the Vanlil—the Jamts from Jamtaland—will have gained a foothold to the sea, and Abraxas will be able to return to the northlands.” He paused to place a gentle hand against Kirstie’s young cheek. “I am sorry I cannot be there for you. It is up to you to do what you will.” He smiled, though he looked sad. “There are little ones near if you wish to call on their help. You know, I agree with some of the others. This is too much responsibility for one person, even with a hundred lifetimes to call on.”

That small place in the forest flashed as bright and hot as the sun for an instant. Kirstie did not even blink this time. She thought of calling to her father, Faya’s father, that he might stay a little longer. She did not want to be alone, but she said nothing. She had too many things to think about.

Kirstie walked slowly back to Mother Vrya’s; her mind preoccupied so she hardly looked at where she put her feet. What did she need to fire first and put out with the water? The Wicked Witch? What water? Those weapons were heavy, but that armor was cool… awesome… far out.” She heard a male voice in her head. “We don’t say far out anymore.” Kirstie nodded and continued with her own thoughts. What did he mean little ones? “Hey,” she said out loud as she arrived at Mother Vrya’s where Inga was stacking some freshly cut logs for the fire.

Inga stopped to look at Kirstie, but Inga said nothing, so Kirstie mumbled, “Let me help.” She was still thinking about shining bright as the sun and the fire in her hands. In fact, she looked at her hands as she picked up a bundle of sticks and the wood caught fire. Inga shouted, but Kirstie just looked at her hand holding the burning wood. She lifted her other hand and saw it burst into flames. Then she came to herself. “Sorry,” she said in a very unconcerned voice which stopped Inga in her tracks. She was coming to knock the burning wood out of Kirstie’s hand and try to put out her hands, but the hands stopped burning. “Sorry,” Kirstie said again, but when she opened her mouth, a stream of water came pouring out from her insides. It put out the bundle, soaking the wood, but it also splashed on Inga, soaking her all down the front.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Kirstie said again. “Maybe I should go inside.”

Inga nodded and dripped before she raised her voice. “Don’t set the house on fire.”

M3 Margueritte: The Hag Undone

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People watched the hag melt.  They could not turn away.

“The Wicked Witch of the West,” Margueritte said, as she took a big Lord Birch’s hand and stepped away from the wood pile.

“I remembered what my Lucky told me,” Lolly said and waved her water bucket with a big smile.

“Is it Lucky now?”  Brianna asked as she ran up and hugged Margueritte.

“Abraxasss!”  The Hag called out one last time.

“I told you he will not dare show his face here,” Margueritte said, but she looked around and up at the sky because she felt she was really bluffing.  She heard Danna’s voice, however, inside her head, echo down the halls of time.

“I never bluff,” Danna told her.

Soon enough, the hag became no more than a wet lump of fur on the ground.  She was not actually a child of the god, like the Grendel, and had no convenient lake to jump in to retain her shape in death.

Then they heard horses coming up fast.

“Majesty.”  Brianna spoke to Lady LeFleur, but she had already gotten out her wand and in a second, every little one in that area became invisible.

“What is happening?”  Urbon said as he came out from under the spell.  Without Curdwallah to focus through, Abraxas could not maintain the enchantment.

All the people began to come to their senses.

The Franks rode into the village square.  It looked like the whole army.

Margueritte felt surprised to see Duredain at the front.  Owien rode there, too.  Roland leapt from his horse and came running up but stopped.  Tomberlain hid a smile which Margueritte did not understand.  Charles, of course, lead the way, and he was aware enough of what was happening to hold his men in check before unnecessary fighting broke out.

“What?”  Margueritte looked at Roland and wondered why he stopped.  She wanted so much to throw herself in his arms, but she did not dare.  What if that was not what he wanted?

“Just once,” he said, and turned a quick look to Tomberlain.  “Just once I wish you would let me rescue you all on my own.”  There, he said it.

“I promise,” she said.  “Next time you can rescue me, and I won’t help a bit.  All right?”  She looked pensive.

“All right,” Roland said, and he stepped up and took her and kissed her and bent her to his desire, even as she was eager to bend, cliché though it may be.

“Ahem.”  Sir Barth coughed and looked away.  Brianna came up and took Barth’s arm and helped to turn him away.

“I told you I would be back,” Owien said, proudly.  Elsbeth reached up for his hand, but her eyes were all on her sister and Roland.

“Jennifer?”  Father Aden asked Tomberlain because he did not know who else to ask.

“She’s fine, and the baby,” Tomberlain said through his smile.  “With Constantus and Lady Lavinia having a wonderful time.”

“Sir Roland.”  Charles spoke from horseback.  He paused to wait, but Roland did not pause.  “Roland.”  Charles said it again and drummed his fingers on his wrist and finally rolled his eyes.  “Sir Roland!”  He insisted.  Roland and Margueritte barely parted.

“Sir?”  Roland said, as if he was listening, but not by much.

“This young woman has caused me no end of trouble.”  That got Margueritte’s attention and she looked up, so Roland turned his head a little.  “Every time she gets in the middle of it, you go rushing off, and I lose you for weeks or months.  I can’t have this.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Roland said.

“Me, too,” Margueritte spoke in a whisper.

“Therefore, I have decided.  As your superior I command you to marry the woman and bring her to the camp.  Next time at least you won’t have so far to run.”

Roland and Margueritte, still held each other as tight as they could and looked dumb for a second before they smiled.

“Yes sir!”  Roland shouted.

“It would be my pleasure,” Margueritte said, softly.

“No, mine,” Roland said.

“No, Mimmm.”  Her word got swallowed up in a kiss.

 

M3 Margueritte: Rapunzel Set Free, part 3 of 3

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Curdwallah chose that moment to come around the side of the tower.  “No!”  She raged when she saw Margueritte free of her prison.  Roland pulled his sword, ready for battle, but Margueritte, with her head in her hand, blinking her eyes from the strain of everything rushing back at her at once, shouted.

