Troll

Avalon Prequel Invasion of Memories Pumpkin Seeds part 7 of 10

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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.

Golden Door Chapter 15 Chris in the Camp, part 1 of 2

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“Chris!” Chris heard his name and was grateful for the excuse to turn away from the melted creature. “You gotta be Chris!”

“Redeyes!” Heathfire identified the caller as she stepped up to help Chris back to his feet. Chris was more than glad to get away from the huge fellow with the big teeth.

“Chris!” A red face ran up the beach while a hand with rather remarkable claws waved. Heathfire snuggled against Chris’ shoulder and pointed. “Heathfire, leave him alone!” Redeyes hollered.

“What if I don’t want to?” Heathfire hollered back. Chris thought the wisest move was to let go of Heathfire’s hand and step away. He certainly did not want to start anything.

“Hey,” Redeyes said like a simple hello when he came to a screeching stop in front of Chris. Broomwick came up, grabbed Heathfire’s hand and gave Chris a jealous look. Chris put his hands up in surrender.

“Too hot for me to handle,” he said, and Broomwick smiled.

“She is that.”

“I must be losing my touch.” Heathfire commented to herself,

“The ship?” Deathwalker changed the subject from teenage foolishness.

“Fine. Hidden just down the shore,” Redeyes reported while Chris got a good look at the goblin. Redeyes had pink skin around those red, beady eyes, and two little red horns that stuck up through black hair. Chris could not help bending over, as he had with Deathwalker, to see if the goblin had the tail to complete the outfit. He did not.

“All right, Chris,” Deathwalker said as he placed his own claw on Chris’ shoulder. “Redeyes and Crusher.” He introduced the two newcomers and added one note. “Crusher is a troll.”

“Troll?” Chris asked, remembering they had traveled down a troll road.

Crusher got close to Chris’ face so he could not turn away, and he drooled a little as he spoke. “That just means I like my meat more raw.”

Chris returned his trademark grin, the same one he used on his younger brothers or when his parents asked him to do something around the house. It was Crusher who had to turn away. “Bless my stinky feet. That grin could scare a basilisk.”

“But where is the rest of the crew?” Deathwalker once again attempted to get people back on topic.

“Guarding the ship,” Redeyes responded, and he led the way. Until then, Redeyes kept standing on his toes. Being a bit short, he wanted to appear more Chris’ height. Oddly enough, Chris found that comforting as it reminded him of a short friend that lived down the street.

Deathwalker paced Chris and whispered as they walked, not that he thought the others might not hear, but to indicate that this was supposed to be private, so they all better keep their mouths shut. “Now, I don’t want you to be shocked when you meet the others. Stalker is more of a true goblin, you might say. His face is so dark it is hard to see his features apart from the glowing yellow eyes. He is a quiet one, but one Alice picked.”

“Alice?” Chris asked. “You planned all this ahead of time, didn’t you?” Chris just figured that out.

“Lady Alice did,” Deathwalker said and then clarified. “Your father. She brought me together with these young ones, more your age, give or take. She found us the boat and then she brought me safe to the others in the Golden Door. She said we had to pray for help, and not to her. She figured out that given the chance, you children would follow your mother into Avalon.”

Chris merely nodded. He had met the Lady Alice.

“Oh, and one more thing. Watcher is a hobgoblin. Watch out for him that he doesn’t steal your shirt. Most of our kind don’t care for the hobs much.”

Chris nodded again, but before he could ask what was wrong with the hobgoblins, they arrived and climbed aboard a small steamboat. Chris had recently seen the movie the African Queen, and thought this boat looked similar. Apart from the furnace amid ship that ran the small paddles on each side, it also had a small rigging for a sail and oars as a last resort. Chris imagined being reluctant if they were headed toward the ocean, but even with his dark elf enhanced senses, though he could not tell how far it was to the castle, he thought it was relatively close, and this underground lake, as big as it was, might be passable in that little ship.

“Here.” Chris heard a female voice and looked up to see her tap the seat beside herself. It was a young girl about Chris’ age, very pretty, and apart from her silver hair she appeared utterly human. Then the woman licked her upper lip with a long and decidedly forked tongue, and Chris knew better.

“Come on up front,” Redeyes encouraged Chris to follow, but he preferred the back, sat opposite the silver haired girl and only then realized that put him close to Crusher who stood on the tiller.

“Silverstain,” the girl said and put out her hand to shake. She smiled. She had ordinary enough hands and Chris decided the teeth were not too sharp. He reached across the boat to shake, but immediately found Redeyes on one side and an unknown on his other. He guessed the unknown was Watcher. The hobgoblin still had a bit of a goblin look about him, only not so much, and his ears were pointed, more like Inaros the elf.

Chris felt trapped and knew he would have both of his ears talked off for the journey, and now it was too late to change his mind. Stalker, the dark one with the yellow eyes took the seat beside Silverstain.

Heathfire caught the look between Chris and Silverstain and it was one look on two faces. She sighed. “I guess I better get this tub moving.”

“Can I come?” Broomwick asked permission and Heathfire teased him. She pretended to think about it.

“Okay,” she said at last, and smiled for the sprite. Chris watched as they both turned utterly to flame and shot into the furnace. It only took a moment after that to steam up and begin moving.

Deathwalker paced up front, marked their passage and communicated somehow with the troll on the tiller. Crusher got the messages and adjusted their course as needed, but that did not keep him from the conversation. Most of it was about raw meat and rock music. Crusher remembered Big Sur. Redeyes went to Woodstock. Chris dared not ask them how old they were; besides, his eyes kept returning to Silverstain even as his ears tuned out the topic of NASCAR. Redeyes finally noticed.

“My little sister,” he pointed at the girl. She looked up and Chris offered his grin, but she shook her head, sadly.

“You need the teeth,” she said before she stood and hauled Chris to his feet. “Hey Deathwalker,” she raised her voice. “I just realized. Chris can’t go into the castle looking all human, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

 Deathwalker turned to the group. Everyone stared at each other, dumbfounded, when he said, “Frightening aspect.”

