Romans

R5 Greta: The Way Things Are, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Fae was lying down and looked very frail.  Berry looked at a scroll, upside down.  Greta bent over to search for Fae’s pulse, and she heard Marcus.

“Now there’s a woman built to carry children,” he said.  It sounded like his way of suggesting she had a fat butt.  Greta turned slowly.  She pointed to the roof of the tent and Marcus foolishly looked. Her foot came down hard on his toes.

“Oaf.”  She called him.  “I’ll probably be as fat as Mama soon enough, and then even Darius won’t want to look at me and you boys can have all the fun you want.”  Marcus laughed a hearty laugh, and that did not make things easy.  Greta had to still her feelings.  There were important things to do.  She introduced Fae as the wise woman of the forest people.  It turned out Fae’s Greek was passable, and she even knew some Latin. Then she found out Sergeant Gaius knew Gaelic well enough to recognize most of the words in the local dialect. There were rough spots, but she knew they would work things out and she really would not be needed.

Greta sighed and stared at an invisible Hobknot to be sure he stayed good.  Then she went outside and took Berry with her for safe keeping.  Darius followed, until Greta turned to face him.

“You don’t like me much.  That is obvious,” he said.  He got military, blunt and formal.  “But I will be a good husband and never give you reason to complain.”

Greta shook her head.  To his surprise, she took his arm and walked him to where they could have some privacy. Meanwhile, Berry said nothing, but followed a few steps behind with big eyes and open ears.  “That’s not it,” Greta said.  “I like you well enough.  You seem to be a nice man, only I don’t know you very well.  I never imagined myself with a Roman.  It takes some getting used to, is all.”

Darius turned and placed his hands gently on her shoulders.  He smiled a little and she let herself be drawn up into his deep eyes.  “I can live with that,” he said.  “I’m still getting used to the idea that my mother was one of your people, or I should say our people.  I understand. Maybe someday.” He did not finish that sentence and turned to another thought altogether.  “And, now that you mention it, I don’t know you very well either, I suppose.  I like what I see, and I suppose I am guilty of assuming the rest will be equally wonderful.”

Greta blushed a little, and she hated the way it made her freckles stand out.  She was not what she imagined as beautiful, and especially after so many days in the wild woods.  She imagined she looked frightful, but that mattered less than she thought as she finally began to understand her reluctance.  “But there are things about me that you know nothing about, and they are big and important things, and they would take a very special man to be able to deal with them, type things.”

He looked at her, and clearly wanted to reassure her that, whatever it might be, that he could deal with it.  But she knew he had no idea.

“There are things you need to know while there is still time to change your mind.”  She said, bluntly, and then for the life of her she could not imagine how to begin to explain.

After the longest time of silence, Darius took her hand and attention.  “Perhaps you could begin by telling me who this cute little shadow of yours is,” he suggested.

Berry sat on the ground to run her hand across the top of the grass.  There were all sorts of animals that grazed near the forest’s edge, so in spots the grass looke like a newly mowed lawn.  Greta pulled herself together.

“This is Berry.” She introduced her.  “She is my ward, and you had better get used to having her underfoot because she will be with me until she convinces me to let her marry Hans.”

Berry looked up at Greta with great big eyes.  “Really? Oh, thank you Lady.  Thank you, thank you.”  She scooted over on her knees and took Greta’s hand and began to kiss it.

“Berry,” Greta said softly.  “This man will be my husband so you had better get used to him, too.”

Berry looked first.  “I like him,” she said, and she scooted over and took his hand and began to kiss it. “Thank you, my Lord.  Thank you for giving me Hans.”

“Berry.” Greta spoke, and when she had the girl’s attention she finished her thought.  “You must wait four years.”

“Four years!” Berry fell over, nearly fainted dead away.

“Not before he is eighteen, don’t you think so?”  She looked at Darius.

“At least,” Darius said.  “But don’t you think Hans ought to have some say in the matter?”

Berry sat straight up.  “Why?” She asked in such a frank and innocent tone it seemed clear that she had never considered this thought before.

“I’m afraid he has no say in the matter,” Greta said.  She covered Darius’ mouth with her hand to stop him from speaking.  “You see, there are some things about me that you don’t know.  Big things.” Darius stayed wonderfully patient. “Berry.” Greta spoke at last, though she never let her eyes waver from his and the expression on his face. “Please come up to my shoulder.  I think there is a knot in my hair.”  Berry looked at Darius and tried to get up on her tip toes for a look.  “No, sweet.” Greta said.  “I mean get little.  It’s all right.”

Berry looked again at Darius and then flew straight to Greta’s shoulder.  Her head and hands went immediately into Greta’s hair and left only her wings and backside exposed.

“Great Gods!” Darius croaked, but then he stood there and watched.  He looked fascinated, and Greta felt glad he was not like so many humans who viewed the little spirits of the earth with fear and trembling.

“Hey!” Berry shouted, having forgotten all about Greta’s hair.  She turned and put her little hands on her hips.  “If you two are going to be married, what was that game you were just playing?”

“Traditional human mating ritual,” Greta said, without pause.  Darius hid his grin.

“Well I hope I won’t have to do that with Hans,” she said.  “I couldn’t remember all that foolish talk.”

Darius and Greta both turned a little red that time.  “That’s enough, sweet,” Greta said.  “You need to get down now and get big again.”

Berry did one back flip in mid-air and landed perfectly on her feet.

“I say.” Darius looked at Greta.  “But is it safe having her around?”

Greta shrugged. “Ask her.”

Berry spoke right up.  “Oh, I hope it will be safe.  I have been thinking about it and I am a little afraid of being around so many clunky humans all day, every day.  You will be there if I need help or get into trouble, won’t you?”

“Um, yes.” Darius said, though that was not what he had in mind.  He cocked one eyebrow at Greta, but this time she hid her smile.  “But now Berry,” he said.  “Will you be a good girl, and always be honest with us and do right away whatever we ask?”

“Yes I will,” Berry said, but then she thought about it and lowered her head.  “At least I will try very, very hard.”  She answered more honestly.

“Don’t expect too much,” Greta said.  “She is a teenager.”

Darius gave Greta a look and she stood up straight.  “Seventeen and a half.”  She lied. “But I feel so much older after these last couple of months.”  Darius nodded to that.

R5 Greta: To Ravenshold, part 3 of 3

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Fae, meanwhile, stayed deep in conversation with the guide.  Hobknot started it.  “So, old woman,” he said.  “Plan on getting senile anytime soon?”  After that, Greta opted not to listen.  That left her to watch after the three men who became very confused about the way they were going.

“It feels sort of like hunting a bear,” Vedix said.  “All of a sudden the hairs rise up on the back of your neck because you realize the bear has circled around and is now hunting you.”  Hobknot lost even the hunter right from the start.

“I’ll say it again,” Cecil spoke up.  “If I wasn’t seeing it with my own eyes I would call any man a liar.”  That seemed about all Cecil said.

As Greta listened, Vilam took a turn to be thoughtful.  “When your boyfriends left town,” he said.  “The image of Danna was still fresh in everyone’s mind and pleasing the goddess was all that we wanted to do.  By the time you returned, though, the image already faded, and some people began to wonder why they were thinking and doing what they were thinking and doing.”

“They were wondering what it was they had actually seen,” Greta concluded.

“That’s a good way to put it,” Vilam agreed.  “By the time Chobar finished speaking, some were determined to do just the opposite of what the goddess asked.”

“I think some of that was out of spite,” Vedix added.

“Spite or unbelief.” Greta said.  “The human heart and mind are amazing.  Even when presented with an undeniable reality, a plain and simple truth, it doesn’t take long to figure out how to deny the reality and believe the exact opposite is true.”

With that, Greta grew quiet and let her mind wander.  Festuscato buffaloed a bunch of ornery, stubborn men by ridiculing their differences and threatening them with the need to work together.  That wasn’t going to work with her Dacians, Romans, and Celts. Festuscato had all Celts, like cousins in a way.  Greta had the Federation trying to get along with the Klingons and the Romulans.

Greta did not know what might work.  By Gerraint’s day, it became more a matter of the old ways versus the new.  People were finding themselves in the awkward position where they had to choose.  The Celts here had a choice to make as well, but it was not old or new.  It seemed more a matter of seeing if Tara, Olympus and Aesgard could get along now that the gods had gone away.  Greta sighed and thought Christendom could not come soon enough.

They arrived at about two in the afternoon, and Vilam looked astounded.  He brought lumber to Ravenshold on a fairly regular basis and he knew how far it was.  “I did not think we would get here until afternoon tomorrow,” he said flatly, yet, there they were, peeking out from the trees, just minutes behind Drakka and the boys. A confusing sight greeted them. She saw Romans and perhaps a dozen of Greta’s people fighting more of her people and strange men with red designs on their tunics.  Greta turned her head.

She looked at the Temple Mount, a little to the West, which left an open space between the Mount and the city wall.  She also saw a wide and long, flat grassy meadow between the edge of the trees and the city, or the Mount, if they chose to go that way.  She saw where the spring from the temple cascaded down the mount in tiny waterfalls and bits of whitewater, and she followed the stream to where it entered the woods some hundred yards West of where they stood. She remembered that the Temple Mount sat on a great deal of water and that water pressed up under great pressure. In fact, the whole area was Germisara. She looked again to the Temple and saw Drakka going up the path with what looked like a prisoner.  Vilam tapped her arm and pointed, and she saw Rolfus and Koren surrendering to the Romans and being escorted from the field. She turned to the Celts.

