Loki's Eating Knife

Circuit started in March with Arizona and ended in October with Northern at Black Point. I didn't have much to do in the months in between; I always felt a little lost out in the real world. For all the difficulties of traveling circuit, of living and breathing Renaissance Faire, I was always relieved when March rolled around and I rolled into Arizona, ready for another season. Ready to be home.

Renaissance Pleasure Faire North in Black Point was my favorite stop on circuit. I worked Renaissance Pleasure Faire South in the spring, so I always knew that the family I had just left would be waiting for me when I got to Northern Faire. I liked to arrive at Northern early and enjoy Faire site when no one else was there, but San Bernardino to San Francisco is a long trip. When you're nursing a truck that cost you fifty dollars out of pocket, you tend not to rush anywhere. You start to take life easy. Four years on circuit mellowed me out.

It was at Black Point that I first decided that I wanted a sword. Faire site was tucked into a valley between two forest covered hills. Participants campground lay at their feet, like a red carpet leading to the dais. Once you were on Faire site, you were in another world completely, cut off from mundane life. Time seemed to shift with the mist that rolled in off the late every evening. A place of magic that commercialization had not yet touched.

I rolled into camp early Friday evening and set up my make shift home - the back of my �82 Ford pickup and a tarp strung off of two poles. By the time Jon found me, I was perched on the rusted tailgate of my home mending my threadbare costume. "Welcome home, Ravyn." He cheered with a hug. I'm not sure which met me first, his smile or his BO, but both welcomed me more than his words. He found a dry spot on the ground to watch me at work and pulled out a cigarette.

"Welcome home yourself." I returned his smile then turned back to the my bodice and the inelegant hole I was patching. I had been making my own costume for three years now, including mending and all that, but now I felt it needed a different kind of prop. "Jon, what do you think about me getting a sword?"

He exhaled slowly and the thin smoke cloud quivered in the air for a moment before scattering. "Well, lass, it's not unheard of for females to have swords. I don't think Costume Nazis'll be to kind to it being part of your costume -"

"Jon, I can come up with a story why I'm carrying it. Turn it into a gig -"

"Will ya hear me out, Ravyn? Don't go jumpin' in like that." He ran a hand over the silk frayed silk scarf on his head, and his dull blue eyes wandered off. "They just - those smiths like to milk ya dry. I don't blame �em; they're job isn't cheap and well, they have to live too. But, luv, you work in a booth. Boothies can't even afford to eat half the time."

I looked back to my sewing and didn't answer. In a way, it hurt to be reminded of that. Sure, we joked about it all the time - about how we had to bum most of our meals at food booths and how cigarettes and alcohol were hard to come by, but to actually be told, "you can't possibly because you're a Rennie," it hurt. It was one of the few times I wondered why I had chosen circuit over college. Why hadn't I listened to my mother when I had called her from Southern that first time?

"Angela, please, come home. What are you going to do, live out of the back of your car?"

"Well," the hole in my bodice was much smaller than it had appeared, and I finished off the stitch and tucked the sewing supplies back in the little box I had, "I'm sure that I could work something out. Maybe, I could save up enough money."

"Ah, an optimistic little bird, perhaps I should start calling you Dove, Ravyn doesn't fit that well anymore." Another smoke cloud rushed to kiss me, and I silently wished that I have three bucks for a pack of American Spirits. I had been avoiding nicotine fits since I had left Southern, two weeks ago.

"Please, anything but that! My hair's the wrong color." I tugged at my long raven braid, and winked. "Is there a drum circle tonight? I could use an excuse to dance."

Jon made a little half smile at the subject change and kinda shook his head. "No, people are still getting settled in. Friday night, I heard someone say. A welcome back celebration. We're gonna meet at Mullah's for something of a dinner then go off somewhere so security doesn't hound us for all the noise." He flicked the ash from his cigarette, studied the remaining stub a moment, then ground it into the grass and let it lie there like a forgotten toy. With a slight yawn, he rose, "I'd best be getting back to my place to see if Trina needs any help with dinner. You eating?"

