Page 12 of The Caged Viking

Dagny laughed. “I saw some kids today carrying a sign that read, ‘Welcome Home from Prison, Grandma’. Then, there was the old lady who looked like a homeless person carrying a five-hundred-dollar Gucci handbag. Not to mention a group of Stormtroopers. Pff! A medieval Viking maiden was almost normal.”

“A maiden are you now?”

Dagny elbowed her for teasing. “I assume everyone else in the family is geared up, ala Frederick’s of the Fjord.”

“Of course.” She had talked a bunch of her family members into participating in her Viking fashion show. They would be dressed as authentically as possible. “What made you so late?”

“Missed my first flight from Dulles. Some last minute forensic art needed on a terrorist case that just came in.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it later,” Kirstin said as they entered the crowds that were walking and stopping before the dozens of booths that had been set up. Some of the jobs Dagny worked on at the FBI as a forensic artist were very interesting, fodder for many a family gab fest, certainly an exciting contrast to the solitary art work she did in her DC home studio.

“Oh, my God! This is amazing,” Dagny remarked suddenly. “I haven’t been here for five years, and it’s grown so much.”

“I know. Remember the first time we came…maybe fifteen years ago? There were only a few tents, with the highlight being Uncle Rolf’s ship-building exhibition. Now, there are fifty-some booths, and they have to turn people away. The neat thing is that lots of them are working booths. People get to see the products being made, not just on display for sale. Like soap, and cheese, and swords, and candles, including those amazing time-keeping ones. We had those back on the farm in the Norselands, remember? No need for clocks then! But that’s not all here at Rosestead. Now, they also feature weaving, mead brewing, jewelry, woodcarving, leatherwork…oh, everything!”

Dagny grinned at Kirsten’s enthusiasm.

Kirstin wasn’t offended. “I do go on, I know, but this isn’t just my history, and yours. It’s my field of expertise. Seriously, I’m already making plans in my head for a proposal to bring some of my UCLA students here next year, a kind of work-study program.”

“Makes sense,” Dagny agreed.

“Yep. And did I forget to mention…the History Channel and the Food Network have both sent crews here this year to film all the happenings. Talk about Uncle Rolf hitting the bigtime!”

“Will they film your workshop, too?”

“Maybe.” Kirstin smiled.

“Do you think Travis Fimmel or Alexander Ludwig might show up?”

“In your dreams.”

They smiled at each other. Both of them had exchanged many a conversation about which was the hottest actor, the one playing Ragnor Lothbrok, or his son, Bjorn.

“Speaking of dreams…how are you and your Viking Man getting along?” Dagny asked.

“Haven’t had any dreams since I told you all about it back at Blue Dragon.”

“Good. Guess that means that the guy escaped his cage all on his own. Didn’t need your help at all.”

For some reason, Kirstin was a bit saddened by that. Not that she would want the dreams to continue, or the guy to suffer. But she felt as if she’d let him down or something. Which was silly, of course.

“Anyhow, the TV crews will probably want to catch your kulning act this evening,” Kirstin told Dagny.

Dagny groaned. “Not only do I get caught in this Housewives of the Norselands outfit, but throw in a few smelly animals. That’s all I need for my image. Calling the cows home with my singing. If some of the Fibbies back at the agency hear about this, I’ll be subjected to cow and bull jokes like you wouldn’t believe.”

Kulning was an ancient Norse ritual employing a unique, high-pitched, almost haunting vocal technique for cattle herding. Rather like yodeling but much prettier, it echoed through the valleys and fjords. As if enchanted, the cows walked to the caller.

“But you do it so well. Even back in the Norselands, on father’s farmstead, you kulned better than me or Madrene.”

“You’re just saying that because neither of you wanted the job.”

Kirstin laughed. “There is that, too.”

“I’m starved. Any chance of grabbing a bite first?”

“There’ll be a big feast tonight. Aunt Meredith has had a wild boar roasting in a pit since last night. But that’s for dinner. Oh, look. I see some gammelost over there. And manchet bread.”

“Stinky cheese and bland, unleavened bread? I’ll wait.”