PROLOGUE

 

The beast dodged every vicious swing of the sword. The Viking warrior showed no fear as he charged closer to the monster. The beast moaned and howled where it focused its compounded hatred for the warrior. The Viking warrior continued to thrust in longa stance where he managed to cut the beast enough to draw blood. The beast moaned in agony with a thundering holler, enough to vibrate the earth beneath them.

The warrior was relentless, where he had to put the monster to rest so the Danes could live again. He had to prove to his native land of Geat that he was the strongest and the only warrior who could slay the troll.

They continued to duel along the craggy cliffs overlooking the thrashing Baltic Sea. The monster pulled back from the warrior feeling almost defeated. It noticed an undefined cave where it scurried into the cavity. The strong warrior followed with his menacing sword. The darkness of the crisp night and crystallized sleet caused the warrior to lose focus. He ran his strong hands along the damp walls of the cave realizing that without sight the troll may have its way. The warrior held his sword in guard of the long tail stance ready if the troll were to pounce. The warrior could hear the heavy grunts and coarse breath of the monster.

He stopped and remained still. He saw no image of the beast. The cave’s stench was damp and musty, which overpowered the foul aroma of the troll. Long gnarly fingers hovered near the Viking warrior’s throat. He couldn’t see shadows or silhouettes, for the darkness was too blinding. He could, however, smell the troll’s foul stench.

“Troll! I know you’re here!” the warrior called out.

The troll was silent. The Viking could feel a dewy slime drip onto his chain mail vest. He knew the troll was too close, but he couldn’t see its image. The troll’s rough claws took hold of the warrior’s throat. The warrior yelped, while in the midst of suffocation. The long bony fingers had a tight grip over the warrior’s broad neck. The warrior dropped his sword to the ground.

A swirl of colorful smoke manifested into the darkness. The warrior gasped, kicking and punching the monster, while its grip was locked around the warrior’s neck. An image of a petite woman dressed in a whisking black garment formed behind the smoke.

“Beowulf, you are wishing for my presence?” she asked.

“Witch!” he managed to say, while he tried to pry off the troll’s relentless pressure from his neck. “Grant me out of this place.”

“You force the words from your collapsing throat. You wish to be rid of here?”

“Yes,” he grunted.

“I will then remove you from this century and place you in yet another time. It will be a time of no trolls. It will not even be Daneland or Geatland. It will be of a civilized land that you will not understand. You will never understand it. Yes?” He tried to nod, but felt himself losing consciousness. “You are a powerful man, Beowulf. You may have the strength of 30 men, but you may perish in your new world.”

“Please!” he blurted. “I will perish here, but not in this different time you speak of.

Please, grant me my wish and I will be forever grateful.”

“You may very well perish in this different time.”

She hovered above him. His hands had a tight grip around the troll’s claws.

“A land of no trolls? Then I must be sent there,” he gasped in his dripping sweat. “Grant me my wish.”

“I will conjure your arrival near a dwelling, perhaps the inhabitants will take you in, yes?”

He could no longer speak or swallow. “Very well.”

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

It was an unusually warm day for London. We sat outside the teashop discussing all sorts of disgusting things. Beth and I talked about our courses and the content that was being pounded into our brains. We’re both majoring in English literature. I couldn’t speak for her, but I sometimes don’t know why I would punish myself with such a cumbersome degree. However, what has intrigued me most is the study of Beowulf.

“Beth, I have gathered quite the array of sources for the essay, and you?”

“Haven’t even started.”

“Are we getting a bit bored with our studies?”

“Who knows? What are we going to do with English lit anyway?”

I paused to think about her question. “Teach?” I knew she would give a sour face with that answer. I noticed she began to pick at her teeth. “I don’t really mind writing about Beowulf.”

“Of course you don’t, Kyla. You think Beowulf is hot.”

She continued to lodge her fingernail between her gums. I chuckled.

“Hot? Wouldn’t you think he’s hot? He’s a mighty troll slayer with the strength of thirty men.”

“I’d do him.”

“I would too. I even think I’d marry the bloke.”

“Kyla, you would never be able to marry Beowulf.”

“Why not?”

She worked profusely at trying to locate her lipstick in her purse. “He’s not husband material,” she insisted.

“What do you know about husband material?” I asked. “Could you ever live in Scandinavia?”

“Of course I could.”

“Could you ever live in sixth-century Scandinavia?”

I laughed. “Maybe I would as long as I was Beowulf’s queen.”

“He was no king, Kyla. Make sure you gather your seal skins for those long winters.”

