Henron Oy Mahtec trudged up the hill to the small lodge of Fyraen, Sage of the village. Henron’s problem bordered onto the head-shaking, pitying sort of sympathy afforded to a man of some rank in the community. At least currently of some rank, if this problem wasn’t sorted, though. A daughter carrying an axe. Of course, women should be formidable, remorseless, battling when defending children, home or over the body of a fallen husband, father, brother, or lover. But insistently, consistently carrying weaponry by choice and wearing trousers?

He knocked on the door, the required seven times, the voice carved by age but still with vitality bade him enter.

‘Henron,’ on hearing that, inside he sagged with relief. For a Sage to address you by your first name only was a badge of some note. He was still respected.

He joined Sage Fyaen crossed legged, across from the long low table currently covered by a long parchment scroll.

‘Now to business,’ Fyaen began while reading left to right ‘I have thought deep on the issue and on the conversations with you and you and your daughter Acseorana,’ the conversational tone grew serious, as did the expression ‘In consequence it was necessary to consult Lore and to conduct mid-night observances,’

Oy Mahtec’s innards tightened, those words were preparation for bad news.
‘To lighten this I can assure you, your wife and also in advance Chief Ragelow none of this is your fault. It is mere chance, which could happen to anyone, but your daughter has become subject to the attentions of a Kwyrki, mischievous little creatures,’

Oy Mahtec made three religious signs.

‘Possessed?’ he gasped which caused the sage to wave a hand dismissively.
‘No. Influenced. That’s how Kwyrkis gain their entertainment. This one must have alighted on our village some while and bided its time. A skilled one I reckon, judging by the tangle it wove through,’

‘How so? What? Why?’

‘Why? For its own sake. As for the rest. Kwyrkis will weave circumstances and coincidences into something unforeseen. Working backwards this one I deduced chanced upon your daughter’s name, Acseorana. An innocent one, being a flower which blooms soft yellow and white associated with cheerfulness and serenity, if pronounced correctly,’ he emphasised the syllables ‘A-ses-orana’ then held up one hand ‘But if you use the easterly accent the ‘c and ‘e’ become harsh. First syllable A-x-si, and that bears the abbreviation of her full name. Add that to your family name Oy Mahtec ‘Of Steadfast’, ‘he shrugged ‘Axsi of Steadfast. It is a route in for a Kwyrki to wield influence, particularly on a youngster and a maiden too,’ he shook his head, again the sympathy ‘Oh they are deft, pesky and worse arbitrary in their doings,’

Oy Mahtec’s head dropped. All the usual advice, admonishments, lectures and pleadings been to no avail. Well, at least there was a reason. Not that anyone accepted fatalistically the arrival of any of the Sly’s various folk.

‘Now take heart man. I will work upon a means to drive this creature from our village. In the meantime, it would be best to utilise your daughter’s affliction in carrying an axe. Put her to chopping wood, small portions of course that current blade is modest and large arms do not suit a girl,’

Her father managed a smile.

Even so.

‘Axi’ Oy Mahtec. It would soon surface, and stick.

Acseorana huffed and channelled her irritation into sharpening the axe edge with a stone. Next to her the small female seated on the rock tutted as they dispelled the image from the pool.

‘Would ye have heard such convoluted hoo-hah? As if any Kwyrki worthy o’ the name would be wasting their time on that sort of business?’

‘That wot I am? A waste of time?’ grumbled the girl at which the little female tutted.

‘Sush now maidy. There’s the trouble with you young girls, being after paying excessive heed on words of men prone to gabbling approximations on things they don’t understand. Now wasn’t I telling you being the second child of the third child of the seventh generation’s direct line? He being a powerful warrior with the war-shafted iron twin head. Coragh The Sturdy. Ah, wasn’t he a grand sight to see in battle,’ the little green female stared wistfully back into another time.

‘But by generational calculations I come from one hundred and twenty-eight different folk, mostly farmers,’ Acseorana in addition to being stubborn was most pedantic when it came to calculating ancestors lines, eschewing the selective picking of ancestors most folk did.

‘Strong blood flows straight and true maidy. It does not care what hangs between the legs or sprouts from the chests and innards of a human,’

Acseorana didn’t have a response for that. She was still trying to get to grips with this visit from an Eolas? They actually did sit and tell you all sorts of things, because they felt it important. Some creature out of folklore telling her about bloodlines. Meanwhile her dear Pa and that old crusty discussing another creature from tales?

What was a girl supposed to accept? She gazed at the long slender haft and the small, slender axe head. This felt so right in her hands.

The next morning, at the gentle insistence from her father to make use of her current habit, Acseorana was sent out to a nearby copse to chop thinnish wood as kindling. Villagers would bother her, not since she had inconvenienced one of the lads with her axe haft between his legs.

She was relieved there was no sight of that chirpy Eolas; leaving her alone to her own thoughts. Couldn’t folk just accept the fact she liked this axe? And did elderly women have to knowingly make remarks about her tydes.

She was about to take one hefty swing at a general inoffensive fallen branch when a far off unfamiliar strumming sound somewhere to the northern edge of the copse, distracted her, even more so when followed a male voice in song. Curiosity edged with annoyance bade her move closer to the source. There was a young man.

Seated on a fallen tree, the source of the music being something she reckoned was a lute, his voice was reasonable, though the lyrics were a bit obscure, possibly to do with wandering. With axe lowered casually in one hand she came into his view, causing him some surprise.