“Wait.  No, wait.”  She shook her head.

Thomas tried to sit up and Margueritte scooted back on her knees a little to oblige.

“But why?”  Thomas asked in a small voice, his wind still coming in gasps.

Curdwallah paused.  “My true god, Abraxas, would not let me kill her.  He said she would just be reborn and come back to haunt us.  In the tower, she might live her whole life and we could invoke the plan without interference.

“But now your plan is done,” Roland said.

“I think not.”  Curdwallah eyed him and his sword closely.  With that, Curdwallah began to grow.  In no time, she became ogre sized and her face, hands and legs appeared covered with fur, while her tent-like clothes became too tight.  “I think not,” she said again in a voice a whole octave lower.

Roland slashed out with his sword, but the Curdwallah beast moved supernaturally fast.  She avoided the sword and struck Roland before he could recover.  She hit him hard in the chest.  Roland flew back and slammed against the wall of the tower where he slumped down, dazed.

Catspaw had her hands full calming the terrified horses.  Thomas still could not get to his feet.  Margueritte shrieked, but she grabbed on to the one thought that haunted her while the drooling beast started toward Roland, her prey.

“You are not my mother,” she said, and she pointed accusingly.  Without her knowing why, something like blue lightening, like electricity poured out of her hand.  It was the power given to Bodanagus, her genetic reflection, and it echoed in her.  It struck Curdwallah who arched her back and howled, and it kept coming while the beast began to shake and dance like a person being electrocuted.  Slowly, the beast shrank again until she collapsed, like a criminal struck with a massive Taser.  She still wiggled from the shock when a recovered Roland drove his sword into her heart.  Then he rushed to Margueritte who cried in his arms for what seemed like the longest time.

“I love you,” Roland said, but Margueritte did not really hear as she passed in and out of consciousness.

Boom!

Thomas kicked open the door to the first floor of the tower.  “Aeugh!”  He sounded repulsed and turned quickly away from the sight.  Someone invisible handed him a torch.  He threw it in without looking again, and they all waited until the tower was well in flames.

“Come on,” Roland said.  He mounted his horse, the half-conscious Margueritte cradled gently in his arms.

“The children,” Thomas said.

“I guessed as much,” Roland responded, and he started to walk his horse away from there.

“So did I.”  Grimly said.  Grimly handed Thomas the torch.

“No, you never guessed,” Catspaw objected.

“Did too,” Grimly said.

Thomas whistled for their attention before they started a good row.  “Where’s Lord Barth?”

“Had to fetch him and Squire Tomberlain from Vergenville.  Sorry we were late, but we should find them on the road in about an hour or so.”

“On the road?”  Catspaw questioned.

“I came on ahead,” Grimly admitted.  “I got worried.  I love my Lady.”

“So do I.” Catspaw nodded.

“So do I,” Roland said, quietly.

It took all day to get Margueritte home and into her own bed.  She stayed delirious most of the time, and at times she passed out altogether; but sometimes she seemed lucid enough to give everyone hope.  Jennifer suggested Doctor Pincher and Brianna tried to call him as Margueritte had done, but she got no response.  Finally, she held her daughter’s hand, stomped her foot, lifted her eyes toward heaven, and shouted for the Doctor.

“Here.  Here.”  Doctor Pincher appeared and gave the impression that he had some ringing in his ears.  Lady Brianna quickly explained, and she felt a little surprised the Doctor did not already know all about it.  To this, the Doctor explained something in return.

“You must understand, the Kairos dies.  She is reborn, to be sure, but who is to say how long or short a given life may be.  It is not our place to interfere with that process, even for those of us who may be devoted to her.  She is only human, after all, and in ages past that was one of the main reasons we agreed to have her as a goddess over us all.” Brianna felt astonished by what she heard, but the Doctor consoled her.  “Then again, there is no reason why she should not have first-rate medical treatment, just like any other human might have.  Let me examine the patient.”  He said this as he threw everyone else out of the room and only let her mother stay.

After a while he gave his prognosis.  “There is nothing I can really do.  She is healthy enough, though undernourished.  Her trouble appears to be raging in her mind.  All the same, I see no reason why she should not make a full recovery.  Rest is what she needs, and time.  The Kairos has resources in time which can help far better than I can, even if they may be the partial cause of her present distress.  Rest is the best.  Give her some time, and some chicken soup to see that she is properly nourished.”

“Thank you.  I will.”  Lady Brianna smiled.  “But, oh!”  She interrupted her smile.  “I don’t know how to send you home.”

“Quite all right.”  Doctor Pincher stood while she remained seated.  That put them about eye to eye.  “I am way overdue for a good vacation.  I think I may look around, and perhaps come by here in a week or so to see how my patient is doing.”

“You are so kind.”  Lady Brianna stood as they went out to tell the news to the others.

“I know,” Doctor Pincher said.  “She ruined me when she was Gerraint, or rather, the Lady Greta.  I’ve had no desire for anything but to help people ever since.”  He shrugged and Brianna looked at him once more.  She would never have guessed he was that old.

The next morning, Doctor Pincher walked down the road toward Paris in the company of Roland and Tomberlain, who had been given over to be Roland’s squire.  Lord Barth had taken on Owien since Sir Gilles got too old for such a thing and his dragon busted arm never quite healed right.  They had all waited that morning to be sure Margueritte passed a quiet night, and indeed, she slept well and woke up hungry.  Now, Brianna and Bartholomew stood in the manor door and watched them ride away.

“Lord!”  Barth spoke.  “I bet there will be a real blow in Belgium.  I’ll be sorry to miss it.”

Brianna gave him a love tap on his chest to chide his remark and get his attention.  “I’ll be worried day and night as it is about Tomberlain,” she said.  “I’ll not let you go to get yourself killed at our age.  Whatever would I do?”