“Will it hurt?” Chris asked as soon as the rest of the crew stood, grinned evilly and surrounded him in a threatening manner.

“No,” Mister Walker said. “At least I don’t think so,” and Chris ducked. Everyone roared and squealed and howled the most frightening noises, and they pelted him with whatever dirt and grime they could reach. Crusher slapped the back of his head with a piece of raw meat the troll had been chewing on. Then Silverstain stepped up and grabbed him around the middle. She pressed her lips against his and wrapped her long, forked tongue around his even as he felt his own tongue wrap around hers. She had something to say when they separated.

“Wow.”

“Want to go with me to the Prom?”

“Absolutely.”

Both grinned, when there was an explosion far to starboard, against the far wall of the huge cavern. The water began to churn.  Everyone had to sit or fall over. Stones began to drop from the impossibly high ceiling. A few boulders just missed the boat but struck the water near enough to send great splashes up on to the deck. A second explosion brought a light, as a great yellow-orange crack opened in that far wall. It lit up a great cloud of something black and moving that spread out from the explosion and headed in their direction. The crack itself looked like an open wound leaking down the wall and into the underground sea. Where the light touched the water, another cloud rose up and it also began to creep though the cavern.

Everyone started shouting and held on to something. Deathwalker staggered up to the tiller where he began to yell. “Turn it into the light! Turn the boat toward the light!”

Watcher, the hobgoblin pulled a hood over his head and tried to make himself as small as possible in his seat, but Stalker with the dark face and yellow eyes stood and grabbed Redeyes by the hand. Chris and Silverstain were still standing and holding on to each other as Stalker grabbed Silverstain’s hand. He joined Silverstain’s and Redeye’s hands and put one claw over top of the two. He put his other claw on Chris’ head, drew close to Chris’ stunned, unmoving face, and exhaled a great breath.

Chris caught the exhale full force. It stung his eyes, burned in his nose and down in his lungs, and tasted like rotten eggs in his mouth. Chris hacked and coughed as the three goblins backed up. Redeyes dropped his sister’s hand when Stalker let go and spoke in a voice as chilling as expected from a goblin.

“Now, no matter how toxic or poisonous the air, he will still be able to breathe.”

The boat shook, and everyone dropped to the deck and held on for dear life. The ship tilted left and then right, took on water from both sides, but not quite enough to swamp them. Chris worried briefly about Heathfire and Broomwick in the furnace. He feared enough water to put the furnace out might kill the fire sprites. But then he had no time to think as he wrapped his arms around the chair leg that was fastened to the deck, and Silverstain crawled up to wrap around him. They were pointed toward the light, a volcanic crack in the wall, and just in time. The first big wave came upon them.

The ship rose up and up at a precipitous angle to where Chris almost felt like he was standing upright. It flattened out again suddenly and with a crash on to the top of the wave before it shot down the back side of the water in one great rush. There came a moment of calm at the bottom of the wave.

“More waves coming!” Deathwalker shouted.

“Let’s do it again,” Silverstain whispered in Chris’ ear, and she licked his ear with that long, forked tongue. Chris licked his own nose with his own forked tongue and wondered what his grin looked like with his new, sharp teeth.

Golden Door Chapter 11 Chris in the Dark, part 1 of 2

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Chris followed Deathwalker into the darkness, and immediately the golden door vanished, exactly as Chris expected. He stopped, placed his hand on the goblin’s shoulder so the goblin would stop with him, and he looked all around the tunnel they were in. They had absolutely no light of any kind in that place, but Chris could see almost like mid-day. The colors were all a little different, what colors there were, but he could identify all of them, along with a few shades he was not sure he had ever seen before.

“It’s as bright as day in here,” he said.

“Bright as night,” Deathwalker corrected.

Chris nodded that he understood. “But which way?” The tunnel stretched as far as they could see to their right and left and eventually faded back into the true darkness in which it actually existed.

“Hard to say.” Deathwalker shook his head. “This looks like a troll road, but they are not like dwarfs, not big on signposts, or reading and writing for that matter.”

“A troll road?”

“Yes,” Deathwalker nodded. “Only hope they don’t charge too much for using it.” He chuckled at the over-worn joke. Chris groaned at the bad pun but wondered if they might have some troll house cookies. He held his tongue.

“I hate to split right at the beginning,” Deathwalker said. “But with the earth shake last night, we might find the tunnel blocked one way or the other.”

“I think we should stick together,” Chris said quickly.

“But we could take maybe a half hour and see where things lead,” Deathwalker tried.

“No. I insist.” Chris sounded adamant. “We stick together. Let’s go this way.” He picked a direction on a whim and did not want to hear about separating. Sight or no sight, he was not about to be left alone in an underground tunnel, and maybe especially if it was a troll road.

“Good enough.” Deathwalker shrugged. “In this world, all roads eventually lead to Rome, if you catch my meaning.” Chris imagined he meant the underground castle, and he nodded, but for the moment, he concentrated on keeping his eyes and ears open. They walked, but after about twenty minutes of silence, Deathwalker opened up.

“Now, be sure you call me Deathwalker, even if some others add an honorific.” he started. “That is what I tell all my students. Besides, we in the under place don’t put so much stock in formalities like the upper people and high elves.” He said “high elves” like that might not be the best of things to be. “Sometimes hobs get high and mighty, but no one much likes the hobs.”

“Hobs?” Chris found the sound of Deathwalker’s voice comforting, and the conversation kept his imagination from running too far ahead.

“Hobgobs. Hobgoblins. The ones your dad once took from the land of the dead and made able to stand the light of day, poor gob.”

“I imagine not everyone would say, poor gob,” Chris interjected.