“Shoot the ones with the red bears on their tunics,” she said.  Vilam and Vedix were ready, needing only a target, and Cecil quickly joined them.  Three arrows flew and one struck home.  Then Greta felt the Princess knocking on the door of time.  She stepped aside and let the Princess come through.

“Once again.” The Princess shouted and drew her own bow to the ready.  Vedix looked dumbfounded, but Vilam turned his head to the task and Cecil snickered. This time four, and then five arrows left the trees.  The Princess, gifted by Artemis herself and the best archer in her generation, firing a weapon made by Apollo, got off two arrows to their one, and both struck their targets perfectly.  A third arrow also hit home, and the enemy began to withdraw, to leave some space between them and the Romans.  A third volley saw four more of the enemy down and they moved off in earnest, under cover of a few wasted bullets as rifle fire came from the mount.

“Pay up, Lady.” Hobknot immediately appeared beside the Princess, tugging on her cape.  The Princess wanted to kiss his grubby little head the way Greta kissed Bogus the Skin earlier, but she knew Hobknot would have been terribly embarrassed with such a show of affection, so instead, she went home and let Greta return. Hobknot shrugged.  “Have it your way.  As I said, pay up, Lady.”

“You need to get invisible and protect Fae and Berry for a while until things are settled.” Greta spoke quickly.  Several Romans and Dacians were on their way to find out who aided them at that critical point.

“Not part of the deal,” he said, but he grinned when she looked at him with such pleading in her eyes.  “All right. But this will cost extra.”  He sauntered over to where Fae sat on a stump.

“I bet you would sell your own mother,” Fae said.

“I would not,” Hobknot insisted.  “But I might trade if the goods were right.”  Fae took the walking stick Hobknot had gotten her and clocked him on the head.  He did not seem to mind at all.

Greta turned her attention to her other worry.  “Berry!”  She shouted. Hans started walking out to meet the Romans and Dacians, and Berry, big, walked right beside him, holding his hand. They stopped.  “Berry, you stay with your sister,” Greta said.

“But lady,” Berry breathed.

“Come on.  I mean it,” Greta insisted.  Berry let go of Hans’ hand and came back looking very sad. Finally, Greta thought of herself. She let her armor go back to Usgard where she imagined it got kept and brought back her dress and red cape. They were clean and ready as she hoped, and in her heart, she thanked whoever might be responsible.  She wanted to look as presentable as she could.  She was not sure she wanted Darius to see her dressed to kill.  Besides, too many of her other lives knew all too well how to use those weapons, but she did not, and wanted to keep it that way.  It turned out to be the Centurion Alesander, and he knew Hans right away. When he saw Greta, he bowed slightly.

“My lady,” he said.  “It is not safe here.”

“Yes, yes,” Greta said, and introduced her Celts as people of the forest and allies.  Of course, they and the Romans could not understand each other at all, but two of the Romans worked well with Vilam and Cecil to make a litter with which to carry Fae.  They skirted the edge of the woods to keep as far away from the Mount as possible, until they came to a fortified outpost.  From there, they could see the city walls and almost see the road, but they were out of range of the guns on the Mount and for the most part, out of sight of the Temple.

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

MONDAY

Greta needs to be brought up to date on what has happened to understand the way things are.  She has to keep Fae and Berry safe, and face Darius, even if Marcus Aurelius insists on looking over her shoulder.

Next time, “The Way Things Are”

Until then, Happy Reading

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R5 Greta: Back to the World, part 3 of 3

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Her own thoughts turned to Gerraint and all the struggles around York.  She saw too much blood and killing, and she willingly worked her fingers off, but it felt like trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon. Festuscato would be facing the same soon enough.  Greta wondered what was wrong with the human race.  So much blood would be spilled, and she thought of Darius and Marcus and Ravenshold.  She dreaded what was to come.

Greta proved right.  They arrived at the river crossing after only a short walk.  Vilam stayed there, waiting as agreed.  He quickly got to his feet and doffed his hat as he saw them coming. Finbear was not there, however. In his place stood an older man named Cecil, a member of the Eagle Clan.  The first thing Cecil did was draw his sword and take two steps back. Thunderhead ignored the man since even that sharp steel could barely scratch his hide.  Greta understood why ogre hunting never became the great sport that dragon and giant hunting once became.  Thunderhead set Hans down gently as instructed and Greta let go of the tension she had not even realized she held.  She felt ever so glad that Hans did not wake up in the ogre’s arms.

“Now, maybe you could help Bogus with his job,” she suggested and gave a few scratches on his itchy spots.  Clearly, it felt more natural and came much easier for her having spent some time now among her little ones.  This time, Thunderhead appreciated of her gift.  He really was not a bad fellow for an ogre.

“I will. And I’ll do a good job.  You’ll see.”

“There now.” She finished.  “You better get along before this poor man falls over.”

Thunderhead did not even look at the man.  He moved off through the forest a little happy and a little less itchy.

Vilam introduced his friend and Cecil came straight to the point.  “If I had not seen it myself, I would have called any man a liar.”

“Well you saw.” Greta did not mean to sound uppity, but Hans remained too heavy for her.  “Now, would you put that sharp thing away and help my brother to the raft.” She stilled herself.  “Please,” she added, coming down from the heady experience of the last few hours.  She might be the Woman of the Ways, but a mere mortal, human after all.

“I’ll help,” Berry said, but Greta let Cecil and Vilam carry the boy, and they managed to get him to the raft without waking him.  In the end, he woke up all the same as the raft moved low in the water and his backside became soaked.

“Where are we going?” Hans asked.

“To the village of the Bear Clan.”  Greta answered.  “They are going to help us finish our journey to Ravenshold, but we have to pick up Drakka, Rolfus and Koren first.”

“Are they here?” Hans asked.   He wanted to get excited, but the best he could manage was groggy.  Greta pointed ahead as if to say they were in the village, but Hans looked back.  Berry had her face hidden in Fae’s shoulder, and Greta thought she had to help Berry get over being so shy.  It would be too irresistible for a boy like Hans.

When they came to the far bank, the men held the raft steady.  Greta helped Hans and Berry helped Fae.  When they came up to the gate, they found a bonfire out front. The other Clans were coming.  Many were already present.

“Vilam.” Greta had a quick thought.  “Is there another way into the village where we might not be seen?  I need to get Hans into a real bed, and I don’t like the idea of Berry being surrounded by all of these men.”  Of course, Vilam knew who Berry was, but at that moment Cecil stood in the gate shouting.

“They’re here! They’re here!”  Vilam looked at Greta and shrugged, but Greta would not give up.

“Vilam, take Hans,” she said.  “Berry, you go with them and stay with Hans.  See that he gets to bed and gets a good night’s sleep.  Look.  He is falling asleep standing here.”

“Yes, Lady,” Berry curtsied and Greta reminded herself again that these were not her little ones.  Human interactions were far more complicated.

“Do you mind?” she asked Vilam

“Not at all,” he answered.  “Three days and three nights under fairy charms and it is a wonder he is still on his feet at all.  No offence to the present company.”

“Does he mean me?” Berry had to ask, innocently, though she knew full well who he spoke of and who he stared at.

“Yes, sweet,” Greta said.

“Oh, no offense.” Berry replied.  “Bogus the Skin would take that as a great compliment.  I must tell Bogus, I mean, Grandfather the next time I see him.”

Vilam smiled, sort of, and they scooted along the stockade wall until they became lost in the dark.  Fae and Greta staggered to where they were met by a group of men, escorted to the center square, sat in chairs in the most prominent place, and promptly ignored. Fae fell asleep almost as soon as they sat down.  Greta felt unable to sleep as the men argued for hours, and sometimes it became rather heated.

It all sounded typically human as far as it went.  Some believed none of the talk of gods and the Vee Villy.  Some did not want to believe for the usual variety of personal reasons.  Some, on the other hand, were true believers, and some, while they did not believe, they thought making peace with the Yellow Hairs and Romans was the right thing to do.

In the end, it came down to two sides.  Chobar of the Dog Clan argued against change.  He wanted to kill the outsiders, including Greta.  Gowan of the Eagle Clan argued for change.  He wanted to let them go and seek peace so they could join in the defense of the land, because while his village and many of the others were technically outside and west of the Roman province, they had the Lazyges thundering across the plains at their backs and they would likely ride right over the Celts to get at the gold and silver being mined out of the mountains under Roman control.

Baran finally called the meeting ended for the night.  They needed to wait for all of the Clans to arrive and be represented before making a decision.  Greta had to wake Fae, though she felt reluctant to wake her, only to be escorted to a place where they could sleep.

Greta found Berry and Hans fast asleep, entwined in each other’s arms.  They were innocent, being fully clothed.  Greta doubted if Hans even woke up.  He lay face down in bed, and Berry’s face lay beside him and with her mouth a little bit open.  She saw Berry swallow without waking, and saw Berry’s hand go up to rest in Han’s hair.  She caught a glimpse of them when they were very much older, and she decided to leave them alone.

Then she could not sleep.

Drakka and the boys had left town almost as quickly as she had gone in search of Hans. They had taken Finbear to guide them which was why he had not been at the river.  Finbear also made a rather dull knife, but she hoped he had enough sense not to trust the boys.  That thought made her turn.

