Nisse, Julefest, and Hooves- Sixth Day of Christmas
Story by A Smiling Face on SoFurry
The racing mind of Jan Bolikoni, adoptive father of Krystanya Bolikoni, ponders his life, his laments, and his current schemes. Though the latter, unlike most of previous schemes, doesn't involve the killing of Tartars for their horses, at least, that's what he tells people, nothing personal at all.
What a day. Oh what a day indeed today is. I woke up and saw something I had only wished had happened when I was hauling Canute around like a sack of grain for six years. I saw him make the first move with Krystanya, and for the first time in my life, I saw him wanting more than she would give. Mrs. Koborg may be not be pushing for Estrith alone anymore, but now, now I think she’s been made to see the Polish way. Between the Rus, Tartars, Teutons, Lithuanians, Prussians, Imperials, and those contemptible Vlachs, we never have enough menfolk around, admittedly I didn’t do my part, but hey, or rather hay, the filthy Tarters hauled her away and left with a scar that runs from my shoulder to my hip, among the arrow scars.
I got my revenge, learned about horses along the way, but I also found Krystanya, got her baptized as such before she could walk on her hooven feet. Good thing too, no heathen hordes know how to treat women, letting them run around like branded pigs or wrapped up like a nun. Savages.
I reach for the mug of cider on the table, and let those memories fade back into my mind, where they belong, as I fade back to sleep to dream of her. And the grandkids I've wanted for so for once. Finally, an escape from the neverborn children that the Tartars took from me.
Oh but to see her face again…
…I’d sign on as a mercenary again if it meant that.
Come Tartars
Come Imperials
Come Teutons
Come Heathens, Pagans, and Heretics
Come the Legions of Hell led by Samael and Lucifer on the Vistula
I’d be the first there, and last to leave, if it just meant to see her mousy, mouse hair again.
But maybe I will again…
…should Jesus see fit to forgive me when Gabriel weighs my soul.
My dream shifts back to when I was a street urchin in Warsaw and away from the twelve grandkids between Krystanya, Estrith, and Lieddi, and back to when I met my father for the very first, and very last time, the same day I learned the "inn" my mother worked at was little more than a brothel. Despite how awful it is, I know better lies ahead of me, even if Tartars do too.