Gone Viing 07

Gone Viking 07:

To Repair Time

(Year 1674 of the reign of Louis XIV King of France)

Something was seriously out of whack. I had traveled from the twenty-first century to the first millennium. There, I encountered a boulder being carved before my eyes in 1674!

I never questioned the possibility of MY time travel-- it was weird, wonderful, scary even-- not a threat to time itself; I was just an innocent tourist, a researcher. But multiple time events?! Yikes!

Mestigoit's magic faded. The light to see the words had gone, the water had become murky again. I had held my breath far longer than ever before, in my effort to translate the 'message.' I clawed my way to the surface.

The sky had darkened. Storm clouds rolled over the horizon from the west... and the east?!! Around the boulder, a whirlpool was forming. My mind leapt out to the shaman. Even though his magic failed in illuminating the carving, and the weather and the river had turned against us; he linked his power with mine-- YES, I did have power... but it took both of us to overcome the malignancy of the river... The ages wanted to keep their secrets; to eliminate witnesses.

I made it to shore, even though unseen forces grabbed at my ankles and had tried to pull me back into the maelstrom. It had not started to rain, but the darkness was that of twilight, and a fierce wind was blowing; so fierce I wondered how Ellat had managed such a large and warm bonfire. Mestigoit's two acolytes, then fully clothed, exerted all their concentration to keep the flames alive.

I toasted my shivering body, too close to the flames, a blessed warmth instantly drying my panties and skin. My clothes were offered to me, and I gratefully donned a shirt, pants, and shoes.

Mestigoit's eyes were deep and unfathomable, locked with mine. There was no emotion, no fear, no anger; instead, a deep competence, a resolve to solve this THING. This was the realm of the shaman to deal with the strange.

"Woman of Power, what must be done?"

Mestigoit asked this question, knowing I knew the answer-- and yet, I didn't. Not yet. I noted I was not given back the baldric with my Viking long knife. Instantly, I knew what was required of me. "I must return to my own time; this may heal the rift in time."

The flames died in the bonfire, but I was still warm, excited to see how time would be healed. Ellat had disappeared while I was communicating with Mestigoit. The acolytes stood by the shore near a canoe I had not seen before. They were tall for the People, about my height, but lean and lightly muscled.

By then, each wore loincloths and a leather shirt. My eyes wandered to the bulges in the loincloth, as I remembered how I first had seen them both-- nude and aroused. As though they could read my thoughts, I SWEAR I could see them both blush and swallow hard.

Regaining their composure, they boarded the canoe, one at the bow the other at the stern... they aligned the craft parallel with the shore, so I could step in without getting my feet wet.

My thoughts were with Mestigoit. "They know where Ellat brought you on board the Longship. They know the river very well. Do not speak, it distracts them from what they must do... they are skilled, but are still in training, respect them for what they are-- talented amateurs."

With the current in our favor, we made good time. I felt my contact with Mestigoit weaken, and then it finally ended. My connection with the shaman was done, forever? I regretted that there were no goodbyes to Agnar; the rough, the compassionate, the respectful... the Father.

The current was speeding us to the end of my journey, but, at times, seemed to conspire to end it before its time. Wayward eddies pushed the dugout to shallows, to ground us and slow our travel. Lightning strikes splintered trees along the shore; we kept to the middle channel to avoid falling and smoking tree limbs. The submerged carcass of a moose sped past us, the giant antlers nearly tipping our shallow draft craft.

The dark clouds blotted out the sky until there was no light on the water, but the reflections of the fires from the burning trees at the water's edge. We sped by the island where I had seen Agnar's daughter win the match, remembering the naked princess full of joy in her victory.

No fires shown on the island. The People had left the island, where they traded for the lands needed for the spring planting.

Where the river narrowed, where the bridge-- the twenty-first century bridge-- crossed the river, I saw the ancient landing ground. First a landing ground for the People, then a landing ground for Vikings, then a trading place for others and a ferry for farmers to bring produce to the market town. Succession.

I had stepped off that shore from the twenty-first century into the tenth century. Could I reverse the process? Those who remained on the river, remained unchanged. Only I would change. I hoped. And what of the French man carving the rock in the river to the North of here? What would happen to him?

Expertly, the acolytes of the shaman brought the dugout parallel to the shore on the exact spot where I had boarded the Longship. They acknowledged my leaving the dugout with solemn nods, and swiftly departed into the fog of a new dawn.

As I turned away from the river and the tenth century, I was looking into the twenty-first century. Overhead, the President's Bridge was humming with early morning commuters. Parked in the shadow of the bridge was my Subaru, none the worse. In a panic, I frisked myself...damn keys! But with all I had been through, they were still in the right-hand front pocket where I always put them. I was home, just as my husband was leaving for work.

He was used to my ways and was simply relieved to see me intact. "Talk tonight?"

"Yeah... after some dinner and weed, we will both need it."

He laughed and winked. Damn, I love that man.

(Gone Viking is done. What will archeologists make of a twenty-first century bra unearthed in a Native American camp of the tenth century current era? Things left behind have meaning.)

Thanks to Kenji Sato and my muse, Molly T. Be well, Molly!

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