A Time and a Place

1.
830 ad. Near the northern border of the Pritani Kingdoms, modern day Scotland.

Lady Hrafnrun of Longmarsh, embassador of the druidic enclave of Cerridwen’s Cauldron, chuckled at the reflection in her mirror. Two calloused fingers reordered elegant white blonde brows on a lightly tanned forehead, moving them swiftly from an exaggerated surprise to something that could only be described as constipation. She was so intent on her image that when an impatient scratch came from the door of her hide tent she jumped, barely pinching off a squeal. Ordering her heart back to its normal pace, she quickly straitened a few folds of her dove grey woolen leine and readjusted the leather belt to hug her hip.


Replacing a few stray strands of hair to her thick plait she deftly drew what she needed from the earth beneath her feet. Calm…a touch of timelessness, a dash of raw power… Aye girl, that will do. The tiny silver strands emerged from the damp

clay and were immediately woven around her slim form where they promptly disappeared from the naked eye. The presentation was as natural as breathing. It
was a necessary part of her life, her trade, and her nature, this wearing of masks, this mummer’s play.

She sighed, patted the polished bronze version of herself, and turned just in time to catch the backside of a head filthy with who knew what, pop through the door flap
and hover, the shoulders hidden behind the flap.

“Maka! Boy, don’t you dare come beyond the doorway! I will imagine this place crawling with lice until I leave here.” The head twisted round until a mischievous grin set with perfect teeth and a pair of glowing blue eyes were illuminated by the light of a dozen small braziers set up to take the chill off the early morning.

“I bathed just last week for you! After I've seen how thankful you are I won’t bother next time.” Maka growled, jumped the rest of the way into the tent and advanced on Hrafnrun, arms held wide.

“You would not, you cankerous slug.” Impossible as it seemed, his grin reached wider. Hrafnrun decided that he absolutely would, and darted behind a brazier, letting the imp chaise her around the furniture even if it meant she had to abase herself in a fit of yawps and giggles that made her innards hurt.

Several minutes later, between gulps of air, and yes her third unladylike snort, Hrafn stumbled to a stop, reaching a hand out to a chair back to steady herself.

“Enough!” She barked.

“This is completely inappropriate behavior. Beside my place as your elder you are a subject of my household and…and…” She trailed off as Maka lowered his hands to his hips and raised the eyebrow now home to a thistle seed. The foul boy was barely breathing hard.

“And?”

“And, I don’t have to explain myself to obnoxious children.”

Maka took on a pose of overly dramatic concern, one hand placed across his heart, the other stretched towards Hrafnrun. “Poor soul. I see you’re trying to distract me from the pains of your great age. I admit, before I left home you were a worry to me. The loss of memory and touchy digestion was one thing, but when your knees began knocking together as you walked I was sure I would see you dead at the bottom of a flight of stairs.” Still trying to catch her breath, Hrafnrun narrowed her eyes menacingly before gracefully seating herself on a nearby oak bench.

“Even after all my efforts you are as wickedly disrespectful as the first time I saw you. I should have pushed you right back out my bedroom window to face the wrath of the Clan Brude for poisoning their drink. You had most of them sick in the bushes till the next afternoon.” She applied a rather frightening smile and patted the place next to her. “Come give your mother a kiss hello and be done with this charade.”

Hrafnrun raised her flushed cheek in preparation and was promptly plucked from her perch and smothered by two very gangly arms and a somewhat bony chest. The kiss was loud and a little sloppy, but the joy on his face at seeing her was enough to warm any mother’s heart. Hrafnrun felt her feet touch the ground and she looked up into the beloved face of her adopted son. He is growing into an unusually attractive young man. Be wary women of the Pritani, this one will be difficult to deny. Maka broke the silence first.

“I’m glad you decided to come. Eogen’s face gets more pinched every time you ignore one of his “requests” to attend him.”

Hrafnrun had little love for the present King. Because she was also a subject of the realm, he called on her not for her sight, but to exercise his ability to move the only member of the druidic orders available to him. Luckily, Eogen had thus far fallen short of truly testing his tenuous hold over the Lady of Longmarsh. Hrafnrun knew that he was miserably aware of the devotion the druids, especially those of Cerridwen's cauldron, still inspired in the Pritani people, and most importantly, in his Moramers.

The Pritani Moramers were given their lands and title from the authority they, and the people, granted the King. They knew their power and their place and had been known to declare a King “unfit to rule” under an ancient law of their people that said, “His right hand must be strong of steel and directed by the wisdom clutched to the heart by the left. The people will not suffer the loss of either hand.” Eogen wisely kept his jealousy to himself, with only the occasional, albeit petty, manipulation of Hrafnrun.

“Humoring Eogen brings a stronger peace between the Roman Church, our modern governments, and our own kind. It is my want, if not my pleasure, to do so. Occasionally, a situation will permit me the opportunity to indulge myself. It amuses me to watch him stew.”

Maka chuckled and nodded his understanding. “Why come now?”

Hrafnrun had never made a habit of keeping things from those important people around her, but she had to admit, she was embarrassed at the extent of her own curiosity on this. After a slight hesitation, her face lost some of its animation and her eyes glazed as she focused on something beyond the boundaries of the tent. Knowing the look, Maka guided them both back down to the bench to wait. When she finally spoke it with a combination of fear and excitement.

“Two months past, at the summer festivals, I was doing my best to pay attention to Cuan Blacksmith’s speech on the importance of quality raw materials and the skills of various smiths he knew of. Everyone was well into the drink and the merriment was reaching a peak beneath a brilliant moon, when I felt something lightly brush against my face. Not immediately seeing the source, and considering it unimportant, I began to return my attention to Cuan when my eye was drawn to what would be a very special little fire mite.”

“It looked like any other, burning brightly and dimming, some of the breezes spinning it about. Except it didn’t die, it didn’t burn out. I watched as it moved from person to person, sometimes hovering over groups or suspending itself if front of a horse or lump of earth.” Hrafnrun paused as a small smile came to her mouth and migrated up into her distant eyes. “Cuan noticed that my mind had drifted and I was about to turn back yet again when my little fire mite did the most amazing thing. For a moment, the space around it appeared to bend, and a few seconds later while bobbing near a broken post it did it again.”

“Intrigued, I excused myself of our poor blacksmith and followed it out of the firelight and into Old widow Muirgel’s garden, where I sneaked up behind it while it was hovering over a particularly large turnip. I did what we do, I tried to read it, reach out to it, with the most delicate of touches you mind, I am not heavy of hand, but it noticed. To my amazement, I was stolen from my body in a boiling wind and suspended in the ether. By what I could not tell.”

“After trying in vain to locate what was holding me, I noticed quite by accident, as I was in a panic, that if I watched from the periphery of my vision I could see it move like liquefied glass, reflecting my own image as well as that of the space around us like a mirror. The phenomena I had first noticed around the fire mite was there multiplied a hundred fold. My mind’s touch slid off like the creature was oiled. It screamed power. And intelligence. I felt it read my soul in a blink and I know it judged me, at the very least as not a threat to it, for I was immediately placed back in my body where I set about blindly staring at a huge turnip with my mouth hanging open.”

Maka had become intensely curious himself. Avidly projecting for the creature’s whereabouts he was soon moved to suspicion.

“It’s coming this way?”

