Avalon Prequel Invasion of Memories Pumpkin Seeds part 10 of 10

January 19, 2026November 11, 2025M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The djin had worked free of the ropes as Macreedy and Ellean, held hands, got distracted with each other, and forgot all about holding up their magic around the djin. Glen shook his head. Inevitable, he thought, and he left that place one more time to let a woman from the deep, deep past take his place. That curious armor, like the fairy weave Pumpkin wore, adjusted automatically to this new shape and size.

The woman frowned at the elves who felt terribly ashamed. She continued that frown as she looked around. The dwarfs all doffed their hats and fell to their knees beside the elves and Ignatius found a few fearful tears as he joined them. Even Prickles did not hesitate to go to his knees and Sandra wondered what was going on. When Sandra turned her head, she saw her own mother on her knees, and a big Pumpkin beside her with her head lowered to the dirt. Sandra felt it, too, but wondered what it was all about. This woman looked beautiful, more beautiful than any human being had the right to be, being tall and deeply tanned, with hair as black as midnight, and eyes as bright and blue as the brightest mid-day sky, and to be sure, the effect of all that beauty felt inhuman so when the woman smiled at her, Sandra almost fainted for love, but then Sandra had seen so many inhuman things in the last two days, this just seemed like the icing on the cake.

“Who are you?” Sandra asked, and she revised her thinking. This woman was both the icing and the cake, and all the rest just added together to make the cake plate.

“Danna.” The woman said, in a voice that matched her looks, and Sandra trembled as the woman reached out and took her hand, a trembling, awesome fear that gripped her, like one might feel in the presence of something holy.

“Are you an angel?” Sandra had to ask.

“Heavens, no.” The woman answered with the slightest hint of a laugh in her voice that felt so contagious even in passing, any number of those on their knees had to suppress their own laughter. “But dearest Sandra.” Danna looked sad as she drew the woman up to walk beside her. “You and Glen cannot be. He is responsible for all of these little ones as you have seen, and as long as you have fairy blood in you, he cannot be with you in that way. I am so sorry.”

“No?” Sandra looked sad enough to drop a tear at that thought. “But I was thinking…” She did not finish the sentence.

“No, love, and I feel just as sad for him as for you. He loves you more than you know, but in a small way, he cannot help it because of your blood. Even I cannot say exactly what is real and what is because of your blood, though I will say this, that much of it was real in the way a man really loves a woman.” With that, Sandra did drop her eyes and cry while Danna finished speaking. “If you were the tenth generation, that would not be a problem. Even in the ninth generation, something might be worked out, but sooner than that, it is impossible. The duty of being god of the elves, light and dark, and all the dwarfs that live in-between makes it impossible. I am sorry.”

“God?” Sandra looked up.

“Never over people.” Danna smiled again, and with her eyes on that beatific sight, Sandra felt better—she felt warm and loved in a way she never imagined before, and it came as a revelation. “Meanwhile.” Danna turned stern and looked at the three goblin statues that were just outside a strange and fuzzy looking bit of air. Sandra thought it looked a bit like the haze that rose from hot pavement on a summer day, but as Danna reached out and touched that place, the view of the cave and its goblin inhabitants became crystal clear. Sandra clutched at Danna’s arm, but Danna just kept smiling. The goblins doffed their hats with abandon and Cormac, who stood at the rear because he could look over the other heads, thought briefly about turning and running for his life.

“Goblins go home.” Danna said, and as she touched each of the statues, they came back to life and doffed their hats as well as they backed into the dark and began to back down the tunnel. “And Cormac, no more people.” Danna raised her voice a little. “I mean it.” With that, she turned Sandra back toward the others. “Dwarfs go home.” She said right away. “And thank you for all your help.”

The dwarfs smiled at the idea of being thanked. They raised their hats and said things like, “You’re welcome, don’t mention it, glad to do it, and think nothing of it.”

“I guess I’ll be off, too, then.” Ignatius said, and he started to walk away, until he found his feet stilled, like his soles were glued to the ground.

“Stay, hobgoblin, and you too, Prickles. I will be taking you with me.” Danna turned Sandra toward the other women. “Mona.” Danna called Sandra’s mother by name. “You must take Sandra and Melissa home. After a time, the memory of all this will fade for you. I am sorry, but even with your blood, some things are better not known.”

“No, please.” Sandra started to say, but Pumpkin interrupted.

“But Great Lady. I have only just found them, and I have been away for such a long time.”

Danna looked down on the little one, though the fairy knelt currently in her big form, and in that moment of silence, three faces appeared to plead, and Melissa appeared to be cute. “Very well.” Danna said at last. “You may visit from time to time, but only briefly. No more than three days at once. And no one after Mellissa since she is now the eighth.”

“Yes Lady. Thank you, Lady.”

“Only not today.” Danna added. “Today I need you.” She tapped her shoulder and instantly, Pumpkin got little and flew to Danna’s shoulder where she sat and took hold of Danna’s hair. With that, Danna let go of Sandra’s arm and returned the young woman to her mother and daughter. She caused the stroller to come up and be straightened and fixed in every way, and all with the merest thought.

“And now.” Danna turned toward the ropes, and they vanished while she raised her head and raised her voice. “Djin.” She only said the word, and the djin, wherever it may have gone in the world, or any other world, vanished from that place and with a slight sound of thunder and a flash of light, she appeared in the place where the ropes had been and she looked very, very afraid. This happened, not like calling the Hobgoblin to appear because that came naturally and easily enough for even non-magical Glen to do. This happened as an exercise of power, incalculable power to be sure.

“Goddess.” The djin fell to her knees and began to sob great tears. She had gotten used to tormenting and torturing humans. She survived off the fear and pain they felt, but though she could dish it out, clearly, she could not stand it.

“Why are you here?” Danna asked, and she continued without waiting for an answer. “You should have gone over to the other side with your brothers and sisters of the djin.”

“Many have gone, but some have not. I am not alone. O please, goddess, I do not want to die.” The option of not speaking or giving a less than truthful answer was not available.

“And if the man had lived and I had not intervened?”

The djin drooled. “After he finished having his way with these mortals, I would have had his soul, and it would have been, delicious.”

“And why should I not send you over to the other side?” Danna asked.

The djin shook her head and looked down. “No, please, please. I cannot help being what I am. But I could serve you, I could.”

“I should trust you?”

The djin looked up with a speck of hope. “Goddess. I keep my bargains. I do. Many do not, even among your little people, but I keep my bargains. I made a bargain with that mortal fool, and I kept it, to the letter, I did.”

Danna frowned again. “Not to the letter,” she said. “But point taken.” She stooped down and picked up a rock the size of her hand. “You will be bound.”

“Goddess, no. Not to a rock. Not one rock among millions, I may be lost forever, please.”

“That is a risk you would do well to remember,” Danna said. “And here are your instructions. You must guard the gate. You may not so much as touch the others who guard the place, nor interfere with them in any way. You may not interfere with those who are welcomed or invited, but those who do not belong, you may frighten to your heart’s content, keeping in mind that humans must never know that this is the work of a djin.” With that, Danna raised her hand and the djin cried out as she became compressed, like a mere image of a person being turned into something like smoke, and she got sucked into the stone, which glowed for a second before the light went out and it became one stone among millions.

Danna sent her armor and weapons to wherever they were kept and clothed herself in fairy weave, which she shaped into something like a Laura Ashley dress, though with white socks and running shoes on her feet. It was all the rage in those days.

“And how do I look?” Danna asked the others as she slipped the rock into the soft, oversized purse that hung at her side.

“Stunning.” “Beautiful.” “Gorgeous.” The others said, but Sandra had another thought.

“Still too lovely to be human,” she said. Danna nodded. She could not help it. She was a true goddess of old, but she could always make a glamour to tone it down a bit if needed.

With a simple wave of her hand, the old man’s body disappeared. She sent the body back to China where there would be some local consternation over exactly what happened, but the man would be buried with his family. Then she turned again to Sandra and her family with this last word.

“Many years ago, Glen got touched by the goddess of memory. He did not know anything about the little ones when you met him as I think you know. He knew neither the little ones, nor his place among them, and he did not know that he had lived before, and so many times before.” Danna paused to be sure her words penetrated.

“Now, Sandra, there is something else I have to do, and it is long overdue, but first I must tell you. If your memory of all this fades apart from your memory of Pumpkin, his will likely vanish altogether. I must ask you. Please do not speak of these events if you see him again, and please do not speak of me at all.”

With that, Danna, Ignatius, Macreedy, Ellean, Prickles, Pumpkin and the stone of the djin all vanished, and two women and a baby in a stroller were all that were left in that place, like any ordinary mother, daughter and granddaughter out in the university woods taking a late afternoon stroll.

Avalon Prequel Invasion of Memories Pumpkin Seeds part 9 of 10

January 14, 2026November 11, 2025M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Glen put the knife away having thought through another option.

“Who are you?” the hag asked. She looked a little sickly, but even as she asked, Glen left that time and place and got replaced by a man who could only be described as a cowboy, with the chaps and hat, and a six-shooter at his side; and he had a rope in his hands, tied in a lasso. Sandra and her mother shrieked in surprise. Macreedy and Ellean went to one knee, and after a thought, Ignatius joined them. Pumpkin began to cry in her cage. Mellissa applauded.

“My name is Miguel Enrique Casidy, Federal Marshal; or as my wife used to call me, Michael Henry the Texican.” He turned to Sandra and tipped his hat. “Ma’am.” He began to twirl his rope.

The djinn’s eyes got big, much bigger than ordinary human eyes, and she elicited shrieks from Sandra and her mother as well as the man beside her, when she began to rise-up into the air. Fortunately, since she was under a tree, she could not move very fast at first, and that gave Marshal Casidy enough time to lasso her by the ankles. He tugged sharply on the rope and brought the djin to the ground very roughly, and then he leapt, and like a true rodeo champion, he had the djin dog tied in the blink of an eye. The djin tried to bite him, but he slapped her face, hard. The djin also tried to go invisible along with several other ideas, but between the magic invested in the rope, and the fact that Macreedy and Ellean were holding hands and focusing their magic against the djin, the djin became powerless. Macreedy or Ellean alone would have been no match for the magic of this djin, any more than Pumpkin had been a match, but by holding hands, in some way they were able to combine their strengths, and increase the power of their natural magic, and it was enough.

Casidy stood and fingered his six-shooter. “And now, sir, I believe you are under arrest.”