Drakka did not really care about her.  He had not even left word for her.  It finally penetrated her thick head, and now it seemed painfully obvious.  He would never be with her.  At least Darius would have left word, but that just meant he was polite.  True, her view of the Romans had changed considerably in the last couple of weeks, but still!  He had his tart waiting for him in Rome.  Greta could not even be sure if Darius liked her, and here, they were going to end up stuck with each other, unless one of them got killed.  She did not want to think about it.  She turned again.

She wondered if Darius would look for her in the morning.  She would probably be a day late.  He probably would not even notice.  She turned again and finally fell into a tense and not very restful sleep.

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

MONDAY

Greta and Hans, with a few extra passengers, finish the journey to Ravenshold.  Greta fears what may be transpiring, since she became unavoidably delayed. She fears they may be fighting already.  She fears for Marcus… and maybe Darius.

Don’t miss it, and Happy Reading

*

R5 Greta: Into the Woods, part 1 of 3

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Greta got up before the sun, dressed as quietly as she could and put on her red cloak for the journey.  The days were getting warm, but the evenings and early mornings could still be chilly. She already had her new basket filled with enough food to sustain her for three days.  It felt minimal, but it would suffice.  She also had a flask of water.  She imagined she might find water along the way.  When she felt ready, she crawled out of the window to avoid the guards her father had posted by the front door.

Greta walked across country fields until she met the east road, far out of sight of her house. The grass made squishy sounds beneath her feet.  The road proved full of mud puddles.  The trees dripped and glistened in the first light.  It had rained well after midnight.  By the time she turned off to walk to Mother Hulda’s, where the road turned the other way, the sun broke out over the eastern hills.

Greta stopped in Mother Hulda’s barn long enough to nibble on a piece of bread.  She wanted to be sure she was not being followed. As she ate, her mind wandered to the task ahead.  She began to think of the haunted woods and the many stories that told about people who wandered in and were never heard from again.  She looked at the little Sylvan River in the distance.  It came out of the woods, narrow and clean water, and flowed to join the Tibiscus River north of Boarshag.  They said the Sylvan bogged down in the forest and formed into great swamps, home for all the unspeakable things.  She considered the god Sylvanus and the haunting power of the trees.  She remembered the Roman Century from the days of the last rebellion, said to be wandering still, looking for a way out.  She thought of the stories about demons and strange creatures, and suddenly she had to go before she lost her nerve.  She was not as immune to the children’s stories as she had supposed, and she decided Festuscato and Gerraint were fools to want a haunted forest of their own.The first thing Greta noticed was the forest floor seemed much dryer than the fields.  The twigs and leaves crunched beneath her feet and the sound echoed among the trees.  The forest also seemed much quieter than the meadows.  Greta got startled by the sound of a bird that broke out in morning song.  She got spooked by the rustle of leaves nearby and almost ran.  She decided to investigate under the false assumption that it could not be anything evil in the morning light.  She thought that proving to herself that it was nothing would help.  She paused when she saw the leaves move.  She held her breath.  The leaves appeared to be moving but nothing moved them and she felt no breeze.  A squirrel head popped up from beneath the leaf bed.  Greta breathed, and laughed, nervously.  It did not surprise her that the stories of ghosts and demon spirits were rampant among the people.

Greta moved on. Again, she heard the rustle of leaves and twigs behind her, but this time she ignored it.  Even after she had put some distance between herself and the squirrel, she still thought nothing of it.  It is just mice or birds, she told herself, or perhaps a deer with a spring born faun.  Yet she found herself listening more closely, because it did sound a bit like the regular stomping of feet.  She stopped to be sure.  The sound stopped.  She started, and the sound started again.  She decided this time she did not want to look, so she ran, and the sound ran after her.

Greta began to weave in and out of the trees, hoping her pursuer would lose sight of her long enough for her to duck behind some cover.  She found a boulder and hit the dirt.  Only the sound of her hard breathing could not be stopped.

“Greta.” She heard her name.  “Greta.”  Hans! She got up and looked to be sure. He stood ten paces away.  Greta smiled and walked up to him.  He smiled sheepishly in return.  She yelled and hit him several times, waking whatever might still be asleep in the forest.

“You creep! How dare you follow me like that and scare me half to death.”  Like a good brother, he took his pounding gracefully.

“I didn’t think you would let me come,” he said.  “I heard what you told Papa about going through the forest and I thought you might need my help.”  He pointed to his makeshift backpack.  “Look. I have a blanket and food, and I brought the knife that Darius gave me.”

“But it is dangerous here.  Nobody goes into the forest for good reason.  It is dangerous,” Greta insisted.

“Greta.” Hans lowered his voice to a whisper. “If it gets that bad, won’t the Nameless help us out?”

“I doubt it,” Greta said at full volume.  “He says what they all say.  This is my life, my turn.  I have to live or die on my own and no one can interfere with that.”

“But I thought.” Hans paused to think.  “Uh!”  He wanted to protest, but Greta started to walk and he had to follow.  Finally, Hans framed his thought.  “What good is it having a god on your side if he won’t do anything to help you?”

“He is not a genie in a bottle granting wishes,” she responded, and since Hans had no idea what a genie was, he just fell silent.

The forest turned out to not be as flat and even as Greta supposed.  They went down into gullies, climbed ridges, clambered over and around boulders, skirted briar patches and avoided the marshy, fern strewn places altogether.  With all that, it did not take long before Greta became convinced that she had lost the proper direction.  Normal direction was an easy matter since the sun rose in the east and set in the west. But among the trees, she could not really see the sun or tell which way it headed much after nine o’clock.  Now she understood the stories of people lost and wandering forever, searching for a way out.

 

 

 

R5 Greta: Desperation, part 3 of 3

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Hans understood well enough despite the trouble Mishka had translating to Dacian for Hans and Greek for the physician.  Some of it just came out in Russian, but it hardly mattered.  Hans went back to work and Mishka picked up her bag and felt pleased to see the physician did not bolt.  Instead, he looked over her shoulder as she first laid a boiled cloth on the table, and then laid out her instruments.

“More light,” she called out, and Hans went to the window.  “No.  Candles.” The smoke would be bad, but who knew what might be blowing in the air.  The conditions of Mama’s kitchen were not exactly sterile.

Mishka laid out the scalpel, tweezers, clamps and all in order.  These were made by her little ones in ancient days.  From the same crowd that made Thor’s Hammer, she used Greta’s phrase.  The medicine always arrived fresh, but just to be sure she checked the green dot on the bottom of the vial of penicillin.

“Remarkable craftsmanship.”  The Roman spoke over her shoulder.  Mishka quickly pulled out two masks, one for herself and one for the Roman and his beard. She had to make him wear it.  Once washed and gloved, she turned them to the patient.

Flaminius became fascinated the instant she cut into the wound.  After that, his attention never wavered.  He dutifully made sponges out of the boiled cloth and they dug and sponged, clamped, looked, and dug a little deeper.  At one point, Papa moaned and tried to turn over. Mishka had to call Hans to hold him down.  They were nearly at the bone.

“You know,” Mishka spoke, though in what language, she could not be sure.  “It is always a risk to history to intervene like this. This whole surgery is something out of time, almost as bad as the guns.  But history says there should be peace between Dacia and Rome, and Greta’s Papa is too important a chess piece to lose at this stage.  Eh, Hans?”

Hans looked up and nodded, but said nothing.  Mishka went on.  “As for Marcus.”  She clicked her tongue.  “I suppose I shall have to keep him alive somehow, too, if he is ever to be emperor.  At least he has no Rasputin dog chasing his heels, eh, Hans?”

Hans did not look that time.  They came to the bone.  “And here it is.”  Mishka said, cleanly extracting the sliver of the sword with her tweezers.  After that, came the long, slow process of sewing him up. She had self-dissolving thread, thank goodness.

When they were nearly done sewing, Mishka sent Hans to put the kettle on the fire.  “A special cure?”  Flaminius asked.

“No,” Mishka answered.  “In want of vodka and a good cigar. I will settle for some tea.”

“I must say, what I have just witnessed is the most remarkable bit of medical work I have ever seen.  The only thing I don’t understand is why I have to wear this uncomfortable mask.”

Mishka reached for her penicillin and hypodermic as she answered.  “Because I do not want anything in the leg except leg.  No breath, spit, hair, and certainly no eggs you had for breakfast or greasy ribs from last night’s supper, both of which are still hiding around your chin.”

“Oh, I see,” Flaminius said, and she could tell he was learning.  She hoped he was not learning too much.

Mishka tapped the vial of penicillin and looked concerned.  These people had no experience with antibiotics.  She wanted enough to shock the healing process, but too much might be a disaster.  “We do live by faith,” she reminded herself, and prepared the needle for the injection. At that moment, Papa’s hand flew up and caught her arm.

“Where’s my Greta?” he demanded.  Mishka turned away, and then vanished from that time and place.  Greta came home to find a hypodermic in one hand, and her other hand caught in her father’s crushing grasp.