He watched as Hrafnrun refocused on his face, delight washing over her fine boned features. “It is anchored in this world somehow. Yes, I think this will be my best bet to come into contact with it yes.”

“And I also assume by the lack of the two dozen druids that should have accompanied you, you didn’t tell any of the cauldron’s elders?”

Hrafnrun snorted yet again and mentally reminded herself to put an end to the unpleasant sound immediately. “Of course not. Even I need a little adventure now and then. Our first duty is to ourselves.”

Maka continued to push, “Be wary Hrafn. We both know they won’t see it as such. They are exacting in the protocols when it comes to the uncharted. Not to mention protective of the right to choose who gets to stick their mystical fingers in first.”

She sighed and shoved aside the tiny pang of annoyance at having to explain herself to this child of her spirit. “I love the people of the Cauldron as much as you do Maka, but I must follow my heart. My relationship with them is understood. They needed someone to be a figurehead and their ambassador to a world that is quickly pushing them aside, someone born of the construct of kings and position, but tied to their world through gift. My ancestors were noble, close, gifted, and accepted. It may seem harsh, but you will learn as you grow that at times it is necessary to make such distinctions. Others swear their lives to kings, I rent my arms and legs and time to kings and druids, in exchange for tutelage and protection. My life is my own to do with as I please. And I do.” Hrafnrun waited to see how this new man boy reacted to her gentle reminder of this one most basic of rights granted all people. To his credit he did not shrink but sat a little taller and met her eyes.

“Forgive me Hrafnrun, I shouldn’t have been so critical of your choices. Sometimes I feel caught between all these worlds, the knights, nobles, yours, the druids. It makes me hesitate. Not knowing whom to follow.”

Curious always, she took a moment and gently stroked time to see where exactly her wild child had grown into the insightful sensitive young man before her. She nodded her pleasure.

“Forgiveness is not necessary. It is our way, my own and the Cauldron’s, to question everything. Have patience. You won't have to choose. One day you will wake and realize that you have taken the pieces and made it all into your own world.”

Maka appeared to be considering her words when Hrafnrun felt the unmistakable sensation of first light on leaves. She took a moment to savor the minds aroma of warming green things and send out her customary sliver of gratitude for the new day. A glimpse of the regal forefinger tapping rhythmically against a bent knee piggybacked the more pleasant image and snapped Hrafnrun back to her physical senses with an admonishment on the tip of her tongue.

“My punishment for letting my guard down and opening up too far. Ruined a perfectly good ride on the mornings waking. Come Maka, Eogen sent you to retrieve me and I feel he is becoming impatient.” Then she added, ”Maka, my heart is glad to see you happy once again, and to feel the fire of life once again burning bright from your bosom.”

Her son looked away while a touching blush crept up into his young cheeks trying their best to grow their first crop of beard. After a moment spent composing himself he rose. Helping Hrafnrun to do the same, he slowly led them to the door and out into the morning air. He wasn’t as skilled at seeing the thoughts of others as his adoptive mother, but he knew she was proud of what he had done for himself. He had also caught the sensation of the intruding image and Hrafnruns responding incredulity at having made such a basic mistake. He did not rejoice in the mistake, but was comforted by the fact that even Hrafnrun was subject to lapses.

When it had been come time for him to graduate to the next level of his education, an experience that his fellow students looked on with a sense of freedom and adventure, he had looked on with a sort of paralyzing fear. He had compared himself to his mentors and had been intimidated by what they could do, and knew. And even though he had been made well aware of how proud his teachers had been of his accomplishments, he had been a prized student; he hadn’t been able to make that step towards controlling his own destiny. What if he couldn’t live up to the expectations he thought everyone had of him? What if he failed? Instead of owning up to these feelings and dealing with them in the manner he had been taught, he had buried his fear and it soon blossomed into anger at his cowardly actions. Eventually it had mutated into an unpleasant petulance, and a need to be constantly assured.

Everyone had tried to help him, but he had put down unusually strong roots and would not be moved. He knew it had broken Hrafnrun’s heart to send him away those three years ago, fostered to a knight of Moramer Ercan of Wolveswell, but she had known how hard the life of the gifted was. That he needed to learn how to deal with himself now, because just like normal folk as they grew up, life would get more complicated, and in the case of the gifted, much more so. She had done him the kindness of being ruthless, forcing him to live the consequences of his choices. The King’s soldiers had had no patience for a boy who wouldn’t do as he was told. They had quickly learned to ignore him or when bored made games of him. The knight that had been bullied into taking on his care had tried his best but even such as he had eventually left Maka to his own devices.

It hadn’t been until his first sight and smell of a real battle left him vomiting into the bushes, his eyes red and swollen with his tears, that he had realized his selfishness. For whatever reason, be it gold, family, or king, these men had been willing to give their limbs and lives, many did that day, and he hadn’t been able to find the courage to choose a course of learning with his teachers. A few days later, on a morning much like this one, he had dug deep beneath his shame, ripped out the roots he had set in atrophy, and began his climb back into the world. The air around him this morning mimicked the embrace it had given that day, and he relived for a moment the feeling of coming home that little gesture had inspired in him then.
He felt a gentle tug on his arm and realized he had stopped. His mother was looking up into his face with an annoying snicker on her lips.

He acquiesced, “Aye, I suppose daydreaming won’t get you to Eogen before he breaks his fast.”

Hrafnrun made a habit of making appointments at inconvenient times, the action sometimes lending her an advantage during negotiations. She was well versed and prided herself on her ability to attend to details that others would overlook. She was aware of which light or environment complimented the image she wanted to portray at any given time, and when circumstances required her to improvise, she excelled at that too. Today she was not in need of quick wit, having had plenty of time to prepare. Moonlight was said to be many a woman’s friend, and she used it without hesitation, but dawn set her hair to blaze and brought out something fierce in her green eyes and full coral lips that seemed appropriate for today’s meeting.

The mists hung thick, knotting through branches and creeping up the sides of the tents and timber structures, moving like they hunted within the cracks and nooks for the unfortunate creatures that dwelled within them. Hrafnrun shivered pleasantly and pulled her fringed brat more closely about her shoulders. There was no such thing as a warm highland morning, but a deep chill seemed to have come with last nights moon, and she was still wearing her lighter weight garments in lieu of the long summer they had enjoyed this year. She made a mental note to have Martha and Eithne begin airing her warmer clothes today. She had hoped to spend at least a week here but the thought of being held hostage by the weather, in Eogen’s camp, for whole winter sent an entirely different kind of shiver down her spine. She would have to search for the source of her fire mite quickly and not tarry.

Maka pointed out the highlights of the encampment to her as they passed through the tidy rows of common soldiers tents. She would give credit when it was due. Eogen kept an immaculate camp, and in some areas it was inspired. Aside from the orderly placement of sleeping spaces, she noticed that the temporary wooden structures like that for the armory, cooks, wash, and even a small space for women, had been placed to slow the movement of attackers that had managed to breach the perimeter wall. The arrangement could also provide cover and paths for escape, maybe the only hope for those forced into a last stand. Areas were designated for the slaughter of animals, disposing of waste, and to the discipline of transgressions. Hrafnrun was pleased to note the last appeared relatively unused.