The man did not buy it all. He knew what he wanted, and he had learned how to get what he wanted. He waved, and a dozen men came out from behind the trees and bushes. “No one is going anywhere until I have got what I want.”

“Is murder really what you want?” Casidy asked. He eyed the dozen men, still fingered his six-shooter, but considered his options. Nine of those men had guns, but there was one man that stepped to the front dressed as a traditional ninja. He stood complete with sword and no doubt a number of hidden weapons. Despite the guns, Casidy knew the ninja was far more dangerous. He decided a change was in order, and with a turn of his head and another tip of his hat to the ladies, he vanished; to be replaced by an honest to goodness geisha.

She came dressed in a traditional long geisha outfit. Her hair looked neatly put up and tied with sticks and pins, but what gave away the fact that she was geisha was the white face paint, the intensely red lips, and the way she held her unopened fan. She spoke in Japanese, and while some of her verbs and phrases sounded ancient, they were understandable, much like it might have been if someone spoke a kind of King James English in the present day.

“Samurai, give account of yourself. Since when does your honor allow you to enter the employ of one who deals in drugs, murder and betrayal?”

“Who are you?” The ninja asked.

“I am Tara No Hideko, the teacher of your teachers and the master of your masters. I made you in the days of the great wars, when the Shogun first came to power. I made you to protect my sister, and you failed.” The man did not look convinced. He let three stars loose from his sleeve. Hideko merely waved her fan without opening it. Everyone heard the click-click-click, and the stars were gone.

“Very sloppy.” Hideko scolded. “If you were mine to discipline, I would have you beaten for sloppiness.” She opened her fan to show the stars, each caught in a different place in the rice paper and bamboo, caught but not seriously damaging the fan, which was a bit of a surprise to think that the rice paper fan had not been torn to shreds. “You must always go for the soft places, the neck and the belly. Bones can stop the stars as easily as this fan. She flicked her wrist, and the stars shot right back at the man and caught him in both thighs, though not too deep, and the third star came very close, but shot between his legs. “You would do well to remember the lesson,” Hideko said, and she turned back to the old man beside her. He seethed in his anger, though he had taken another step back so there were now a couple of yards between them.

“This is not over,” the man said, as he reached behind the tree and pulled out a great sword, Chinese in design, but ancient, looking perhaps two hundred years old. “All of you women will die in the old way as planned, even if I have to cut you all myself.”

“Ignatius.” Hideko began, but the hobgoblin stood right beside her.

“You will not cut the women.” Ignatius said, and a number of the men with guns gasped at the full effect of that devilish face and the snake-like tongue it bore.

“Stay out of it.” Hideko finished her thought, and her dress and accoutrements all went away to be replaced by the same armor and weapons Glen wore. When Hideko pulled the sword, however, no one doubted that she knew how to use it. The ninja went face down in the dirt, but Hideko had one more thing to say before she faced the old man. Her accent when she spoke in English sounded heavy, but again the words were understandable. “You men had better run as fast as you can lest you end up haunted all of your days in prison. Do not think your guns will protect you. I also have an army to call on, and you will not like the look of it. Prickles!” Hideko shouted, but then she had to defend herself, even as she shouted, “Ameratsu, be my light!”

Prickles raced out of the cave, followed by every dwarf and three of the goblins. Of course, most of the goblins and Cormac knew better than to run into the sunlight. They had to content themselves with what they could see and hear through the fuzzy looking opening between the worlds. Sure enough, the three goblins who came into the sun turned to stone, but the dwarfs moved rapidly and the men who had unwisely chosen not to run off on sight of the hobgoblin were soon on the ground, tied up like the djin.

The fight between the swordsmen did not last long. Hideko mercifully cut the man deeply across his belly, which disarmed him and brought him to his knees, and she paused only long enough to declare that she was showing mercy before she shoved her blade into the man’s heart. As she withdrew her sword, she bowed first to the dead man. “Forgive me.” Then she bowed to the ninja, still on his face. “Forgive me.” Then she bowed to Sandra, her mother, Macreedy, Ellean, Mellissa and Pumpkin. “Forgive me.” Glen returned to hear Prickles complain.

“But I didn’t get to pound anyone.”

“Don’t worry, big guy,” Ignatius said. “I am sure with the Lord around you will have plenty of chances to do some pounding.” It took a second to penetrate, but eventually the ogre grinned at that idea.

Glen kept the armor in place, just to be safe, and he blanched a little at having to clean his sword before putting it away. Mishka was the doctor. Glen could hardly stand the sight of blood, especially the blood of someone he just killed, even if technically, his hands had not done the actual killing. He went to open Pumpkin’s cage but found that Sandra had already opened it and the women, and Mellissa were all hugging and kissing, and Pumpkin had one more surprise for the women as she abandoned her little fairy form and took on her big, full, human-sized form, so she could have real hugs and give real kisses.

By then, Breggus brought-up the trussed-up gunmen, but all Glen really had to do was threaten to have Prickles eat them if they dared to come back or ever tried to harm any of these women. That seemed effective medicine as two threw-up and three fouled themselves just looking at the beast. Glen did not add the part about having the goblins haunt their dreams, because they probably would in any case. He turned, last of all, for a word with the Samurai, now on his knees even if his knees were covered in blood.

“Hideko says you must go up Mount Fuji on your knees where you can and seek the reconciliation of the son. Suicide is not acceptable. You must make up for your wicked choices with this penance, that you make honorable choices and help people for the rest of your life. Go.” He did not have to say it twice. The man touched his head to the ground like a martial arts student might bow to his master, and he rose, walked off, and never looked back.

At last, Glen could get down to the important business. “Pumpkin!” He hollered, and the fairy immediately returned to her natural, small state and flew to face him, a little afraid of his wrath; but Glen thought Pumpkin was so dear, he could hardly keep a straight face. “I thought you were banished to Avalon for a hundred years.”

“I was, Lord. I stayed there the whole time and stayed good; I promise.” The fairy crossed her little heart and looked down as she hovered near eye level.

“Banished?” Sandra did not like the word, but Glen explained.

“That’s sort of like being banished to Disneyland,” he said. “Now.” He coughed to clear his throat and remove his smile. “Now, do you see what I told you about the consequences of your actions?”

“Yes, Lord, I see. Those were bad men.” She looked briefly at the dead man but quickly had to look away, and she shook her head, but Glen knew the fairy probably did not fully understand what all of that was about.

“You told her?” Sandra had another question.

“Casidy told her, but it was me all the same. You see, I lived a number of times in the past.”

“And the geisha?”

“Me,” Glen said.

“I see,” Sandra said, but Glen suspected that she did not really understand any more than the fairy.

“Now the djin,” Glen said, but the djin had gone.

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

MONDAY

The djinn is gone but she will not escape. Until Monday, Happy Reading

Avalon Prequel Invasion of Memories Pumpkin Seeds part 7 of 10

January 12, 2026November 11, 2025M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Everyone got surprised when Glen spoke up.

“We had a bargain,” he yelled at the hobgoblin, and let his anger have full vent to cover his fear. “You promised to lead us in the way of the baby.”

“Well.” Ignatius smiled at last revealing his teeth, not a pretty sight. “I did not exactly promise, but the mother and baby went this way, to be sure.” As Macreedy let the glow-balls slowly rise and brighten in the hope that his actions would go unnoticed, but with the intent of bringing the whole cavern into the light, the hobgoblin pointed to a previously darkened corner of the room. They saw a baby stroller.

“Melissa!” Sandra screamed and ran for the stroller. “What happened? Where is she?” She started to panic.

“That was your baby?” Cormac started thinking after all.

“Where is she, where is she?” Sandra yelled at the troll and suddenly ignored her fear of the beast.

Glen stepped toward the troll and raised his weapon. For a second, he did look like he knew what he was doing. “Answer her,” he yelled.

The troll looked neither afraid nor impressed. He snapped at the blade with his big hand, expecting that the steel would not be strong enough or sharp enough to cut deep through his thick hide. He snatched his hand back just as quick, nearly having cut his fingers off.

“Answer her,” Glen said, in a more controlled tone of voice. Actually, he froze, in shock, seeing how fast the creature was and thinking how close he came to being troll kill.

“I didn’t eat the baby.” The troll spoke with its fingers in its mouth. “The woman and her baby were too fast. They went through the wall with the Djin. Dirty, nasty creatures.” It felt unclear if he insulted the Djin or the humans, but it hardly mattered because Cormac got angry, and the emotion came on so strong, even the goblins took a step back. Before Cormac could move, however, he got interrupted by a new, booming voice in the distance.

“I’m coming.” Prickles the ogre burst into the great hall and pushed aside the goblins like so many bowling pins. “Don’t you hurt my friend,” he boomed at the troll, and he looked like he meant business. Glen backed up and relaxed. He could not have held up the sword any longer in any case.

It appeared there was going to be a battle. The troll stood two, if not three feet shorter than the ogre, but it looked as broad in the shoulders and as long in the arms, being built more like a gorilla than a man. Meanwhile, the goblins, having recovered from being dashed aside by the ogre, pressed in on Macreedy and Ellean, despite the arrows pointed in their direction. Again, before anyone could begin, they were interrupted by yet another group of voices. Glen imagined he heard the troll mutter, “Now what?”

A dozen dwarfs came out from a place where no one suspected a tunnel existed. It hid behind a big rock, and Glen guessed it was the way the Djin went with Sandra’s mother and Melissa in tow.

“There they are,” one of the dwarfs shouted. “Good work, Gumblittle.”

“Gricklethorn. We got you now. We owe you for taking our vein.” A dwarf stepped forward.

“No chance, Breggus. We won it fair and square.” A big goblin also took a step forward.

“Hey, chief! It’s Cormac.” A dwarf pointed, and the dwarfs paused and began to back up until Breggus put his hand up and pointed at something else.

“There’s tree elves down here, and it looks like human beanings.”

“Beings.”

“Yeah, them folk what lives in the other place. What are they doing here?” The dwarfs all paused and at least one scratched his head.

“Good dwarfs.” Macreedy seized the opening. “We are on a quest as of old. In the name of the treaty of lasting peace I call upon your help against these dark ones.”

“Watch it.” Gricklethorn took the dark ones comment as an insult, and his people began to draw out their weapons while Ignatius tried to fade into the background. On seeing this, the dwarfs drew their weapons as well.

“Time to fight!” Cormac slammed his good hand into the floor of the cavern and busted the rock by his feet.