I shrugged then surveyed the messy contents of my leprous truck, grabbed my belt pouch, and shuffled through it. Two quarters, a penny, three nickels, and a rather sad looking dollar bill. "A dollar sixty-six." I mumbled. "Looks, like I'm broke Jon."

"Then come on over. Trina'll be happy to see you again." I smiled gratefully, and closed up the tailgate of the truck before following him to the other side of the campgrounds, ready for a real meal.

Marie Fenny had set me up working in her jewelry booth, Arts of the Fae, which wasn't that far from Court Glade and the Center of the World. Marie had said that she wanted to start set up at eight thirty, so I was up at eight in the morning, disagreeably, especially considering that Faire didn't open until ten. I knew that I could at least afford a cup of coffee at Mullah's before heading up to the booth. I could stop on my way through the twisted path of the Serpentine. The gate guard glanced at my ID and waved me by; I started along the back of the tourney field, angling toward the burlap drape that closed off the unappealing "behind the scenes" of the Faire from the Faire front and its impeccable time capsule.

I came out in the center of the Serpentine, hurrying past Military Camp where the members of St. Michael's Guild prepared for the day. The women were dressing in their camp followers outfits and preparing what they would need for the new Faire day, and the men were putting on their own costumes and polishing armor and arms. In general it looked like an Elizabethan military camp with the occasional anachronism. I stopped for moment, staring at two of the men standing by the gate into Military Camp. One of them was holding a sword nearly as tall as himself. It was an utterly beautiful piece of work, and the conversation that Jon and I had shared early this week came back to me. Then, I had been thinking a short sword or rapier, but this sword stirred a kind of excitement and lust in me that I hadn't felt thinking of a rapier. I approached the fence that closed Military Camp off from prying patrons and called, "Pardon, my lord -"

"Aye, lass," They both turned to the sound of my voice, and the sword's protector addressed me, the smile from his conversation still on his face.

"Pray pardon, where did you purchase such a fine piece?" My eyes caressed the long blade, and my heart rang with the fact that it had to be a claymore.

"This? �Twas passed down to me from a friend. Finding a truly descent one for purchase is hard. Sure, you can find them, what with Braveheart and Rob Roy being so popular, but they're," He dropped the accent he had been using as he came over to the fence and hefted the sword, hilt first in my direction me, "they're not worth shit. Feel." He gestured with the sword for me to take it, "Two hands."

Obligingly, I set my basket on the ground and reached for the handle, taking it in both hands. Its weight attempted to pull my arms to the ground unceremoniously, which would have pulled me straight through fence I was standing against. "Do you feel the heft? How the balance is such that it's perfect for cutting through an army like a scythe through grass? How the blade is slightly heavier than the hilt so that it'll pull your arm through the swing?" As he spoke he gestured with his arms as if he were still holding the sword and making downswings with it.

My head spun at his words. I hadn't used two-handed swords at all here at Faire. I was used to watching the fancy sword play of rapiers. "Yes," I breathed, "I can feel it." I couldn't help but smile as I looked at the blade. It felt alive in my hand like it would lead its bearer through battle. I felt transformed holding it, like it had a spirit of its own. "It's - it's beautiful." The dull adjective came alive on my tongue; it seemed I need say no more. He smiled in response.

"I call her �Loki's Eating Knife.'"

"Her?"

"Aye, lass, any good sword's got a name." He laughed as he placed his hand on the hilt next to mine.

"That's what Mike says at least." The man he had been talking to interjected then left with a laugh and a wave.

"I'm Mike, by the way." He tightened his grip on the hilt and extended a hand to me.

"Ravyn." I removed a hand to set in his. He brought it to his lips and kissed it softly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Suppose I have to know you for what? A year, before you tell me your real name."

I gaped at him a moment, releasing my hold on the sword, and said, "You feel so strongly about naming swords, and you're frowning at my Faire name? I would think you'd see that, like naming a sword, a Faire name expresses a person better."

He turned his claymore point down with his arm extended so that he looked like an impressive military portrait. "Well, lass, I didn't run away from my parents. I'm still very happily in contact with my entire family."

