The priest could tell by the sudden chill that something was different about the girl. People shifted from foot to foot, their eyes dancing this way and that. There was an intake of breath, the quieting of voices and mutters. People swallowed, placed their hands on their weapons, some clenched their teeth.
She was not short, but shorter than the men she walked through. The people, even the strongest of the men parted off to the side as she walked.
She was about seventeen, had brown hair, and as she came closer the priest saw she had dark brown eyes, the color of mud, with flecks of green the color of tree lichens. She wore trousers like a man, with a short leather dress that laced up the front, with a hood that was drawn back. She had war paint smeared on her cheeks, and dark makeup under her eyes. Her hair was braided back into a Mohawk with wood and bone beads mixed in. At her waste she had a sword, a large one, like that a burly man would wield. On her back hung a circle shield.
But what struck the priest as the strangest about her was that a large black crow perched on her shoulder. It had deep obsidian eyes, and sat un moving on the girl's shoulder, his black beak glistening.
If the priest didn't know any better, he would say that everyone was scared of this girl, true, she was no scamp, she had meat on her bones, but she was still shorter than all the other men. What would the have to fear?
She made her way through the crowd to bow before the Jarl.
"What is the she-devil doing here?" a young man said to his wife.
"Hush, you will send the gods wrath on us if you speak so." His wife shushed. There was a murmur through the crowd. Then the girl's eyes went over from the Jarl to land on the priest. He must be a sight, the monks robes all tangled and his face bruised and cut, his eyes hallow from the voyage from England.
"May I have the Christian?" she asked, her voice loud, and commanding. The jarl glanced at the priest, then at her.
"Why would you want a Christian, Gods-child?"
"My reasons are the gods." She said, as if irritated with a child.
"You may have him then, take him, and anything else you want from my hall." The Jarl said, he seemed on edge, his voice hiding fear. The girl walked over to the priest, grabbed his rope collar and yanked him by it. Then she looked over the other treasures they had received from the monastery the priest had come from. She continued to the table, where she grabbed a loaf of bread and a cup of mead, took a bite of the bread, then smiled at the Jarl.
She left with an audible sigh waving through the people.
They left the village, the eyes of those around them either staring or averting. When they reached the edge of town the girl turned to the priest and gave him a Loki like smile.
"Hungry Christian?" She asked, handing him the bread.
"Why did you do that?" he asked, she could tell she was startled he knew her language.
"You are rusty at my language," she said to him in his language. He looked at her stunned.
"But it seems you are flawless in mine." He said. She forced the bread into his hands and continued walking, pulling him along with the rope as she tipped the mug to her lips.
"You should be grateful." She told him, glancing back. The crow shot off her shoulder and into the woods.
"Grateful to the one that will kill me?"
"Who says I am going to kill you?"
"Aren't you?" She stopped and gave him a wry smile.
"Maybe if the Christian trusted his God in the way he should he wouldn't be asking so many questions."
There was a silence, and she continued walking.
"Do you trust your God with blind faith?" the priest asked.
"Of course, you should as well, your God being invisible and everywhere at once." The priest glanced at her as he reached the bread up to his mouth to eat, he hadn't eaten in days.
"What is your name Christian?" She asked.
"Philip is my Christian name." he said between bites. "And you?"
"The people here call me gods-sent, but that is only because they are scared of me, my name is Kydea."
He was silent for a moment. When he was finished with his bread he started to pray to Mary, mother of God. But he didn't get far.
She stopped in the middle of the road, making him run into her shield.
"Stop that!" she hissed, he sat in the dirt, looking up at her fiery figure.
"I, I was just praying." Philip said. She scowled at him.
"You were not praying to your God?"
"No, I mean, yes, well-"
"Mary was a woman, not a god, she is not like a goddess, she is not like one of many gods. Your God is the only god, so why do you not pray to him?"
"Well, because, God set Mary up as a patron for us-"
"Does it say that in your scripts?" He paused, thinking for a moment.
"No-I-don't think so."
"Then why do you do it? Hm?" there was a pause. "When Vikings pray to Oden, we pray to him, not to his wife, Fraya, not to his sons, Thor and Loki, to him. Is your God too good to hear the prayers of his servants?"
"No-"
"Then next time pray to him! Because he is the only one that can save you! Not his mother, she was chosen by your God to bare him, not to hear prayers." She cursed in Viking, then dragged him to his feet by yanking on the rope. The rest of the walk was silent, as she walked off the road and up a hill into the woods.
Philip thought hard on what she had said.
They finally reached a campsite. It was small, for one, with a mud colored horse tied next to a dug hut and a fire pit. And her friend crow resting on the horse's head, it cawed its happiness to see her, then tucked its head back under its wing.
"Rest if you need to Christian." She muttered, clearly in a bad mood. She tied his rope to a tree and started about with the fire.
When she had started a soup Philip had gained enough courage to speak.
"How did you know so much about Mary?" He asked. She stayed silent, looking into the flames.
"Never you mind, Christian, just rest, we will walk through the night."
"No, tell me, you know about Christianity, yet oppose it so, how?" She bared her teeth like a wild animal, then stirred the soup.
"I do not oppose Christians." She said quietly. He furrowed his brow.
"Why? Everyone else here seems to." He came to sit across the fire from her, the rope on his neck tightening.
"Don't you mind me, now here," she thrust food into his hands. "We will be leaving at sun down, so eat."
Philip looked at her quizzically, then started to eat.