Prickles shook himself free from all that he saw and partly comprehended and turned to face the troll. “I’m ready.” Ogres were not slow in the fight department.

Sandra did not know what to do or who to trust, but she found her feet backing away from the goblins and sticking close to Ellean, and she took the stroller with her. Glen, alone stood in the middle of it all, pleased that he had managed to put his sword away without cutting himself. It came to him that he really had no talent in that direction, but he did have one thing, and that was the words, thanks to the voices in his head.

“Stop! Everyone stop and wait! That’s an order!” Glen decided to trust the voices and spoke as they suggested. “There will be no fighting today,” he insisted. Cormac and Prickles looked disappointed. The dwarves and goblins and certainly Macreedy, Ellean and Ignatius looked relieved. Sandra looked curious. She wondered how Glen’s just saying so could carry so much weight, though in a way, she felt it too, and that made her even more curious.

“But…”

“Quiet!” Glen got on a roll. “Goblins go home, and Gricklethorn, just maybe I won’t tell your wife where you are.” Several of the dark elves snickered and nudged the goblin chief, but the chief dropped his jaw. Macreedy smiled. Ellean appeared to be in shock. Breggus pulled off his hat and signaled the others to do the same.

“If you don’t mind, we’ll mosey on as well, if you don’t mind.” Breggus spoke in his most mollifying voice.

“I mind. You need to guide us in the way the djin and the baby went, and all of you dwarfs need to help. You especially, Gumblittle. We need your nose.”

“Enough of this,” Cormac yelled. He was a wild one, and he reached for Glen with one big hand, but Glen surprised the troll this time with some speed of his own. He slapped the troll’s hand, hard, and the troll snatched his hand back to his side amazed that he felt it, and he felt the sting of that slap like a small child might feel the sting of a bee, no less. Indeed, it felt much like a terribly disobedient child having his hand slapped by a parent.

“Cormac!” Glen yelled and let out a little of his own anger, which was unusual enough, him being such a laid-back personality, but in this case he got angry enough to make all the little ones in the cavern take several steps back, and Sandra felt it, too. “You will stop eating people. From now on, people are off your list.” Glen turned toward the ogre. “And that goes for you, too.” He turned back to Cormac who felt something he never felt before. It was fear. “You can have your fingers back,” Glen said, as if he gave permission for them to be healed. “But if you don’t keep them off people, I swear you will lose them all. Do I make myself clear?” Cormac cowered a little. “Is that clear!”

“Yes, Lord.” Cormac said, and he looked away, and had trouble deciding which hand hurt more. He ended up putting the bloody fingers back into his mouth to give them another good soak.

“Prickles.” Glen turned.

“Yes, Lord.” Prickles looked ready, anxious for instructions. If he was not so blessedly ugly and horrifying to look at, Glen might have stared the ogre down. As it was, he first said, “God you’re ugly,” and Prickles held up his head, proudly, like he had just received the greatest compliment imaginable. Glen continued. “I suppose you had better come with us. Down here, you will just get into no end of trouble. But keep a few paces behind us, will you? You stink so bad the smell of me throwing up might be refreshing. Down here, that smell is almost unbearable.” Prickles thought he was still being complimented, but the troll made a sound that Glen knew was his version of a giggle. Clearly, the troll agreed with Glen’s assessment. Glen turned to see the goblins still there and had another thought, and this was the thing that caused a few gasps, shrieks and a couple of screams from all parts of that room.

“Ignatius Patterwig.” Glen called and pointed to the space in front of him. “Right here, right now!” Ignatius appeared out of nowhere and the hobgoblin looked confused for a minute.

“Hey! I was halfway to the forest path and I even took a couple of unnecessary turns in case I was being followed.” Ignatius spoke loudly and spun around a couple of times. “How did I end up back here?”

“Ignatius.” Glen spoke without any introduction. “You will go with us. You will stay with us until I tell you otherwise. You will attempt to live up to your father’s legacy, as I remember it.” He turned and headed for Sandra and the others. “Hobgobs are the worst middlemen in the world. Being creatures of both dark and light, even more so than the dwarfs, they delight in playing both sides against the middle for fun and profit. Sometimes I am almost sorry I created them. Shall we go?” He signaled to Breggus.

“Who are you?” Sandra asked all at once. No one answered her, least of all Glen. He just followed Breggus into the new tunnel where Breggus turned with a word of his own.

“You should know. The djin has a fairy prisoner, not just the human woman and the baby.”

“How did I know that, already?” Glen said, rhetorically, and then he fell silent.

Avalon Prequel Invasion of Memories Pumpkin Seeds part 3 of 10

December 31, 2025November 11, 2025M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“I missed the last ones, but I got you.” A booming deep, unearthly voice spoke over Glen’s shoulder; the kind of voice that gave him chills, and even penetrated Sandra’s screams. Glen got to his feet, dragged Sandra to her feet with him, and backed the two of them away from that voice. The creature stood nine feet tall and was so horrible to look at, Glen’s stomach nearly let go, and Sandra could not stop screaming. Glen had to turn Sandra’s shivering face into his shoulder where she did not have to look at the thing to get her quiet. This brute, and the word ogre came to Glen’s mind, looked covered in warts that sprouted little hairs that looked more like cactus spikes than hairs. He had several boils on the surface of his skin, if it could be called skin, and a few of those were open sores that leaked a pink and yellow puss. It had a mouth so full of yellow teeth; Glen could not see the back of that maw or count the teeth if he wanted to, not the least because of the green drool that leaked out over the edge of the lower lip. The creature also had a small spark in the eyes that glared at them, as if to say that this creature was alive and aware; but to be sure, it seemed a very small spark.

“I am going to have you for an afternoon snack,” the ogre roared, and he hefted a club the size of a small tree.

Glen heard the words “don’t panic” in his mind as his mouth sprang into action, though hardly aware of what he said until he said it. “Well, if you are going to have us for tea, make sure there are plenty of biscuits, and by all means keep the kippers to yourself. Those things are almost as slimy and disgusting as you are. Gods you are an ugly beastie.”

The ogre paused and lifted his head. “Do you think so?” He spoke with some doubt in his voice.

“Oh, yes,” Glen assured him. “Very ugly. Frighteningly ugly. You heard the woman screaming, didn’t you? Now, let’s get on to tea, you lead the way.”

“Huh?” The ogre paused while Glen’s words caught up with his little brain, and he guffawed. “Have you for a snack.” He guffawed again, and that is not a sound you ever want to hear. Glen had to swallow the bile to keep it from coming out and Sandra had to bite her lower lip, hard, to keep the screams at bay. “Say, now.” The ogre stopped laughing and a terrifying looked crossed his face. “Hold still.” He lifted the club.

Glen’s eyes got wide, but he looked a little to the ogre’s left side. He pointed dramatically in that direction and yelled, “Look!” The ogre turned to look.

“What?” The ogre wondered, but by the time he turned again, Glen had grabbed Sandra’s hand and they were running as fast as they could down the path. “Hey!” They heard the yell behind them, and heard the tromp, tromp of giant footsteps, following. Glen wanted to say run faster, but he was fairly-sure they could not run faster. Sandra did not want to say anything. She focused too hard on her feet. With all that, it sounded like the ogre started gaining on them, but shortly they ran into something, or rather, another thing they hardly expected. A wall of men, all dressed in dark armor, stood in their path. The men looked like ancient soldiers, and they all had spears pointed in their direction. Glen prepared to stop, but at the last minute, the men made an opening in the wall and Glen and Sandra raced through. The opening quickly closed. Glen heard the twang of bowstrings, and while Sandra collapsed to the ground, Glen found enough strength left to jump up and holler. “Don’t hurt him.”

A second volley of arrows followed, though the ogre stopped on the first volley. Most of the arrows landed in front of the ogre as a warning for him to turn around and go back where he came from, but one of the arrows went straight into the ogre’s shoulder. The ogre looked more surprised than anything else, and while the arrow did not penetrate deeply, when it fell to the ground some blood fell. Glen knew someone did not follow orders. This time he really shouted. “I said don’t hurt him!”

The archers were off to the sides of the wall of spears, hidden in trees and behind rocks. As Glen shouted, he heard a man moan and someone, or something, sounded like it fell to the ground. Glen could not be concerned about that just then. Instead, all his concern focused on the ogre who he now felt was like a poor child in need of protection. If he had thought about it, it should have been strange to think that way about a brute that just tried to eat him, but Glen did not think. He got too busy pressing up to the back of the wall of spear-men and shouting at the horrifying beast. “Prickles, go home,” he yelled. “Go home, Prickles. You need to go home right now.” He told himself that he did not want to see anyone get hurt, and it was not hard to convince himself of that.

“Go home?” Prickles the ogre tried to figure out what he heard.

“Go home.” A man stepped up beside Glen, and while Glen did not look at the man, he figured the man was probably the commander of this troop of soldiers.

“Go home, Prickles,” Glen repeated, and the ogre nodded.

“Go home,” the ogre said. “Go home.” He turned, walked back the way he came, and his long legs took him quickly out of sight.

Then Glen breathed for all of a second before two of the spear carrying men grabbed him by the arms. “Bring them.” The man who had been standing beside Glen commanded, and they moved to where Sandra also got held against her will. Glen and Sandra were directed to fall in line, and the guards gave them no choice.

“This is getting too weird.” Sandra finally got a word out. She pointed at the men’s faces and Glen realized, for the first time, that all of the ears looked classically pointed, and these were not men at all.

“Elves,” Glen named them and Sandra shrugged as if to say that she had adjusted, that she was not surprised, and maybe she would never be surprised again.

“And the beast?”

“Ogre,” Glen said, but then they had to concentrate on the walk because they were moving up into the hills.

It took several hours to reach a camp where Glen guessed there were perhaps a hundred or more elves, all dressed for war. The sun slipped down in the sky when Glen and Sandra got escorted to a tent. They were left alone, but Glen felt sure there were guards near enough.

Sandra sat quietly and hugged her knees, which she pulled up to her chin. She seemed to be in her own little world. Glen paced and tried to make sense of what happened. It felt weird, as Sandra said. Elves and ogres were unreal, impossible, and no human being would ever believe such a tale. Glen felt stupid, like he was in the midst of something out of a children’s story, or an old wives’ tale, or a folktale where some anthropologist would point out the underlying meaning but would never believe that it might be real. Elves and ogres did not really exist. Glen told himself that several times, but here he was and here they were. He had long since rejected the idea that this might be a dream. “That would have made this B-movie extra bad,” he mumbled. Sandra took Glen’s mumble as an opening to speak.