Barth smiled.  “Yes, well I still have the girls to watch over.  By the way, where is Elsbeth?”

“I believe she and Owien chose to take an early morning ride,” Brianna said.

“Oh, they did?”  Barth looked up at the barn and stepped down from the front stoop.  “I think I may have a talk with that boy.”

Brianna was about to say something else when they heard the bell ringing from Margueritte’s room.  “I’ll get it,” was what she ended up saying.

Barth started toward the barn and mumbled.  “Yes, I believe it is time that boy and I had a little talk.”

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MONDAY

One happy ending, but…  Well, the dragon is still out there, if you recall.  Until Monday.

Happy Reading

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M3 Margueritte: Burning Questions, part 1 of 3

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Late in the spring in the year of our Lord, 710, when Margueritte turned thirteen, a great caravan got spotted in the northeast quarter, headed toward the Mark and for Amorica.  Margueritte was out riding with Elsbeth and Tomberlain when they found it.  There were some riders with the caravan, but mostly mule and oxen wagons that moved slowly across the fields.  Tomberlain went for Bartholomew, but Margueritte and Elsbeth refused to move from their perch.  They were on a hillside, hidden enough by the trees to not be an obvious target, so on the promise that they not move an inch, Tomberlain went, and he was not gone long.

Lord Bartholomew and every man of the March he could muster came armed to the rendezvous.  Even young Owien came with them, having taken up as page to Sir Gilles, Bartholomew’s sergeant at arms.  They rode down toward the oncoming troop, slowly and carefully, not knowing what to expect.  Bartholomew, of course, told the girls to stay put, but of course they did not.

Several men rode out from the wagons to face their visitors.  The men did not appear hostile, and they did not appear to be armed.  Appearances can be deceiving, but in this case, they turned out to be gypsies, that wretched and miserable race said to be doomed to wander over the earth, never to have a home of their own for the great sins of their forefathers.  Margueritte never thought that was quite fair to the children and grandchildren, and she felt a pang of conscience when she drew near.

Margueritte pulled up to wait, but Elsbeth could hardly keep herself from riding into the midst of them.  They were stopping at any rate.  The day was on.  Marguerite did not hear what deal her father made to have them pass through the Mark unmolested, but she felt sure it was pass through.  There would be no long camps on the Breton border.

Margueritte, however, did hear what Goldenrod whispered.  “Breedies,” she called them with a turned-up nose.

“What do you mean, breedies?”  Margueritte asked.

“They got little one blood in them,” she said.  “Not much, but enough to make them smelly.”

“Hey!  I’m a breedie, half Frank and half Breton,” Margueritte said.

“You’re a human bean.”

“Being.”

“You all smell stinky, the same,” Goldenrod said and rolled her eyes, as if everyone knew this.

“Thanks a lot.”  Margueritte kicked her horse to get a closer look.

Lord Bartholomew got invited to examine the camp to be sure the gypsies were not hiding the weapons of a secret army, and Tomberlain and Elsbeth went with him and his troops, so Margueritte thought it would be all right.  When she got near, however, she saw something she did not expect to see.  Curdwallah was speaking with one of the gypsy chiefs while at the same time trying to blend into the background with the hope that Sir Barth and his troop would not recognize her.  Margueritte recognized her.  Curdwallah the hag could not escape recognition despite how much she appeared like just another gypsy witch.

“Invisible?”  Margueritte checked with Goldenrod.

“Naturally,” Goldenrod responded with some miff to think that Margueritte had to remind her.

“Fly there.”  Margueritte pointed and quickly looked away so as not to let on that she saw Curdwallah.  “I must know what she is doing here so far south of her place.  I must know what she is saying.”

“Oooo.”  Goldenrod stood on Margueritte’s shoulder.  “Spies for gossip.”  Margueritte felt the fee practice peeking in and out from behind her hair several times before she took off.

“But Lady, the price you ask is too steep,” the gypsy said.

“I warned you not to enter my territory without my permission.”

“But we have gone around.  You are not disturbed.”

“You misjudge.”  Curdwallah put her hand to his shoulder, squeezed a little, which caused the man to grimace in pain.  “Amorica is mine.  All the territory is mine, and you will meet my price, or you will pay in other, less pleasant ways.”

“I will do what I can.”  She squeezed a little more.  “All right. All right.”  He yelped and fell to his knees.

“But wait.  There are too many eyes here, and I feel certain someone is listening in.”  Curdwallah turned slowly around and nearly stopped right where Goldenrod hid.  Fortunately, the fairy, though invisible to mortal eyes, thought it prudent to also hide behind a bucket.  Curdwallah’s eyes moved on.  “We will be better in your wagon,” Curdwallah said, and the poor gypsy led the way while Goldenrod sped back to Margueritte’s shoulder. She peeked out from the security of Margueritte’s hair before she said anything at all.

On hearing, Margueritte wheeled about and rode back to the hill, and then home, thinking the whole way.  When she told her father about it later, he chided her.

“Why didn’t you tell me right away, while we were there?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Margueritte admitted.  “I didn’t think of that.  I did not know if it was important or not.”

One thing that was important came up some days later. It happened during Beltain of that year, not many days after the gypsies, when lady Brianna’s conscience finally needed to be cleared.  Tomberlain and Owien were out proving what hard heads they had, as Margueritte put it, but the girls were kept close to home.  Lady Brianna was not going to risk another Beltain romp, and on that day, she took the girls into the chapel where Aden the Convert had taken up temporary residence.

This thing had weighed heavily on Lady Brianna’s mind since Beltain a year ago, and really since the little ones first arrived in their lives.  To that end, she insisted that Little White Flower come to church.  The poor fee acted frightened out of her wits just to think of it, but one look at Father Aden calmed her, greatly.

