Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

excerpt

and beast followed beast into the churning ice. Blue ice turned bright red. The remaining
ewes grew suddenly silent.
When a channel opened, Hjálmar bellowed, “Raise the sail.”
Once more, the wind pulled the ship through the mountains of ice that bumped
and ground; giant pincers threatened to grasp the vessel and break her like a nut.
On top of one mountain of ice, two towering white creatures stood on hind legs as
if to warn the stricken mariners. These woolly beasts appeared to the Norsemen to
be enormous sheep as large as any cattle on Pictland pastures. The sailors had surely
reached the edge of the world and were about to be plummeted to the depths of hell.
Tough Norsemen wept openly as they stood. Monks wailed their prohibited
prayers aloud.
“Out of the depth I cry to you, O Lord.”
After two days and nights in the ice fields, the fog lifted and the Norsemen sailed
into clear waters with only remnants of drifting ice here and there. They had survived
against all odds. The monks, who prayed constantly throughout the ordeal,
concluded their prayers with joy in their voices. Father Finten intoned the Song of
the Three Young Men from the book of Daniel:
“All you works of the Lord, bless the Lord.”
Captain Hjálmar smiled. Even Illska seemed to approve.
All afternoon and through the starry night, Hjálmar allowed his craft to drift
with the current. The remaining sheep were fed and given water. Finten informed
the captain that little fodder and only one ram remained. “Unless you turn back to
Thulé, the remaining sheep will soon die of hunger and perhaps of thirst.”
Hjálmar appeared to appreciate the Irish priest’s concern and confided in Finten.
“I do not wish to fight the current nor risk a return to the ice. It would be better to
slaughter sheep for food and furs and carry on to warmer waters.”
While Father Finten stood close by, Captain Hjálmar called Bjorn to discuss the
situation. The priest could hear both men clearly.
The captain spoke first. “The Irishman tells me only one ram remains among
nineteen ewes. It would be madness to face our Thulé investors without the cargo
we promised.”
Bjorn answered, “I agree; it would be madness. Our flock of rams was what the
herders desperately needed for fresh breeding. They will be furious when we fail to
deliver them.”
The conversation ran back and forth between the two voices in low muffled tones.
“Besides the loss of our rams, to fight the cold current back to Thulé would take
longer than the remaining sheep could possibly last.”
“The rams were our greatest cargo, and the crew will be disappointed to have lost
their share. But I would not like to face the herders. Captain Haraldsson told me
from his return from Thulé that many of their ewes are unable to carry pregnancies
to term. Thulé herders blame their present stock of rams, the ones we delivered on
our last two voyages.”
“If we continue south and east, we should pick up the warm stream that I know
flows back across the ocean to home waters.”
“If such a warm stream comes this far. No one has ever charted the current that
warms our home shores.”

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

Arrows

excerpt

“That’s not it,” he said, spitting out a leaf he had been chewing.
“She’s a woman. They are different from us.”
“Maybe women have to be different.”
“Of course,” he said.
“When you told her about our plan,” I asked. “What did she say
to you?”
This was a question I had been waiting to ask him for days. Ever
since Tamanoa had spoken to Apacuana at my request, asking her to
lead us to Suruapo, she had been sullen and silent, clearly
contemplating the greeting she would receive from Baruta. I wanted
to know if she resented me, if she felt I was forsaking her.
“She said she must accept the ways of Mareoka.”
“What is Mareoka?”
“Like your god. Only different.”
A word I needed to learn. Mareoka.
“These people are different from your people,” Tamanoa said.
“They must learn to live one day at a time. Not like your people,
always planning years in advance. You cannot tell the forest what to
do. You cannot predict the thunder storm that might come
tomorrow. You must learn to accept what each day brings. Just live.
Not for tomorrow. For today.
“Apacuana knows no other way to live,” he continued. “She
accepted what I told her. You believe it was your plan to go to
Suruapo. How do you know it was not the plan of Mareoka? She
knows she cannot avoid Baruta.”
Our discussion had solved nothing, but at least it was a
distraction from the heat. In the misty mountains where the village
of Suruapo lay, the weather was generally milder than in the valleys
below, but the crisp air of daybreak could warm up considerably in
the None hour. I looked up and calculated it was shortly after noon.
In the rainy season, my robes got soaked and dried out on me at
least once a day, so I was beginning to smell like well-aged cheese.
The thought of a hammock and roof over my head was tantalizing.
In the distance we could see a few thatched roofs and the smoke of
several fires. We could even catch the occasional echo of distant …