“My grandmother.” She paused and shook her head before she started again. Glen sat down beside her, not touching, but close enough. “My grandmother used to talk about her grandmother like she was, I don’t know, strange. She said her grandmother had the magic. That is what she called it. She said her mother had some, but not like her grandmother, while she could hardly do anything at all.”

“When was your grandmother born?” Glen felt curious, but not sure why he asked that particular question. Someone, whoever it might be, seemed to be giving him thoughts. It felt like someone had gotten inside his head. Glen probably should have been frightened by the invasion of his mind, but there were two mitigating feelings. First, he felt that the someone, whoever it was, felt so comfortable. Glen could not imagine any harm coming from that direction. Second, there were far more frightening things happening all around him on the outside, he hardly had time to worry about what might be trying to help him on the inside.

“1908,” Sandra said. “She would have been seventy this year if she was still alive.” Glen nodded. It was presently 1978. After a pause, Sandra added the word, “Cancer.”

“And her grandmother?”

“I don’t know.”

“Say, 1870?”

Sandra shrugged. “Grandma said her great-grandmother was a half-blood. I remember asking once half-blood what? I got the strangest answer.” Sandra looked like she did not want to say it, but as an elf chose that moment to enter the tent with a tray of food; Sandra found the courage to verbalize what had always seemed loony. “Fairy.” She said. “My great-great, whatever-grandmother was a half-fairy.”

Glen nodded. “1849 gold rush,” he said as the elf put down the food and turned to leave. “Wait a minute.” Glen spoke up, and the elf paused. “What are you going to do with us?”

The elf turned and shrugged. He looked skinny, terminally skinny, the way certain elves were and his ears were very pronounced and pointed but they matched his pointed nose. “Nothing that I know of.” At least his voice sounded normal.

The elf decided to sit and as he crossed his long legs, he leaned forward to place a hand over the fire. It rose-up with new life. Given the circumstances, neither Sandra nor Glen were surprised by that bit of magic. Sandra scooted a bit closer to the fire for the warmth. Glen decided to take a good look around.

The fire burned in the middle of the tent floor with a small hole in the tent roof straight above it. Curiously, the smoke from the fire went straight up and out the hole without the least bit of it filtering into the rest of the tent. Neat trick, Glen thought. He noticed that most of the light in the tent did not come from the fire, but from several globes near the tent roof. Glow-balls, he called them, and he imagined they were like fairy lights. Of course, they were not plugged into anything, and they were not battery run, so he was at a loss as to what powered them. But they glowed just fine and the light felt warm and comfortable.

Their night in that tent did not look frightening, but then it did not look all that comfortable if they chose to sleep. There were only two blankets rolled up on the dirt floor, but Glen did not get to examine them closely because by then Sandra found the courage to ask a question.

“Do you have a name?”

“Macreedy, son of Macreedy, son of Macreedy, son of Macreedy.” The elf said. “My sire had many daughters, but only one son of Macreedy.” He smiled and cocked his head back to look toward the tent door and said, “You might as well come in, too. These people do not appear dangerous and I don’t believe they rub off.”

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

MONDAY

Glen and Sandra have entered a strange world but are determined to find Sandra’s baby no matter how strange it gets. Until Monday, Happy Reading

Avalon 1.5 Little Packages part 4 of 4

September 18, 2025July 27, 2025M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Godus came running back and shouted, even as the sounds of barking and growling reached their ears. “Hurry,” Godus yelled. “The dogs are into the sheep.” He turned and ran back toward the stream.

“Everybody! Come and help,” Dallah yelled, and followed her husband. The travelers followed Reneus, except for Alexis who thought to stay and keep an eye on Doctor Procter. Guns came out, and Roland got out his bow. The people all came, and so did the imps who were generally faster than the people. The elves were fastest, and Roland had one shot before anyone else arrived.

The imps dove into the herd howling, rolling their eyes, waving their big hands, using glamours to make themselves appear big and frightening. They just about scared the boys and sheep to death. The dogs looked like they wanted no part of it either. When Stonecrusher arrived, the dogs ran, but by then the travelers were near enough.

Lockhart got one with the shotgun. Captain Decker and Lieutenant Harper were a little slower, but both brought a dog to the ground. Three escaped, but they looked like they could not run fast enough, and like they might not stop until they were out of that region altogether.

Dallah was one of the last to arrive. “She is not strong,” Reneus explained.

“She won’t eat,” Mya added.

“Mother,” Andor tugged on her dress and Korah stood beside her little brother, her mouth open.

“Stonecrusher, stand still and keep your mouth closed and your hands to yourself.” Dallah practically whispered the words, but Stonecrusher stopped where he was. “Imps, here, now.” Dallah said, and people gasped as the imps appeared a few feet away. This time the imps all doffed their hats. “Thank you.”

“Our pleasure,” Crusty said, and Dwizzle nodded.

“It was?” Itchy turned to the others before he had something like a revelation. “It was. It really was our pleasure.”

“Were you scared?” Andor asked.

“Well, it’s like this young master—” Itchy started to speak but Crusty interrupted.

“Dwizzle wet himself,” Crusty said and Dwizzle nodded.

“But now what are we going to do with them?” Godus asked when they heard the sound of wailing among the sheep.

Korah recognized the sound and ran toward the cry. The sheep parted to let her through, and her future husband ran right behind her. The young boys in the field stood over their mother but did not know what to do. She cried over a dead sheep, and there was no comforting her.

The dogs only killed one, but the woman’s herd had gotten down to six. Herds that once sported forty or fifty sheep were in a death spiral in that harsh and inhospitable environment.

“Godus, dear.” Dallah turned again to her husband. “Give her one of ours. Make it a good one.”

“But then we will have just six.”

“As she will. Give it to Korah for her new family,” Dallah decided. Godus raised an eyebrow. That was not really playing fair.

“Pardon, lady.” Itchy stepped forward. “Might Stonecrusher have the dead one? That would certainly be a relief for everyone.”

“No,” Dallah said. “Roland, you take the dead sheep for tomorrow and the next day if necessary since you likely won’t find anything between here and the gate. Stonecrusher.” She waited until she had the ogre’s complete attention before she spoke. “You can have the dogs.”

“Mother!” Reneus objected. They had a lot of good meat on those animals, and that would sustain them for some time. But Dallah had not finished speaking.

“Take only the dead dogs and be content. Share one with your impy cousins and go with them to Lord Varuna. He may have new work for you. You are released from your obligation to Dayus.”

“Yes, Lady. Thank you, Lady.” The ogre picked up the dogs one by one and carried all four back into the wilderness without any strain at all.

“Strong sucker,” Captain Decker noted.

“And you imps.” They looked up at Dallah with big eyes. She smiled. “Skat,” she said. “Shoo.” They ran off, happy.

Godus sidled up to his wife and spoke softly. “Any more surprises?”

“A few, but mostly you are looking at them.” She took his hand introduced the travelers. She remembered to say, “Her name is Mary Riley, but everyone calls her Boston.” Then they all went to a wedding.

Dallah cried. Boston cried with her. Alexis only got teary eyed, so Lincoln cried for her. Captain Decker said, “Women.” Captain or not, Katie Harper slapped him in the arm.

The third family in the camp performed the actual ceremony. They also stood as witnesses to the union. It was a lovely ceremony, and surprisingly like modern ceremonies in most parts. But then there came the sacrifice of a sheep. And several moderns looked away when the old man who performed the sacrifice soaked his hands in the sheep’s blood and sprinkled it liberally all over the couple.

Boston kept her mouth shut, but she thought “Ewww,” really loud.

After the wedding, the couple had a place not far from the camp. They had their own fire and sweets and got the prime portion of the sacrificed sheep for their supper. The families, meanwhile, settled in for a party of their own. Korah’s new mother sat beside Dallah for a time, though it made Dallah uncomfortable. Dallah only had one word of advice for the woman.

“Korah has a big, sensitive heart full of love. If you treat her gently and with kindness and encourage her in what she does she will love you forever.” The woman responded in a way which should not have been too surprising given the events of the day.

“Yes, Lady. I will do that very thing.”

By evening, Doctor Procter appeared to be much better. He sat up and ate but thought it best not to go join the celebration. He claimed to be too tired.

Later, when the sun set and most of the camp slept, Alexis stayed up a bit to watch the Doctor. She looked out beneath a moon that appeared just shy of being full, when her eye caught something glisten in the moonlight. She had no idea what it might be until she heard the sound of a horse snort a big gust of breath. The knight came close to the camp, but it did not come into the camp. Alexis stood. Doctor Procter appeared to be asleep, but he began to shiver. Alexis held her breath while the knight reared up, turned, and galloped off into the dark. She immediately woke her father and told him.

“It was a Knight of the Lance. I am sure. It had to be.”

Mingus shook his head. “There haven’t been any Knights of the Lance around for centuries.”

“No,” Alexis argued. “I heard of one a few years ago when Ashtoreth came up into the castle of the Kairos and the Kairos got so sick.”

Mingus nodded. “I heard that too, but never any proof… Just a rumor…”

“But father—”

“Go to bed and sleep. We will be leaving in the morning.”

Alexis looked down and nodded. Maybe she had not seen it. Maybe it had been like a waking dream. Maybe, but she was not sure.

Later in the night, Doctor Procter woke when a lizard crawled across his belly. His hand reached out and grabbed the creature. A harmless little thing, and the Doctor held it and bent it backwards until there came a snap! The Doctor Procter had no reason for doing that. He felt the urge to kill and wanted the pleasure of watching the beast die.

More tears came in the morning as everyone said good-bye. The witness family, the first to leave, took their sheep and headed off to the southeast. Then it came time for Korah and her mother to be parted. “Always respect your husband,” Dallah whispered between the hugs and tears. “And he will love you without ceasing.”

Korah nodded, and shortly they headed off into the north. They said they were going to go as far as the mountains to escape the dead lands. Dallah truly wished them well.

Last of all the travelers headed into the west, and Andor waved until they were out of sight. After they were gone, Andor pointed his fingers at Mya and said, “Bang! Bang!” She just had to chase him. They would be staying where they were for the present. They had the stream and some grass worth eating for their few sheep, but how long they might hold out was anyone’s guess.

Boston was the last to say anything under that blazing sun. “Doesn’t the Kairos ever get born anywhere off the equator? I mean, a little rain might be nice, at least.” Naturally, as they stepped through the gate, they found themselves in a torrent.

