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scott_sanfordOn this Fiction Friday, the Sofiad continues!
This is the fourth part in a story arc that began with Preludes & Knick-Knacks, or here for the prelude.
Sophie Everytime in
Session of Mystics
by Scott Sanford; February 2024
Everyone came to the Althing. That was the whole idea. It could never be literally true, but one might not think so to see the varied crowd.
There was a town somewhere near the Þingvellir, the Thing Fields, but it wasn’t nearly big enough for everyone. Besides, all the events were out at the Althing among among the visitors and the chaos.
People came great distances for the Althing. One who had come farther than most moved through the crowd showing no care for exotic visitors or the wares of merchants. Only a few marked her appearance, whether for spurning an embroidered dress for trousers and a plain green hooded tunic, or for her skin the color of polished walnut; after all, everyone came to the Althing.
Out of the way, behind the camp of the still novel Christians sent to the Althing by Saint Asbjorn, she found her goal.
“Hello,” she said. “I have come seeking the camp of the skald Egil Snorrison.”
“You have found the camp,” said the old man sitting by the campfire. “You have also found the poet. Greetings.”
“Hi, I’ve been looking for you. My name’s Sophie.”
“Sif?” He turned to face her curiously, though his eyes were white and sightless.
“I pronounce it Sophie, but don’t worry about it. I came because I heard you are a soothsayer as well as knowing many of the old stories.”
“Ahh…” He shook his head. “Not this morning, young lady. No seer at the Althing has been been getting any useful results today. Not omens, nor tossed runes, nor seidr, nor scrying have been revealing the future today.”
“Oh! Um, yeah, sorry about that,” she said, sounding neither surprised nor distressed, but almost apologetic. “But don’t worry, it should be okay tomorrow.”
“We pray for better signs, of course, but no true seer will be able to tell you anything today.”
“That’s okay! I don’t need a prophecy. I can get prophecies at home. I came because I wanted to ask you about stories.” He heard her lean forward, and she pressed a bean sized object into his hand. “Some amber is payment enough, I hope?”
“Amber?” He felt the cool smooth surface, which did indeed feel like amber.
“It’s just tree sap plus a million years,” she said dismissively. “Either way, you can keep it. What I came for was a story. I want to hear about the Saga of Erick the Mortal Blooded.”
“Erick Mortal-Blooded, cleverest of his generation? Aye, I know those tales. Many of them are Eddic poems rather than skaldic verse for the courts of nobles. Would you like me to start with his birth, or tale of the walking kettle, perhaps?”
“No, or maybe yes later, but that’s not why I came. I was hoping someone who really knew the old tales well could tell me about when he met the Princess of Ages.”
“Oh, yes, that’s a good one. The mortal man and the Princess of Ages, daughter of the Lord of the Turning of Seasons.”
“Yes, please…”
“Oh, there are many variations on that one. In some stories, he either steals or is taught the art of following the threads of the Nornir, gaining knowledge of the past and future. In others the Princess is a beautiful woman and he is smitten with her. Some of them have the Princess taking him as her advisor, and solving clever mysteries or riddles.”
“Oh. I’m not surprised but…” She sighed. “I was hoping there’d be one right answer, if I just asked somebody who knew the stories well enough.”
“I’m sorry, young lady, but no. If you wanted certainty, you would have to find someone who knew little enough to think themselves knowledgeable.”
“Mm.” She was silent, and her silence sounded sulky. After a few moments she asked, “You said in some stories he met the princess and was smitten? Is that a thing that happens a lot?”
“Sometime, yes, though different artists tell different stories about it. But I’ve never thought it worked well for the character, one whose nature is to be very clever. Things rarely end well for mortal men who fall in love with goddesses.”
“No!,” she said sharply. “I don’t want to hear people say he shouldn’t have tried. Maybe it doesn’t work out some of the time, but if he cared for her he should say so. Just because people are from different places doesn’t mean they can’t be friends.”
“Ah, yes, that is true. We can often find kindred souls from far away,” the skald agreed warmly. Then he asked, “Would you be asking about a young man of your own?”