My eyes burned. I grabbed my basket, and started to turn, murmuring, "Thank you for your time." I hurried through the twisting path of the Serpentine until I was out of it, and in front of Mullah's, suddenly impatient for a cup of coffee.

"So, lass, this be where thou art hiding!" I looked up from behind the counter and saw Mike, arms crossed at his chest and Loki's Eating Dagger strapped to his back, again, a portrait flowing with the power of being a warrior.

"Hiding, my lord? Is there aught I can help you with?"

"Aye, there is. Wouldst thou do me honor of joining me at camp after Faire closes?"

I looked at him and resisted the urge to scowl. "My lord. You are to kind."

"Then I shall see thee anon. I must away." He made a fancy bow and winked to me.

"My lord."

"Anon." He repeated, leaving me staring after him until a patron whined. "Miss, how much are your copper bracelets?"

When security finally began to herd the patrons from Faire site that evening, I found myself unsure of what to do. I could get out of Faire without passing Military Camp. However, my steps were still drawn through Serpentine, the way I usually went, and Mike saw me as I passed.

"Ravyn," he called. I stopped at the sound of my name and was greeted by a bear hug. He was so like a big, burly Scotsman. A claymore fit him nicely - perfectly, in truth. "Come, come." He grabbed my hand and led me through the tiny gate into Military Camp, and I felt small and out of place. It was obviously end of day at Faire; many people were about with only half of their costumes on, but their camp impressed. These people lived Elizabethan military on the weekends, complete with canvas tents. Each night I went back to my piece of junk truck. I was very aware of the lack of money in my pouch looking at these people. "Tim, this is Ravyn. Ravyn, my buddy Tim." Mike smiled as he handed my hand to the man he had been speaking with this morning. Tim had a slighter build then Mike, and his hair was much lighter.

He smiled amiably, "Pleased to meet you Ravyn."

"Thank you." I mumbled. "Mike, I can't stay right now. I'd like to go change"

"How rude of me! I'm sorry Ravyn." He set a hand on my arm in apology. "Why don't you go change, and then come back here for supper? I'd be happy to treat you."

"Well," I began groping for an excuse.

"Promise? I will be terribly sad if you don't."

My only route was surrender. "Promise."

I, however, did not return. After I had changed into an old pair of jeans and my old sweater I always wore against the cold northern California weather, I headed back to site to meet up with Jon and some others at Mullah's. After dinner, we took off for another drum circle, and Jon and Trina persuaded me to dance even though I wasn't in my dancing costume. They did this every year; they always talked me into. I was beginning to wonder why I protested anymore. It was when I was dancing, I saw him. I hadn't expected to see him here. He should have been back at Military - not here. My steps faltered.

He waved, smiling at me across the makeshift fire we had built. How do you tell someone you're not interested? I hadn't really ever tried before. Running away always did the trick. He came over to talk to me, not surprisingly, when the dance was done. "You dance well." Was all he said.

I nodded to him. "Thank you, Mike."

"You didn't come back for dinner."

There it was. I felt like a cornered animal. You promised he's eyes said in an inane manner. But my heart agreed. "I'm sorry. I -"

"No need for excuses. I did not mean to push. Would you care to come back to camp with me?"

Decisions, decisions. I gaped at him a moment, as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I answered his question by saying. "American Spirits?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Why?"

"That's what I smoke. I haven't been able to afford a pack since Southern."

"Would you like one?" He asked.

"Please."

He lit the one in his hand, then passed it to me. He pulled another out for himself. "Walk with me." He turned started away from the circle and I followed. "So, you want a claymore?" I took a slow drag of the cigarette and enjoyed the feel of the nicotine massaging my body from the inside out. Ah, the world was a much better place. "Actually, I was thinking about it."

"What would you do with it?" Underneath his words read: you have no house to display it in and it just won't work with your costume, lass.

"Well, I don't know." I exhaled slowly, trying unconsciously to blow little smoke rings and failing. "I had wanted a sword for my costume. Now, I just want a claymore, because of what I felt holding Loki's Eating Knife this morning."