The whole of the camp was surrounded by a sturdy looking timber wall as tall as two men, and stone reinforcement looked to be creeping its way around the base of it, plans for the future. Spaced regularly were wooden guard towers overlooking a deep ditch lined rows of nasty looking pikes no mortal rider and mount could hurdle. Hrafnrun imagined it the sneering mouth of some hulking mythological beast taunting anyone to dare near its jaws.

Eogen’s tower men seemed alert but relaxed as they scrutinized a rather magnificent view of the surrounding hills for signs of mischief. In the ravens and crows, he had even found a substitute for the pack of mangy dogs one usually found in these places to take care of some of those more unsavory results of squeezing so many into such a relatively small space. Some years ago during an evening meal at a meeting of Pritani Moramers Eogen had put forth that anything that took such pleasure of rolling in filth was surely a creature born of daemons, and he would not suffer its presence. Curious, Hrafnrun had investigated the bizarre claim in the waves of time and had discovered the young heir, immaculate fingernails swinging in the air, wetting himself in front of a crowd after being knocked to the ground by a dozen of his mothers hunting dogs. Hrafnrun had been in a good mood the rest of that day.

As if to spoil her pleasure, the object of her thoughts suddenly loomed before her. Or at least the gaudy green and red stripes of his ridiculous silk pavilion did. Deciding her tour at an end, she released Maka’s arm and promised to catch up with him later. While watching his retreating back she rewove the earlier work that the boy had done such a good job of ruining, squared her shoulders and started for the monstrosity, addressing the guards stationed at either side of the entrance.

“Eogen is expecting me.”

The tall blue eyed guard to her right disappeared inside, and Hrafnrun was left to endure the nervous darting of the remaining guard’s gaze as he tried to work up the courage to say something. To her great relief, he decided on a brief nod and settled. She wasn’t in the frame of mind for goodwill at the moment, even if she appreciated the thought.

After being left to wait for an offensive amount of time, blue eyes returned and informed her that her king had other things to do this morning and would meet with her at a more convenient time. Hrafnrun fumed, the smoldering coals delightfully warming her belly, an equally chilly expression emerging on her face.

“Please inform Himself that Lady Hrafnrun of Longmarsh, ambassador of the Druidic enclave of Cerridwens Cauldron will NOT wait. She will however graciously allow a very short interval for His Highness to gather himself. I am certain that it is his wish to be fully prepared for our meeting that causes the delay, and not some misguided attempt at humor.”

Blue eyes looked a little horrified at what she had just asked him to repeat to his King, while his silent companion stared straight ahead and appeared to be warring with the tiniest of twitches that threatened to move the corner of his mouth skyward.
Hrafnrun returned her gaze to blue eyes.

“Be off. I have other things to do today.”

She watched the poor soul consider who’s wrath he would rather incur, and was shamefully pleased it was Eogen’s. When he moved towards the flap, an aggravated voice barked from within, cutting off his movement.

“Let her in Caissin!”

Hrafnrun decided to let the scowl on blue eye’s face pass in lieu of her good humor at having won the small bout with Eogen, and glided soundlessly through the opening into a space fit for a roman emperor. Fine furnishings and tapestries, gold fixtures, plush furs covering the floor, exquisite fabrics artfully tossed over corners, and a meticulously kept writing desk and set of Pritani carved shelves, all deliberately appeared to revolve around a massive oak table and the man seated behind it.

Even through her dislike Hrafnrun could admit he was a fine looking man. Exactly what all the young girls and boys imagined a king would look like. Tall, broad shoulders, strong facial features, clear green eyes, his beard fell to the waist adorned with silver and gold. Every russet hair trimmed and in place, his laces knotted in mirror image perfection, his dress chain mail gleaming, not a speck of dirt dared settle on those boots. The same love of order and physical beauty that he demanded of his environment was evident in his person. It was fortunate for their people that he expected that same precision of himself in the performance of his duty. Unfortunate for them that his successes, like so many before him, had led to overconfidence and vanity.

In an effort to pass by the usual string of small talk that Hrafnrun felt stirring she rushed to her point. “Alpin will attack this spring. It has been set. Only the details are left to be decided.” Eogen visibly angered, a little color creeping up his neck.
“We’ve spoken of this before and I have instructed you to say no more. I will not allow your heathen enclave to attach strings to my arms and direct me about according to your antiquated view of the world.” Hrafnrun couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped her lips.

“That is your final word on the matter? You will do nothing to prepare?”

“I will concede to sending an envoy to learn if Alpin’s loyalties are suspect, no more.”

“Baa, Eogen you know perfectly well that even if you send one now by the time word could be sent back it will be too late to raise an organized army to defend the southwestern borders. These must stay here to fight the Norsemen. The raiders will not leave a weak northern line unchallenged while we leave to war on others. Sending an envoy is as good as doing nothing.”

Eogen knew the last word would be his and he reveled in it. Leaning back into his high-backed gold leaf oak chair he looked annoyingly composed and sure.

“It is all I am willing to grant.” Sensing, sadly, the true end to her maneuvering on the matter she graciously let him savor his point and moved on.

“Our roman priest at Longmarsh received a message from his bishops secretary asking him to encourage our public support of you, at the very least, to promote the appearance you acted with our blessing.” She affected absorption in a speck of nonexistent lint on her brat. “Poor man, doesn’t know it was intercepted. He has been running about encouraging and promoting until his tongue blistered.” Father Gregory had in reality volunteered the message in disgust several months ago. Longmarsh and the Cauldron had been lucky in his assignment, and Hrafnrun suspected there had been more than luck involved in the placement.

“It has always been that the word of a Druid was held above that of even a King, and rightly so. They supply the continuity, hope, and healing that no rulers line can supply. In this day, for better or worse, the roman Church has won kings to their breast with the lure of power and wealth, and the minds of the people through gentle smiling trickery and the promise of comforts they have no power to grant.” She pressed harder, striking at his jealousy. “It is my opinion, that in this special land, that the deepest most sacred hollows of the peoples hearts will never turn to this new structure, for they belong to the hills, the fairies, and dreaming. No king, no priest can touch that. The Druids are of that bond, born of it like waters from a mountain spring.”

Hrafnrun cocked her head to the side and appraised the Kings face. It was beginning to look as if Eogen would do her physical harm. The usual reserve of the man had turned to white knuckled fists and a rather violent eye twitch.

“Before your temptation to raise your hand to me wins out I have news that will give you much pleasure.”

Since it didn’t look like she would be asked to sit, or to elaborate, she meandered over to that fine oak table and perched herself on its edge. That particular swing of the hips had in the past distracted many a male eye, but not this time, not ever with this man. Hrafnrun had the feeling that Eogen didn’t see her as human, let alone female.

“My tongue has taken a mind of its own, you will have to forgive its wandering.” She didn’t mean to apologize for what she had said, only explain.

“This is the last time you will see me in any official capacity regarding the larger druidic body.” She paused for effect.

“However, the elders of Cerridwen’s Cauldron are allowing me my title, privileges, and protection as ambassador till the time of my death. Upon which the position will remain open until such time as they deem it necessary to fill.”

As her King absorbed what that meant, his face suggested that this last news had demoted her from a slow painful death to just a common lashing.

“I won’t pretend I’m sorry that I will never have to listen to your suggestions or endure your prodding and interference again.” Eogen shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“On the other hand, I think you know how much harder dealing with the Moramers and clan leaders will be after it appears your people have withdrawn their support of me.”