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

Monday

Avalon 1.6 Freedom is another 4-part / 4-post episode, so don’t forget the Thursday post. The travelers get into the middle of a forced migration. The people are fleeing from some in their own village. There is a story there. Until Monday, Happy Reading.

Avalon 1.5 Little Packages part 3 of 4

September 17, 2025August 30, 2025M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“Lockhart! Boston!” Dallah groaned as she got to her feet and waved.

“Mother?” Mya spoke.

“These are the ones I told you might come one day.”

“I had forgotten.” Reneus said, as the travelers came to the water. Dallah had to hug Boston and Alexis, in her wet clothes.

“It is so good to see you. I am so glad you are here.”

“Where can we set down Doctor Procter?” Lockhart asked. He looked exhausted. He and Mingus were taking a turn and the elder elf, in particular, looked unable to go much further.

“Of course.” Dallah stepped close to the half-breed but knew better than to touch him. “How long has he been like this?” she asked.

“This is the second day,” Captain Decker said. He shouldered his rifle and took Mingus’ place.

“Well, come. We must get him to the camp.”

“Mother.” Andor got her attention. “Your imps went ahead of us.”

“Oh dear.” She hurried and everyone hurried to follow. Fortunately, the imps just arrived since they stopped first for an argument.

“We are free now,” Crusty said.

“We’re supposed to go see Lord Varuna,” Dwizzle said.

“Wait a minute!” Itchy bought none of it. “Since when does a thicky bean tell us what to do, especially when our orders come from the king of the gods himself?”

“But I feel free,” Crusty said. “I don’t feel like doing the work of Dayus anymore.”

Dwizzle nodded, but Itchy responded. “That don’t mean anything. Crusty, you don’t ever feel like doing any work.” Dwizzle laughed.

“I’m thinking we could ask Lord Varuna when we find him. He always tells the truth.” Itchy hit him. “Ooowww.”

“You don’t do the thinking, you’ll only hurt yourself worse than before.” Dwizzle put his hand back in his mouth and pouted.

“I think that is a good idea,” Crusty said. Itchy stomped on his foot. “Ooowww.”

“Right now, we got to find Stonecrusher some meat before we become meat.” They could agree on that. With their glamours on, they came right up to the edge of the camp, which was not much to speak of, the huts being barely more than lean-tos with skins on the open side. They were snuggled between some stick trees, and there were only five of them altogether. There could not have been more than twenty people in that camp and barely more than twenty sheep as well.

The sheep were presently in a pen where Dallah’s husband, Godus, and two men had separated the sacrifice from the others. When they were done, the groom had two younger brothers who drove the rest to the stream.

“Not much selection,” Crusty said. The sheep were all scrawny, stunted, and underfed.

“Yeah, but it will do,” Itchy responded.

“Hey, look. Sweets.” Dwizzle pointed to a table by the altar. It sat full of dried fruits and cooked roots and tubers of various kinds.

“Oh, boy!” Crusty shouted, and before Itchy could stop them, they were on the table, they had let their glamours drop, and people screamed, some ran away, and some did not seem sure what to do.

“Hold it right there!” Dallah shouted between breaths. The imps froze in place because Dallah had that in mind. “This is my daughter’s wedding, and you will not mess it up.” She yelled a little, but mostly walked more slowly to the table so she could regain her breath. When she arrived to stare at the imps, she pushed an escaped gray hair back toward the bun on her head before she spoke. “Your hands, empty.” Dwizzle and Crusty put out their hands and she slapped them. The imps made no sound, but both squinted from the sharp, if temporary pain. “Itchy.”

The imp had his hands behind his back. “No.” He shook his head for emphasis.

“You should have been named stubborn,” Dallah said. “Your hand.” She did not ask and Itchy whipped out his hands, empty despite what his mind told him and despite his better judgment. She slapped them both, and Itchy had a hard time putting both in his mouth at once.

“Hey! How do you know our names?” Crusty asked, like the truth of that suddenly caught up to him.

“I know all about you,” Dallah said. “More than I would like to know. Now get off the table and behave, I have to see to my daughter.” Korah was already running into her mother’s arms. She cried, but Dallah brushed Korah’s hair with her hand and said, “Hush, everything will be all right.”

“Mother.” Andor tried to get her attention as Godus came up from the sheep pen.

“Who are you?” Itchy finally removed his hands to ask, and then decided to take turns soaking one hand at a time.

“She is your goddess,” Boston said. “Or she will be one day.” She knew she should not say it because it came out of time context, but she could not help herself.

“What? Don’t we have enough gods and goddesses already?”

“No, no.” Alexis spoke to clarify. Apparently, she could not help herself either. “She will not be another goddess of humans that you have to work for. She will be your goddess; goddess of all the little spirits of the earth.”

“There is no such thing.” Itchy understood.

“There will be,” Alexis responded with a smile toward her brother who frowned. The law said they were not supposed to reveal the future like that.

“Mother.” Andor tried again. Reneus, Lockhart and some of the others looked where Andor looked, but hardly knew what to say.

“But she is old and will die soon,” Crusty protested.

“But she will be reborn,” Mingus stepped up. “And sometimes she will be a god and sometimes a goddess for us all.” He turned to Itchy. “Whether we like it or not.”

“Mother.”

“But lady…” Dwizzle tugged on Dallah’s dress and pointed. “Stonecrusher is hungry.

The ogre came down the path from the stream. He appeared hard to look at because he was so ugly; but not simply a disgusting ugly. He looked mean, mad, and hungry, and now the people had something they could really scream about.

“I’m gonna eat me some people,” Stonecrusher said.

“I’m gonna eat some people,” the ogre said it again, like he was trying to make it into a song. Dallah felt sure no one wanted to hear the ogre sing so she shouted.

“Save your bullets!” Dallah said that before anything else, and Captain Decker and Lieutenant Harper lowered their weapons, if reluctantly. The marines were surprised to see Lockhart, Lincoln, Alexis, and Boston all grinning. Mingus had his hands over his eyes as if he did not want to watch. Roland looked at Boston to be sure she was not too frightened. Besides, it felt too hard to look at the ogre, even for him.

“Your bullets might penetrate and maybe a shotgun slug at close range,” Mingus said. “But most would just bounce off his rock-hard skin and make him mad.”

“Rock-hard head, you mean,” Itchy added.

“That too, I am sure,” Mingus admitted.

Dallah placed Korah in her father’s arms and stepped toward the oncoming terror. Hold it right there!” She had to shout to be heard above the screams, though she knew her little one would hear her no matter what. “Stop walking. Feet, stand still.”

“I’m gonna eat some people,” the ogre repeated himself before he shouted back. “Hey! What happened to my feet?” It was fortunate the commands of the Kairos did not have to be processed through the brain before becoming effective.

“Sit down.” Dallah said, and to the dismay of many of the people, not the least her family, Dallah walked straight toward the thing. As the ogre sat, he asked his question again.

“But what happened to my feet?” Stonecrusher paused while Dallah walked the distance and then the ogre asked a second question. “Why am I sitting?”

“What am I going to do with you?” Dallah asked a rhetorical question in return as she neared. The ogre reached for her. People gasped, but Dallah merely slapped the ogre hand like she had slapped the imp hands. The ogre snatched his hand back and looked at it.

“I thought you said the skin was rock hard.” Lieutenant Harper spoke.

“It is,” Roland answered. “But the Kairos is not hampered by any of it.”

Then the pain got processed and the ogre imitated his little cousins. “Ooowww,” he said in a very loud voice, and he slipped its hand into its mouth.

“Quiet and keep your hands to yourself.” Dallah thought as hard as she could but saw no alternative. “Godus.” She shouted back to the people who had fallen into a hushed silence to watch this spectacle. “We have to give it one of our sheep.”

“We’ve not but seven left,” Godus responded. Being the spouse of the Kairos had its privileges as far as the little ones were concerned. Her family certainly adjusted to the imps fast enough in the stream.

“Well, we will have to have six. You can pick the least of the lot that is left, but we have to feed it something. The poor thing is starving.”

“Somehow, I never imagined an ogre being called a poor thing,” Lincoln said quietly, and Alexis went to take his arm.

Godus handed Korah to her older brother, Reneus, but she already semed fine, had stopped crying, and stared with the rest of them.

Crusty sighed. “I was afraid if she was still mad at us she might feed us to the ogre.” Dwizzle nodded.

“And she could make us walk right into that big mouth without another thought,” Itchy added.

“She would never do that.” Mingus lowered his hands. “Don’t you know how much she loves you?” A small tear came to his eye, and also to Dwizzle’s eye.

“But she is old and will die soon.” Crusty said it again.

“That’s okay,” Itchy decided. “I could live with a god that dies now and then. Then she gets to be a baby again?” Mingus nodded. “So, we get a season of peace when she is young and growing up,” Itchy concluded.

“Or he,” Mingus said.

“That must be weird,” Itchy said.

“Not if you are born that way,” Mingus said.

“Oh yeah. I hadn’t thought of that.”

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

Don’t forget tomorrow (Thursday) will finish the episode, so…

Golden Door Chapter 14 James and the Ogre, part 3 of 3

April 16, 2025March 3, 2025M G Kizzia Leave a comment

James felt groggy, but he only had to sit down for a few minutes in the rain. The ogre, and that was what it was, apparently suffered the worst of it, being thrown back by the blue lightening to crash into the cave wall. Luckily, ogres are very hard to damage, and he rather damaged the stone wall of the cave.

“Are you all right?” Grubby asked James in most uncharacteristically impish fashion. Nature would have had an imp rolling on the floor with laughter over such an encounter, but James was the son of the Kairos.

James nodded, though one hand stayed on his head. The ogre shook his head and spoke. “That little guy is powerful. I never been beat up before.”

“First time for everything,” Grubby said, and puffed out his chest a little. “Storyteller’s son.”

“But my Ma and Da said to watch the cave and don’t let in strangers.

“His name’s James. Now he’s not a stranger.”

“At least not any stranger than you guys,” James mumbled while Grubby helped him to his feet and got him out of the rain. It looked ready to pour.

“James.” The ogre caught that much. “Good to meet you.” Warthead stuck out his tremendous hand and James’ hand got completely swallowed up in the big mitt. He would have been better to shake one of Warthead’s fingers. But then, James watched the handshake because he could hardly look at the ugly puss of the ogre, and besides, he did not feel altogether certain if there might be more blue lightening. It turned out to be safe enough, and James could not imagine anything more special than making friends with an ogre, so he looked up at last, but when the ogre smiled in delight, James had to quickly look away to avoid throwing up.