“I’m right here, Papa,” she said and turned to face him.  She saw him relax a little, but she called Hans over to get between them. Then she had to inject the needle herself, and Papa felt it.  Fortunately, it was over quickly and the hypodermic vanished as the bag and instruments had already vanished with the good Doctor.  “Everything is done.  You are going to be all right.”  And she motioned the physician to hold Papa up so he could take his pain medication. Then she applied the antiseptic salve and bandaged him tight, including the splint which would keep his leg immobile. She knew he would not keep the splint on for long, but she felt every hour would be a plus.  Last of all, Greta hugged him and cried a little.  He patted her back, but got groggy as the pain medicine had its’ effect.  Then, as Papa fell back to sleep, she called the physician and Hans to her side.

“Flaminius Vinas,” she said.  “Not a word about Doctor Mishka to anyone.  Not now, not ever.  Hans is the only other person who knows and that is how it must remain.”  She shot Hans a sharp look, but somehow, she knew she could trust him.  Flaminius might be another matter, but he put her mind at ease.

“Never fear,” he said.  “Hippocrates taught us all about confidentiality.”

Greta relaxed. “And by the way, she says I will have to have that cup of tea with you, if you wish.”

The physician laughed.  He looked genuinely pleased to have been part of it all, and especially pleased at being able to scratch his beard once again.  Greta opened the window and extinguished all the candles while she sent Hans to fetch Mama.  Then, when all three were present and paying attention, Greta explained the need for clean bandages and the splint to keep the leg straight until the bone could properly heal.  She had to finish fixing her makeshift penicillin compound herself.  It would not be very strong and might upset his stomach, but it should suffice.  He had to drink a measured dose every morning for the next ten days.  They must not skip a day, and he must finish it all—all ten doses.  Mama alone would forget one morning.  Hans could hardly be counted on, but the physician, she felt, would keep the faith and she decided this Flaminius might not be such a bad fellow after all, Roman though he was.

Greta slept that night with her eyes and ears open.  She got up twice to give Papa his pain medication.  The physician knew a very similar formula and promised to use it sparingly lest he become addicted to the medicine.  She got up a third time to help Flaminius change Papa’s bandages. The stitching had been excellent, but the antiseptic dried and made the bandages crusty.  Originally, Greta had thought to leave at first light, but in the morning, she felt much too tired to contemplate such a journey.  Besides, it started pouring rain.

Afternoon came before she had a chance to speak with Papa, alone.  She concluded that the only right thing to do was tell him her intentions.  That way, if she did not survive, they would have some idea of what happened to her.

“Papa,” she said. “I know all about the weapons of Trajan, the guns.”

“What?” Papa looked hard at her, but quickly softened.  “I must always remember, though my little girl, you are indeed the Woman of the Ways. You did for me and my leg what a whole host of Roman physicians with all their superior knowledge were powerless to do.” Greta turned a little red since that was not strictly true.  “Lord Marcus says they will be a great help to us in defending our land and homes, if only we can get them out of the hands of the rebels.”

“No, Papa,” Greta said.  “Marcus only wants his Romans equipped with those weapons.”

“And us,” Papa insisted.  “When we guard our border, we also guard Rome’s border.  They will include us.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Greta said.  “No one should have those weapons.”

“And why not?” Papa asked with serious doubts as to her sanity on the matter.

“Because they are stolen from the future.  Because they don’t belong here.  Because the gods want them rounded up and destroyed.”  The gods seemed the best way she could explain it, and that caused her Papa to pause.

“Are you sure about this?”  Greta nodded without hesitation.  Papa leaned back and sighed.  “You know,” he said.  “I have only heard of these weapons, but what I have heard, I can hardly believe.”

“I must go,” Greta said, broaching the real subject.

“Why you?” he asked.

“It’s my job,” she answered, and Papa knew that well enough not to argue the point.

“Anyway, it’s too late,” he said, sure that he had her.  “The soldiers are too far ahead of you.  You might as well wait until Marcus brings them back and do what you must do, here.”  Papa relaxed. He thought that ended the discussion.

“I must cross the forest to Ravenshold,” Greta said, quietly.

“What?” Papa exploded.  “Never.  You must not even think of that.  You cannot go.  I forbid it.” Greta heard the fear in his voice as well as his concern for her.

“Three days journey at most and I can be in Ravenshold two days ahead of Marcus,” she said.

“Absolutely not. Do you hear me?  I forbid you to go.”

“Papa,” she said. “I am only telling you in case I don’t survive, so you will know what happened to me.”  But Papa already stopped listening.

“I’ll hear no more of this foolish talk.”  Papa folded his arms and closed his eyes.  Greta gave him a kiss and stepped outside to stand in the rain.

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

MONDAY

R5 Greta: Into the Woods… Greta begins to understand what being the Kairos is all about, even as things get strange.  Until Monday, Happy Reading.

*

R5 Greta: Desperation, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The physician who came with Papa showed contempt from the beginning, but his contempt got abated a little as Greta pointed out his work and named everything he did in both Latin and Greek.  In truth, she spent all that while examining the wound.

Papa stayed respectfully quiet and only said “Ouch,” in the appropriate places. Meanwhile, Hans came in with arms full of moldy bread, and Vanesca returned at about the same time with the water. Greta set them immediately to preparing the penicillin which would be taken orally, though they hardly knew what they were doing, or why.

Papa’s leg had not yet become infected, but it seemed rapidly headed in that direction. She examined Papa’s hands.  When the assassin struck, he missed the target, struck only Papa’s leg; but the sword went to the bone and even cut a hairline fracture.  As Papa cried out, he grabbed the sword and held on to the blade so the assassin could not draw it out and strike a second blow.  Papa demonstrated and explained.  “Then Marcus tackled the man and had him tortured.  That was how we found out about Kunther’s rebellion,” he said, and Greta knew that was also how they found out about the guns.

Papa’s hands did not look to be cut too badly.  They were already healing.  But not every soldier was scrupulous about keeping his weapon clean.  Some blades even developed a keen edge of rust. Soldiers routinely died, not from the wound, but from the infection that developed.  Greta well understood why the Roman physicians recommended removal of the leg.  His chances for survival were not good if he lost the limb, but if his leg turned green, his chances became zero.

Greta finally stood up.  Everyone waited.  “You missed a sliver,” she told the physician.  “Did the sword break?”

“No.” Darius spoke up.  “But it had notches in several places, like a sword that had been in hard battle.  I suppose a piece may have broken off against the bone, isn’t that possible, physician?”

“I suppose it is possible.”  The physician admitted.  “But we can do nothing about that now, certainly not with the wound already closing. The leg is ready to green, and there is nothing we can do about that either, except remove the leg and burn it off and hope for the best.”

“No,” Greta insisted.  “We get out the sliver and then treat the leg against infection.”  She sounded so sure.  “Papa.  You will have to follow my directions for the next twenty-one days.  If you do, you will get well.”  She sounded very stern and he raised his eyebrows.

“I mean it.” Greta spoke with everything she had. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother.” Papa nodded.

“Good,” Greta said.  “Physician and Hans stay.  Everyone else out.”  Vanesca and Darius looked up.  “Sorry,” Greta said.  “This is necessary and important.”

They agreed, and as they left, Greta made her Papa drink the sleeping potion.  Then she got a bowl of fresh water and got the physician to start cleaning the wound while she stepped outside.  Marcus paced there, with about twenty men waiting as well as they could.  Gaius mounted and Darius followed.

“You brought up the entire cavalry troop?” Greta asked.

Darius and Gaius looked at each other.  Romans did not easily share such information, but Marcus did not hesitate.  “Three hundred,” he said.  “And about an equal number of auxiliaries and of your own people.”

“Vanesca!”  Greta shouted before Vanesca got out of earshot. “Go fetch Yanda’s father and tell him I need him here, on horseback, and dressed for war, immediately.”

Vanesca waved.

“Immediately!” Greta repeated herself to be sure.

“The whole legion is following?” she asked Marcus.

“Pretty much,” he admitted.  “The legion in Apulum is spread all over the countryside, but VII Claudia is mostly intact and coming up from Vimiacium on the Danube.”

“Take Yanda’s father with you,” she said.  “His name is Hersecles.  He is too old for much of a fight, but he has the respect of all who know him, and that is a lot of people.  What is more, his whole heart is for peace with Rome and against rebellion.  He can replace Eldegard if Eldegard should prove false.  I am not saying he will turn false, mind you.”  Marcus nodded, and Greta felt terrible suggesting it because Eldegard was Drakka’s father.  “I know Papa picked him,” she went on.  “But he was on the fence.  Part of the reason for Papa’s pick was to bring him over to the side of peace.”  She had nothing more to say, and after that, they waited, and waited until Marcus could barely contain his impatience.

“If I had a copper for every time I had to wait,” Gaius quipped.  “Do you know how rich I would be?”  Marcus nodded, but it did not help.

They waited, and the Roman physician came out to report.  “The wound is clean, your father is asleep, and the boy is bored.”  He related things in his own order of importance.

“Fine,” Greta said, a bit sharply.  She felt uncomfortable, not because of the wait, but because Darius kept staring at her. Finally, she could stand it no longer. “What?”  She shot the word at him, and it distracted Marcus for the moment.

“Nothing.” Darius sat upright.  “Did I say something?”  He asked Gaius, not expecting an answer.

“Damn it!” Greta felt unhappy with herself. She wanted to hate herself, but she had to say it.  “Damn it!” She repeated.  “Just don’t get yourself killed, all right?  It wouldn’t be much of a wedding without you. Okay?  I said it.”  Greta felt herself flush red from anger and several other conflicting emotions.

“Bravo!” Marcus shouted.  Then Hersecles chose that moment to show up so she did not get a response from Darius, if he had one.