Aden had actually been taken to Iona as a baby in his mother’s arms.  His own father had died doing no less a thing than saving the king’s life.  Aden grew up in Iona and lived twenty years under the eyes and tutelage of the monks. At age twenty, he felt the great calling to return to his native land and spread the gospel, and he received a warm reception at first for the sake of his father.  Some ten years later, the reception had cooled considerably, and at times, especially during the seasons, Aden felt grateful for the safety of the Frankish mark.

“But it is the Celtic way,” he said.  “I look to the scholars of Iona and the people look to me.  The children look to their parents, and on down the generations until we are able to make our own Iona here in Amorica, and grow our own scholars, steeped in the knowledge of the Lord.  It is better than looking, like sheep, to some distant Bishop to know what we are supposed to think and do.”

Then the topic turned to Little White Flower and the rest.  The fairy turned beet red when Aden examined her, and he seemed not a little embarrassed himself.  Then there were hours of discussion, searching as much of the scriptures as they had, and finally concluding on this note:  First, that it was wise of Sir Barth to charge his people in the strongest possible terms to say nothing of their presence to anyone at any time, and second, that there were more things in Heaven and on Earth than they could imagine

Kairos Medieval 3: Light in the Dark Ages. M3) Margueritte: The Old Way Has Gone

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Beginning MONDAY

In the early days of Charles Martel, Margueritte experiences everything a Medieval girl might want: fairies, ogres, a unicorn, dragons, knights to love and daring rescues.  But it is Curdwallah the hag, the devotee of Abraxas, that haunts her dreams in the dark.

Don’t Miss it. Enjoy a preview… So it begins…

M3 Margueritte: In the Dark

The woman came on her knees, her head lowered, her eyes downcast, the blood still dripping from her lips.  “I have done all that you asked,” she said, and then held her tongue to await her god’s pleasure.  The shining one stepped close.

“And what is it you have done?” 

“My children have been my meat.  Their bones litter my floor.  And my husband has hung from the rafters.  His blood has been my drink.”  The woman spoke plainly.  She had no guilt or remorse.  She was simply obedient to her god.

“I am the god of light and dark,” Abraxas proclaimed himself.  “I hold the night in my left hand and the day in my right.  One hand covers with darkness and the other blinds with the light.  I know what you have done in the darkness.  What you do in the light will be proclaimed.  You will be my witness, and all people will come to me through you, only not yet.”

The woman looked up, but still held her tongue for fear of her awesome god.

“The gods of old are gone and I am left to start anew.”  The shining one spoke to himself.  “This Aden from Iona must bring the people to uncertainty between the old ways and the new ways.  When there is stress and confusion and war between the old and new, we will strike.  In the meanwhile, grow strong.”  Abraxas placed his hands on the woman’s head, and something flowed from him to her.  “The fire and the water are forever at war,” he said.  “Thus, you will know when to move.  Strike when you sense the elements in opposition and war in the minds of the people.”  He withdrew his hands, and the woman reeled from the power.

“Yet there is one annoyance of which I must be certain.”  Abraxas still thought out loud and tapped his chin.  “Right now, the Kairos is an old man in Constantinople.  When the old man dies, it will be better for all concerned if the Kairos is not reborn in this time and in this place.” 

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Until Monday,

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M3 Festuscato: What It Is, part 1 of 3

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“I know what it is!”  Festuscato shouted and sat straight up in bed.

“Festus?”  Hilde snuggled down deeply under the covers.

“Not now,” Festuscato said, pushed her away gently despite her protests, and got up to dress hurriedly.  When ready, he went and banged on Mirowen’s door.  “Mirowen,” he called.  “I know what it is.”  He waited until Mirowen came to the door, her fairy clothes shaped into a comfortable white nightgown.

“In some places, they call it a harlot,” Mirowen said.

“What?  No, Hilde’s a nice girl.  No.  The monster.  I know what it is.”

“My pardon, Lord Agitus.  I am not yet awake.”  Mirowen raised her arms and her gown shape shifted and changed color to its former style, though it looked as if just cleaned and pressed, while her hair pulled itself up into a small bun that left a ponytail which fell to the small of her back.  Mirowen also looked like she had just bathed and been preening all morning, and she smelled of hyacinth and roses.

“You do that on purpose to drive me nuts,” Festuscato said.

“I can hardly drive you to where you already live,” Mirowen responded with a grin that ever so lightly creased the corners of her mouth.

“Like your hair,” Luckless said as he came around the corner with a fist full of pork loin.  “Sets off your ears.”

Festuscato paused to look out the window.  The sun just began to lighten the Eastern horizon.  “Breakfast already?”

“Pre-breakfast snack,” Luckless said.  “The cook likes to watch the little guy eat.”

“Who can sleep with all that snoring?”  Seamus came around the same corner, stretching and yawning.

“Gregor?”  Festuscato did not really have to ask.

“Makes me hungry,” Luckless admitted.  “Anyway, Bran can.”

“A good soldier can sleep anywhere,” Festuscato told him.

“Hold it!”  Mirowen shouted.  “Would you all like to come in?”  She threw the door wide open and moved aside.  The men looked at each other and Luckless swallowed.

“Er, thanks.”  Festuscato accepted the invitation for all.  He stepped in, followed by the others.  Mousden darted in just before Mirowen closed the door.  She ended up leaving it open a crack.

“I was wondering when you would show up,” Mirowen frowned.

“What did I miss?”  Mousden asked in his most excited squeak.

“You said you know who it is?”  Mirowen turned Festuscato away from the window and the sunrise and completely ignored Mousden.

“Who is what?”  Festuscato asked.

“You said.”  Mirowen started, and he remembered and hushed her with his hand.

“I said I think I know what it is,” he corrected her.  “I have no idea who.”  He began to ponder that question.

“Well?”  Seamus seemed the impatient one, probably from lack of sleep.