Hrafnrun was saddened that his first thoughts were of himself and politics instead of how this would affect the general well being of his people, but addressed his comment anyway.

“As you well know, this has been happening on the mainland for centuries. It is only the Pritani people and a few brave tribes of the island of Eire who hold enough to the old ways to still be called Cruithne. The role of my kind is changing, even here in its last hallowed haven. The part that concerns you is that we will be taking an even less prominent role in the politics of running countries than what has evolved over the last two hundred years.” Time to retreat and tend to our survival. Our seeds must be ready for when fertile ground someday appears again.

“Don’t worry. All countries and places will be experiencing the same thing. No one will blame you over any other. Sadly, out of necessity, my kind will step back without much noise.” A pause came naturally to the conversation as both gave a moment to contemplation.

“I will take my leave of you now Eogen.” Hrafnrun rose, clasping her hands behind her back as she strode towards the exit.

Glancing back over her shoulder she announced, “As me and mine step back so do my warriors. They return to Longmarsh with me. I’m sure your men have had enough time to benefit from their tutelage.”

Eogen rolled his eyes in a way that reminded her of when he was a boy. That memory, plus the conversation today, made Hrafnrun feel a dozen years older than her true rather modest age, and concerned for her own future. She had no close living relatives, and it seemed she was always too busy to nourish anything other than working friendships. She would have to get to the business of finding a husband when she returned to Longmarsh. No matter her reputation for self-sufficiency, she did not relish the thought of growing old alone. A sister would have been best; a husband would just have to do.

“I will stay long enough to tend to your wounded, and leave morning after next. It has been…interesting Eogen.”

He flapped his hand to hurry her out. “Be gone Lady Hrafnrun, before I give in to the temptation to have you dragged out for the pure joy of it.”

She turned back to leave and couldn’t help feeling a little smug as the arrogant ass realized the other half of what she had said.

“What wounded? All my men are sound.” Hrafnrun stepped aside just in time to avoid being crushed by the rude blue-eyed guard in his rush to enter the tent.

“Eogen, there was a surprise attack on ….” Hrafnrun lost the rest of the statement as she ducked back outside. She was quite pleased with herself. Eogen hadn’t been able to squeeze in a word of why he had called her here, as was best. The man had a way of turning the conversation to his many accomplishments. Not that he didn’t deserve the praise; Hrafnrun was just of the mind that he didn’t need it quite so often.

She graced the remaining silent guard with a heartfelt smile as she passed and headed for the other end of the encampment. She judged that she had enough time to fetch her medicines herself before any injured arrived, but still set a brisk pace.
Out of the frustration both the Norse and the Pritani had allowed the “war” to atrophy into a series of alternating raids on the poor borderland villages where a few brave souls still dared to eek out a living on the scorched land. Every so often one side would get an itch for real battle and organize something on a larger scale as with what happened today, but for the most part, the border as it was now had held for near a generation. Hrafnrun wished the two peoples would realize how alike they were and form a more peaceful relationship, but instead human nature pushed for blood and wealth in her misty homeland.

Martha was waiting with her change of clothes. A more functional leine sewn with short sleeves and dozens of pockets and loops containing the various herbs and concoctions she might need, it was most useful on the field but would save her valuable time running to and from her case in this instance too. She quickly reviewed the contents. Assured all was in place, she pined a warmer brat around her shoulders, briefly thanked Martha, and set about meeting up with Maka.
She found him with the resident healer; a woman in her later years of life named Muirenn and what looked to be an apprentice in the young man that hovered about her heals. They had already set about boiling water and putting out bandages, and it looked like Mistress Muirenn and Maka were setting up surgeons tools around a table in a nearby thatch roofed hut for the more badly injured. One good thing her people had learned from the Romans and held over till now were their much more advanced surgical skills.

Spying Hrafnrun Muirenn extended her hand palm side up in a gesture of recognition and respect. She smiled and added, “Lady Hrafnrun, my name is Muirenn. Your presence is welcome here.”

“No introduction is necessary Mistress, you were pointed out to me at the Great Gathering two years past. Master Dubthach said you had a fine way with blending your herbs.” The two women clasped wrists and Muirenn gestured towards her young man.
“That one there is my apprentice Barach the Red. You’ll know why when I introduce you. Quiet boy, has a knack with the hearts of broken ones whatever form they come in, be it bird, reptile, or man.”

The older woman caught the young mans eye and waved him over. “Lady Hrafnrun this is Barach. Barach this is Lady Hrafnrun of Longmarsh. She is the voice of the Cauldron in the outside world.” The boy’s mouth dropped open as he stared up at the Lady in front of him. The most amazing blazing scarlet blush Hrafnrun had ever seen ran up his neck and into his cheeks. There seemed to be much blushing in Hrafnruns way this day.

“Your Mistress tells me you respond to broken things Barach.” Apparently, the sound of his name horrified the boy even more, for his head dropped and he began to toe the dirt, while that blush turned even darker.

Barely containing her mirth, Hrafnrun squeezed the little shoulder and turned him towards Maka. “Maka looks like he might need some help in there. “Look at that very heavy pot he is trying to get up on that hook. You had better hurry before he drops it and burns himself.”

Barach looked truly horrified by the thought and scrambled off to “help” Maka before anything awful happened to the young man he had come to idolize over the last year.

Hrafnrun waited until the boy was far enough away to not hear her and let loose a lively shout of laughter followed by a series of spitty hisses that was the best she could do through her clenched teeth. “It was cruel to not prepare me for that Mistress Muirenn. What if I had laughed in the boys face and he was hurt?”

“I had confidence you would do no such thing Lady Hrafnrun. And please call me by name, as I will you.” Hrafnrun continued to laugh out loud at Muirenn’s bold assumption. Few would push the informality of her, even from the ranks of the aged.

“I think I like you Muirenn. I think we will be good friends.” The older woman nodded as if it was a forgone conclusion.

“Hrafnrun…your name, it’s Norse, is it not?”

“Aye. My father named me.”

“On the journey back to Longmarsh you will tell me the story of how a Norseman came to marry your mother. And how their child was named Hrafnrun, Raven’s Gift.”

Hrafnrun easily noticed Murienn's implication that she would be returning with her to Longmarsh. Not quite ready to give over her trust to this woman she addressed Muirenn’s questions first.

“There is no secret, but I’m sorry to say that stories like it don’t seem to happen often anylonger. My mother had been caught in a raid during a visit to one of the smaller coastal towns. She had noticed my father during the fighting. She told me the goddess whispered in her ear and told her to take him home with her. So she sneaked up on him, hit him over the head with a rock, took him home, and the result is who you see before you. As for my name, my father thought it fitting after ravens visited my newborn self and left this behind. It is made of an unknown material, harder than any known to us, and never tarnishes.” She pulled away from her neck a brilliant silver colored pendant, its shape a perfect sphere, about the size of the end of her thumb.

Over the wagging bauble the two women peered into the others eyes. A practice as old as time, its purpose to measure the consistency of the soul before them. After a time, satisfied with what she saw, Hrafnrun broke the contact and returned the pendant to its nest.

“It is fortunate for us that I brought with me a young Master of healing that is in need of just such a position as yours. When nothing was available we had thought to send him to you to let him keep working. I see there was a more powerful guiding hand involved.”