“Ma and Da aren’t here,” Warthead repeated himself in his gravel-deep voice. “They gone up to the castle for special visitor, I think. I don’t rightly remember.”

“Woah!” Grubby was by the entrance to the cave. “There must be a monster storm coming. Listen to that thunder.” They heard a dull roar in the distance, but it was growing. James paid close attention and after a moment he voiced his skepticism.

“I don’t think that is thunder,” he said.

Warthead, who was not particularly able to follow their thoughts, looked around instead and pointed at something else. “Spiders.” Grubby and James looked quickly. They were at the bottom of the mountain, quite a long way, but obviously excited as if sensing they were getting close to their prey. They began to climb the hill at a rapid pace.

“James!” The word came wafting down from above with the wind and the rain.

“James!” It was Mrs. Copperpot, Picker and Poker.

“Grubby! James!” Pug was with them, and the trio in the cave had to go outside to look up.

They were soon spotted, though the dwarfs and the gnome were quite high up the mountainside above them. “Up here, James. Quick! Tsunami!” Pug pointed in the direction of the roar which was becoming very pronounced. They began to hear trees crash in the wave.

James looked for a way, but there was no easy way. The cave was carved out of a small cliff. Meanwhile, Warthead scratched his head and Grubby had his eyes glued on the spiders. He saw when they abandoned the rush up the hill and began climbing trees in an attempt to get above the onrushing water.

“Hurry James!”

“There’s no way up!” James shouted.

Grubby picked up a stone and threw it at a spider which was ahead of its fellows. It cracked against the spider’s back but did no real damage. James spun around to see. The spider was almost as big as him, and he might have screamed at the sight if the water did not come first. With a great roar and something like the sound of freight trains, the wave crashed through the last trees like a flood breaking through a levy.

“Water!” James shouted, and Warthead moved. He grabbed Grubby in one big paw and James in the other and stretched his arms as high in the air as he could, which was almost high enough for James to reach the rock ledge above the cave mouth, but not quite.

“Spider!” Grubby shouted, as the water quickly rose above the ogre’s mouth. A spider had made the jump to Warthead’s arm and zeroed in on James. James panicked, but tried kicking first, and to his surprise, he caved in the beast’s head in a way that Grubby’s stone had not. A second kick sent the spider flying off into the drink, as the water was now up to Warthead’s elbows. It actually reached to his upraised wrists, and the water stayed up for a few minutes before it began to recede almost as fast as it came in. James understood that if the tidal water did not drown them or crash them and crush their bones against something hard while coming in, it could still do the same, or drag them for miles on the way out, and just as easily.

The time went by slowly, slow enough for Pug and Mrs. Copperpot to climb down almost within reach. Mrs. Copperpot looked full of fret and worry, but Pug seemed a rock of calm and kept assuring them that everything was going to be all right.

Warthead stood that whole time with his arms raised straight up to keep Grubby and James above the water. James felt a little surprised the ogre was not brushed aside in that torrent, but he was not. He stood like the stones themselves, unmoving, even long after James imagined the poor ogre drowned and had to be dead and gone. As the water went down somewhat slowly, it felt agonizing to watch the big creature, hoping against hope for signs of life. When the water was once again below the chin and it started to pick up the pace of retreat, Warthead looked like no more than a statue, and James imagined he might stand in that pose for a thousand years. He wanted to cry, and Mrs. Copperpot did not help with her words about the ogre’s bravery and heroic stand. Then Warthead shook his head and opened his eyes.

“Warthead!” James and Grubby shouted together.

“Are the spiders gone?” Warthead asked. “That one tickled and I almost laughed.”

“But how did you?” James could not decide what to ask. “The water was up for a half hour at least, or twenty minutes or more. How?”

“I held my breath,” Warthead said, in an intuitive moment—a very rare thing in an ogre.

“Good choice.” Grubby praised the ogre’s thinking. It was a fifty-fifty proposition of Warthead coming up with the notion of holding his breath underwater.

James twisted his face. “I thought after so many minutes without oxygen the brain cells started dying.”

“No fear of that,” Grubby said, and waved off the whole problem with his hand. “He hasn’t got any to lose.”

Warthead grinned and nodded and began to wonder why he kept holding his arms straight up in the air.

It was still an hour or more before Picker and Poker found a way down from above and the water went down enough to gather in the cave entrance. The others were a bit leery of the ogre, but he seemed such a good fellow, and Mrs. Copperpot recognized how young he was. Why, converted to human ages, she imagined that Warthead might be the youngest of the lot, despite his hulking size.

“You know,” she said, as she sighed and accepted that she now had five, a full handful of boys to watch. “Now that the spiders are washed away, the path to the gate should be open.”

“At least for a little while.” Pug agreed. “And we ought to go before it gets dark.”

Mrs. Copperpot looked up at the sky where there was a genuine stroke of lightning and boom of thunder, and the rain began to strengthen. “Yes.” She agreed, before she added, “And I don’t like the look of that sky.”

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

MONDAY

Chris boards the ship to cross the underground sea but the cavern wall cracks and the volcano bring up a monster from the deep while Beth flies above it all and gets to taste sweet puffberries. Until Monday. Happy Reading

Medieval 6: Giovanni 5 Search and Rescue, part 2 of 3

January 1, 2025November 24, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“One minute.” Giovanni yelled in a grumpy voice. The girl, in her underclothes, looked prepared to finish the job. “Woah,” he whispered. “That will be quite enough.” He could not help staring. She was beautiful. She stared too, but the look in her eyes was more that of fear barely overcome by a minimum of trust and a great deal of curiosity.

“What’s wrong?” She whispered back.

He wanted to say, nothing, but instead he put a hand to his chin. “Something’s missing,” he said and reached for the cup of water on the desk. He splashed her and she nearly shouted, and perhaps wanted to slap him again, but hesitated when he splashed himself. “Sweat,” he explained. “Muss your hair.” She did as the knock came again, this time more rudely. “Lord.” They heard the man speaking as Sabelius had spoken. Clearly the man did not want to upset the strongman. “Your pardon, but we must search every wagon.”

“In the bed,” Giovanni said, taking the girl by the arm and directing her toward the back of the wagon. “Give a good performance,” he insisted. She took some dirt from the table where it had gotten a little wet and smeared in on her face. “Good touch,” he said as he stuffed her dress into a nearby trunk.

“Coming!” He shouted with some anger. “I said I was coming.” The girl slipped under the covers as he opened the door. “What?” He echoed the girl’s word, but with enough ferocity to make the watchman take a step back. Giovanni noticed there were six of them with Sabelius. Probably the only reason this one had the courage to push up to the door in the first place.

“Your pardon,” he repeated himself. “There is a girl missing and she was last seen heading toward your camp. We have been ordered to search everywhere if you don’t mind.” He craned his neck in an attempt to see into the wagon.

“Whose orders?” Giovanni got curious but sounded disturbed.

“Lord Orseolo.” The man said with some sense of self-importance. “The Doge himself.”

Giovanni raised an eyebrow.

“Who is it, Giovanni, dear?” Giovanni felt almost as surprised then as the man in front of him. The girl in his bed actually had the audacity to speak up.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he said, playing right along. “Just some rude men.” He stepped aside far enough for them to see in, but not quite far enough for them to enter. Sabelius nudged one of the watch and winked at another, and they got the message.

“Sir.” Clearly, the man outside still wanted to come in.

“Seen any runaway maidens?” Giovanni said over his shoulder.

“No maidens in here.” The girl spoke in a very sultry voice, and then she stuck her dirty face and scraggly hair out from between the bed curtains and spoke very sweetly. “Do send them away and come back to bed, Giovanni dearest.”

Giovanni turned to the men who were mostly smiling by then. “To paraphrase Julius Caesar.” he said in a theatrical tone. “You came. You saw. But I will conquer!” He slammed the door in their faces and paused only one moment to make sure they did not knock again. He stepped to the bed.

“Are they gone?” she whispered.

Giovanni shrugged, put one hand to his ear and mimed listening at the door. “Are you ticklish?” he asked but he did not give her time to answer. He found out that she was. Very quickly, though, he stopped. She backed away to the back wall of the wagon and the fear returned to her eyes.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said softly, thanking Angel who taught him long ago to say that. “It is my policy never to abuse any maiden I happen to save.” He stood and walked to the door. He cracked it open as the girl had done earlier. The Watch and their torches were receding from the camp. He opened the door a little wider, then and spoke. “Thank you Sabelius,” he said, knowing that the strongman would hear him. “Oberon!” he called, knowing the dwarf would hear too, and soon be present.

“Have you saved many maidens?” the girl asked, covering herself a little with the bed sheets.

“You are the first.” Giovanni said and smiled. She gave him back a radiant smile of her own. “But it is a good policy, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Yes indeed.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked, offering her the plate Gabriella had brought.

“No, thank you,” she said, but she looked and then smelled it as he held it out. She put her fingers delicately into the bowl and took a dainty bite. Then she looked at him, smiled again, and took the plate. “This is quite good.”

Giovanni found himself grinning. “Runaway from home?” he asked. “A bad marriage?” he suggested.

“No.” The girl shook her head. “Haven’t married him yet.”

“Ah.” he spoke wisely. “Bad arrangement. You’re in love with someone else, I suppose.”

The girl shook her head again. “There is no one else,” she said between bites.

“Hmm.” Giovanni was almost stumped. “Then I guess you must not like the look of him.”

“Haven’t seen him,” she said. “Well, once years ago. I was not happy with what I saw. I was supposed to get married at the end of the week, but not now.”

“Then what?” Giovanni threw his hands up.

She paused in her dining. “You almost got it right,” she said in her tender voice. “He is a mean and horrible person from all I hear. He only cares about himself. He is demanding and selfish and self-centered.”

“In other words, a man,” Giovanni said with a smile.

“A real ogre,” she countered, and she pined with a dramatic flair. “I would rather die.” Then she looked at Giovanni to see if he approved of her performance.

“Needs a wilting hand on the forehead,” he said and showed her the move. She laughed, genuinely, covering her mouth, sweetly. “I would watch those ogre comments, though.” he said, half seriously. “Some of my best friends are ogres.” She almost laughed again, but just then Sabelius opened the door and Oberon came bounding in. The girl let out a little scream.