Greta made the introductions and gave Hersecles her instructions before they raced off to catch the troop which was already well ahead of them.

“He doesn’t look like much of a warrior,” the physician noted.

“Better than I thought,” Greta responded, and she brought the physician back inside the house.

Hans sat by the bed watching Papa snore, but the minute they came in he asked the question which had been pressing on his mind.  “Will my Nameless be able to help?”  To his disappointment, Greta shook her head, and then explained.

“This is not a spiritual matter.  It is strictly a matter of flesh and blood.”  Greta saw that the wound looked tolerably clean so she said, “Thank you” to the physician.

“But can you do this alone?” Hans pressed.

“No,” she admitted.  “But Doctor Mishka can.  She is a trained battlefield surgeon and she operated on far worse after Tannenberg, and even here in Dacia, though they did not call it Dacia in 1915.”

“Who is Mishka?” Hans asked, responding on the one thought he grasped from all that she said. Greta could see the same question forming in the physician’s mind.

“Take my hands,” Greta said.  “It is sort of a tradition.”  And she grasped Han’s hand and held the physician’s hand firmly.  She closed her eyes and reached out, not with her mind or heart, but with her spirit, and not in space, but sliced through time, even to the twentieth century.  All at once, Greta no longer stood there.  The Doctor stood in her place and felt much too snug in Greta’s dress.  The Roman nearly ran, but Mishka put her arm out and Hans restrained him.

“My surgical garb.”  Mishka called, and like the armor, it replaced Greta’s dress.  “Better,” Mishka took a deep breath.  “My black bag.”  She called again and the bag appeared in her hand, and she felt ready.

“Doctor Nadia Illiana Kolchenkov.”  Mishka introduced herself to the Roman and shook his bewildered hand.  “Colonel, late of the Army of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.”  That was 1945, not 1915.  This seemed an older Mishka than Greta had envisioned.

“Flaminius Vinas,” the Roman said, meekly.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said.  “Now you must assist.”  She winked at Hans who smiled broadly.  In this one he could see at least a little of his sister.  He could never pinpoint a particular feature.  Even the hair and eye colors were different.  But his sister was in there all the same.  “We make a fine troika,” Mishka said.  “But my brother must finish his potion as instructed, yes?”

R5 Greta: Desperation, part 1 of 3

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Greta breathed. She was all bluff and bravado, without substance in any perceived threat.  She let the armor and weapons return from wherever they came and stood once again in her plain dress and red cloak.  She turned to the astounded elders.

“There will be no rebellion,” she said flatly.  “Go home and make peace.”  Greta had to sit in the chair recently vacated by Lady Brunhild.  She felt afraid to get her cooties, but she had to sit down.  The elders filed out, slowly, acknowledging her as “Little Mother,” and “Mother Greta.” Yanda’s father paused to kiss her cheek. He thought perhaps he might provide everything asked for Yanda’s wedding after all.  Greta smiled.  She knew he was one who would have voted for peace no matter how persuasive the witch might have been.  When they were gone, Greta saw the Priest still there on his knees.

“Vasen?” Greta called him by name.

“Great Mother,” he called her.

Greta shook her head and stood to help him to his feet.  “Don’t make more out of what just happened than what you saw.”

“Nothing fake about that,” he insisted.

“No, not fake. But more show than substance.” She took his arm as the raven chose that moment to change perches, flying from one beam to another.  “Timing is everything,” she told him without further explanation.

“But I am so ashamed,” he suddenly confessed.  “I have spent years serving Lady Brunhild out of fear instead of my duty to serve the gods of heaven.”

“Quite all right,” Greta said, as they reached the door.  “Soon enough, strange men will come to us clothed with real power and authority from on high, and they will tell us of the God who was raised on the third day.  Then you and I will simply fade into history, but all will be well,” she assured him. “It is how it should be.  It is how it must happen.”

He did not really understand, but he nodded all the same and took his leave.  Greta limped home thinking about the guns. Some things Lady Brunhild had said suggested that she knew where they were, and that meant Kunther knew where they were, and that would be very bad, indeed.  She imagined a shoot-out on the streets of Laredo.  This time she had the faster gun and a bit more firepower, but that did not mean there would not be a next time.

###

Despite losing the first skirmish, and her loss in battle in front of the elders, Lady Brunhild did not leave town right away.  Greta fretted about what the woman might be scheming.  In the morning, Greta made the long trip to Mother Hulda’s old house, despite the pain in her leg.  The house was utterly gone, of course, but the weatherproofed barn still stood. Nameless had seen to that.  He had sanitized the books and one-of-a-kind items, and transported them to the barn before the burning.  Greta thought she could find something to combat Brunhild more directly.  She found a lot of interesting things, and spent considerable time going over scrolls and parchments penned in Greek and Latin; but the search proved fruitless.  Without knowing what Brunhild might be planning, Greta concluded that the potions she had made earlier were about the best she could do.

Greta arrived home before dark.  She decided that someday soon she would have to pack everything and move it to safer quarters, but for the moment, Mother Hulda’s barn seemed about the safest place. She had nowhere else to keep such precious things.

Another fitful night of sleep followed, partly because her leg seriously began to throb. She could not imagine how she hurt it. She got up around midnight and stepped out into the night air, walking to where she could just make out the campfires of Lady Brunhild’s camp.  The moon had come up, but it would not be her full Artemis moon for perhaps another week. She sat to look at the stars, and rubbed her leg.

She heard the sound of someone riding hard.  A rider came up from the South, and by the sound of the horse, Greta guessed it had been a long, swift ride.  The horse jerked to a stop in Lady Brunhild’s camp.  From her vantage, Greta saw the dark silhouette of the horse against the distant campfire.  It appeared to be steaming.  She waited. Not ten minutes later she heard shouting and a great deal of commotion.  Shortly after that, she saw another rider race out of camp on a fresh horse, headed North.  Greta did not have to stay up to know that Lady Brunhild and her troop would be gone before daylight.  She had no doubt, whatever Brunhild’s designs on the river land, they had to be put on hold. Greta felt sure the troop would be racing back to Ravenshold and she wondered why.  She sighed.  She felt tired, and her leg, if not better, presently felt numb.  She knew she would hear all about it, now.  She also felt sure she would never again be left out of any meetings. She went to bed.

By the time she got up with the sun, sure enough, Lady Brunhild had long gone.  Greta let it go for the time being.  She had plenty of duties to attend, some things she had neglected over the past few days.  She kept herself busy all day, and listened, but it seemed a mystery to everyone why the lady left so suddenly.  A few confirmed that they indeed headed north, back to Ravenshold, but no one knew why.

The following morning, Greta got her answer.  This time, the sound of many horses came up from the South.  Greta waited by the front door in anticipation.  The Lords Marcus, Darius and Sergeant Gaius were the first to arrive.  They dismounted without a word of what might be following.  Darius came over and put his hands on Greta’s shoulders.  He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss like a husband might kiss a wife, and she kissed him back without thinking about it.

She kissed him back?  But it was not so bad.  His touch was not so bad either, but that was not the point.  He was not Drakka.  Darius was nice, but not what she wanted.  Greta stopped cold and looked up.  Darius stood, smiling.  Marcus grinned from ear to ear.  Greta stepped back and slapped Darius, but not too hard.  Marcus started to laugh so she stepped over and stomped on his foot. “Oaf,” she called him.  She did not care if he would be emperor one day.  She grabbed Gaius by the arm and walked him away from the laughing fools.  Gaius had been trying to get her attention.  She noticed.

“We found the guns,” Gaius whispered quickly.  “Outside Ravenshold, and Kunther has them.  Marcus wants them for Rome so he can make more.”

“Why weren’t they used in the last rebellion?”  Greta wondered out loud.

“Your high chief at the time hated them.  He said the people would rise or fall on their own strength, not magic weapons. He buried them, but Kunther has dug them up and vowed to see Rome itself engulfed in flames.”

“Not good,” Greta mumbled.  “Very not good.”

By then Mama had come out and Darius and Marcus quickly calmed down.  They had something serious to tell.  “Greta.”  Darius said, and took her again by the shoulders.  She wanted to pull away, but she did not want to.  “It’s your father.”

“What?” Mama breathed loudly.

“He’s all right, alive,” Darius said, quickly.  “Thanks to the Lord Marcus who tackled the assassin.  But his leg is badly cut.  The physicians worked on him, but they believe the leg will have to come off. Your father, however, insisted that the Woman of the Ways examine his leg before they did any cutting.”

“We carried him three days.”  Gaius said and shook his head, as if to say the leg looked hopeless.  Greta did not hesitate.  She became like a whirlwind.  She grabbed Gaius and Darius by the hands and started toward the house. Hans and Beliona came running up even as they arrived at the door.  Hans hoped to tell the news of the soldiers and looked a little disappointed to see that they already knew.  Greta paused and did not let go of her captives.

“Hans.”  Her voice commanded.  “You and your friends need to gather as much moldy bread as you can find.  Search the dumps out behind people’s houses.  The more the better.”  She said, knowing that most of it would be useless.  Hans looked curiously at Darius who nodded.  “Do it!” Greta commanded.

“Right. Come on.”  He tapped Beliona on the arm and they ran off while Greta dragged her captives into the house.