“No, I suppose you’re right,” Deathwalker admitted. “Some might even call him improved with all that. Your dad, when he lived as the Lady Xiang, did that. She had gone to the place of the dead and the gob worked on staff to torment the wicked people that went to that particular place. Of course, she went there by mistake, and she proved her case by taking the poor gob and turning him into a hob. But, yes, well…” Deathwalker changed the subject. “To understand the feeling of some of us, you honestly have to see the world below, to know the beauty, to recognize the glory of life as we see it. There is no sight so glorious as a new moon and the stars blasting in the heavens, or the full moon, making the most delicious shadows for dancing, almost like the shadows got a life all their own.” Deathwalker smiled and appeared to remember some specific memory.  “I suppose some do,” he added, as a mumble. Of course, presently, Chris’ only experience of the dark world consisted of a rather plain and long tunnel. Then Deathwalker spoke again. “When that big blaster of a sun comes out, it ruins everything and makes it hard to tell the difference between here and there, it does.” He shivered a little just at the thought of all that brightness.

“So, you’re a goblin, then,” Chris guessed, but he was wondering.

“Dark elf.” Deathwalker nodded. “That is sort of the generic name some use. Goblin, troll, hobgoblin, and all sorts of others, breeds, in-betweens and on. Your dad’s little ones come in all shapes and sizes, and some prefer the light, and some prefer the dark, and then the dwarfs and such, I suppose, are the real betwixt and betweeners.” Deathwalker rubbed his chin as he tried to sort it out in his own mind. Chris thought it sounded simple enough, but then he probably did not know enough about it to be confused. Instead, he had a question.

“What do you mean, little ones? I’ve heard the term, and you also said spirits?”

“Sure,” Deathwalker said before he looked up at Chris and quickly shook his head. “Not ghosts. I don’t mean that kind of spirit.” Chris looked relieved. “It means by nature we are actually spiritual creatures and not actually flesh and blood. We get to put on flesh and blood for a while, though. We get born, grow old, and in time all of us gives up the flesh again in what you humans call death, but for us it is really just a return to our natural state.”

“Why?”

“Well, because a spirit alone is deaf, dumb and blind. No eyes and ears, you know. We all got work to do, like a purpose for being, and for most of us little spirits that involves working in the natural world of earth, air, fire, and water. Some, like some elves, might tend to hearth and home, but mostly it is with the earth and nature. By putting on flesh we can see what we are doing if you follow me. We can hear, taste, touch, and smell, like now. I smell a charcoal fire burning somewhere ahead.” They stopped walking. They were at a point where the tunnel split in two directions.

Chris spoke quickly as they paused. “But why little spirits?”

“Because above us there are the lesser spirits, and then greater spirits, and above them, the gods of old. Of course, the gods dealt mostly with humans in the old days, you know, like with love and war and such. But then, they all went over to the other side, which is to say, they gave up their flesh and blood two thousand years ago or so, except this one in the castle who seems to have escaped the time of dissolution.”

“Why?” Chris asked again.

“Because she is rotten and rebellious, to say the least.” He paused because of the look on Chris’ face. “Oh, I see. The gods gave up their position because the humans became mature enough to come under new management, so to speak, though my experience with humans has not shown me much maturity. No offense.”

“But—”

“Now, son. I know you are avoiding the inevitable and want us to stick together, but we need to separate here for a bit. Don’t be long and don’t take any more turns. In fact, if you come to another dividing of the ways, come back here. Meanwhile, I’ll just pop down this way and have a quick look and meet you back at this spot. Okay?”

Chris did not argue, but he did not like it. Anyway, he hardly had time to argue before Deathwalker scooted off, and Chris reminded himself the goblin’s name really was Deathwalker. Chris swallowed, and began down his tunnel which took a long, slow turn around a corner. He saw the light ahead, but it looked like firelight, and it did not disturb his eyes or his vision of the underground. In a way, it enhanced his vision.

“Deathwalker’s charcoal fire,” he whispered to himself, and he snuck up for a closer look. “The light at the end of the tunnel,” he added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Elgar, your Saxon,” Wilam said.

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

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

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

“A giant?” Wilam asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“What crimes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lind and Gurden?”

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

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

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

“In the time of the Christ?”

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

“But not all.”

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

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

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

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

“This is my home,” Kirstie said defensively.

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

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

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

Medieval 6: K and Y 2 Home, part 2 of 2

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Come September, October, and November, when the leaves fell and the days turned cold, Kirstie lightened up on Kare. They had to share the same house and the same bed, and peace was better than war. Kare still threw fits now and then, especially after he discovered Bjorn the Bear’s beer recipe. He was not a happy drunk.

Kare spent much of his time with the shipbuilders. The rest of his time got spent examining the house and barn in every nook and cranny. It did not take long for Kirstie to figure out he was looking for whatever money, silver, or gold she had hidden. He found the beer recipe when he started tearing through the barn.

Kirstie had her bit of money safely hidden. It was not much since she bought those properties next to her own place, but just to be sure, she took what she had and deposited it with the elves who had no use for money. She figured it would not be safe with the dwarfs. They would likely melt down the metal to use for their own purposes. Also, the fairies might keep it, but the risk was too great that they might leave it lying around, unprotected, and accidentally forget about it.

Lord Amber put it in the hallow of a tree and covered it with spells designed to scare away any humans that got too close. He assigned a half-dozen young elves to watch it, which mostly they did. Kirstie said thank you and went straight home. The sky looked like it might snow.

Kirstie stayed home in January. She feared she might slip and fall where the ice covered the path to town. Besides, she started feeling very full, even if Inga still insisted her son would not be born until mid-March. Kare started to get anxious about something, but he would not say what. Sometimes, Kirstie imagined he cared about her and was anxious about her and the baby. Usually, she thought he was anxious about his ship. The builders stopped working about mid-November and would not start up again until after her baby was born. Whatever was bothering him, it only seemed to get worse as the time went on. And in winter, when people spent most of their time indoors, he was often around, brooding over something he refused to talk about.

Things came to a head around the first of March, when Kirstie felt ready to burst. Kare took Fiona and her three sons and sold them to a man in Aurland in Sygnafylki, a completely different province and a long way from Strindlos. He got drunk. He knew she would object, and he did not want to hear it. He hit her and knocked her down. Her hands went straight to her belly to calm her baby and make sure nothing got shaken too badly. She got up slowly. She caught his eye and even drunk, he realized he made a mistake. Kirstie’s words were very cold and directed. “If you ever raise your hand to me again, I will kill you.” He knew she meant it. She might do it, too.