“Begging your pardon, Lady,” Sabelius said with a tip of his hat. “I know I’m an ugly sight for those not used to me.”

“Buckets of ugly.” Giovanni agreed.

Sabelius smiled. “But I would never hurt anyone. I’ve been good so long I don’t know if I could even if I wanted to.”

The girl stared as if she was not sure.

“Stand up.” Oberon talked to the girl but no one listened to him. The girl did stand, however, but her eyes never quit turning between Sabelius and Giovanni. Meanwhile, Oberon had to stand on the chair to measure her bust.

“It’s true.” Giovanni tried to reassure the girl about the big man. “He’s a good egg.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Sabelius offered and backed out of the doorway. The girl made a visible sigh of relief.

“Great shape for a human. What costume?” Oberon caught Giovanni’s attention.

“What should she do?” He started thinking.

“Do?” The girl asked.

“You will be safe here.” he said. “You won’t be found, but you will have to become one of us.”

“Everyone works and everyone shares,” Oberon explained.

“There are lots of secrets here,” Giovanni tried to continue, but Oberon liked to talk.

“But no one tells. The circus is like a family, and what we know stays with us. We don’t talk to outsiders much, at least not about secrets. You will be safe with us, but you will have to become one of us.”

The girl sat down on the edge of the bed.

“But I can’t do anything,” she protested.

“You let me worry about that,” Giovanni said. “You’re smart as well as pretty. I can tell. Just because you have no obvious talent, well, you can learn.”

“But you don’t understand.” The girl expressed her sense of frustration and hopelessness. “The Doge won’t give up. He will keep searching and searching until I am caught.”

“But we won’t be here in a month,” he countered. “On the first of April we head out on the road, to get ahead of Corriden, and then there is a whole season of shows, spring, summer and fall ahead of us up and down the peninsula.”

“We will leave Venice?” The girl caught on. “But what can I do?”

“Harlequin.” Giovanni said at last, having decided.

“Boss.” Oberon was not so sure. “Can she acrobat? Can she even tell a joke?”

“She is young and flexible.” he said. “And comedy can be learned. Besides, the make-up will hide her face and make her all but impossible to find.

“She’ll never pass for a thirteen year old boy,” Oberon pointed out.

“Whoever said harlequin had to be a young boy?” He felt sure she could play the part. “Still, I suppose the hair will have to go.”

“My hair?” The girl was lying down. She took a handful of her long blonde hair and held it to her lips as her eyes slowly closed.

“I don’t suppose you could throw her back,” Oberon quipped.

“No, she’s a keeper,” he said. “Besides, harlequin is the one thing we were really missing.”

“I’ll get the Missus to fix the costume so you will have it by morning,” Oberon said more softly. The girl started breathing more deeply as she fell off to sleep.

“Thank Needles for me.” he said, reaching into the trunk. “Here. You better burn her dress. And by the way, thanks to you and Sabelius for watching out for me.”

“No problem.” Oberon brushed it off. “But if it’s all the same to you I think Sabelius and I will go throw rocks at Madam Figiori’s booth. She cast a spell around her booth so the night watch did not disturb her. She was in there snoring away while the rest of us suffered.”

“Don’t break anything,” Giovanni said with a little laugh. Oberon left, and immediately he remembered how tired he was. He looked at the bed and watched the girl sleep for a minute. He could hardly keep his eyes off her not to mention his hands, but if she was going to be part of the circus, that made her strictly off limits. In a great act of will, he forced himself to think of the girl as a sister, and one he needed to protect, not abuse. He pulled a blanket out of the trunk and curled up in his chair. He blew out the candle and almost immediately began to dream.

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

MONDAY

Giovanni struggles through a restless night full of strange dreams but in the morning they convince Leonora to be the harlequin for the circus as long as she stays hidden. Until Monday, Happy Reading

Medieval 6: Giovanni 5 Search and Rescue, part 1 of 3

December 31, 2024November 24, 2024M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Giovanni felt so tired and the bed looked so inviting. He glanced once again at the lineup. They were to head out in less than five weeks and all he could see was that they were not ready. They were only one month away from having to pack the wagons and head out on the road. He sighed. Theirs would not be the first show that had to work out the kinks on the road.

He heard a knock at the door. He was slow to rise and slower to answer. All he really wanted was sleep.

“Gabriellla.” He spoke through the open door at the back of the wagon, a wagon modeled after the one driven by Rostanzio the Magnificent. Giovanni was practicing sleeping in the wagon, and he thought, Everyone was practicing everything. The setting sun blazed red in the distance. “Maffeo!” He shouted before Gabriella could say anything. “Get those horses up for the night and tell Severas to get Sir Brutus in his cage and away from the fish. No one wants to see a bloated bear sleep through his performance.” The bear had been asleep for most of the winter, but woke now and then, and one time it got awake enough in January to show what he could do. Another act without a boffo ending, Giovanni thought.

“I hear you.” Severas answered with a shout. He was coming up the hill from the outhouse. Giovanni shook his head and wondered who was grumpier, Severas or his bear. The man was frankly a bit of a mean old man. It was a wonder his wife, Berta, puts up with them both.

“Maffeo!” He shouted again.

Maffeo slapped Charles and grabbed Louis by the ear. Giovanni was again reminded of the Three Stooges, but they caught the horse and he did not see any other animals around.

“Don Giovanni,” Gabriella grabbed his attention. “You must eat.” She pushed a bowl of fish and leeks into his hands. He was tired, not hungry, but he smiled.

“Thank you,” he said. “Since you have joined us I believe I’ve put on some weight.” Gabrielle and her husband Bergos were good people who thus far had kept everyone fed and happy; at least he heard no complaints about the cooking.

Gabrielle did not buy the fake smile. “You must keep your strength.” She spoke like a mother hen. “We will be on the road soon enough and there may be slim pickings on the road.” The woman had never been on the road, but she paid attention to the stories she heard.

“Winter in Venice can be rather slim pickings, too, but you seem to manage well,” he said more honestly.

“Umph.” She acknowledged that compliment with a grunt and slight nod of her head. The stern look on her face, however, did not change. “Eat.” She insisted and turned away.

“I will.” Giovanni smiled again, holding tight to the bowl, and he thought to himself that yes, these were good people, and as close to normal as he could get in the Don Giovanni circus. He turned and went back into the wagon. He closed the door and put the bowl on his desk where he had no intention of touching it.

Before bed, as was his habit, he pulled out the lockbox and counted their coins. They had precious little to start the season. He thought back to the day his father died, or the next day. He remembered what his father called his emergency backup stash. He hid it in the wallboards behind the bed and said you can never be too careful with thieves. He also said he never had any intention of using that backup money if he could help it. It was there to give him peace of mind, knowing if they got robbed that would not be the end of the circus.

Giovanni found the place in the wall easily enough. He found three gold pieces, a small bag of silver coins, and a larger bag of coppers. He knew then he could keep the circus going, but as he looked in the lockbox he was not so sure.

His mind turned to all the new acts and paused on Vader the knife thrower’s wife Edwina. Quite the contrast to her angry husband, she was a lovely, gentle woman. That may have been why he had the occasional streak of jealousy. Even so, Giovanni could not help himself thinking about her, but after a few moments of fantasy, he figuratively slapped his own face. He admitted that he had a problem with that sort of thing. The women always seemed willing enough; but he needed to always remember that his circus people were strictly off limits. He did not dare. The circus was like a family. It was important and better to think of family. It was one element that made it all work together. Edwina was, in that sense, something like a sister to him, and to violate her in that way would be like a strange sort of incest. He would never do that. He needed to never even think that way, no matter what.

He looked again at his bed, which he could just see behind the curtain and thought only of sleep. He was dog tired, and he remembered Corriden took the dog act with him. He had horses, and a bear. So maybe he was bear tired.

Giovanni put one hand to his head. He was eighteen, not thirty-eight. He had no business having such a stress headache. He needed sleep. In fact, he got in dive position when there came another knock at the door. He plopped back into his desk chair.

“Come in,” he hollered, too tired to rise. Oberon the dwarf marched in, while Sabelius the strong man removed his hat and came in slowly with his head bent to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling. “Where is Madam Figiori?” Giovanni asked.

“Sleeping, probably.” Oberon spoke and Giovanni sighed with jealousy. “But she said you were going to need help tonight, so here we are.”

“My saviors.” He often referred to them in that way.

“So what’s up, boss?” Oberon asked.

“More Corriden sabotage?” Sabelius suggested. Besides looking like an ugly human, an appearance that seemed to get exaggerated in the firelight at night, he really was too bright for a half troll. They all knew Corriden and the Corriden Circus was out to get them, and maybe shut down their chances to make a fresh beginning. Porto and Berlio had been caught several times trying to steal things, including one attempt to steal the smaller circus show tent. Berlio, the magician, and his wife Priscilla got caught around the chuck wagon. Fortunately, Madam Figiori was able to check with some real magic. If they intended to poison the food in any way, they did not have the chance.

“No,” Giovanni said. “Just guard the door so I can get some sleep.” He pleaded.

“Don’t think so.” Oberon shook his head. “Madam said something about a girl and the night watch. Could have been a girl on the night watch, but I suppose they don’t put girls on that duty. Maybe we are supposed to watch a girl in the night, or the girl might watch us, or something.”

“We’ll keep our eyes and ears open.” Sabelius interrupted and backed carefully from the wagon, reaching in with one enormous hand and hauling Oberon after him. The door closed softly.

“Thank you Lord,” Giovanni breathed with a quick look to the ceiling. He dived into the bed and it was only then that he realized he was too twisted inside to pass out. A moment later it was too late as he heard a sharp, panic-driven knock on the door. He got up and answered it this time, not at all surprised to find himself pushed out of the way by a young woman who immediately shut the door, and then turned and opened it a crack to peek out.

“Don Vincenzo Giovanni, at your service,” he said, adding a little bow to his words.

“Hello.” The girl granted him a quick acknowledgement, barely turning her head before gluing her eye right back to the crack in the doorway. Giovanni dutifully drew the curtains and closed the shutters. Then he could not resist bending over her to peek over her shoulder. She smelled sweet, but then clearly she was a noble lady of the highest quality. Giovanni would have expected no less.

“Search them all.” A man shouted.

“Leave that alone.” Giovanni heard Oberon. “Help! Thieves!”

“Don’t open that!” That sounded like Piccolo, the juggler and practical joker. Giovanni imagined him tempting the night watch. Sure enough, he heard the growl of the bear, a man’s scream, and the sound of crashing like men in flight.