“No!,” Sophie protested instantly. “What? No. And I don’t have a young man, anyway.”
“Of course, of course,” he said. “I was only guessing. Many young ladies are curious about how other romances have turned out.”
“No, I don’t, um, do that. I mean, I’m not doing that.” Unseen by the blind skald, she herded a few escaped strands of hair back into her hoodie.
Sophie had a certain relative who had warned her against “cAvOrTiNg wItH tHe FlEsH” and while she wasn’t sure what that involved or if she would ever want to do any cavorting, it had crossed her mind that she should find out what it was all about sooner or later. It didn’t help that hardly anyone in her home universe even had flesh.
Anyway, cavorting wasn’t an option.
“I was kind of hoping there’d be one big story that everyone had settled on, but no such luck,” she said.
“Alas, no.”
Sophie felt the universe ripple a little, not very far away, and she looked around. Somewhere close by at the Althing someone or something had just shifted into the universe.
“Huh. Sorry to run off, but I think I have to go. I think my mum may have just gotten here. Thanks for your help.” She got up to go.
“Your amber, Lady?”, he asked.
“No, no, you keep it. You earned it.”
As she walked through the Althing she felt an uncharacteristic uncertainty. She would usually feel it when one of her mother was nearby, and she didn’t. She didn’t feel any other natural shifters.
The more she thought it over the more she suspected someone had come in by some kind of mechanical device. She scanned the skies for any telltale white fluffy clouds, with or without visible shiny robot pilots. She didn’t see any, though there was some truly vile looking murky smoke above a nearby blacksmith’s shop.
There was a tachyon flare in the near future too, obscuring the next hour or so, which was probably because of either her or the visitor.
No help for it, she told herself, she’d just have to look around the mortal way. At least she was someplace fun.
Read other Jenny Everywhere stories
The character of Sophie Everytime, created by Aristide Twain, is available for use by anyone. All rights reversed.
This is the fourth part in a story arc that began with Preludes & Knick-Knacks, or here for the prelude.
Session of Mystics
by Scott Sanford; February 2024
Everyone came to the Althing. That was the whole idea. It could never be literally true, but one might not think so to see the varied crowd.
There was a town somewhere near the Þingvellir, the Thing Fields, but it wasn’t nearly big enough for everyone. Besides, all the events were out at the Althing among among the visitors and the chaos.
People came great distances for the Althing. One who had come farther than most moved through the crowd showing no care for exotic visitors or the wares of merchants. Only a few marked her appearance, whether for spurning an embroidered dress for trousers and a plain green hooded tunic, or for her skin the color of polished walnut; after all, everyone came to the Althing.
Out of the way, behind the camp of the still novel Christians sent to the Althing by Saint Asbjorn, she found her goal.
“Hello,” she said. “I have come seeking the camp of the skald Egil Snorrison.”
“You have found the camp,” said the old man sitting by the campfire. “You have also found the poet. Greetings.”
“Hi, I’ve been looking for you. My name’s Sophie.”
“Sif?” He turned to face her curiously, though his eyes were white and sightless.
“I pronounce it Sophie, but don’t worry about it. I came because I heard you are a soothsayer as well as knowing many of the old stories.”
“Ahh…” He shook his head. “Not this morning, young lady. No seer at the Althing has been been getting any useful results today. Not omens, nor tossed runes, nor seidr, nor scrying have been revealing the future today.”
“Oh! Um, yeah, sorry about that,” she said, sounding neither surprised nor distressed, but almost apologetic. “But don’t worry, it should be okay tomorrow.”
“We pray for better signs, of course, but no true seer will be able to tell you anything today.”
“That’s okay! I don’t need a prophecy. I can get prophecies at home. I came because I wanted to ask you about stories.” He heard her lean forward, and she pressed a bean sized object into his hand. “Some amber is payment enough, I hope?”
“Amber?” He felt the cool smooth surface, which did indeed feel like amber.
“It’s just tree sap plus a million years,” she said dismissively. “Either way, you can keep it. What I came for was a story. I want to hear about the Saga of Erick the Mortal Blooded.”