“It’s a hag, I think.  A servant of Abraxas.”  Festuscato came out of his reverie.

“Can’t be.”  Luckless spoke while licking his fingers.  “It’s a male.”

“All right.”  Festuscato took a step back.  “Then son of a hag, but the look, the strength, the speed, the size, it all fits.”

“Something near enough like it anyway.”  Mirowen did not disagree.

“A hag?”  Seamus asked.

“A Doctor Jeckel, Mister Hyde.”  Festuscato said and then he quickly had to wave off their questions.  “A normal enough person most of the time, but a secret devotee of the god, empowered by the god to take on enormous power and strength at times to serve the god’s nefarious purposes.  Here’s the key.  Unlike a werewolf or other such nightmares, a hag retains her mind, or in this case, his mind.  They can still think things through, and talk.”

“And how do you know this?”  Seamus did not question.  He got curious.

“Greta had to kill one once.  Cooked her in her own oven.  And Margueritte just faced down Curdwallah; but that’s the future.  I guess I’m not supposed to talk about that.”

“So it is a hag.”  Mirowen nodded.

“Or near enough like it,” Luckless repeated her words.

“I knew it!”  Mousden fluttered down from the ceiling, and he sounded and looked very agitated.  “Monster talk.”  He shivered visibly at the whole idea.  “I thought we weren’t staying or getting involved in that business.”

“We won’t, much.  Let the Geats handle it.”  Festuscato assured the little one.  “That’s why it is so important you stay on the roof at night and keep your eyes peeled for a sail on the horizon.  If the Kairos’ timing holds up, the Geats should be along any day now.”

“Yeah, but now I’ll have daymares and won’t be able to sleep.”

“Geats and hags.”  Seamus shook his head and sat in a chair.  “Who will believe it?”

“But the creature stayed quietly absent from the hall last night,” Mirowen pointed out.  “Unless the creature shows itself, how can we know who it is?”

“No trail to follow does make it tough,” Festuscato admitted.

“We could set Gregor to sleep in the hall as bait,” Seamus muttered.  Mirowen’s jaw dropped open.

“Such a suggestion.  And from a Cleric!” she scolded.

Seamus shrugged, and turned as red as Festuscato’s hair.

“Wouldn’t work,” Luckless said.  “All that snoring would just scare the poor creature away.”

Festuscato snapped his fingers to regain everyone’s attention.  He was again watching the sunrise, but he spoke to the point.  “I figure the best candidates are Aschere, the king’s Counselor.  There is something of slime about him.  Heinrich the Bard.  It is hard to tell how much of their own stories such men believe.  Wulfgar, the king’s Herald, though he seems a good man.”

“Svergen, the officer of the Coastal Watch.”  Bran spoke up from the open doorway.  “Shouldn’t be heralding this into the hall,” he said, as he stepped inside and shut the door tight.

“It isn’t the king,” Mirowen said.  “He is too old, and too sincerely crushed by it all.  Twelve years is a long time for humans to suffer.”  She looked up and saw the others looking at her.  “I spoke with queen Wealtheow,” she explained.

“Isn’t the cook,” Luckless said.  “I don’t hold for human food, but this cook is not half bad.”

“Can’t speak for the other half,” Festuscato mumbled softly.

“No, and that servant of his, Ragnard is afraid of his own shadow,” Luckless finished with a chuckle.

“The rest of the men are too transient.”  Mirowen said, by way of conclusion.

“Except Unferth,” Seamus said

“Hrugen’s father?”  Festuscato asked.

Seamus nodded.  “He wouldn’t be the first to use drink as a cover for something else.  And he has the reputation, at least in the alleged killing of his brothers.”  Most nodded, except Bran who smiled.

“Leave it to an Irishman,” Bran said.  It seemed hard to tell if that was a compliment or an insult.

“So then, that’s the short list.”  Festuscato wanted to get it right.  “Aschere the Counselor, Wulfgar the Herald, Svergen the Coast Watcher, Heinrich the Bard, and Unferth the Drunk.”  He shook his head.  Having tasted those names on his tongue, he was not sure if any of them felt quite right.  He went to the door.  “Suns up.  Breakfast time.”  He opened the door and found Luckless already in front of him.  Bran chuckled quietly from over his shoulder.

“Festus.  Festus.”  He saw Hilde’s head poke out from behind his door.

“Keep good notes, Seamus.  I’ll catch you up.”  Festuscato disappeared into his room to a roll of Mirowen’s eyes.

It turned high noon and time for the main meal in the hall when Festuscato finally did catch them up.  “What did I miss?”  He sounded a bit like Mousden.

“Nothing,” Gregor said grumpily.  “Can’t get any of these Danes to arm wrestle.”

That did not sound like jovial Gregor, but Festuscato did not have time to ask as Wulfgar came straight to the table on Festuscato’s appearance.

“Roman.  I would not have my king filled with false hope.”

“Quite right,” Festuscato responded.  “But sometimes there is only trust.  I would not want to see your king hopeless, either.  I have felt hopelessness.  It isn’t fun.”

Wulfgar thought about that for a minute before he responded.  “I hope that what you say comes to pass,” he said, and paused again before adding, “For your sake.”

“If I am wrong, I won’t be the first in these twelve years,” Festuscato said, and Wulfgar moved off with things on his mind.

“What have you been up to?”  Mirowen asked, but before Festuscato could answer, Aschere came up.  It appeared as if the Danes were taking turns.

“Roman.”  He began as Wulfgar began, but his conversation turned in a different direction.  “Yours is the strangest crew that has ever been seen or heard of.”

“A preposition is something you should not end a sentence with,” Festuscato said, with a straight face.  Mirowen stopped translating half way through and gave him a hard look.

“This woman who speaks the king’s tongue like a native is a beauty such as few men have ever imagined,” Aschere said.

