Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

excerpt

Fire and Ice
For several days, the ship lay on a becalmed sea. While Finten and Ailan sat discussing
their worst fears – their slavery, the long cold winters, and uncertainties of the
future – bubbles began bursting on the water surface, becoming more and more
intense as the ship drifted slowly landward. When several fish popped up to float
dead on the water, one of the men reached over the side to retrieve a floating cod. He
remarked that the sea felt amazingly warm. Two other crew members reached into
the water and pulled out a small halibut. Everyone gathered around in amazement.
As more Norsemen plucked up floating fish, the meat fell apart in their hands
and onto the deck. When the first man remarked the fish he’d pulled up smelled
fresh-cooked, he pushed back the scaly skin and took a tiny nibble then another
and announced that it tasted good. Another sniffed then took a nibble while others
watched. Those who had dared to taste ate on and other Norsemen reached over the
sides for fish and laughed as they ate.
The Brothers joined the crew at the ship’s rail but by then hissing hot air burst
close to the prow and pulsating plumes of sediment, the colour of egg yoke, rose to
the surface and surged all around the ship. Clouds of yellow steam filled the air with
the smell of sulphur, making breathing difficult. Then a slow-moving cloud of white
smoke enveloped the ship and droplets of rain burned exposed skin, causing blisters.
The men dropped their fish and ran to the prow in a panic.
Finten’s worst fears had been realized. He knew they had finally travelled too
far and were now on the edge of hell. Soon pagans and Christians alike would be
plunged into the fiery depth. Once more he prayed aloud the psalm of death and his
Brothers joined in: “Out of the depth I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my prayer.”
Captain Hjálmar shouted for calm. “And shut that infernal babbling. You papish
thralls are worse than a bunch of old women. How can I think with all that commotion?”
After about an hour of increasing turmoil in the water, the ship lurched, as a firebreathing
monster rumbled, spurting hot ash into the air. A wave formed, seemingly
out of nowhere, and pushed the Nordic knarr from the seething mountain, which
now burst and heaved its way above the boiling water. Freki ran to his captain. “I
knew it. I knew it. Now we’re all going to die in fire and water.” Everyone on board
cried out to different gods in fear and trembling. Only Captain Hjálmar appeared to
maintain his calm until he bellowed, “Quiet! Pay attention.”
Still Freki jumped up and down pulling at the captain’s cloak and shrieking. Hjálmar
pushed Freki aside and shouted above the din, calling for buckets of seawater
to douse the hot coals smouldering among the panicked sheep. The sky filled
with black clouds. A staccato of thunder and lightning sounded like Thor’s hammer
to the terrified Norsemen, while a monstrous wind roared out of nowhere to send

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763106

Arrows

excerpt

Jerusalem on a path of thistles before I would knowingly bring her
into the wolf’s den.
It took me all of an Amen to dismiss any foolhardy notion that we
could possibly survive by ourselves in the wilderness. I had seen
Apacuana sniff the air and guide us through thick forest to ripe fruit
dangling from trees, dig out succulent roots and catch fish with her
hands after stunning them with barbasco leaves, but Tamanoa had
been born in a Spanish settlement and had missed learning the ways
of the jungle. Formypart, I was as useless as a cart in this geography.
Apacuana must remain with her people. If I loved her at all, I
must ensure that. And Tamanoa had stolen a hammock from the
monster Pánfilo, who had already cut off his nose for much less, so
returning to Losada could be a lethal gamble for him.
I could go back, hiding behind my missionary duties, and keep on
achieving nothing, for I knew there would be no quenching the
greed that motivated the conquistadors, or else I could choose to go
further into the unknown to where the prospect of preventing more
massacres was real.
I decided, after watching Apacuana bathing in the river, at that
shoreline, with the water to her knees, as much a part of the natural
world as all the other creatures, that I had to convince the Indians
that their cause was lost. They had to surrender or flee into the
mountains. Peace was the only way to preserve their race.
“Well, my friend,” I said to Tamanoa, putting my arm around his
shoulder, feeling strangely optimistic, as we resumed walking. “At
least now we know where we are going.”
“We do?”
“We are going to Suruapo.”
“I don’t think I understood. What did you say?”
“We are going to Suruapo.”
He looked dumbfounded.
“We are going to try and stop this war. If they go to war, there will
be a horrible massacre. They have no chance of winning it. They
have no harquebuses, no horses, no armour. We need to stop them
from trying.”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Swamped