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

Swamped

excerpt

Eteo took a few deep breaths and repeated his mantra, the special
words he used to take his mind away from the daily grind and concentrate
it on his breathing, which slowly relaxed him. He stretched
his legs on top of the low filing cabinet positioned against the window
and in a minute or two felt invigorated and renewed. The rest of the
day unfolded briskly but smoothly, but before he left for home, he
called Susan and asked her to come down to his office. She arrived
with a few loose documents in her hands, her way of creating the appearance
of having some paperwork for Eteo to deal with so that others
wouldn’t find her frequent visits questionable.
“How are you, sweet Susan?”
“I’m good, but very busy. How about you, honey?”
“Busy enough, which is good. I just wanted to tell you in person
that I need to take a rain-check on our weekend outing. Some…
things have come up,” Eteo said.
“Oh, well … okay … sure” Susan mumbled, disappointment and
stress evident in her widened eyes and trembling lips. Her eyebrows
rose in surprise and her cheeks flushed.
“Next weekend, I hope, sweet Susan.”
“I’m not sure, Eteo,” she blurted out, then paused and looked at
him for a long moment before adding, “Do you still want this relationship,
Eteo? Has something come up in the office … or out there?”
“Well, I have noticed others in here, eyeing me in a strange way,”
Eteo said, jumping at the opportunity. “It’s something I’ve never
liked.” He cleared his throat. “I prefer my romantic life to stay private
and not …” He left the sentence unfinished and looked down at his
desk. Susan understood at once what Eteo wanted. There was no need
for further details, and although she liked Eteo and enjoyed their
times together, she accepted the situation.
“I understand, Eteo. It’s all good.” she said and without another
word she turned and left him. Eteo watched her go the elevator with
a mixture of sadness and relief.
Saturday afternoon came around at last. Logan had left for the
Okanagan early in the morning, leaving his father to take care of all
the house things for Alex and Jonathan for the next two days.

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

Ken Kirkby – Warrior Painter

excerpt

The Pit of Despair
“Great loss can only occur if one risks the affliction of great passion.”
(Pat Kerry, Writer)
~~
Ken has been heard to complain bitterly that while every relationship starts
off nicely, at some point the woman in his life sets out to change him. It may
begin with accusations that he is a workaholic. And that is quite true—he
often paints all night, or caught in the throes of a challenging book will look
up in surprise to find the sun is already rising. He is not a man who needs
holidays because whatever his current project, it demands all his time and a
day off is an unwelcome interruption.
He does make a dedicated attempt to attend to the social graces, but a
keen observer can identify the point at which he shifts into his obligatory
social stance, almost audibly counting beats until he can get back to his own
story or crusade. But it isn’t familiarity that breeds these irritations—he’s
forever been this man. The difficulty is that in the beginning these are often
seen by his partner as fascinating or mildly amusing quirks.
It is also the nature of most females to believe that once she comes into
a man’s life, his commitment to her will transform him. When this fails to
occur it can be the beginning of the end for the relationship.
History shows that when Ken does fall in love, he does so with the
same passionate zeal that he approaches all the other important things in
life. And even if a woman wanted to, it would be difficult to withstand such
persuasive powers.
Miloo, his first love, was several years older than the fifteen-year-old
boy on the edge of manhood. She was Portuguese, exotic and lovely
in spirit. Ken’s mother disapproved and pointed out that the girl was of a
lower social order. If anything more were needed, this ensured that Ken
found Miloo irresistible. They loved each other with all the tenderness and
boundless devotion peculiar to young people. He wooed her with drawings
and dreams of escape from the tyranny of both family and government; then
abruptly lost her to a ruptured appendix. With no time to say goodbye, Ken
was devastated and this was overlaid with intolerable guilt when he learned

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