“That’s true.  He’s got you there,” Festuscato said and delighted in the way it reddened Mirowen’s ears, though of course Aschere could not see her in her true elven form as Festuscato saw her, so he did not get the full ear effect.

“Tell him I thank him for the compliment.  You have always been like a big sister to me, when you are not acting like my mother.”  Festuscato said and gave the elf a kindly frown.  She told Aschere something.  Aschere nodded as if he understood.  He turned then to his mediocre Latin.

“And this little man,” Aschere went on.  “I see no good in him except to fill his stomach.”

“He is my tinker and blacksmith,” Festuscato said.  “He is as good with gold and silver as he is with iron and steel.”

“I have seen his tools.”  Aschere admitted.  “Some are very finely wrought.”  He made the admission.  “But then what of the boy?  Where is he?”

“Sleeping.”  Festuscato said and shrugged as if to suggest that was what all young boys did.  “He stayed up late.”

“In truth,” Aschere said with a sly grin.  “I found him this morning up on the pinnacle of the roof, though without a ladder, I am at a loss to say how he came there.”  The man clearly asked.

“All right, if you insist,” Festuscato said.  “In truth, as you say, Mirowen is a light elf, Luckless is a dwarf, and Mousden is a dark elf with wings.  He flew to the roof to look through the night for the sail I am expecting.”

Aschere looked taken aback at first.  He raised his eyebrows, but then he began to chuckle.  He left laughing, certain that Festuscato had to be joking, but fortunately he did not see Mirowen slap Festuscato on the shoulder or hear what she said.

R5 Greta: The Old Ones, part 3 of 3

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“Woman.” Baran turned his wrath on the old woman. “I think age has finally caught up with you.  She speaks crazy and you say it is the truth.  I do not even understand what she is saying.”

Fae simply looked at the man until he backed down.  “I understand little myself.”  She said. “But what she says is truth.  She does not lie.”

“Tell us about the wolf,” Vilam spoke up.  “Tell us about Liam.”

“I killed the wolf.”  Greta spoke plainly as she recognized that in a sense this became like a visionary moment for her.  “He did not suffer.  And I buried him twenty feet beneath the earth and solid rock.  Do not dig him up lest you become infected like he was. Let him rest in peace.”

“You killed the wolf?”  Baran only caught the first part of her answer.

“She speaks true.” Fae almost went unheard.

“But you said the Nameless god of the Yellow Hairs killed the wolf.”  Vilam objected.

“The Nameless god did kill the wolf.”  Greta said.

“But how could you both?”  Vilam got confused.

“That doesn’t make sense.”  Baran still protested.

“She does not lie!”  Fae said, with sudden strength.  Everyone looked at her.  Greta also looked and saw that the old woman started looking at Greta in a very different way.  She guessed that the quarter of Fae’s blood which belonged to her little ones saw something her human three quarters never dreamed possible.

“The Yellow Hairs will be made weak by the loss of their woman.”  Baran wasted no more time.  “Put her with the others.  We will bring them to the bogie beast this very afternoon.”

“The bogie beast? The hag.”  Greta understood.  “That won’t be possible.”  She spoke before they could grab her.  “I killed the Hag.  I baked her in her own oven.”

That really got their attention because they knew all about the chimney and, of course, the oven.

“She does not lie,” Fae said, and Baran looked astonished.

“That is why the smoke stopped,” Vedix said, as if confirming her story.  He started looking at Greta with different eyes as well at that point, and not without some fear.  Greta showed considerable restraint not to say anything especially since Salacia kept urging her to ask if Vedix would like to spend the rest of his life as a sea slug.

While Baran conferred with several of the men, Greta considered the stockade around the village.  Such a structure could not ultimately keep out a hag, or bogie beast as they misnamed it. Such creatures returned to the same village, and often to the same house as their last feeding.  But then, a regular flow of sacrifices might keep one at bay and even fix the beast on a new place for feeding.

Baran turned angrily and spoke without preliminaries.  “Tie the woman in the swamp and leave her for the banshees.”

“I destroyed the banshees, the wyvern.”  Greta spoke without hesitation, but lowered her eyes as if not wanting to remember what she saw.  “They are no more.”

“She.”  Fae began to speak, but Baran interrupted her.

“Old woman, I swear you are senile and don’t know what you are saying.”  Then he turned his anger back to Greta.  “I suppose you can prove it!” he demanded.

“I have a witness.”  Greta answered, as calmly as she could in the face of the man’s storm.  She had amazed even herself up to this point in the things that she said, but now, suddenly, she felt completely alone.  She did not hear a peep throughout time, and she knew she had to do it herself, whatever that might be.  In truth, she could only think of one thing to do.  “Berry.”  She called softly.  She steadied herself and decided how things needed to be.  “Berry.”  She insisted. “On my shoulder.”  And Berry got compelled to vanish from wherever she was and appear on Greta’s shoulder.  “There, there.”  Greta said immediately.  “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Berry let out a little shriek and instantly hid in Greta’s hair, but not before everyone in that place saw her.  Most just stood and stared, including Baran who appeared to be frozen with his mouth part way open.  Fae, however, fell to her knees, placed her face in her hands and wept.  It seemed as if seeing Berry became the fulfillment of her every hope and dream.

“Just talk to me.” Greta said.  “Come and face me and speak up good and loud, Okay?”

Berry hesitated and shook her little head.

“You can put your back to all of the people so you don’t have to look at them.”  Greta pointed out.

Berry thought about that and decided she could do that.  She flitted out to hover and faced Greta, and Greta did not hesitate to get her talking instead of thinking about being on display.

“Did I go into the swamp yesterday morning?”  Greta asked.

“Yesterday? I have to think.”  She put her little finger to her temple and tapped. “Think, think.  Oh, yes!  You know you did and I almost stopped you, but Bogus the Skin said I was supposed to just watch.”

“And you followed me?”  Greta made it a question.