She made them move Papa’s bed to the center of the main room near the kitchen fire.  They pushed the table back against the wall and Greta started Darius tearing linen sheets into bandages.  She had Gaius break a chair into clean pieces for a splint.

“His right leg.” Greta said, suddenly.  Hers started feeling better.  Darius and Gaius looked at each other, shrugged and continued working.

Vanesca chose that moment to show up.  “Good.” Greta said, handed her the empty water jug, and practically closed the door in her face.  Greta went back to stoking the fire.  She had emptied the jug into the cauldron which would also get the bandage cloths once the water started to boil.  Then she checked the potions she had made earlier in the week, particularly the sleep potion, the antiseptic balm and the pain killer. They were still good and would be for some time.  She felt relieved and happy to have them in advance.

Marcus came in with Mama.  Mama cried, but Greta did not have time for her.  “Mama.”  She spoke rather sternly.  “Go to Hermosas’ house and talk about the wedding.  I’ll let you know when there is word.”  Greta caught her mouth and looked at Darius who looked up and smiled. Greta frowned to think she would have to get used to that smirk.  She made a face at him and turned her back on him since Marcus started speaking.

“It would be my honor to escort your mother,” he said, having assessed the situation perfectly. He really was very good with her, and since he apparently also saved Papa’s life, Greta felt obliged.

“I owe you one,” she said hastily.  And they left, but not quite soon enough.  Papa arrived in a carrier.  She heard his voice repeating, “I’m all right.  I’m all right,” but Mama would have kept him in the yard and cried over him all day if Greta had not intervened.  “Get him in here,” she shouted.  “And get her out of here.”  People jumped and Darius got stupid.  He stuck his head out over her shoulder.

“That’s my wife to be,” he said, proudly.  Greta refrained from elbowing him in the solar plexus.

R5 Greta: Betrothed, part 3 of 3

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The men left for the south and the Old River in the afternoon; still too early for some of the celebrants.  Papa went with them, of course, but Hans did not despite his little tantrum.  Greta heard nothing from Darius.

Greta went to see Mother Hulda every day after that and always brought something in her cloth covered basket.  There still seemed to be a great deal that she wanted Greta to learn, and it seemed like she started cramming as much as possible into the shortest time.  Greta went home exhausted every night, but she went back in the morning with her goodies and a ready heart.

By the end of the week the sky turned overcast and rainy.  Mama insisted that she wear her red cloak, and Mama pulled the hood up and tied it tight against the weather, like she did when Greta was a child.  Greta did not complain.  This was her Mama.

“Tell the good Mother I will be up to visit in a week or so when your Papa returns,” Mama said. Greta knew that she wanted to talk to Mother Hulda about the wedding, but she appreciated the fact that her mother did not say so.

“I’ll be home for supper,” Greta said, but as she left, a strange sense of foreboding came over her.  That feeling increased when she got out of sight of the house.  The feeling came on strong enough to make her stop and look around.  She imagined nothing at home, and nothing to do with Papa, but it felt like something behind her, or up ahead, but behind in a way, like in the past.  She started to walk again and tried to explore the feeling of dread.

She heard a roar behind, a growl and a scream, and she screamed.  She spun around.  She wanted to run but her legs gave out.  She screamed again, but then she saw Hans rolling on the ground, laughing.

“Hans!”  She yelled, not a happy person.  She decided some demon must have set that up.  She already felt spooked, and Hans nearly gave her a heart attack.  She got so mad, she stomped her foot, made a fist, and let the steam out through gritted teeth.

“But you were so funny,” Hans said.

“Not funny!” she yelled.

“You going to Mother Hulda’s?  Can I come?” He did not really ask.  He would tag along regardless of what she said. Then she thought that he had seemed very bored in the last few days.

“Where are your friends?” she asked, having caught her breath at last.

“Doing stuff, I guess,” he said, with a shrug.  Greta imagined it had something to do with his new position, as son of the high chief.  Either he said something or did something, or they did, or they were no longer sure about him.  Greta felt certain that like the rain, it would blow over in time, but for the present, she returned his shrug.

“Let’s go.” She still felt spooked, and thought his company might help, even if he was a little creep.

They had not gone very far up the road, though, when Hans started off across country. “Come on,” he hollered.  “Let’s take the shortcut.”

“No,” Greta hollered back.  “I’m not tearing this dress on briars and bushes.”  How many dresses did he think she had?

“I’m going,” he said, and left, so it turned out she walked most of the way alone, after all.

Hans waited for her where the road turned.  After the obligatory, “What kept you?” they crossed the last, short meadow to Mother Hulda’s house.  All the while, Greta shook her head.

“Something’s spooky,” Hans said.  Even he felt it.  When they saw the house, the feeling intensified.  By the time they reached the porch, Greta could hardly keep from turning and running away.  She stopped at the door and told Hans to get behind her.  He did not argue.

She opened the door and screamed, and this time she knew what she was screaming about. There were bits and pieces of Mother Hulda thrown all over the room.  Mother Hulda’s head rested on a corner of the bed facing the door.  One eye was missing, but she stared at them with the other.

Greta could neither move nor stop screaming.  Hans pushed passed to see and promptly threw up behind the door.  That probably saved his life.  A noise came from the back.  A man hurriedly shuffled out of the dark, his eyes wide with madness.  He stopped, naked and filthy, and looked as if he had been burned everywhere.  Sores and open wounds covered his body where there had once been blisters.  His face looked like it had melted.

Greta still screamed, but her legs felt like lead.  She could not abandon Hans.  She could not move.  She cried out for help, and someone answered from deep in time.  The nameless god pushed his way through the centuries to stand where Greta no longer stood.  He came cloaked in his armor and weapons, but he did not touch the blades.

The madman clearly sensed the change and the aura of incomprehensible power.  He sniffed and howled after a fashion, dove through the window, and headed toward the forest, moving at a speed which seemed remarkable for a man who appeared to be half dead.  Nameless knew the wolf was something he would have to deal with, later. He learned long ago not to react out of upset or anger, and for the present, he had Hans to take care of, and Mother Hulda.

Nameless took Hans outside and cleaned him up.  Poor Hans got too sick even to wonder who this man might be.  Nameless carefully laid a hand on Han’s head and deliberately blunted the memory, making the sight inside the house seem like something from long ago and far away.  Thus, it would remain until it became long ago and far away.  Then Nameless turned toward Mother Hulda’s house.  He felt concerned about any saliva or wolf’s blood that might have spilled there.

When the last of the Were People isolated themselves from the human race, they hoped it would solve the trouble they caused.  They did not know breeding with humans would pass on the gene.  They also did not know about the micro-virus they carried.  To them, it remained harmless.  The wolf, the bear, the owl and eagle were mainstays of those shape shifters.  But in humans, it became a terrible thing.  Even when the gene and micro-virus got together, it could remain dormant for generations, but once active, there was no known cure. Humans were not built to withstand shape shifting.  The human mind was not made to temporarily take on the mind of the wolf.  The madness that produced was an intelligent, but utterly inhuman viciousness and lust that could only be sated with blood and more blood.

Nameless felt worried about the blood and saliva because that was how the micro-virus got transmitted.  Someone might come who unknowingly carried the gene.  It felt too risky for half-measures.  He concluded a funeral pyre was all he could do.  He moved everything of value that he cleaned to the barn with only a thought.  Then he spread his arms and the house burst into flames.  He reached out with his heart and made sure a number of people in Boarshag looked up at that moment.  He knew there would not be much time, so he immediately knelt beside Hans.

“Wow!”  Hans said, coming around since his memory got blunted.  “Who are you? Where’s Greta?”

Nameless smiled. “My grandfather named me Valdir, but most people know me as Nameless.  I am simply a man of the earth.  You might call me the woodcutter.”  That seemed to fit with the gist of the story.  “Feeling better?”

“You’re not dressed like a woodcutter,” Hans said.

“Hush,” Nameless said.  “It might be best if you did not say anything about my being here.”  Nameless spit on his two fingers and held out his hand.

Hans looked at the fingers, looked long into Nameless’ eyes as if searching for something he could not quite touch, and then spit and agreed.  They made a deal.  Immediately, Hans got something in his eyes, and while he turned away, Nameless left and Greta came home.  She almost slid right into the armor, which would have adjusted instantly to fit her, but at the last minute Nameless remembered, so she appeared in her dress, hooded exactly as she had been, in her red cloak.

“Where did he go?” Hans squinted up at his sister who now stood exactly where the nameless man had stood only a moment ago.

“The woodcutter went home,” Greta said, and she turned toward the house, which rapidly turned to ashes, and she began to cry.  Perhaps Hans’ vision had been blunted, but Greta’s had not.  The horror of what she saw washed over her, and she fell to the ground in revulsion and tears.

People came.

Hans hardly had time to stand, much less to comfort his sister before they found themselves surrounded by Rolfus, Sanger and Drakka.

“I saw the flames and smoke.”  Drakka spoke. “I was so worried about you.”  He got on his knees and held her up so she could cry in his shoulder.

“Oh, Drakka,” she said, and she wished he would hold her like that, always.  That thought barely flitted across her mind before the vision of Mother Hulda made rivers of tears.

Most of the women and not a few men that came, wept with Greta.  Jodel and Yanda brought Koren from his field, and he wept with Greta, and no doubt he would have wept for her if he could.  Mama came, and she kept trying to comfort Greta through her own tears.

Eventually, they got the story, mostly out of Hans.