It was during this moment that the women’s heads turned in unison towards a sound no one else seemed to hear, soon followed by a warning shout from one of the towers. Shortly thereafter Muirenn had taken the first bloody man who arrived on horseback to a stool where she had started cleaning the gore from his neck and torso in search of exactly what it was she was supposed to stitch shut. Earlier, Hrafnrun had instructed their two helpers to start brewing pots of various antiseptics, tonics, and hemostatics. She brought a likely combination to Muirenn before she started in on the small flood of men weaving in through the gate.

Several hours later Hrafnrun and Muirenn were covered in blood, the sticky rivulets drying on their faces and running to their elbows. They were finishing up the last of them, a young man that had fallen down a rock incline and shattered the bone in his upper leg. Even though it had broken in only the one place, the break was sharply angled. They had been unsuccessful at setting the pieces so they would not slip when the tension from the muscle was let back. Hrafnrun was becoming frustrated trying to devise a way to set up a makeshift hippocratic table, one of the few things this holding seemed to be missing, to keep the leg stretched until the break was strong enough to support the tension from the muscles, when she felt a faint shock emanating from the young mans wound. Looking more closely she saw a gentle blue glow had surrounded the broken pieces that were now nestling up to one another and bonding.

“Keep holding the tension off.” She instructed. Pointing at a large man waiting quietly for a salve for a minor injury, she continued, “You. Take Mistress Muirenn’s place at his feet. And be careful not to let the leg go.”

Hrafnrun impatiently wiggled her fingers in the direction of the wound and soon both healers’ heads were bent over the oddity. “We have healers at the Cauldron that specialize in bone. I have witnessed such a thing being done over many hours by those particularly gifted in the area, but never in a matter of minutes. And look there, the flesh is beginning to knit back together.”

“Do you think he is doing this?” Muirenn pointed at the unconscious man on the table.

Hrafnrun felt around a bit with her mind but couldn’t find a connection between the healing work and the young man. "No, no I don't think so." It was someone from the outside. She could feel a sense of familiarity between them. Someone very powerful wanted this young man to walk again.

Within minutes the wound was almost healed, only a large pink scar to mark that it was there. “You can let off now you two, gently.” As they did so their patients body visibly relaxed and his head fell to the side, a winsome smile appearing on his lips.

“Maka, move this man to a pallet please and then help Mistress Muirenn and Barach get these men settled in. I need to see if I can find the person who has done this. He, no she, feels close.”

Stepping out into the yard, she noticed the new prisoners being roughly pushed, or in a couple of cases carried, into an enclosure near the edge of camp. After both nations discovered that torture and threat of death did nothing to loosen the tongues of their enemies, it had become something of a sport to capture certain marked warriors and keep them for a few weeks in order roughen his edges and send him back to his own humiliated.

From this distance, she couldn’t distinguish a feminine shape among the men. This wasn’t a surprise, Norse women had been known only very rarely to fight alongside their men. The women of Hrafnruns people had once proudly fought along side their men in equality. Until a hundred and thirty odd years ago when the abbot Adamnan, hailing from the island of Eiru, had convinced the kings of his own island and those of all the lands from northernmost tip of the Pritani land to the southernmost of the Mercian lands to enact the Law of Innocents.

The story was told today that the abbot’s mother had been horrified at seeing nursing mothers lying dead on the battlefield, child still to breast, and convinced her son to “emancipate” the cumalach, or little slave, women from the horrors of war. The women had been forbidden the battle and in exchange they, their children, and the clergy were “protected”.

Christ’s church had already made its way surprisingly fast and without bloodshed throughout all the islands. A woman’s place in the world had already changed, so when word of the law spread it was met with few voices loud enough to cause concern for its supporters.

Where once a woman would have been shamed to not protect her family unto death, she was now at the mercy of men drugged on blood. Instead of a noble death in battle, they were raped, their children were taken or killed, their homes burned, and their livestock slaughtered. After all that, if old, her throat was cut on the spot, if young or pretty, she was taken for a slave. In Hrafnruns opinion there was no real protection, only punishment for the rape or murder of wealthy or titled women, the poor were left to squeeze their retribution from their tears.

Hrafnrun was grateful that for the most part the women of her people still commanded the respect they deserved. The transfer of wealth and title still moved down the maternal line as was dictated by the old laws. Besides, they had found a way to work around the ridiculous law. It said nothing about not training your women for battle, only that they would be punished for being caught fighting in a battle. It was still common to see Pritani women choose to learn the art, and surprisingly few balked at the threat of death upon capture for doing so. If anything it had made them more deadly, they were now silent and quick, living more in shadows, because there could be no witnesses.

The enclosure was made of riveted iron slats and set into a stone and mortar base. There was a small but solid looking three-walled shelter at the end. A dozen men at varying levels of consciousness were held within. Hrafnrun chose a hefty blonde one that looked in charge of his faculties and asked in her fathers tongue, “You have no woman captured with you?” He seemed slightly surprised, maybe curious.

“You speak though you were from my homeland.”

“I am not. Though my father was.” He nodded.

“I should be silent. Helping you could put me in some trouble.” He met her gaze strait on, folding his arms across an expansive chest.

Hrafnrun tried a less direct tactic, sliding a sad little smile across her face. If the woman she was looking for wasn’t here, one of these men knew something about her, her senses were certain.

“I assumed a strong, good looking man like you would be willing accustomed to helping women in distress. I’m sure your friends wouldn’t notice you answering such a tiny simple question.”

He puffed out his chest just a bit. The look on his face clearly speaking to the fact he knew what she was doing, but liked it anyway. “Oh, no need for that. An old man just wants a little cajoling, he doesn’t need to drown in it.”

Hrafnrun thought he looked seasoned, but very much in his prime. Possibly the Norse had a different view on when old age settled in.

“I will answer your question. No, no woman was captured with us.” Some of her confusion must have shown on her face for he added. “However, there is a girl child.” Unfolding his crossed arms he pointed from his lazy position leaning against the iron wall into a slight shadow in the back corner of the shelter. “Be wary, that one is more dangerous than she appears, and I wouldn’t want a great beauty such as yours marred.” If that lascivious grin oozing over his face had anything to say about it this “old man” still had a kick or two left in him. She had no doubt that had the iron slats not been present she would have been privy to some surreptitious man handling about then, lady she be or not.

Nodding her thanks, she turned towards a nearby guard. “Find two more men and return here, I wish to examine one of the prisoners.” Hrafnrun was left to watch the blonde Norseman’s efforts to fend off the good-natured mockery his cellmates were plying him with over his “pretty lady”. The dispatched guard returned quickly and Hrafnrun instructed one to stay at the door, to lock it behind her, and two to enter with her.

It was a short walk, but she had not dared without some protection. The form she found slumped in the corner was much too large, and too very male, to be this girl she had been told of. It had been a long day, beginning before the break of dawn. She was not amused with the joke the Norseman had played on her.

As she turned to leave, a small chill started up her spine and settled at the base of her neck. There was a strange electricity building in the air, her skin prickled, and her teeth seemed to vibrate until they began to hurt. She turned back towards the man in the corner and caught the beginning of movement on his chest.