‘Good morning,’ they chorused, he a bit shaken, she somewhat strained.

Then one of those awkward pauses strangers indulge in when feeling there were more pressing topics than weather.

‘Acseorana Oy Mahtec,’ she announced, ‘I am of the village Ait ar Bith, a myle back,’

‘Irrendan Fe’Tybale,’ he returned ‘I am visiting at Áit Eigin,’ a nervous laugh ‘Also a myle back. I understand I am supposed to be suspicious of you,’

‘And I.’ Acseorana responded with confident giggle ‘Am not supposed to shake hands with you without counting my fingers afterwards,’

Another pause as each considered the item they carried, she spoke first.

‘I’m chopping wood. Everyone is disagreeable with me about this,’ she lightly swung the axe ‘So I make myself useful until they let me be,’ she narrowed her eyes ‘Fe? That’s a noble ‘thingy’ isn’t?’

‘Honorific,’ he offered ‘Yes. My father is not too pleased his younger son, interested in The Arts and not matters Military. He sent me out here to talk with Myranagh an old Sage he knew years back. The old fellah for some unaccountable reason retired to his village of birth,’ Irrendan managed to convey a shrug with a chord on the instrument ‘To discuss this with him,’

Acseorana with axe on her lap sat next to him.

‘Did you?’

‘Oh yes,’ and grimaced ‘And you are not going to believe this,’

‘Challenge me,’ Acseorana said, in light of recent events her mind was very open.

‘Well it seems there truly are Kwirkys,’ he began, such was impact of the synchronicity, not that she was aware of the concept that Acseorana could not help but interrupt.

‘And because your first name came be shortened to something peculiar which when added to your family name leads you down this path, which has been arranged by a Kwirky,’

He gawped, she extended her hand and said.

‘Also known as Axi’ Oy Mahtec. Apparently,’

He took the proffered hand and gently shook it

‘Irrey Fe’Tybale, Apparently, ‘Do you know what yours is supposed to mean?’

‘Not a Frib’. No,’ she said ‘Anyway it’s all of a load of hoohah. That’s what this Eolas told me,’ Acseorana made a quick diagonal cross gesture over her heart ‘Honest to DevoutDay, s’true. I did meet one. They told me, it’s all to do what flows in the blood,’

‘An Eolas. High Holy. You don’t think I could meet them?’

‘I dunno. This one is a female and seems sorta sproggly about men. Bit unfair really,’ Acseorana considered the matter, and brightened ‘If she turns up I could mention it. If not,’ she nibbled her lip ‘We could meet here tomorrow and talk things over and they might turn up?’

Somewhat heartened by that slight hopeful turn in her voice and look in her eyes he agreed.

‘And Sage Myranagh is quite eager to talk about ballads and the underlining tones of duty and allegories. We,’ he paused now ‘Might be able to extend the daily visits and try and sort this out,’

Of good heart they went their separate ways.

Acseorana returned to her village, axe tucked into a belt, a large weight of kindling across her shoulders and whistling jauntily.

Opinion on the girl was divided; several ways, so much so she was quite left alone. The village Sage Fyraen was mystified.

Until he was contacted in sageful ways by Sage Myranagh who relayed the circumstance of the young very lesser noble sent to him by a perplexed father. The two discussed the matter at much length and decided observation was needed and also study of lineages.

Meanwhile the young pair met each day to chat about this and that, sharing opinions and eventually kisses.

Since village gossip spread as fast as any powerful weather event, nothing was kept secret. However, by then both sages warned the Village Chieftains, Elders and Senior old women to leave well alone.

Irrendan extended his stay, and his father was glad to have him out of the way.

The winter was hard and brought raiders, such was the lacklustre of the local lord, the two villages were left to fend for themselves. They put together a determined but seemingly unimpressive band, hardly the bandit leader thought opposition for seasoned ravagers.

And yet inspired by the stirring songs of the bold balladeer and the ferocity of the axe wielding girl courage blossomed forth and many a raider’s blood stained the snows. Tales spread across the region and the villages of Ait ar Bith and Áit Eigin were not troubled again.

At the news that spring of a wedding Lord Fe’Tybale rode swiftly to find out what The High Holy his younger son was up to.

There to be greeted by several stalwart village men, and two sages who spoke at some length about the blood lines of Coragh The Sturdy and his loyal minstrel Faynemoor.

Just to prove the point runes were caste several ways. Fe’Tybale, ever the man to be pragmatic and imitate the actions of a tough tree in a storm, bent and gave his blessing to the match.

After all, he thought, when you put the events and facts together, the conclusion was inevitable, one might say self-evident. Things could well turn for the best.

And they did. His son firstly became a respected wise leader of two villages, then replaced a local lacklustre lord. The unspoken but acknowledged fact being his stalwart warrior wife.

Because Time does not work in the same way for everyone.

The Eolas met with two somewhat grumpy Kwirkys. In A Place.

‘Spoilt our fun. You did,’ one said

‘Yer,’ added the second ‘Having it all work out advantageous. Whispering to them Sages,’

‘Ah. Away with ye. You great pair o’ lumpen heads. Can you no see? Warrior Girl. Thoughtful Bardish fellow. Descendants from legendary folk of yore. That is certainly an unavoidable event. You were just playing your part,’

There was much grumbling by The Kwirkys. More so because they knew.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that an unconventional young woman in possession of warrior talents must be in need of a thoughtful artistic young man as a spouse”