Page 6 of The Blue Viking

Came a Scottish witch,

Her name was Maire the Fair

Because of her beauty rich,

But also because of her

Fairness pitch.

No mere Viking would use her so,

Boast of his conquest,

Then walk away, no impairment to show.

Thus befell the witch’s curse so dark

And the painted face mark.

Now the fierce Norse lackbrain

Is no longer vain.

He is known as Rurik the Blue.

Or sometimes Rurik the Greater…

This is true.

Disgusted, Rurik tossed his knife to the ground, giving up on removing the peat sludge from his boots and wool braies. Instead, he stood and stomped off to a nearby lake… or what the Scots referred to as a loch. It was a strange land, Scotland. At times, its barren, mountainous landscape could appear soulrendingly bleak, and at others, beautiful, almost in a spiritual sense. Not unlike his own harsh Norway.

The weather was often dreary and dismal. A mist, which the Norse referred to as haar, poured from the North Sea, even on warm, clear days, like today.

Hearing a loud screeching noise, Rurik glanced upward to see a large golden eagle soaring lazily over the moors, a young red deer in its powerful talons. No doubt it would make a tasty meal for the birdlings left in some lofty aerie. At times like this, he missed his dog, Beast, a wolfhound that he had left behind at Ravenshire in Northumbria to breed with one of his friend Eirik’s bitches.

Yea, there was a beauty of sorts in this stark land he had come to hate so much.

Rurik waded, garments and all, into the icy water. Then, with a teeth-chattering exclamation of “Brrrrr!” and a full-body shiver, he dove underwater and swam till the water cleansed him.

When he finally came up out of the water, he heard Bolthor call out to him, “Dost think it wise to go into the lake without a weapon? The Scottish legends speak of huge monsters that reside in the depths of their lochs … monsters that resemble a combination of fish and dragon. Hmmm. I recall one of their epics that relates the story of Each uisage, which means something like water horse, and…”

Rurik didn’t wait for more. He dove underwater once again. He would rather risk fierce water dragons, or freezing some precious body part, than hear another of Bolthor’s horrible sagas.

But Rurik did wonder as he swam.

Would his quest ever end?

Was he doomed to wear the blue face mark for life?

Why had the witch cursed him so?

And where was Maire hiding?

Hah! She was no doubt living the soft life in some Highland castle chamber, uncaring of all the havoc she wreaked. And she was fully aware of his fruitless search for her, he would warrant, and laughing joyously about the idiocy of it all.

The same day, nearby at Beinne Breigha

Maire was living in a wooden cage … a cage, for the love of St. Colomba! And she was so miserable she felt like weeping.