He shook his head. "That's like saying you want a blond man because one gave you a good roll in the hay. Doesn't work." He stopped and looked at me for a moment, sucking on his cigarette thoughtfully. "You want my sword."

It was like a slap in the face, like he was accusing me of stealing his girlfriend. "I wouldn't think of it. Something like a man's sword. No, I just want a the same kind that you have."

He turned and continued walking, leading me back to Military camp. I felt uneasy now, but I followed him back to his tent. In a distracted manner, he told me to stay while he went in search of alcohol. Loki's Eating Knife was stretched out on Mike's bedding like a lover waiting for his return. Again I was struck by its beauty. The handle consisted of intricately carved wood, and there was finely worked red leather wrapped between the hilt and the blade guard. It was an utterly gorgeous weapon. I lay down next to it on the padding, with my back to the entrance, and touched the hilt gently, caressing the smooth wood. My heart clenched, and I realized that Mike was right. I didn't want a claymore. I wanted this sword, I wanted his sword.

"Wild Turkey." He announced as he reentered the canvas tent.

"You said you got this from a friend." I answered.

I heard the liquid in the bottle splash as he took a swig of the whiskey, then he sighed. "Yes, that's what I said. Want some?" He dangled the bottle before my face.

"No," I pushed the bottle away. "Tell me about it."

"Well," He laughed, I felt him sit down at my back, "you see. We originally bought her together, Jim and I. But, well, a few years ago he kinda got sick of California, and decided to take off. I think he's in some little hole in the wall place like Ohio or some such. So, which of us would take her, since Jim was leaving? He forced me to keep her. It was kind of strange. Said that her home was here too. He's actually settled down now I hear. Found this gorgeous girl, who's a lot younger than he is." I heard him laugh. "He's the one who named her."

I sat quietly stroking the worn hilt.

"It means - He chose that name because he thought he was being funny. One evening we were both drunk, and he said something like �Mike, ya ever think how this sword would be like a table knife to a god?' I laughed at him and said, �Jim, this wouldn't even be a toothpick to a god.' But, he ran with the idea. He's like, �Can't you see Loki, god of mischief and thieves, running into battle with this and then sitting down to feast on his enemies, with the very sword that killed �em!' True, Jim was always kinda sick. But the crazy notion that this sword was something like a knife to the gods wouldn't go away. So, he named her Loki's Eating Knife, just because he was roaring drunk. But, now that he's gone I can't stand to change her name. Wouldn't be proper, you know, kinda like a boat."

He stopped talking, and was very quiet. I didn't say anything. My eyelids felt heavy; his voice lulled me as I lay there with my hand on the sword. I felt distant from myself at that moment. It almost seemed that I was going to walk out of my life at that moment, akin to watching a movie or reading a book. I didn't want to fall asleep there. I wanted to leave Mike with Loki's Eating Knife and their lonely memories.

"My name's Angela." I finally said.

He was silent.

"I got a full scholarship to Indiana State University. I wanted to be a sculptor. But I left as soon as I graduated. My first Rennie boyfriend took to calling me �Ravyn.' I didn't even chose my own name." I yawned, vaguely aware of the swords coolness against my face and its tangy metallic smell. "He said I was like a fallen angel. So, he called me Ravyn. I think it's just because my hair's black. It kinda stuck." I curled my fingers around the swords hilt, and yawned again.

I heard Mike sigh and take another drink of Wild Turkey.

I woke up at sunrise curled between Mike and Loki's Eating Knife. I felt a little sick even though I hadn't had anything to drink the night before. It was a trick extracting myself from the sandwich I found myself in, but Mike didn't even wake up. I was glad because I felt guilty, about what I'm still not sure. In his sleep, he took the place where I had been laying by the sword. I let myself out, and decided that I deserved a couple more hours sleep before I had to work. I fingered the last quarter left in my belt pouch as I headed back towards camp, but my sleep fogged mind decided that my truck was closer than a telephone.