“You just don’t understand,” he yelled, took his money, and left. He stayed in his rundown shack for the entire month of March. Kirstie gave birth on the sixth. She named the boy Soren Kareson, because Kare never even came to see or to name his son.

Much later, Kirstie found out Kare needed the money to make the last payment on his ship. Once the builders were paid, they went back to work and finished it in March. Apparently, some of the delay was waiting for Kare to finish paying for it. On the first of April, Kare gathered his crew and set out on his maiden voyage. “April fool,” Kirstie called him. After he left, she found out that while she was busy being pregnant with Kare’s child, Kare was off having secret rendezvous with a woman named Randi.

Randi came from the town at the mouth of the Nid River when the Vanlil attacked. She lost her young husband and her child when she escaped the fighting. She came to Strindlos with some others, but now most of them were returning to the new town of Nidaros. Maybe that was where the whole idea of migrating to Nidaros started. Kirstie hoped Strindlos would remain a viable village for as long as she lived, but there was no guarantee. If the king came to rebuild his house, he might insist Strindlos, the closest village, be abandoned so the people could fill his adjacent town. If the king built a fortress, he might not have to insist. People would flock to the protected town. Rune and Jarl already had land around the Nid River. The ship builders were mostly there as well. The rest of the people might not be far behind.

Hilda had a boy about a week after Kirstie. She named him Hodur Thorenson. Hilda was happy enough, though Thoren went off sailing with Kare. Thoren had been studying navigation and Kirstie did not imagine Kare would get very far without him. Curiously, Thoren never questioned her for her knowledge about the subject, not to say Kirstie was the only navigator in town.

About the time Hilda went into labor, Kirstie felt strong enough to step outside. She wrapped Soren carefully in plenty of blankets for warmth against the chill and walked to the cooking fires. Birdie introduced her dwarf friend Missus Kettle. Missus Kettle came down from the mountains, a volunteer to cook for the house now that Fiona was gone.

“Thank you,” Kirstie said. “Everything I have had so far has tasted wonderful.”

Missus Kettle grinned. “My husband and his friends, dwarfs you know, I don’t think they chew anything long enough to taste the food. I don’t mind cooking for someone who appreciates it.”

Kirstie smiled and turned to the lords of the woods and hills. Lord Bjork, king of the fairies was there with his wife, Bellflower, their daughter Buttercup, and her husband Meriwood. Booturn the chief dwarf and his crew of a half-dozen fellow dwarfs stood remarkably still and quiet, waiting their turn. Lord Amber and his wife Heather also stood with their daughter Yrsa and her husband Alm. Kirstie turned first to the fairies and Bjork spoke right up.

“The spring is upon us. The young ones have said good-bye to Mother Vrya and the Witcher Women. Buttercup may visit young Inga from time to time, but they have work to do in this world and we have let things go for too long. The grain is ready to be planted. The flowers are beginning to grow in the fields. The snow and ice are leaving the trees and there is much to do. I have told the young ones you will be much happier seeing us attending to the work given to us. We have let things go for too long.” He repeated himself.

“Yes, my friends,” Kirstie agreed. “We all have much to do.”

“We will not be far away if you should need us,” Lord Bjork said.

“The best of blessings on you and your son,” Lady Bellflower said, and they flew off to disappear among the trees.

“Booturn,” Kirstie called to him though he was right there. “Report,” she said, but she could not hold back the smile.

Booturn worried his hat as he spoke. “Me and the boys have done about all we can for your blacksmith, and now that the lady Fiona is moved on, we decided we better move on, too. We want to get back to some real forges and some real work before the dark elves down below come up and steal our things.”

“And don’t you steal theirs either.” Kirstie shook a playful finger at them.

“No. No Mum. Never dream of it…” The dwarfs answered.

“Besides,” Booturn continued. “Smithy Svend is talking about moving his operation to Nidaros, and it makes my feet tired just thinking about walking all that extra distance.”

“Go home, with my thanks and blessing,” Kirstie said. “I will keep Birdie and Missus Kettle for a while if you don’t mind.”

Booturn made a face which might have been a face of hardship, but which looked slyly like a face of relief and joy. He spoke of the hardship, like he was making a great sacrifice. “It won’t be easy without our womenfolk, but I can see you need the help most right now. They can stay as long as they have a mind. We will just have to make do.” He let out a great sigh, but it was not convincing.

“Go on,” Kirstie said. “Skat and have a safe trip home.” Kirstie had to think for a moment before it came to her. “And Booturn. Maybe your daughter will have a son you can leave the family tools to in the future.”

“A grandbaby son?” Booturn puffed out his chest like it was already a done deal. Kirstie looked at Birdie, but Birdie answered her unspoken question like she was reading Kirstie’s mind.

“My baby does not want her mother interfering. I’ll see the boy when she brings him for a visit, and then I’ll spoil him rotten and she will have to deal with that.” Birdie turned back to her loom without so much as a crack in her serious expression, but Missus Kettle grinned to think of it.

Booturn frowned and cleared his throat. “Come on boys,” he said, and they also vanished in the woods.

Kirstie turned to Lord Amber, but Amber pointed first to Vortesvin who stood there quietly, straw hat in his hand, which he pretty much tore to pieces while he waited. Kirstie imagined she saw a tear in the old troll’s eye. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak, so she did, though it broke her heart to say it.

“You know, you cannot follow Fiona and the boys. Fiona’s life will be but a breath of years, and the boys not much longer. As for Sibelius, though he will not live as long as a full blood troll, we may hope he will live long enough to see his father again.”

“I was good,” Vortesvin said. “I did not fight or anything when your man took them away.”

“You were very good, and I thank you for that.”

Vortesvin nodded and looked in the direction the dwarfs went. “I think I will go home to the mountains again. I will remember Fiona, and the boys, and my son, and be glad that I know what love is.” He wiped his nose with his arm and shouted, “Hey. Wait up,” and he crashed into the trees, running after the dwarfs.