“Erick Mortal-Blooded, cleverest of his generation? Aye, I know those tales. Many of them are Eddic poems rather than skaldic verse for the courts of nobles. Would you like me to start with his birth, or tale of the walking kettle, perhaps?”
“No, or maybe yes later, but that’s not why I came. I was hoping someone who really knew the old tales well could tell me about when he met the Princess of Ages.”
“Oh, yes, that’s a good one. The mortal man and the Princess of Ages, daughter of the Lord of the Turning of Seasons.”
“Yes, please…”
“Oh, there are many variations on that one. In some stories, he either steals or is taught the art of following the threads of the Nornir, gaining knowledge of the past and future. In others the Princess is a beautiful woman and he is smitten with her. Some of them have the Princess taking him as her advisor, and solving clever mysteries or riddles.”
“Oh. I’m not surprised but…” She sighed. “I was hoping there’d be one right answer, if I just asked somebody who knew the stories well enough.”
“I’m sorry, young lady, but no. If you wanted certainty, you would have to find someone who knew little enough to think themselves knowledgeable.”
“Mm.” She was silent, and her silence sounded sulky. After a few moments she asked, “You said in some stories he met the princess and was smitten? Is that a thing that happens a lot?”
“Sometime, yes, though different artists tell different stories about it. But I’ve never thought it worked well for the character, one whose nature is to be very clever. Things rarely end well for mortal men who fall in love with goddesses.”
“No!,” she said sharply. “I don’t want to hear people say he shouldn’t have tried. Maybe it doesn’t work out some of the time, but if he cared for her he should say so. Just because people are from different places doesn’t mean they can’t be friends.”
“Ah, yes, that is true. We can often find kindred souls from far away,” the skald agreed warmly. Then he asked, “Would you be asking about a young man of your own?”
“No!,” Sophie protested instantly. “What? No. And I don’t have a young man, anyway.”
“Of course, of course,” he said. “I was only guessing. Many young ladies are curious about how other romances have turned out.”
“No, I don’t, um, do that. I mean, I’m not doing that.” Unseen by the blind skald, she herded a few escaped strands of hair back into her hoodie.
Sophie had a certain relative who had warned her against “cAvOrTiNg wItH tHe FlEsH” and while she wasn’t sure what that involved or if she would ever want to do any cavorting, it had crossed her mind that she should find out what it was all about sooner or later. It didn’t help that hardly anyone in her home universe even had flesh.
Anyway, cavorting wasn’t an option.
“I was kind of hoping there’d be one big story that everyone had settled on, but no such luck,” she said.
“Alas, no.”
Sophie felt the universe ripple a little, not very far away, and she looked around. Somewhere close by at the Althing someone or something had just shifted into the universe.
“Huh. Sorry to run off, but I think I have to go. I think my mum may have just gotten here. Thanks for your help.” She got up to go.
“Your amber, Lady?”, he asked.
“No, no, you keep it. You earned it.”
As she walked through the Althing she felt an uncharacteristic uncertainty. She would usually feel it when one of her mother was nearby, and she didn’t. She didn’t feel any other natural shifters.
The more she thought it over the more she suspected someone had come in by some kind of mechanical device. She scanned the skies for any telltale white fluffy clouds, with or without visible shiny robot pilots. She didn’t see any, though there was some truly vile looking murky smoke above a nearby blacksmith’s shop.
There was a tachyon flare in the near future too, obscuring the next hour or so, which was probably because of either her or the visitor.
No help for it, she told herself, she’d just have to look around the mortal way. At least she was someplace fun.
The Sophiad:
0) How Sophie Met Professor Awesome → 1) Preludes & Knick-Knacks → 2) The Doll’s Source → 3) Treat Counting → 4) Session of Mystics → 5) A Game of Two → omake
0) How Sophie Met Professor Awesome → 1) Preludes & Knick-Knacks → 2) The Doll’s Source → 3) Treat Counting → 4) Session of Mystics → 5) A Game of Two → omake