Five long fingers and a thin wrist covered in dried blood slid out from under what on second look was a dirt colored, sparely threaded brat. It was the hand of a child. Hrafnrun could hardly believe her eyes, or her senses. The vibration was receding from the air, but she knew instantly what or who this was. A dazed face punctuated with moss green eyes and long lashes emerged from the tangle of garment. This skinny girl child, with the knot of frizzy mouse colored hair and grubby hands had pulled her fully into the ether those months ago, and today had healed that young man on the table in an amazingly short period of time.

Hrafnrun realized she was staring with her mouth hanging open and quickly shut it hoping no one had noticed. She took a few steps closer, kneeled down before the child and spoke softly in her father’s language.

“Child.” The girl’s head snapped up and her body tensed. Hrafnrun scrambled to comfort her. “I will not hurt you. Would you like to come with me to my tent and get something to eat?”

The child squinted her eyes in disbelief and began to retreat when she became distracted by a lock of Hrafnruns hair that was hanging loose below her chin. The girl tipped her head to the side and reached out, fingering the curl, her gaze snapping back to Hrafnruns with recognition. “You know me then do you? I suppose you think that was very funny snatching me out of the world like that.” Hrafnrun was pleased. The girl was conscious of what she did.

The girl smiled prettily and attempted to hide back under the brat but failed to resist the temptation to peek out one of the holes. Hrafnrun turned to the warrior closest to her, never letting her gaze wander from those green eyes, and whispered, “How did this girl come to be here with these men?” He kneeled beside her and responded with his own soft tone.

“The story is that the large one beneath her there was one singled out by Eogen to be brought back if he could be caught. The men were excited as ticks on sheep to find him unconscious on the field. Problem was, that one there”, he pointed at the girl, “had run out and attached herself to him like her life depended on it. Story goes, the men tried to get the wee girl off him but it was like trying to rip a mans arm off with your bare hands. Since she wouldn’t let go, they brought them both back.”

For the first time Hrafnrun took a serious look at the man her girl would not be separated from. Flame haired, broad of shoulder, narrow of hip, he had the classic frightening looks of the great Viking raider. He was even a handsome man if one looked past the repeatedly broken nose. Hrafnrun amended that thought. The nose hardened his face in a way she found very pleasing. She wondered what color his eyes were.

When she finally broke off her perusal she realized that while she had been staring at the unconscious man on the floor, the girl had been staring at her, and everyone else in the enclosure had been staring at the girl. No wonder actually, the child had adopted an impish expression, a smile in her eyes and her finger caught between her teeth, but more importantly she was now wearing a very visible undulating pink glow. Hrafnrun had to get her out of here.

“Child?” The glow diminished considerably. “If I promised this man would stay with you, would you consent to moving to my tent?”

There wasn’t much hesitation. The girl nodded her assent as she started climbing up onto the chest of the inert man, plopping down cross-legged in the middle of it. Hrafnrun looked for the friendliest of the men she had brought in with her and instructed him where to take her new guests.

“Be gentle, you don’t want to scare her, you might end up with your toes hanging from your belt...and I want just you to watch my door. They are no longer prisoners, and if they wish to leave they may do so. Send word if our sleeper wakes up before I return.”

A backward look gave her a priceless glimpse of her charges being loaded onto a stretcher. Her girl was seated upon the chest of the bloodied soldier like a queen, back straight, chin up, her legs folded to the side. At least the pink glow was gone. It seemed to make everyone more comfortable, even the Norseman that had warned her against the child was watching with a slight smile on his face.

Maka and Barach were tidying up, putting things into piles to be washed or put away. Hrafnrun felt a little like dancing around on her toes.

“Barach, you look exhausted. Clean your self and go rest. I will explain to Muirenn.”

He didn’t even have the energy to blush, just turned and shuffled out to the same barrel Hrafnrun had used to rinse herself earlier. It didn’t look like the water was any better off now than it had been then. Maka, however, appeared eager to know how her hunt for the mysterious healer had gone.

“Well? You look smug. I assume you found her.”

Hrafnrun allowed herself to gush. “I did. I found her. And you won’t believe what else I discovered.” Hrafnrun paused, standing there, her toes wiggling excitedly in her serviceable boots.

“How are we going to find out if I believe it or not if you don’t tell me?”

“Oh Maka, what lack of appreciation for the dramatic pause.” Her expression dimmed, but not for long.

“She, you know I didn’t even ask her name…no matter, there is time for that.” She waved her hand dismissively. “This girl of only nine or ten years of age is what pulled me out of the world this past summer! This really is amazing. I can’t wait until you can meet her. Actually, yes I can. Tomarro. Tomarro you will meet her. I need her to settle in tonight and try to get her measure. And let her do likewise with me.” Hrafnrun wasn’t so distracted she failed to notice her son’s fallen expression. He still has a boy’s heart. His feelings splashed all over his face.

“But before all that, I think I need some time to settle in from the day. We should have the cook put together a nauseating amount of food and take it somewhere we can talk and watch the sunset. How would you like that?” She felt the pleasure and relief wash through him as a smile touched the corners of his eyes.

“I would like that very much…Mother.”

* * *

Hrafnrun returned contented. The sun had set in an ordinary manner, but the twilight had been a wonder. The stars had shined brighter, the moon had felt benevolent, and the mists gentle. The earth beneath them had wrapped them up with their little part of the world in an embrace that even the normally shy night creatures found hard to ignore.

She had been delighted when she had been able to coax a tree fairy and a rock sprite out of their hiding places to provide harmony to the children’s song she and Maka had remembered that lent a mystical explanation for why ravens tumbled.

Towards the end of the evening the rock sprite had bit her ankle while the fairy stole her favorite pair of silver scissors from one of her pockets. They had laughed until they couldn’t breathe.

She was also exhausted. The day had taken its toll, and the ridiculous amount of food she had in her belly had her stumbling in a half sleep towards her little traveling home. It was good to see that her door guard was awake and attentive. Briefly nodding to him as he rose, she entered quietly enough that she didn’t disturb Martha at her book, and Ethne on her pallet. It looked as if the former young woman had anticipated her mistress’s desire for a bath and had pulled out the wooden tub. Hrafnrun was sure there were buckets of water being kept warm near the fire outside, and her muscles began to relax at the mere thought.

She let her brat fall onto a seat next to the door with enough noise to announce herself without startling her engrossed apprentice. Martha looked up and smiled.

“How was your day?”

Hrafnrun responded kindly. “Very long, and very tiring. That tub full of steaming water is exactly what I need, if you would prepare it now.” And on second thought asked, “How have my guests been?”

“The man is still unconscious. I had him placed on my cot, was able to maneuver something down his throat to bring down the swelling in his head, and made sure the brazier was nice and hot. He was shivering for a while but has settled into a nice deep sleep. As for the girl, she has inspected all of your things, and mine, ate copious amounts of food, and passed out on the floor next to Freki.”

“Thank you Martha. Now, please, that bath before this grime tattoos itself to my body.” Martha disappeared out of doors as Hrafnrun slid behind another screen to her sleeping and dressing area.

After many weary attempts she managed to remove her clothing and heaped the worst of it in the corner, hanging the pouched leine with her medicines on a peg attached to a tent support. Martha did miracles keeping Hrafnrun in working order. She knew the contents of the leine would be transferred to a clean one within the hour. Herbs replenished where needed, her tools tended and prepared. Her soiled garments would be dry and ready for use the next day, her boots picked clean and brushed soft. “Thank the Fates for Martha.” She whispered.