Kirstie looked at Lord Amber again and wiped the tears from her eyes. Lord Amber smiled to be reminded just how much Kirstie loved all of her little ones, even the ones that were not so little. Then he thought he better speak.

“While you were busy with your new son, I took the liberty over this last month to seek out possible tenants for the two properties you bought. I was discreet.” He nodded at the path toward town. In the remarkable timing the little ones often displayed, Kirstie saw a small crowd coming up the path and headed toward the house.

Medieval 5: K and Y 17 Surprises, part 1 of 4

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Kirstie

Fiona had her baby at the end of March. It was touch and go for most of the procedure but in the end, both Fiona and the baby would live. Fiona named the boy Sibelius and did not explain the name, except to say it was someone she met once, an old Finn that was good to her, and she admired. Besides, Vortesvin agreed, so Doctor Mishka shrugged and gave strict instructions to both Fiona and Inga. She gave them twice to Inga because she figured Fiona could not honestly concentrate. The women had one moment of panic when they realized the baby, being half-troll, would always be massively hungry. Fiona could not possibly nurse such a baby. But Danna, the Celtic mother goddess stepped in and changed Fiona in some way to where she could not only nurse the baby but discipline him as needed when he got older. No comment on the diapers.

Kirstie did not have much time to spend in the village center. She noticed at the end of April that their little bay filled with longships and strangers filled the area. They made space for a big tent camp to house them all. When things on the farm were about as well ordered as they could get, which was not well ordered at all, Kirstie dressed in her armor and weapons, brought a small sack of necessities, and headed toward the ships. She imagined she might sleep on board for a few days while the men got ready to go.

“What do you mean Jarl and Rune both sailed off with the first crew?” Kirstie asked when she arrived.

“They sailed with the first group, headed for the Coquet River,” Toke said. Toke was Harrold’s Skipari and sounded all business.

“You are sailing with us,” Kare said and grinned broadly.

“Captain Harrold carries a whip if you don’t pull your oar,” Thoren teased but Kirstie could not tell if he was joking or not.

Kirstie saw Yrsa walk up the plank and objected. “No. Not this trip. This trip will be too dangerous.”

“All the more reason I need to go,” she countered. “Besides, more dangerous than the last three hags?”

“Yes,” Kirstie said. “Far more dangerous.”

Yrsa shook her head. “I’ve been working out and practicing my rowing all winter.” She raised her arm and made a fist. “See? I have muscles.” It still looked like a skinny elf arm to Kirstie, but she sighed as Yrsa asked, “So where are we sitting?”

Kare and Thoren took them to their seats. Kirstie sat two seats from the front and Yrsa sat across the aisle from her. “Captain says if he puts you two women on the same side, that will make the side too weak, and the ship will go around in circles. Kirstie did not argue. She had no special pull with Captain Harrold Harroldsson, but she noted Thoren sat right behind Yrsa, so she charged him to keep an eye out for her and make sure the crew left her alone and treated her with respect.

Kirstie turned around. She had Kare seated behind her. “Don’t go breathing over my neck the whole trip,” she said as she stored her things.

“I’ll be dreaming about us being together,” he said.