“No.” That voice sounded extremely deep and close. Sabelius stood by the door. “Don Giovanni is resting. You will not disturb him.”

“Orders.” The man spoke with a shaky voice. “Got to look in them all.” Sabelius was showing his more troll and ogre qualities by the torchlight. With his great size, he was not one to bump into after dark.

“No,” Sabelius spoke again.

“Quickly,” Giovanni whispered, grabbed the girl by the shoulders and pulled her into the wagon, closing the door tight in the process. “Can you act?”

“What?” The girl looked more confused than frightened.

“Do you want to be caught?” he asked.

“No, please.” The seriousness of her predicament came over her and she realized this young man was presently her only hope.

“Then I need you to play act,” he said. “Give me a good performance.”

“What?” She looked confused again.

“Take your dress off.” he said, peeling off his shirt in the process.

“What?”

As Giovanni pulled his head from beneath his shirt he felt the slap of her hand across his face. He grabbed her shoulders, stared into her eyes, and carefully enunciated. “It-is-only-pretend.” He spoke in his most directorial voice and saw the light go off in her eyes, as they heard a knock on the door.

“Don Giovanni?” Sabelius spoke softly as if wanting to wake him, but not wanting to wake him to do it.

M4 Margueritte: Banners of Christendom, part 2 of 3

March 15, 2022February 19, 2022M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Charles built his permanent army around his veterans, but then he had to pay them so they could support their wives and children, most of whom moved to Reims, so they could be there where the army quartered for the cold months. Charles also worked his men sometimes in the cold months. He knew what was coming, and in 732 it came. Europe and even Rome trembled, but Charles felt vindicated. The only thing he did not guess correctly was, instead of coming out of Septimania, the Muslims brought their massive army right over the Pyrenees from Iberia.

In March of 732, Margueritte got a letter from Duke Odo, and another from Hunald, even as they were appealing to Charles for help. “Here is the way it went,” Margueritte said over supper. “The old duke, and he must be well into his seventies at this point, he made an alliance with one Uthman ibn Naissa, a Berber ruler in Catalunya. He feared the Muslims, that they would try again, and at his age he did not imagine he had the strength to fight them off again.”

“I am understanding something about age these days,” Peppin said quietly

“But he won the battle of Toulouse.” Walaric said, while Tomberlain and Owien sat silent to listen.

“Handily,” Wulfram added.

“But there were circumstances, like the Muslim commander got lazy and did not set a good watch during the siege, and Duke Odo came on them unprepared, and took them by surprise. He cut them down before they could mobilize their cavalry, and the odds of all that working a second time in his favor are like none. But according to Hunald, Duke Odo thought an alliance with the rebellious Berber would put another friendly land between himself and the Emir of Al-Andalus. Apparently, Odo gave his daughter Lampagia to the Berber as a bride.”

“You mean a bribe,” Margo said quietly, and Margueritte nodded.

“But it all came down in 731, last summer,” she continued. “Charles came out of Bavaria to march up to face the troubles in Saxony, but Odo did not know that. He feared Charles would attack him for making the alliance. The agreement with Charles was Odo could rule in Aquitaine, but he would defer to Charles on dealing with any outsiders. So Odo kept his army at home while Charles marched through Burgundy, up along his border.

“Meanwhile, the Wali of Cordoba… Wali is like a governor-general, like the Romans used to have a Magister Millitum for a province. The Wali, a man named Abu Said Abdul Rahman ibn Abdullah ibn Bishr ibn Al Sarem Al ‘Aki Al Ghafiqi, brought his first line troops against the Berber.”

“There’s a mouthful of a name,” Elsbeth said.

“Worse than a name for a Beanie,” Jennifer interjected.

Margueritte nodded. “And it seems the Berber, without help from Odo, got killed. Hunald says his sister probably got sent to some harem in Damascus. But now Odo is between Charles and the Muslims, the old rock and the hard place, and he doesn’t know what to do. And now the Muslims have an excuse to cross the Pyrenees and take Odo’s land, and the Duke does not see any way to stop them. Hunald says Abdul Rahman brought his army over the mountains, in early February, and he fears the Vascons will not resist, and Abdul Rahman will overrun Tolouse this time, and they won’t be able to escape.”

Margueritte stood and put down her papers, while Owien asked the operative question. “What can we do?”

“Go home and train your young men, as planned. Tomberlain has the Sarthe area. Peppin has the Mayenne. Owien, you have the Mauges, south of Angers, south of the Loire, while Wulfram has the north and east, between the rivers and Baugeois. Walaric, I want you here in Pouance and to work with Captain Lothar on all the men from Segre and Haut. I will write to Count Michael and Count duBois to be sure they are ready. We follow Charles. We have to wait and see what Odo and this Abdul Rahman do. But be prepared to come on short notice. No one under eighteen, and no first-year students, but you will need to bring as many as you can, footmen as well as horsemen.”

“Where?” Tomberlain asked.

Margueritte thought a minute. “Tours,” she said. “We will all pay Amager a visit. From Tours, we can head wherever we need to go in Aquitaine, and we can see what men he might add to our numbers.”

###

It became a warm June before Margueritte got another letter from Aquitaine. Odo got badly defeated around Bordeaux, and now the city was under siege. Margueritte sat down and wrote to Charles, who stayed in Reims. What was he waiting for? Odo would not be able to fend off Abdul Rahman by himself. It became a scolding letter, and she would have to think about it before she sent it. She went for a ride. Concord had gotten old, at eleven years. A ride for him became more like a walk. Calista rode with her, but no one else bothered them. They went out into the Vergen forest, on one of those trails Festuscato marked out years earlier. This one came near the main road to Vergenville, and Margueritte eventually turned her horse to the road.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted.

“I don’t know if you have to do anything,” Calista said. “Of course, I don’t know how humans work, exactly. I know what you have told me about Islam, and it sounds terrible and dangerous, but I have heard from some of your little ones living in Iberia, and they say it isn’t so bad. Of course, that is from an elf perspective. I don’t know how humans work, exactly.”

“You said that,” Margueritte sighed and she saw Calista whip out her bow. An arrow from some foe hidden among the trees struck Margueritte in the side, and she had to cling to her horse.

“Quickly,” Calista helped get the horses off the road and helped Margueritte get down and sit, leaning against a tree. Calista fired an arrow, and quickly fired two more, and Margueritte had a stray thought.

“Poor Melanie. You are going to get ahead of her.”

“No, Lady. She got six Saxons and two Thuringians back east. I am still six behind.”

“Wait six and two is eight.”

“Yes, Lady,” Calista let loose an arrow and announced, “Five to go.”

The arrows trying to get at them stopped, and a half-dozen Saracens charged.

“Hammerhead,” Margueritte yelled the name that came to mind, even as she once yelled the same name close to that very place, so many years ago. The ogre came, and so did Birch, Larchmont and Yellow Leaf. Only Luckless and Grimly were missing, but they had duties to attend back in the castle.

The Saracens did not last long. This time, one made it back to his horse to ride off, but Larchmont and Yellow Leaf went after him, so he did not get far. Fairies can fly much faster than any horse can run.

Calista complained. “Thanks. Melanie is still three ahead of me.”

Margueritte tried not to laugh. It hurt too much.

“Lady.” Hammerhead picked her up, gently, and Margueritte tried not to throw-up from the smell. She closed her eyes and thought about flowers while Hammerhead carried her to the Breton gate. The guards on duty balked at letting in the ogre, but they knew Birch, and Margueritte, of course, in the ogre’s arms. They also knew Calista and the two horses she brought that shied away from the ogre.

“Open up, and be quick,” Birch said. He stood in his big form and looked like a true Lord. They opened but kept well back as Hammerhead brought Margueritte to the house. He laid Margueritte down and backed off so men could carry her inside. Hammerhead remembered he was not allowed in the house, so he sat by the oak sapling and the bench and waited.

Elsbeth and Tomberlain held Margueritte’s hands and called for Doctor Pincher. He came and scooted everyone from the room, but let Jennifer stay. Margueritte lost a lot of blood, but he said she should recover.

“It will be a few weeks in bed and several more of low activity. We will have to watch to be sure she does not get it infected. Keep it clean and clean cloths,” he said, and Jennifer said not to worry.

After those three weeks, as Margueritte first stood and thought about trying to go downstairs, Roland came roaring into the castle with twenty men on horseback. They were all older men, traditional horsemen, Childemund among them, but they had all seen the lancers fight the Saxons and Thuringians, and they were anxious to get their hands on such weapons.

Roland held Margueritte and carried her down the stairs. He became so cute and attentive, Margueritte almost got tempted to stay injured for a while. Soon enough, though, she was able to sit for supper in the Great Hall, and she spoke from the end seat, where her father used to sit. She wanted Roland to take the end seat, but he would not hear it. He took her mother’s old seat so he could cut her meat, if she needed his help.

Jennifer sat on Margueritte’s left, opposite Roland and next to Tomberlain and Margo. Owien and Elsbeth sat next to Roland. Margo kept Walaric’s wife, Alpaida next to her. Alpaida was still not entirely comfortable with the fairies, elves, gnomes, and dwarfs that occasionally popped up around the castle, though she had no complaints about Lolly’s cooking. Walaric sat next to his wife, and Wulfram sat beside him. On the other side, Childemund sat next to Elsbeth and Sir Peppin, and Captain Lothar sat across from Wulfram.

Tomberlain stood and toasted his family, and he counted everyone at the table like family because they had become that close. Then Margueritte asked a question that started everything.

“What is Charles playing at? He knows he has to come out and fight while there is time. Odo cannot do it alone. He should have gotten the message from Bordeaux.”

“He wants Odo taken down some before moving. And I agree, it is a dangerous game. Odo may lose entirely, and Abdul Rahman may be emboldened by the victory.”

“We will be ready,” Owien said.

“But we fight for Charles,” Tomberlain reminded him. “Right now, we have to wait until he calls.”

“He may be waiting for winter,” Wulfram suggested from the far end of the table. “These Saracens are used to the hot weather. I was thinking they have not experienced the kinds of winters we have.”

“I just hope he does not wait too long,” Peppin said, and he nudged Childemund who looked up with a dumb look on his face.

“What? I’m just enjoying this apple pie that Lady Elsbeth did not make. I am attacking it, and the pie is going to lose.”

Storyteller Tales & Thoughts

Stories and reflections on storytelling

Ogre

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