“I watched like I was told.  I do good what I’m told.  So I fly from leaf to leaf and you don’t see me because I hide-ed.”

“You hid.”

“I sure did. I do good what I’m told.”

“Then what happened?”

Berry flitted back and forth several times very fast before she settled down again.  “I don’t like to think that part.  The suckies came.”

“The banshees? The wyvern?”  Greta suggested both the Celtic and Dacian names for the succubus.

“They been called that.”  Berry said. “But you got the big god sword and POP! One is no more.”

Then you did something very brave.”  Greta praised her, and Berry puffed up her chest in pride.

“I showed myself,” she said, and then added, “But not so brave.  I knew you would save me, and you did.  You powered them with more than magic, like fire and lightening herself, and they turned like fish bubbles and POP!  POP!  POP! They were no more.”  Berry smiled and then frowned.  “But four still chased you.  They did not chase me so you could not power them.  One got popped on the God sword, but three surrounded you and I was afraid for you.”

“And what did I do?”

“You went into tomorrow or yesterday and the big man came.  With the god sword and the long knife, you one, two, threed them and they were no more.”  Berry thrilled at the memory of them being no more, and everyone present felt it. Berry did a back flip in mid-air and zoomed right up to hug Greta’s neck and kiss her cheek.  Then she pulled back and looked serious as if she just remembered something very important.

“Oh, but Lady. I’m not supposed to be here.  No, no!  Bogus the Skin made a greement.  The mortal, clumsy trompers get this side of the river and we get the other.”

Of course, it was nonsense.  Greta knew that Berry and plenty more were over on the human side all of the time. They were in the grain, the trees, the flowers, the animals, but she supposed they always hide-ed.  They had a comfortable freedom in being able to go about without always having to be invisible; but then those days were over since the dissolution.  The days of dividing the land into separate realms was over.  The earth was one, now, and it belonged to the lowly human race.

“And what was this agreement?”  Greta asked. She was not entirely surprised to hear Baran answer.

“It would last until Danna herself, the Earth Goddess, the mother of all the Gods should end it herself, and what can you do about that?”  Everything had gone so badly for him thus far, he wanted to mock her, as if that might still give him some power over events.  Greta simply looked at the man without blinking.  Then she went away into the winds of time, and Danna, herself came to take her place.

Some ran. Most hid.  Some fell to their faces.  Berry got big and got down on her knees beside Fae, but she could not contain herself.  She slowly inched forward to where she could hug Danna’s knees, and Danna reached down and gently stroked Berry’s hair.

“All right.” Danna said.  “The agreement is now ended.”  And she made sure that Bogus the Skin and all of the little ones heard as well. “The whole forest now belongs to humanity which at present means the Celts, Dacians and Romans in equal measure.” She paused to let that sink in before she turned to the leader.

“Baran, you think if the Romans and Dacians fight each other it might weaken them and be to your advantage, perhaps even give you the opportunity to reclaim your land. Foolish man.  The Northland is terribly overcrowded.  Even now Germans of many tribes and nations are jostling each other and pushing against the soft side of the Roman Empire.  Even as we speak, the Quadi stand poised to invade. If the Romans and Dacians weaken each other, only the Quadi and Samartins will gain, and the next invasion will not stop at the borders of the forest.  For your own survival and for the sake of your children, I implore you to make yourselves known to the Romans and Yellow Hairs.  You must join with them to strengthen and defend the border. There may yet be a hundred years of peace, but I leave that in your hands.”  She paused again, but only to stroke Berry’s hair.

“Now Vedix.” Danna said, and Vedix appeared before her, instantly.  A number of people gasped and several screamed.  They were startled, but not surprised when Berry appeared earlier. They almost expected such things from the Vee Villy.  But to think that it could happen to a man!  “You kicked me this morning.”  Danna said.

Vedix fell to his knees.  His heart beat too fast, his palms sweating and he looked ready to pass out.  Poor Danna had to tone down her nature to almost nothing at all, and even then Vedix barely eeked out a response.

“’Twasn’t you,” he said, and fell on his face.

“’Twas.” Danna responded in kind.  “Not Danna me, but Greta me,” she said.

“Oah!” Vedix moaned.

“This is your punishment.  Hear me!” Danna threw her arms out compelling attention and the sparks flew from her hands and eyes.  Vedix certainly had to hear her because she had the power to send him to where a thousand years would barely begin his torment.  All she did, however, was speak.  “You must learn to treat others as you would wish to be treated if you were in their shoes.”  She paused before adding, “No sea slug.”  And she waved her hand once more and sent him back to the place where he had been trying to hide.

“I must go,” she said, and smiled, which suddenly warmed every heart present.  Many people looked up, but only Berry had the presence to speak up.

“Must you?” she said and flitted to another thought.  “Is it time for my Greta to come home?”

“Yes, sweet,” Danna said.  “This is my Greta life, not my Danna life.  Only, be good to her.  You know my Greta is just as human, mortal, and fallible as Baran.”  She paused for effect.  “Well, perhaps not that fallible.”  And she vanished into the winds of time, and Greta did come home, still speaking as if finishing Danna’s very thought.  “Still, Baran, I would appreciate it if you would stop trying to sacrifice me to myself.  That would be too strange, even for me.  Now, I hope to make peace instead of war, but even if I fail at that, I must still destroy the weapons of Trajan.”  Greta shook her head.  These people had no idea what those weapons might be.  “But first.”  She looked down at Berry, “I’m going to fetch my brother Hans.”

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MONDAY

R5 Greta goes in search of Hans, but he is in the territory of the Wee Willies, and they are not inclined to cooperate with mortal humans.  As she really begins to learn her place, and what it means to say they are her little ones, it becomes a very heady experience.  Sadly, she does need to return to the real world to finish her quest.