“In your dreams,” she answered, even if he did not grasp the meaning behind that twenty-first century expression. After that, she did her best to ignore the man, and he kept most of his annoying and obnoxious comments to himself.

~~~*~~~

Yrsa and Kirstie quickly proved that they were seasoned sailors, willing and able to pull their fair share. Most of the crew accepted that and accepted them after the first day or two. There were a few who could not help the comments now and then, but none that got out of hand, mostly because Toke was all business. Harrold laughed right along with the rest of them when the comments got leud. But Toke made sure that did not happen often and for the most part, kept a lid on that kind of behavior.

They arrived at the cove above Howick on the coast of Northumbria just as the sun set. They anchored offshore where Kirstie noticed three other ships. Toke pointed to the ships one by one. “Captain Bo Erikson from Lagastein on the Frosta Peninsula. Captain Odger Haakonsson from Vigg. He is a mean one. Captain Ulf, you have met.” Toke looked at Kirstie, but she assured him.

“We met.” She made a fowl face and Toke nodded, satisfied.

At dawn, Kirstie turned to Harrold for one of the few times in the whole voyage. “I assume Yrsa, and I will be staying with the ship.”

Harrold looked at her and did not answer immediately, like he had to think about it. Finally, he said, “No.” He explained. “You can read a map and the movement of the sun, knowing north from south. You know about moving through the woods, like the woods by your home. I am told you also look very good in your blue and green dresses. I was thinking we could use you in this raid.”

“I am not walking through the woods in a dress.”

“I don’t expect you to. Get ashore,” he said, and went back to studying his map or whatever parchment he looked at.

When they got to shore, Kirstie found another woman among the men. Gunhild was a large woman, though not quite as tall as Kirstie, and she looked strong, though a bit blubbery. On a man, those arms would be muscle, probably old muscle, but they would not flap so much when the arm moved. Kirstie guessed that Gunhild was in her late forties. She claimed to have sailed with the men for more than twenty years, so Kirstie revised her estimate, thinking Gunhild might be in her early fifties. She presently sailed with Captain Bo Erikson; a man who looked like he was more inclined to trade than raid.

Captain Odger Haakonsson, the mean looking one, seemed more like Harrold. He was willing to trade often enough but he did not hesitate to take what he wanted, and if that involved killing a few of the reluctant traders, so be it. He came across as a man who was quick to take advantage of any weakness on the other side of the ledger and trade could become a raid if there was enough gold and silver involved.

Captain Ulf and his crew, by contrast, seemed the worst sort. Kirstie doubted they even bothered with trade goods. Ulf came across like the kind of man who looked for unsuspecting, minimally defended villages where he could loot and pillage. More like a pirate than a merchant. She imagined he especially liked monasteries and churches as easy targets.

Medieval 5: K and Y 16 Going Again, part 2 of 4

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Kirstie

Kirstie would not be going anywhere before spring, maybe late spring depending on how long Fiona carried. The woman would have to stay in bed for the last trimester. Any moving around would likely break her spine. Doctor Mishka checked her regularly and prayed the baby would favor his human side. The baby seemed like a real fifty-fifty, so she prepared to take him out with a cesarian section. Fortunately, she had some practice with Hilda’s baby, and knew Inga could assist.

The boys were excited, especially Edwin, the younger. He was happy to let someone else be the baby brother. Birdie harped on Booturn and said he should spend more time with his own children. He did. In fact, he got drunk any number of times with his daughter’s husband, who was plenty full grown. But he went up into the mountains to do that while Birdie stayed and knitted wool outfits for the baby.

“Hard to do when you don’t know what size, exactly,” Birdie said. “But the wool stretches some, so we hope.”

Kirstie just nodded. She seemed to nod a lot since she got home. The shipbuilders wanted to clear a stand of trees on her land. She nodded. The elves in the woods all but adopted Oswald and Edwin, and Alm took them hunting regularly. They were always good to ask first, and she nodded. Some of the fairy tribe asked sweetly if they could move closer to Inga and the Witcher Women. Kirstie nodded, but she thought it best if they avoid being seen by other than Inga and maybe Mother Vrya.

“But we already made friends with the women,” Buttercup told her.

Kirstie nodded and said, “But no one else if you can help it.” She said if they can help it so they could have an excuse if it happened, or maybe when it happened.

Finally, near the end of March, when Fiona reached the baby could come at any time point, Inga came to fetch Kirstie for what Inga was told was an important meeting.

“All three captains Harrold, Jarl, and Rune are there with Chief Kerga.”

“Yeah,” Kirstie grumped. “Rune was not going anywhere, and he sailed off as soon as I sailed out of the fjord with Jarl.”

Inga ignored Kirstie’s complaint. “I do not know what the meeting is about, but there are three other captains there with their skipari. Two are from the far north. I think one is from Maerin. The third is from Vigg in the Skaun. He is an ugly one. They are planning something big and looking at a map when they argue.”

Kirstie did not think that sounded good. She imagined all sorts of terrible things before she asked, “What do they want me for?”

“That is what I would like to know.”

When they arrived at the big house, the men quieted for a minute. Kirstie marched in with Inga. She came dressed in her armor, which she had taken to wearing regularly because it felt so comfortable. She had a knife at her side, but no other noticeable weapons on her person. She knew she could call to her weapons, and they would come to her from Avalon, the island of the Kairos in the Second Heavens where they were kept, so she did not worry about that.

“What is this all about?” she asked and pushed up to the table where the men were worrying around the map. It was a map of Northumbria. She had a similar one among her father’s navigation papers.

“You said you were interested in going to Northumbria,” Jarl said.

Kirstie paused to look at the men. One mean looking man stood next to Captain Harrold. A very tall man stood next to the mean one, and she had to stare for a second to figure something out. Kirstie once estimated that she stood about five feet, nine inches tall, which was very tall for a woman. It made her more man sized and taller than some men. This overly tall man had to be a foot taller than her, so maybe six feet, nine inches. He would have to crouch in battle formation. Anyone tall enough to stick out above his fellows that much would become an excellent target for any archers on the opposing side.

Harrold saw her staring and thought to introduce the two men. “Captain Ulf and his skipari, Njal the giant.” Kirstie checked. He might have had some giant blood in him somewhere, she would not know, but she imagined he was just a very tall man. Certainly, he had no troll or ogre in him. Besides, Vortesvin the troll had to be another foot and a half taller than Njal, and with the human-like glamour the elves managed to place around the beast, she knew better what a real giant looked like. As for Captain Ulf, she translated the name in her head to Wolf, and from his looks she imagined he probably was. She turned to Chief Kerga without blinking, like she hardly cared. “What is this all about?”

“The men were hoping you could get in touch with Elgar the Saxon. They are looking at Northumbria, particularly the northern part that remains in Anglo-Saxon hands. They were wondering if Elgar might have or be able to get some inside information about the place, or about the coast.”

Kirstie shook her head like that did not answer her question and Rune spilled the beans, so to speak. “The new Danish king in York wants to reunite the two halves of Northumbria under his crown. He is willing to pay us a considerable sum to raid the coast there to bring out the army in Bamburgh. We just need to scare the villages enough to shake them up. Panic would be better, and we get paid.” Rune opened the small chest on the table. It looked full of silver coins. Kirstie picked one up to examine it.