She could hear the buckets slowly making it into the tub and decided to comb the worst of the tangles out of her hair while she waited. Loose it fell nearly to her knees, the moonlight colored spirals usually requiring the combined attention of herself and Martha. Tonight she didn’t want to wait, so tore through it without care as to what came out in the comb.

After what seemed an eternity, Martha’s voice delicately announced the bath was ready. It was cold even a few feet from the brazier so Hrafnrun snatched the fur-lined robe tossed across her bed and tossed it around her shoulders. It had been gifted to her family generations ago by the druid priest that had come from far to the east to escort Freki to her new home with them. It was Hrafnrun's favorite. Unimaginably warm and soft, it never decayed, became damaged or even soiled. She loved the feeling when she wore it that she was somehow a little closer to the blood ancestors that had worn it before her, and to those Gifted who had done so before that.

“Martha, help me wash my hair first so I can spend the rest of my time at leisure.”

The water was so hot she could barely keep herself from dancing from one foot to the other. It was perfect. She slid in dipping her head all the way under blowing a few bubbles in her pleasure. When she emerged Martha’s fingers began gently working the herb infused soap across her scalp and through her tresses. A few minutes later it was rinsed and secured to the top of her head with a small army of combs, pins, and hair sticks. Now she could relax.

A half hour later she was dreaming of floating in a small boat on a calm lake watching the sun wink in and out from behind large fluffy clouds. From her back she reached up, trying to push the benevolent clouds to the side so the sun could shine on her face, but her fingers would only slip through. She felt a twinge in her abdomen and looked down to find it ripe with a child, and her image shimmered as a rush of emotions flowed through her dream self. Relief, joy, love, and finally gratitude flowed from what had been her greatest sorrow, her barren belly.

She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around the source of her new happiness and rose to her knees. She could hear the breeze caressing the treetops, and moving the water reeds to dance. A raven called from nearby. She opened her eyes and followed the sound. There was movement on the shore. A spot of bright crimson glided towards the waters edge, its shape and face filling out into that of her gifted girl by the time the last step was taken. Again there was that twinge in her abdomen, and when she looked down her child was gone, her belly flat.

She began to panic, a scream rising in her throat she looked back towards the shore, her arm extended to the girl for help. There on her left stood Murienn patiently looking down on Barach who was peeking out from behind her arm. On her right stood the man she had fought so hard to stay with, his hand casually resting on the back of her neck. He seemed expectant, curious to see what Hrafnrun would do. His eyes were a sparkling blue, a soul wrenching clear blue. The girl raised her gaze to the sky and the wind surged around Hrafnruns boat pushing it towards the shore.

Hrafnrun woke slowly with a feeling peace spreading through her breast. The water was beginning to cool, so she called softly to Martha please warm it up a bit, she had fallen asleep and wasn’t ready to finish yet. When she finally peeled her lids open she found a pair of wide eyes peering at her over the edge of her bath.

“Hello little one. Were you responsible for the dream I just woke from?” What little could be seen of the girls face crinkled up in puzzlement. “I will consider it my own doing then.” Not knowing what to do, a rarity these days, she stalled by sticking her toes out of the water and giving them a good wiggle.

“Do you hate water?”

The girl shook her head side to side.

“Living around all those men made a bath a little hard?”

She nodded.

“Would you like to share this one?”
She nodded, very serious now
.
“Do you ever speak?”

The girl just grinned. The corner of one eye crinkling.

“I will assume you do. We can leave that for later when you know me better. How does that sound?”

There was another grin, and Hrafnrun shifted up in the tub to make room. “Hop in, Martha will be in with more hot water very soon.”

The girl had stripped in a blink and taking Hrafnrun literally, hopped in, splashing water all over. With only a little struggling, Hrafnrun brushed out the nest on the childs head praying the whole time she wouldn’t find anything she might have to kill.
After the grime was removed Hrafnrun guessed that it would dry into a beautifully thick length of auburn waves. The girl was giggling, busy blowing and popping bubbles in the soapy water, making sure to flick it in Hrafnruns face whenever she could. Not to be outdone Hrafnrun had been forced to respond in kind.

From this happy world the girl suddenly went quiet, her attention drawn to a place somewhere behind Hrafnruns right shoulder. Hrafnrun cringed as a powerful male voice bellowed from only feet behind her.

“What is happening here woman?” She heard him take a step nearer. “Girl, get out of there now!”

The girl addressed last responded by hunkering down in the tepid water, leaving only enough face above for the necessity of breath. In fun, Hrafnrun addressed the half head.

“I see he doesn’t have a name for you either. Is there something you would like to be called?” The little shoulders shrugged up out of the water. “We will find something appropriate soon if that will suit you.”

She responded by spinning in a circle and blowing a particularly exuberant set of bubbles.

“I will assume that’s an aye.”

A growl was eating its way out from the unseen man. “You didn’t answer me woman. Why are we here? What are you doing?”

Leaning towards the bubble maker in the tub Hrafnrun spoke in an exaggerated whisper. “He is impatient. How you must have suffered.” She punctuated her statement with a conspiratorial wink.

“You will not speak of me like I’m not here! You should consider yourself lucky I'm giving you a chance to explain yourself instead of going with my first instinct which would have been to take the girl, drowned you, and get out of your camp before I find myself dead.”

Hrafnrun mumbled something vulgar under her breath that left her bath partner’s mouth hanging wide, horrified. “Martha! Quit peaking out from behind that screen and bring water to rinse please.” The sight of the usually dignified Martha scurrying back outside on the tips of her toes made Hrafnrun smile. She then adressed the wall of skins in front of her, still not turning to face the cantankerous man behind her.

“If you had taken a moment to think about your situation before barging in on what had been an agreeable bath, you might have realized that you are not being held captive in a steal cage sitting out in the cold night air. You are in a warmed, luxurious tent, and your companion is having the first hot bath in what I would guess has been months.” The heat coming of the man was scalding the back of her neck.

“What does it matter if the prison is of steel or hide?”

“There is no one holding you here. You may leave anytime you wish.” Martha had returned. “Rinse the girl first Martha.”

The deed was done quickly, her young guest's bent towards play stalled by the tension in the room. Hrafnrun lent her the fur robe until Martha found something in their belongings that would do for her to sleep in.

“I am ready now as well. Girl, you can change into that garment and sleep where you will. You are much more tired than you let on.” On queue she scrunched up her nose and started rubbing an eye, shuffling off towards where she had left Freki her fuzzy bedmate.

Hrafnrun rose from the tub, Martha quickly draining the last pitchers of water down her body. Hrafnrun knew she was bathed in candlelight and soft glows from a half dozen or so braziers filled with their crimson twinkling hearts. She could sense the distraction in the man, but no lessening in his focus on his goal. Good. Attracted, but not so weak of wit to be swayed. Hrafnrun broke the silence.

“You and the girl are now my guests. My only wish is that you stay for tonight. Upon the sunrise tomorrow feel free to go where you please. Martha, bring me another robe, mine seems to have walked off. And find something for…” She leaned her head towards the grim man still behind her.

After a few moments he reluctantly answered, “Ottarr.”

“for Ottarr to eat.” She was pleased he had softened enough to give his name. Maybe this wouldn’t be as hard as she had feared.