“It was a man, I think,” he said.  “Mostly a man, I think.”

“What do you mean you think it was a man?”  Drakka’s words were loud, but it came out because of anger to think that anyone would murder the Woman of the Ways.

“A funeral Pyre,” Greta spoke in answer to the question she got asked.  It seemed the best thing.  Half-chewed bits of flesh and bone all over the house.  No one should have to see what she saw.

“What?” Sanger also sounded angry, and the others stood right there with him, but Drakka had Hans by the collar and it looked like he might hit the boy if he did not get a better answer.

“Was it a man or not?”  Drakka vented his rage.

Poor Hans looked frightened and confused.  “I don’t know.  I’m not sure.”  He shook his head.

“Stop!” Greta yelled and got more attention than she intended, even as it stopped the back of Drakka’s hand.  “It was a man who is a wolf,” Greta said. “It was the wolf who did this.”

“That’s it,” Hans said, hopefully.  “It was a wolf man.”  He need not have worried.  Drakka dropped him to the ground to focus on Greta.

“Don’t talk nonsense.”  Drakka said. “Was it a man or a wolf.”

“It was the wolf.” Greta answered.  “The werewolf.”  The crowd hushed.  Though only something from legends and nightmares, everyone knew what a werewolf was. Drakka took a half-step back, and people made signs in the air, mumbled prayers, and did little rituals to ward off the evil and gain the protection of the gods.  Greta pulled her red cloak and hood tight against the chill while thinking of her basket of goodies which by then had to be ashes.  She whispered one more thought before she stood to return home for a new round of tears.  “It was the big, bad wolf.”  Mama heard, and helped her walk without a word of her own.  Back home, Greta could grieve in the seclusion of her own room.

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

MONDAY

R5 Greta: Betrayal.  While the men go south to survey the good land, the enemy rides right into town.  The witch.  Yes, that is spelled with a “w”.  Happy Reading.

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R5 Greta: Betrothed, part 2 of 3

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The walk began in silence, but they had not gone very far before Greta prompted the old soldier. “Go ahead,” she said.  “Tell me what you wish.” She easily saw that there were things Gaius wanted to say.

“Tribune Darius is a good man,” Gaius began.  “He is a good soldier and commander, and he cares about the men under his command as much as any I have known.  He is honest, fair and hardworking.  All in all, about the best young man I have known.”

“Admirable,” Greta said.  “You are a good spokesperson, loyal to your commander, and that is also admirable.”

“Tonight, he was singing your praises.  I am sure he will make you a good husband.”

“Was he indeed?” Greta did not mean to sound sarcastic. “Tell me so I can see if he can carry a tune.”  Gaius looked reluctant.  Greta had to insist.

“I am no poet,” Gaius hedged.  “And I hardly remember, at least not exactly.  But he did say your hair was like the moonbeams, light and soft, to make a halo around your face.  Your eyes, he said, were the softest brown, like two fauns, wild and free.  And your cheeks were like currant and your lips, full and pink, like new raspberries.  Surely they must taste as sweet.”  Gaius stopped and cleared his throat.  This was hard for him.  Greta thought her Lord’s poetry might be improving, but that would not change the way she felt.  Despite his familial connection with Mother Hulda, he remained a Roman and that made him the enemy in all but fact.

They walked past a bonfire where several men were celebrating with gusto.  When they could talk again, Greta told him to finish. She knew there was something more, the crux of the matter.

“It is your father,” Gaius said.  “And Lord Marcus, especially.  My Tribune does not drink apart from wine with his meals.  But tonight, they insisted, and they kept giving him more, and they kept insisting.”  He stopped to face Greta so she had to stop.  She could tell this was the essence of the whole thing.  “Please, lady.  Do not judge him on this night.  He does not know how to handle drink and I am afraid his condition is not the best. Please keep an open mind tonight so you can get to know him as himself.”

“First impressions are lasting impressions,” Greta said.  She stopped talking.  She was not sure why she did not tell him she had already met Darius and felt suitable impressed by the way he defended her even when speaking in a language she presumably did not understand.  She knew him to be a good man, only she did not love him, and she decided that mattered to her.

Gaius turned around heavily and led the way without another word apart from asking her to wait at the door while he announced her.  Greta pictured him lifting his Tribune from the ground and setting his drunken Lord in a chair where he might stand a reasonable chance of staying upright.  When she entered the tent, she saw that was not the case.  Darius stood beside a small table and stool.  A parchment covered the table.  He appeared to have been writing.  Now, he looked only at her, and he did not even need the table to lean on. He dismissed Gaius.

Greta set her scarf on a stool by the door, and thought, In for a pound.  She removed her red cloak and laid it on top of the scarf.

“I will be just outside.”  Gaius saluted and left.  Greta did not know if Gaius said that for Darius’ sake or hers.

“Please sit,” Darius said, very stiff and formal.  He offered another stool, but Greta declined.  Darius requested to see her so she thought he should have the first go. It might have been a Koren kind of awkward silence if the drink had not loosened his tongue.  She could hear the slight slur in everything he said and she recognized the will it took to pronounce his words properly.

“I have been writing to Mother,” he said, is a casual tone.  “I thought perhaps you could help me with some choice phrases in your tongue, excuse me, in our tongue.”

Greta shook her head.  “It is not a written language,” she said.  “Besides, I will not help you do something you will later regret.”

She saw the anger flash across his face.  “I want to curse her for not telling me.”

“No,” Greta countered with equal fervor.  “Mother Hulda is precious to me, and I am sure her niece is a fine woman.  I will not help you curse her.”

“I thought she was Greek, you know.”  Darius spoke lightly, as if not giving the letter a second thought.  “There is no shame in having a Greek mother.”  She watched the anger in his face turn to pain. The drink started to play havoc with his emotions.

“There is no shame in being of the people.”  Greta said. She felt for the shock he must have suffered.  In time, he would see his blood as good and honorable, but it must have been a shock at first.

The drink turned his thoughts again.  “If it had to be someone.  I am glad it was you.  You are educated, and now I see you also have a heart.”  He took one staggering step forward, but stopped.  Greta felt the pressure on her own mind.

“I will be a good wife.  I will do my duty,” Greta said.  “But it is only fair to tell you my heart belongs to another.”

Instead of the anger or disappointment she expected, he smiled.  “How convenient,” he said.  “I also love another.”  Greta did not like the sound of that.  “But my dear Potrucias has not written to me in months.  I fear I have lost her to someone else, only no one will tell me.” He got angry again.  “I have lived my whole life in the dark, blind, stupid…” He turned and knocked over the table and sent the quill and ink flying.  He turned back to look again at Greta.  “By Jupiter, you are lovely.  Perfect, really.  He stepped to face her and she did not stop him.  He set his hands on her shoulders as much to steady himself as for any other reason.  “More than pretty to satisfy a man for a lifetime.”  When Greta looked up into his face, she saw the deep desire there and she thought she had better leave.

“We are not married yet,” she whispered

“What is marriage?” he quipped.  “How do we barbarians do it?  Ah yes, the men get drunk and take their women by force.”  He staggered back a step, but his ring caught on her stitching and tore her dress, nearly exposing her.

“Oh.”  He said, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean.”  He apologized, utterly, but extracting his ring did not prove easy, and he nearly tore her top some more.

“Gaius!” Greta called before her anger could get the better of her.

“I.”  His eyes pleaded innocence as he staggered back and plopped down on the stool.

“How could you?” She said and held her torn dress up to cover herself.  “We are not animals, and I am not Lucretia.”  Just when she felt sorry for him, she was glad to be reminded that he was the enemy.  Gaius came in and covered her with her red cloak and then placed his big cloak around hers.  He started to guide her from the tent, but she turned her head for a last word.  “I will do my duty,” she said, a bit sharply, and left.

Gaius guided her home muttering to himself about how he should never have left them alone. About half way there, Greta calmed down enough to speak.  “Forget it,” she said.  She knew full well it was an accident.

“Pardon?” Gaius asked.

“This night never happened.  Just don’t let him drink anymore, ever.”  Greta pulled the soldier’s cloak tighter because it started getting cold.  “My scarf!”  She remembered taking it off with her cloak and setting it down in the tent. Gaius must have missed it in his haste to cover her up.  “Return it quietly if you find it, and then, as far as I am concerned, this evening never happened.”

“My lady is gracious beyond words.”

“Not really.” Though it pained Greta to say it. “I will be his wife whether I like it or not, only I will have no drunken fool for a husband.  You say he does not drink.  Good.  See that he stays that way.”

“On my honor,” Gaius promised.

Greta looked at him as they walked.  She felt certain he spent his whole life in the army, and he seemed the right age. When they were almost home, she ventured a statement, though it came out like a question.

“You were with Trajan in the valley the night his weapons factory exploded,” she said. “You were preparing to face the united front of Parthians, Persians and Arabs.”  Gaius stumbled.

“Yes.  How did you know?”  They stopped and Gaius answered his own question.  “Little Mother.”  He called her that in the vernacular.  “I was Lord Darius’ age, just twenty-two, an excited soldier in the ranks.  I got handed a weapon and taught hastily how to use it.  And I did use it.”  His voice trailed off.

“But now?” Greta prompted.

“But now I am a gray beard over fifty and I no longer find war exciting.  Peace is better, preferably peace with honor, but peace,” he said.  Greta liked what he said, but not what she was probing for.  She decided on the direct approach.