“Siefried Rex,” she read on the coin.

“Cnut is king now,” Captain Ulf said.

Kirstie dropped the coin and turned on the man. “So, why didn’t King Cnut ask the King in Denmark for help? He could ask the Danish kings in Danelaw for help, especially if his plan to begin with only involves a raid to frighten the people.”

Ulf stared at her. “Why are we talking to this girl?” he asked.

Jarl and Rune jumped, and to his credit Chief Kerga and even Harrold looked ready to defend her presence, but one of the stranger captains began to speak first before Ulf cut him off and Inga spoke into the silence.

“Because even at her young age she has more military experience than you could hope to have if you lived ten lifetimes, and she is friends with the gods.”

Ulf appeared to chew on his tongue for a minute before he confessed. “Because Cnut killed the old man, Siefried and took the crown. He is ambitious, but he does not like leaving an Anglo-Saxon kingdom at his back. Twenty-five years ago, Halfdan Ragnarsson overran the northern kingdom, but he did not finish the job, and he left Lindisfarne relatively untouched, so the anchor of the English remained. Cnut wants to drive the English above the River Tweed and out of the kingdom altogether. Once the northern kingdom is fully Danish and a buffer between him and the wild north, he can take his army and do whatever he wants. The king in Denmark and the kings in the Danelaw have refused to support the usurper, as they think of him.”

“So, he turned to the people of Harald Fairhair, but not to the king. He is looking for the men of Trondelag to do his dirty work and enticing them with silver and gold,” Kirstie concluded. “I assume none of you wants the king informed.”

“This is not the king’s business,” Captain Harrold said.

“A little private enterprise.” Kirstie named it and looked more closely at the map. “You know they will have coastal watchers, and if you are seen at sea they will prepare for your arrival. One or two ships sailing together might be peaceful traders, but six or seven ships seen together will scream raiding party and they will certainly prepare to fight you.”

Medieval 5: K and Y 16 Going Again, part 1 of 4

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Kirstie

Kirstie got to do some serious thinking on the voyage home. It occurred to her that Abraxas would not be giving up. The church covered much of Europe, but there were still pockets of paganism and other religions vying for the people’s attention. The right Gael could go to Spain where Christianity and Islam struggled. Frisia, and Flanders would be easy targets with the right bloodline. He could try Brittany again like he did in Margueritte’s life, or maybe southern Francia around Septimania or Provence, like Arles, though she remembered he tried that once already. Denmark would be easy. He could send a Dane, an Angle, or a Jute to the Jutland peninsula. She worried herself to no end.

She knew better than to try to get Jarl to turn to the English shore, though she did ask him several times. She even suggested he could drop her off and leave her there. Jarl shook his head. “Inga, Mother Vrya, and maybe your giant and other friends might never forgive me.” At least he was talking to her pleasantly again.

“Maybe after you are home, like in a few months, like after the winter?” Kirstie suggested.

Jarl shook his head and Leif looked up because he was never far away and always listening. Jarl spoke plainly. “I am thinking about the town that was at the mouth of the Nid River. The Vanlil killed half the town, and most of the rest fled and settled in with family in other villages. There is plenty of good land there, cleared, and ready to plant. I’m thinking with what we made on this trip I may buy some of it. My younger brother and his young family could move there to keep it and live well.”

Leif interrupted. “I heard the king is offering to pay to repair the docks there, and the shipbuilders are talking about moving their drydocks to that place.”

“But they agreed to build Kare’s ship,” Kirstie said. She knew that much.

Jarl understood but countered her words. “It may be the last ship they build in Strindlos. The town at the Nid mouth is only a day away, and with help from the king, many may go there to rebuild the place. We have an advantage being as close as we are, but I figure we need to move soon and stake our claim before the others come.”

“Lots of people are talking that way,” Leif said. “Maybe the whole village will go there.”

“And, I expect the king will eventually rebuild his house, and probably with stone this time, like a fortress. That will cause even more people to go there to shelter under the protection of the king.” Jarl shook his head for Kirstie. “I have enough to keep me busy for at least the next year. I’m sorry. Besides, we did our hag, and good men died, and Rune did his and more died. I figure it is Harrold’s turn.”

Kirstie curled her lip at the idea of sailing with Harrold but nodded. She did not want to go anywhere on Harrold’s ship. The man upset her, burning churches and monasteries. But mostly, Kare would be aboard the ship, and she did not want to be in such close quarters with him for maybe months.

When they pulled into the dock at Strindlos, Inga came with Mother Vrya. Poor Mother Vrya looked like she was ageing rapidly. She walked with a cane. Hilda was there, with Kare’s friend Thoren of all people, and Alm came, but he kept a couple of steps back from the crowd. Husbands and sons hugged wives and mothers. Some wives and mothers wept when they found out some men died on this voyage. Honestly, Yrsa and Kirstie wanted to cry with them, but Mother Vrya indicated there was some urgency.

“Lind and Gruden came from the king. They heard some dwarfs came down from the mountain to work in the forges. No telling who talked, but they said that only the Kairos could get dwarfs to cooperate in anything. I would not have guessed Lind or especially Gruden even knew the word Kairos. Anyway, the blacksmith and his people admitted nothing. Chief Kerga said nothing, but they went to a few of the outlying farms and seemed to focus on yours.”

“Everyone there seemed human and normal enough,” Inga added. “They have no reason to suspect you except you being a shield maiden is most unusual. I told them your father was a navigator who died in Francia, and you learned navigation from him. That made you a valuable member of any crew. I think they bought it.”

“Are they still here?” Kirstie asked.

“No,” Mother Vrya said. “But they will be back. They spoke with Chief Kerga about moving the whole village to the mouth of the Nid.”

“Nidarosss. Nid mouth,” Kirstie named the town.

“The king wants the town re-founded,” Inga interjected.

“Kerga said he would think about it.”

Kirstie sent up a little prayer that she might live this life without being found by whomever was looking for her—servants of the masters, no doubt. She stopped to hug Hilda and glanced at Thoren whom she thought of as the nice one. “So, are you married yet?” she asked.

Hilda pretended shock, but Thoren said the truth. “Not yet.” He seemed happy about the prospect, and so did Hilda so Kirstie did not mind.

At the last, Kirstie turned to Alm. Yrsa had already run ahead and loved on him, so Alm was ready to speak when she arrived. Without any fanfare or anything to prepare her, the elf said, “Fiona is pregnant.” Kirstie was shocked, especially when he added, “Vortesvin.”

“Humans are not made to carry troll babies,” Kirstie protested. “What was she thinking?” Kirstie did not bother to ask what the troll was thinking. She started to walk toward home. Inga and Mother Vrya had their hands full with the grieving women. Yrsa and Alm began to follow Kirstie, but Kirstie nixed that. “Yrsa, you need to go to the big house and make sure we get a fair share each. Tell Captain Jarl and Leif I will haunt them if they don’t do right by the families that lost loved ones.”

Yrsa nodded, took Alm by the hand and led him to the big house. Kirstie walked alone on the road to her house until the very end when Buttercup caught her. Mariwood stayed back and looked pensive. “Lady don’t yell. Please. Pleasy-please. They are liking each other very much, and Vortesvin is good to the boys. Even Birdie likes the troll, and I never thought I would in a billion years, but so do I. Fiona is a nice lady and a friend. Please.”