Until Monday, Happy Reading

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R5 Greta: The Fire and the Dark, part 1 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“All right,” Aruna said, as Hans yawned.  “Now you must be very tired.  It is late and time for growing children to be in bed.  We can sort everything out in the morning.

Greta felt agreeable, but she had one last thought.  Perhaps it was Aruna’s age that brought it to mind.  “Mother Hulda,” she said.

“Oh?”  Aruna raised her eyebrows and eyed Greta suspiciously.  “Do you know the good Mother?  She visits for tea quite regularly.”

“I know her a little,” Greta hedged her thoughts, though she was not sure why.  “Has she been by recently?”  Greta asked.

“Why, just two or three days ago she was here and we had a grand time,” Aruna said.

That lie helped bring Greta back to reality enough to know she needed help.  “Agreed.”  She heard the word clearly in her head, and then Greta vanished from that time and place and Danna, the mother of all the Celtic gods, sat in her place, and left up a perfect glamour of Greta so the hag, Aruna, would be no wiser.  Danna saw the hovel for exactly what it was, and in fact had to lower herself a bit to see where their beds were supposed to be. They were in the oven, of course.

“Hans.” Danna, looked and sounded exactly like Greta and stopped her brother from going straight to bed.  “Girls first,” she said aloud and made sure he had to obey.  She walked to the oven and started to climb in but quickly climbed right out again.  “The fire went out,” she said.  “It’s too cold in there.  I can’t sleep.”

“What?” Aruna looked dumbfounded and she had to see for herself.  Danna grabbed Han’s hand and suddenly he saw what she saw.  As the hag poked her head into the fire box, Danna traded places in time with Bodanagus of the Nervii.  He came dressed in the armor of the Nameless One, the armor which had once been his, and he did not pause before he spoke.

“Push,” he told Hans, and though Hans came up with his hands ready to push, essentially Bodanagus, in a moment of near Herculean strength, bent down beneath the hag’s butt and flipped the old woman into the oven.  He slammed the door.

“Why did we just push Grandma into the oven?” Hans asked, still very confused.

“Not grandma,” Bodanagus explained.  “A hag, a grendal.  Such creatures have many names.  Something pounded on the iron door of the oven, and it came with enough force to make dents in the door.  Bodanagus picked up a log and opened the firebox.  As he did, a hand sprang out of the box and tried to grab him.  Wyrd flew out of its’ sheath in a flash and Bodanagus cut the hand off, cleanly.  Even severed from the body, it still clutched at them.  Bodanagus used the tip of the sword to fling the hand back into the fire while Hans quickly opened and closed the fire door.  The creature shortly stopped pounding and began to scream. That was his cue.

Bodanagus grabbed the bucket of water from which the hag had drawn their tea.  It still sat mostly full.  He knew this had to be quick.  He got Hans to open the oven door as he threw the water in.  Then they closed the door again, though they almost did not get it closed in time.  The scream of the hag became an unearthly sound.  Bodanagus did his best to cover Han’s ears, but the screaming went on for a while.  Hans buried his face in the armor.  He recognized the armor and the sword, even if he did not exactly recognize Bodanagus. When it was over, Bodanagus trade places again with Danna.  She had the power to remove the spell from Hans completely.  She also removed the standing glamour from the place, which otherwise might have continued for decades.

“Wow,” Hans said. The real hovel had no roof.  Only two walls stood, and the oven, of course, with its high chimney.  The field of grain no longer grew there.  In fact, they hardly saw a meadow.  Only the encroaching forest grew.  The food also had all gone, except for Hans who proceeded to vomit out whatever he ate. Danna made double sure that the beast died, and then threw some magic into the air, not unlike fairy dust, and traded places with Greta so the magic could fall on her.  Thus, she set herself completely free of the same enchantment, and then Greta vomited a little, but not nearly like Hans.

Greta checked the sky.  It proved shortly after noon.  They had to move on.  She had forgotten about the wolf and wished the hag had not brought it up.  Greta collected their things, which still sat on the forest floor where they left them.  She looked again.  Perhaps it turned one o’clock.  She had to get Hans moving, even if it would be slow going as long as he felt sick. It became slow after that as well while they climbed the hill that Hans had seen from the treetop.  And all that while they moved in relative silence. Hans did not feel much like talking, and Greta felt angry enough to scream, and for several reasons.

She could not even speak to Hans.  If he wasn’t so sick, she could have killed him.  Just as well he did not feel like speaking.

At the same time, the question of Hans haunted her.  What good was having a god on your side if he wouldn’t do anything for you? The magic of the hag proved stronger than anything she had ever encountered, but she had the distinct feeling that if she had not caught the perfect grandmother in a lie, which in effect blunted the spell, all those other lifetimes she lived would have let her be lunch.  Even then, she did not feel sure anyone would have helped her if she did not ask.  What good was having a god on her side?

That was not the only thing that haunted her.  At times during their climb, her fears almost overwhelmed her anger.  Storytelling was one thing the Woman of the Ways did for the people.  She knew most of the stories of the haunted forest, only now they took on a reality she never expected, and some of the stories were very frightening, indeed.

In the end, she settled on being upset.  The churning in her stomach did not help.

From the hilltop, Greta could see well enough to get her bearings.  Ahead of them, smaller hills pushed into the gray, eastern horizon. To the south, the hills softened more, though it still looked like forest for as far as she could see.  She knew the road lay way beyond her sight. West, behind her, she saw more trees. They had moved far enough into the woods by then so she could see nothing of Boarshag.  All she could see was trees and more trees.  Even the ruins where the hag lived blended into the forest and vanished from sight.  She supposed if she really tried, she could have found the now smokeless chimney sticking up from between the trees, but she chose not to try and turned to look north. She felt fairly certain she could make out the Sylvan River.  It appeared to be running due west.  Somewhere much further east it had to turn in a great arc to end up twenty miles north of Ravenshold, but for the time being, she knew that as long as they kept the river to their left hand they would do well.