“I mean, if you were handed a gun today, would you use it?”

Gaius stood perfectly still and spoke with absolute certainty.  “No.  Such weapons do not discriminate.  Men, horses, women, children, they do not care.  I saw guns in Mesopotamia.  I saw blood and body parts everywhere.  No test of strength, courage, determination, discipline.  Such weapons do nothing to make a man into a man.  They make only carnage, for the sake of killing.  As far as the world is concerned, those weapons never existed, and those who remember do not talk about it.”

“Some of those weapons still exist,” Greta said, as she turned toward the door of her house. “I may very well need your help to destroy them.”  She handed him his cloak and went inside before he could answer.  She shut the door, believing it best to let him think about it.  Perhaps there were others of the same frame of mind.  She hoped by the time she found out where the weapons were, she might have some help.

Somehow, Greta got to the back and changed without waking Mama or Hans.  She then took the dress outside and started a little celebration bonfire of her own.  She did not want there to be any questions.  In the light of the fire, she thought of Salacia’s charge.  She saw no way around it.  The goddess clearly said that Greta would have to deal with it.  It hardly seemed fair.  Then it occurred to Greta that Salacia was simply herself in another life.  In a sense, she had to say she only did it to herself.  She could not blame anyone else.  She thought long about the implications of that, but concluded that it was still not fair.

When the fire burned down, she went straight to bed.  She dreamed in the night about Darius caressing her and she responded. She felt glad, at least, that it was not a nightmare.

R5 Greta: Betrothed, part 1 of 3

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It took nearly three hours just to wash and braid Greta’s hair, and apply ever so little make-up. She hardly had time to fix her dress before she had to leave, and that was with Vanesca and Yanda helping all the way. Mama felt too nervous to be any help, but she did corral the girls, and at the last minute, wove a spring flower into Greta’s hair and dabbed some essence in several places.  Then she began to cry.

Greta walked slowly with her girlfriends, and tried hard not to think of it as a funeral procession.   They found a great crowd gathered at the central town square, but the crowd parted for her and she heard several mumble, “Little Mother.”  She saw Lord Darius immediately.  He was in the open center, astride a horse, in front of the fountain. She had to admit, he looked rather attractive in full armor, flashing gold in the midday sun.  Thoughts of Troy returned to her mind and she decided she must have been there in some other lifetime.  She also decided that Darius looked a little like glorious Hector before the walls, ready to hold the line against all challengers.  Hector the glorious, yes, but the enemy all the same.

Darius faced a temporary platform which had been set up for the occasion.  Papa, Lord Marcus, and several other men sat on the platform.  The rest, both Roman and Dacian, stood around the outside of the square, in near silence, ten or twelve deep in some places.

Greta left Mama and the girls at the edge of the crowd.  She crossed the open space slowly, thinking she should have a horse as well.  She resented the lowly status of women standing beside the man at the level of his feet; but there was no helping that.

When she reached the horse without stumbling or making a fool of herself, she breathed and placed her hand gently on the horse’s neck to steady herself.  Then she looked up.

Darius looked down and their eyes met.  She saw him visibly brighten and lose the worried look on his face.  He almost seemed happy to see her.

“I was hoping it would be you.”  He whispered in Latin so only she could hear.  Most of even his own troops only spoke Greek.

“I?”  Greta dropped her eyes.  She did not know how to respond to that, and besides, Papa started introducing the son of the Emperor.  Marcus droned on about Darius’ Senator Father and great family line and so on. At last, Greta got introduced as the daughter of the new high chief, and that was all.  Greta did not quite understand.  Marcus was smarter than that.  He should have made a lot more noise about just who she was in the community and to all of the Dacians.  Then she knew what he had in mind as she heard a commotion behind her and saw the crowd part.  Mother Hulda moved slowly through the midst of the people.  She came to Greta and held out her arm.  Greta took it and helped the old woman the rest of the way to the platform steps.

“My embarassement.”  Marcus called Greta that to her face.

“I have forgiven you,” Greta said.  “Get over it.”

Marcus gave a little bow.  “Truly you are a wise woman.”

“I am,” she responded with a smile.  “Now move, you big oaf.”

Marcus almost started to laugh, but backed up a step or two before he lost his composure. Meanwhile, Mother Hulda, with Greta’s help, reached the top of the steps.  Then she let Greta go and turned to face the square.  It felt almost quiet enough to hear the people breathe.

“You know the Little Mother.”  Mother Hulda said in Dacian and then repeated everything in Greek.  Greta turned red as all eyes in that big crowd glanced at her. “Your future is in her hands, and I will tell you the gods have chosen her beyond anything ever before seen or heard. The Nameless god himself has vowed to protect her and be her champion.  The Alfadur, Frigg, and even the trickster Loki have acknowledged her and blessed her.  And not only the gods of the Venedi, but Danna, the old mother goddess of the Celts and Salacia of the Romans have also recognized her above all others.  There is a greater power and authority in her than I ever dreamed of seeing in my lifetime.  But then, I did not come here to speak of the Little Mother.”  She paused until even Greta worked through her crimson color and looked at her with curiosity.  “No.”  She went on. “It is Lord Darius about whom I must speak.”  She paused again and people wondered.  What could she possibly know about Darius?

“You Romans honor him for the blood of his father and his family which is great in Rome. This is right.  But now I also ask the people to honor this man for his blood.” She caught her breath before she spoke loud and clear.  “Lord Darius is the son of my niece.”  She said in both Dacian and Greek.  “His grandmother was my sister.”  She said that only in Dacian, but that was all she had to say.  She turned instantly for the steps and Greta, without really thinking, turned with her to help her.  She glanced at Marcus and felt surprised.  He did not know.  He did not know everything!  Then over the noise of the crowd which still sounded out its’ own surprise, Marcus looked back at Greta and spoke his heart.

“Gods, I love this universe!”  He began to laugh loud, almost uncontrollably, as if to say the universe just played a tremendous joke on him, and he got it.

From the steps, Greta saw Darius spur his horse and ride out of the square, forcing some men to stand aside in order to let him pass.  Of course, that meant Lord Darius did not know this himself.  Mother Hulda had surprised absolutely everyone.

Greta and Mother Hulda walked all the way back to Greta’s house without a word between them. Once inside, Greta insisted they sit and rest.  Mother Hulda looked older in that moment than Greta had ever seen her.

“Are you mad at me?” Mother Hulda asked at last.

“No, Mother. How could I ever be mad at you?”

“Are you mad at your father?” she asked.

“No,” Greta answered honestly enough.  She got up and put their empty water cups beside the bucket.

“Are you mad at yourself?”  Mother Hulda asked a third question.

“No Mother.” Greta sighed.  “Why do you think I should be angry?”

“What are you feeling?” Mother Hulda asked.

Greta paused to search everywhere she could search.  “I love my family,” she said.  “I love you, too, but otherwise I feel very confused.  I do not know what I am feeling, exactly.”

Mother Hulda nodded, satisfied.  “I must go home now,” she said.  “I want to be there before the visitors come.”  Greta could only guess who those visitors might be, but she imagined there would be several, including Papa and Lord Marcus.  She walked Mother Hulda home and then returned to her own home to wonder what could possibly happen next.

About an hour after sundown, Greta abandoned her thoughts.  She decided to get ready for bed when there came a knock on the door. Mama assumed another one of the women arrived.  They had been in and out all afternoon, talking of the wedding.  They would talk for another six weeks before anything would be done, and naturally, Greta had no say in the matter.  Fine with her.  Greta felt rather proud of herself for successfully avoiding every visitor, so far.

When Mama opened the door, she took a half step back.  A Roman soldier stood there, and Papa had not come home yet.

“Compliments m’lady.”  The man spoke right up without coming inside.  “My name is Sergeant Gaius.  I have been instructed to tell you that young Hans will be escorted home shortly, but alas, the Lord Vaden will likely be at the festivities until the small hours.”

“They will probably have to drag Hans home kicking and screaming the whole way,” Greta said, only half under her breath.  She watched her mother visibly relax and respond.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, and then Greta prevented her mother from closing the door.

“There is more,” Greta said, and Gaius nodded as if to say he had a respect for Greta that went beyond her marriage position.

“Of course,” Mama said.  “Please come in.”  She stepped back and the old soldier stepped into the light of the doorway but came no further into the house.

“Lady Greta,” he said to gain her attention, and in the light, she looked over this big, gray haired, grizzled old warrior.  He had the kind of aura about him that young men would follow into battle, if they knew what was good for them.  But then, he also appeared to be oozing with loyalty, a man who could be trusted, and once he set his mind on friendship, he would prove as loyal as the most loyal lap dog.

Gaius straightened up until he almost stood at attention.  “The Lord Darius requests the presence of his betrothed this evening for a brief time of conversation.  I have been sent to escort the lady, and I will return her safely on my life.”  He said that last to Mama.  Mama looked at Greta while Greta stood up as tall as she could, which was not nearly so tall.

“I do not appreciate being fetched,” she said.  Mama put her hand to her mouth.  Gaius did not discernibly flinch.  “Nevertheless, I will visit Lord Darius.  I have some questions as well.”  She picked up her scarf, long since free of mud and put her red cloak over all, leaving the hood down, though the night air could still have a chill.  Gaius stepped outside and she followed and reminded herself that it was still early in the spring.  A lot could happen before mid-summer.