“Humans are not built to carry troll babies,’ Kirstie repeated herself and pushed passed the fairies. She walked right passed the cooking fire and the ladies there, continued passed the cows where Vortesvin and two human disguised elves were fixing the fence, and she came to the trees where she stopped just inside the forest edge. She screamed just as loud and long as she could. Thanks to Njord’s gift she could take an inhumanly big breath. She screamed a long time. She felt sure that was not what Njord had in mind. She smiled and rubbed her throat when she came back out from the trees and said in a hoarse voice, “There. Now I feel better.”

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

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Kirstie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I see it?” Vortesvin asked kindly.

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

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

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

Booturn frowned. “What do you want?”

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

“A cup?”

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

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

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

Booturn nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fairy weave?” Svend asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Medieval 5: K and Y 10 Home Again, part 2 of 3

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Kirstie

Inga and Hilda met Kirstie at the dock and Kirstie introduced her thralls and explained while Fiona collected their few things for the walk to Kirstie’s house. “They were taken in Northumbria. They were already serfs or slaves to the manor there, so being brought to Olvishaugr in the Skaun did not change their status much. Fiona lost her husband, Aidan, when the Vanlil came. She also lost her left arm from the elbow down. The man said it was a wonder she survived. The boys are Oswald, ten, and Edwin, eight. They are a bit young to do much, but they will grow. The man said he could not afford to feed them for nothing and keep them until the boys got big enough to be useful. They did not cost much. I figure the boys can learn to keep the sheep out of the grain and pull weeds from the garden, and the mother cooks so I don’t have to.”

“I hope it works,” Inga said.

“Speaking of cooking,” Hilda said with a grin and a pat on her enlarged belly. “I need to go home. I can’t walk that far anymore.” She hugged Kirstie and walked off, Inga and Kirstie staring. Kirstie said it.

“The girl waddles like a duck and she is just six months along.”

Inga chose not to comment, though she did whisper when they were on their way to Kirstie’s house. “Have you considered what to do when certain people show up on your doorstep? I mean, you get plenty of strange visitors.”

“We already talked about that. Fiona is used to having little ones around. She calls them the wee ones, or the good people. She says she even saw one once. We should be all right as long as Vortesvin the troll doesn’t show up.”

Inga rolled her eyes before she laughed. “Leave it to you to be friends with a troll.”

“A big ugly one, too. He has some ogre blood. But he is a nice fellow beneath that rock hard exterior, and he even seems to have a brain.”

“You sound like you like him,” Inga said, surprised until she put it together in her mind. “He is one of yours.”

Kirstie nodded. “All the trolls. I am responsible for all the sprites of the air, fire, water, and the earth. That includes all the elves, light and dark, and the dwarfs in between. Trolls are in there somewhere.”

“Giants?” Inga asked.

“No.” Kirstie shook her head. “In fact, even among the little ones, the little spirits of the earth, there are far more than the few I am responsible for. I have no responsibility for any lesser spirits or greater spirits, and certainly not for any flesh and blood people like giants or mermaids. I have no say over the swan people, or seal people, or any such people.

“Just the sprites,” Inga confirmed in her mind, although “sprites” was a generic enough term where it did not honestly explain who was included and who was not. “How do you know which ones are yours?”

“I know,” Kirstie said with finality. She thought for a moment while they walked and then tried to explain a bit more. “I have thought about this for a long time. I think in the beginning, the gods decided they could more or less watch over the lesser and greater spirits. Mostly those spirits did their work and there was not much interaction with the gods, or with people for that matter. Oh, the gods might call up a hurricane, or turn one away, but generally, the spirits did their jobs and that was fine.”

“Okay,” Inga said, to show she was listening even if she did not exactly understand.

Kirstie backed up the story a little bit to speak of an earlier time. “All of the universe is alive in one way or another. It is constantly changing. Gravity, electro-magnetism, time all bring changes.” Kirstie stopped and waved off the questions that might bring. “At some point, some five thousand four hundred years ago, there was a tower built to the glory of man. The Most High God scattered the people at that time and confused the languages so like today, different people speak different languages, and we cannot understand each other easily.”

Kirstie looked and Inga nodded slightly. “Well, at that time, the gods were given the job of watching over the human race, to test and try the souls of the people to see if they were fit for heaven or hell. The gods could encourage, support, strengthen or weaken, guide, defend, or withdraw their protection as they saw fit. They were not allowed to decide how things should turn out, but they laid the foundation for morality and natural law and showed that in this world there is a greater power than the human self, and that power will one day hold all people accountable for their lives so no one would have an excuse. But in their work, the gods noticed that certain little spirits worked close to the humans and risked interfering with the work and the development of humanity. They were mostly the little ones that were able to take on a form of flesh and blood, even to appear human, though they are not.”

“Like Yrsa,” Inga understood. “She looks human enough, but I have seen behind the glamour she wears and know she is not really human at all.”

Kirstie nodded this time. “The gods wanted to give the responsibility to someone to watch over them and keep them to their tasks, and most importantly, to prevent them from interfering with humanity. They were reluctant to put that much power into the hands of one of their own because for one thing, that person would have to be able to travel around the world as needed. They would have to have access to the lands of Aesgard and the lands of the Celts, the Africans, the Romans, the eastern lands… The sprites move with the winds, the seeds, and the waves, you know, and are not tied down to only here or only there.”

“But you are tied down to this place,” Inga said and held up her own hand this time to say what she thought she understood. “You have lived many lives in the past and will continue to live into the future. I get that. But in this life, and at least most of them you are just a plain, ordinary human and nothing special.”

“Thanks,” Kirstie interrupted. “I’m just an average nobody,” she said in a goofy voice.

Inga smiled, but she knew that Kirstie knew what she was saying, so Inga continued. “In any case, you are not a god like the gods. You may be immortal after a fashion, but you die time and again and are reborn somewhere else on the earth.”

“And very disturbing it is when that happens,” Kirstie said.

Inga nodded. She could imagine. “So, the gods give you the little ones they want to watch over, because you are not tied to one place on the earth, and not being an actual god, you are no threat to them.”

“Basically,” Kirstie nodded.

“But you are tied down to this place for as long as you live your life. What if there is trouble in Egypt? That is a long way from here and I doubt Rune Stenson would be willing to sail that far.”

Kirstie stopped walking. They had reached her farm, and she had servants to get settled.