The warm undyed wool robe secured around her, she pulled one of the few chairs they traveled with near a brazier to comb out her hair as it dried. When she sat she made a perusal of this wakeful version of the sleeping man she had seen before. He stood tall backed, feet apart, and arms crossed at the chest. The stance plus his head angled just like that gave the impression of a great raptor trying to decide if he were hungry enough to eat just yet. Hrafnruns hand froze, temporarily shocked by the presence of the same blue eyes she had dreamed him with earlier. Reaching out for his emotions it seemed that he had moved from a furious confusion to amused irritation.

“I will introduce myself. I am Lady Hrafnrun of Longmarsh, Druidic ambassador for Cerridwen’s Cauldron.” She paused waiting for the glimmer of recognition and the contrite mumbled apologies that so often came after. When neither surfaced she asked, “You have nothing to say to that?”

Raising a winged brow he responded, “It didn’t seem you were interested in what I had to say.”

Oh, it would seem he had chosen to be difficult after all. The twitch at the corner of his mouth made her sure her thoughts had shown on her face. Annoyed she asked, “You have no fear of the Gifted?”

“I fear very little. I have learned respect for your kind.”

“I wish to take the girl back with me.”

“I will not abandon her. She goes where I go.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have a proposal for you.”


* * *


Thirteen days ago Hrafnrun had set for home with a joyous heart and her eyes on the future. Her travel group had grown significantly from what she had arrived at Eogen’s camp with; two score more men at arms, Maka, Murienn and her student, a betrothed, and a future step daughter.

It had taken quite a bit of convincing to bring Ottarr around to her way of thinking. He was a highly reluctant groom considering he was to gain a wealthy moramorate, the protection offered by the Cauldron, and, Hrafnrun wasn’t the type to be unnecessarily humble, a fine looking capable wife who came from a long line of respected leaders. He had been more concerned about how she wanted to raise his foundling girl than over gold and a title.

He had been born of a family of successful raiders and when the time came, to the great pleasure and benefit of his father and brothers, had distinguished himself as among the best. It was during a trading expedition, to which he had signed on as escort, deep into the Slavic countries that Ottarr serendipitously discovered his gifted girl.

Having nothing better to do while he was off watch, he had investigated an explosion that had rocked the tavern he and his companions had settled in that night. Once the black smoke had cleared it had been easy to find the twelve foot hole blown through the side of the rat infested poor mans whore house across the mud alley. The source appeared to be a screaming naked child quaking in an expanding pool of blood that had once belonged to the half a corpse lying next to her.

Compassion was not something one would expect to find in a hardened raider, but feel it he did and it moved him to ignore the electricity in the air and the hairs on his body standing on end to wrap the girl’s pitiful form in the rough wool blanket from the blood spattered pallet in the corner of the room. Lifting her to his arms she unexpectedly turned into his chest, sighed, and passed out. It had the effect of sending the heart in his chest to flip-flopping about, the curious sensation enduring her to him forever.

The girl’s unusual nature was well known to him by the time he returned to the majestic fjords and lush meadows of his homeland to find his father dead and his eldest brother inhospitable. Having a child and no mate he had faced the need to settle into a more sedentary life. There, land was at a premium and his people had adopted the custom of gruesomely killing any who did not appear to have converted to the new religion. He knew he couldn’t keep the child’s abilities secret for long, and even if his father had been alive and willing to lend his power and wealth to her protection she still would have been in constant danger from the relentless heathen hunters.

Luckily Ottarr’s skill of commanding a longboat and a riot of hot-blooded raiders was still in demand, and no one seemed to care about the girl as long as she didn’t damage the boats or cause their drinks to sour. Sending a prayer to the old gods, he had sold his arm to a cousin in exchange for eventual passage to the Shetland Islands and a healthy cut in the plunder. He had heard rumor that the islands were more kind to those like the girl. That some of the old priests and priestesses still roamed free in the lands of the Cruithne and Pritani and even taught openly, if more cautiously than they had in the past.

The object of Hrafnruns thoughts had found his way around to the front of their little caravan again, scowling into the distance and keeping their scouts in constant motion. Hrafnrun studied the back of those broad shoulders and his excellent seat long enough to feel the heat rising up into her face. He hadn’t lost any time moving into her bed, and she hadn’t been made sorry for accepting the arrangement yet.
He turned in the saddle just then to see her watching him. The devils grin that appeared on his face hit her hard enough she couldn’t help blowing out the breath she had been holding. That seemed to please him even more. The satisfied smirk slinking across his face as he turned forward again made Hrafnrun want to spit.
Murienn trotted up and gently knuckled her in ribs. “The mans head will light on fire you keep looking at him that way.”

“It would please him greatly to know he had wedged himself under my skin enough to warrant it.”

“From what we all hear across camp at night it doesn’t look like you mind that wedging much.”

“Ah! Murienn, your wit does me proud. No, no I don’t. I’m enjoying myself heartily. And to secure your delicate hearing, in the future it will be a little more quietly.”

Drawn by the power of the communing female warble, Hrafnruns future stepdaughter broke from hounding Maka’s heels and sidled her pony up to the women’s. Hrafnrun gave her a welcoming smile.

“I’m glad you came over. Ottarr and I have been talking about you and he left it to me to ask your permission before we make it permanent. We can’t keep calling you “the girl”, and after long hours we have a suggestion.”

The young girl's muteness had given way soon after the journey back to Hrafnruns homeland had begun. And even though she still didn’t speak often, when she did she had the sometimes uncomfortable, but always insightful, knack of stunning all those involved with the absolute truth of the matter.

“What do you think of Aelis? It means honest.” The girl, just learning Hrafnruns language, carefully rolled the syllables over her tongue in her high, delicate, song like voice.

“Aee-lis…Ae-liiiis…” And after a short consideration while her cheeks grew rosy she replied, ”It is good. I like it.” She seemed thoughtful for a moment, then, sitting a little straighter in her saddle her chin raised a little. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me a name. It is my first. I will not have another.”

Hrafnrun couldn’t stand to watch that proud chin wobble so with emotion. She reached over and plucked the girl child from the saddle and pulled her into her arms to be cradled like the injured creature she really was. Hrafnrun was soon soaked by years worth of unshed tears.

* * *

“Aelis.” Hrafnrun gently shook her scrawny shoulder. “Aelis, we’re here. My home. Your new home.”

Aelis peeled herself from her dreams into wakefulness. She had fallen asleep in Hrafnruns lap. Her pony had been tied to the larger horses pommel to trail along side. Hrafnrun pointed off into the distance, outlining a valley and waving her palm over a lower lying marshland.

“Surrounded by those mountains, deep in the valley, the lake that forms a bowl. That is Cerridwen's cauldron. There is a school for the druidic paths there. The lake drains into that large flat plain where it meets two other mountain rivers and it all slows to form the marsh. That is the town of Longmarsh where I was born. It will be your home now too.”

Aelis felt Hrafnrun gently squeeze her palm in reassurance. She still didn’t know how to deal with the kindnesses done her, but she was learning. Her eyes again began to blur with tears and the vividly green country began to melt together. She desperately wiped them away. She wanted to see. This place was singing to her, opening its arms. She swayed with the rhythm, letting the essence of it flow through her. It was a beautiful place. Home.