excerpt

There were plenty of buying orders lined up, but no one was reaching
out to the offers, one of these being Roberts’ stock, sitting idle at 33
cents. Platinum Properties was a little higher today, and Eteo managed
to unload a few shares for Tom, an anxious guy who always sold early
during a stock’s run. Eteo had advised him to hang in there, but as
usual Tom couldn’t be held back. Eteo sold half of Tom’s position at
a price that made his client a good profit, and that after all was the
name of the game.
Wheaton was trading steadily at a little over a dollar, and Lionsgate
also looked firm. Ariana’s account was already ahead by a good
12 percent. Eteo decided to give her a call.
“Hello baby, how is your morning so far?” he asked her.
“It’s good,” Ariana said, then added, “and even better now that
you’ve called.”
“I like that. Would you like to come downtown and have lunch
with me?”
“Today, my love?”
“If you’re free.”
“Not today, Eteo, I need to visit my mom. How about tomorrow
or Friday”
“Friday is better for me. Put it in your diary, sweet baby,” Eteo
said. “By the way, the boys were very impressed when they met you,
thought I should let you know that.”
“Thank you, my love. I like that, and I appreciate you telling me.
Kisses, lots of kisses.”
“Talk to you later tonight, okay?”
“In the afternoon if you can, please.”
“Okay. Let me know when you’re back home from your mom’s.”
“Love you.”
“You too. Hey baby, this weekend, I’d like us to go away for a couple
of days…would you like that?”
She remained silent for a moment. Then her voice was heard, as
pleasant as the chirps of birds in love.
“I would love to go with you, my love.”
“Okay then…talk to you soon,” Eteo said and put the phone
down just as Logan walked in again.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

Ken Kirkby – Warrior Painter

excerpt

When they reached the shores of the land he had dreamed of for so
long, they dismantled the big ships and built smaller boats more suitable to
navigation of the three rivers. The Rus travelled deep into the heart of this
territory sparsely populated by itinerant Slavic tribes.
With a view to establishing new trading partnerships through the
medium of the exchange of ideas and goods, Rurik and his countrymen
arrived at the place now called Kiev. There he married one of the local
tribeswomen and sired two sons.
Folklore has it that Rurik brought the warring tribes together and
established peace and cooperation between them. And while there is some
argument that the Slavs occupied the area for three centuries before the
Vikings’ arrival, Western scholars make the case for the formation of the
Slav state by Varangians (Vikings).
As the years passed and Rurik grew older, his thoughts turned toward
home. He gathered all the clans and suggested it would be prudent to
form a nation under a common name and shared vision. As it was still an
area inhabited largely by independent and warring tribes, the merchants
and traders who had developed commercial ties agreed there was greater
safely and security in numbers. Accordingly, the clan leaders returned to
their peoples to hold council. Although the feasts and the talks continued
for many days, the partisan clans failed to agree on a common name and
returned to Rurik in disarray.
As Don Hymie explained it, based on his readings in the early Norse
language and his study of the family documentation, the common link
within the clans was indeed a result of Rurik’s leadership. Standing before
the assembled tribes, the warrior chieftain proclaimed, “I am Rurik of the
Rus, I offer you my name under which to form a nation.” And the place was
thereafter known as Rus—or Russia.
Just as an interesting postscript, and detailed in the National Geographic
issue mentioned earlier, there presently exists in the heart of the Kremlin,
an enormous bronze statue of a Viking warrior, Rurik of the Rus. His shield
is supported by one mailed fist, and his sword is belted at his side. If you
were to have the opportunity to closely examine this statue, dedicated to
the man who organised the Slavic Tribes—and who is still acclaimed as the
Father of Russia—you would note a marked resemblance in features to Ken
Kirkby and even more so to his son, Michael.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CB8W4CG