“King?” I thought to myself. “Of course he was a king, wasn’t he?”

“You’re not even sure. He was no king, Kyla. Check your notes. Looks like I study harder than you. He was a silly warrior and that’s all.”

“I think a warrior is quite good, wouldn’t you agree?”

“As long as he didn’t get attacked by a dragon.”

“Dragon?”

“Oh, Kyla, don’t you even know about the dragon? And, you claim that you would marry this man?”

“So, I’ll read over my notes.”

“Get yourself up to snuff with this bloke.”

“Yes, I’ll go over everything tonight and I’ll be where I should be. He still interests me and if there ever was a bloke like him today, every woman would be chasing him.”

Kyla gave a loud snort of laughter. She was very unfeminine at times.

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

It was yet another unusually warm evening in north London. I was at my desk trying to write a comparison essay on Beowulf’s sensuality with King Arthur’s sex appeal. Oh God. I hope I’m not spilling some of these thoughts onto my Word file. As I sat by my window I noticed the rain begin. It teemed where it cooled off the smog. How can I compare a king of Britain who defeated the Saxons and established an empire over the British Isles, Iceland, Norway and Gaul? Beowulf was no king or was he? King Arthur was so brave and remarkable. I kept my thoughts fixed on Beowulf, the great hero.

Then it happened. There was a powerful knock at my door. The dormitory shouldn’t be taking visitors at such a late hour. I was hesitant, but thought that maybe Beth may want something. I gingerly made my way to the door and opened it. This is when I thought those diet pills I was taking were actually getting to me.

A man stood in my doorway. He was quite lovely, I must say. His hair was ill kept though, rather long with noticeable split ends. He also had an unruly beard. His hair was of a golden color.

“Greetings, m’lady,” he said, as he took my hand and kissed it.

He bowed to me, still holding my hand close to his lips. I looked at my hand as he gave it back to me. I was speechless. I was on the verge of fainting due to the musty stench he brought with him.

I spun over to my purse and grabbed my bottle of diet pills. I threw them into the trashcan with conviction. I gave another look at the man. I must say he was absolutely gorgeous. I don’t think I ever noticed biceps like that on anyone around these campus grounds. But what was up with his attire?

He stepped into my tiny dorm and bowed to me. I blinked a few times, but he was still there. Was he going to a costume party? This man was dressed in what looked like sixth-century costume. He wore a tan colored tunic with a heavy vest of chain mail over top, a thick belt made of hide, and trousers of some kind – they were heavier than tights. He was holding a broad sword in his other hand. Did I need to panic?

“Do…” I sputtered, and tried again. “D-Do…” I watched him scan my dorm room. “Do I know you?”

He seemed to be amazed at my door. Was he a door salesman? He ran his hands along the walls. Was he in construction? What construction worker dresses like that?

“Perhaps not, but I have mysteriously been posted here. What strikes me so much as odd is that I’m not addressing you in my native language, Norse.”

He then bowed to me again. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You’re first language is Norse?”

“Yes. It is the language of my native country.”

I shook my head assuming this man was pulling a prank. “Norse? Do you mean Viking vernacular?”

“If you wish to put it that way…yes.”

“Nobody speaks Scandinavian around here, and especially Norse.”

“I suppose that isn’t a problem, because you and myself are conversing quite well.”

“Isn’t that amazing? You do have a nice accent.” He smiled, looking as if he didn’t know quite how to respond. “Are you looking for someone in particular?”

“No.”

“Are you lost?”

“As I previously mentioned, good lady, I was posted here. I don’t really know where I am, but I was, however, posted here.”

“Posted? Are you a soldier?”

“I’m a warrior, m’lady.”

“You’re a warrior. What exactly do you mean?”

“Surely, you understand what a mighty warrior like myself would do.”

“So, you’re a mighty warrior?” I said, and rolled my eyes back with a grin.

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t be ordered by the king to slay mystical beings if I wasn’t a mighty warrior, wouldn’t you think, m’lady?”

“Mystical beings?” I let out a loud cackle. “Like goblins and trolls, perhaps?”

“Goblins? How outrageous that sounds. No, I have never encountered any goblins.”

I folded my arms in front of me. “Then you’re not a warrior, especially a mighty one.”

“Oh, yes I am,” he said. “I have had my fare share of trolls.”

“Trolls? Then I think you’re in the wrong century,” I said, and tried to push him out the door.

“Of course I am in the wrong century.”

“Well, yeah, your chain mail is not in fashion these days.”

“Perhaps, but it is required when one is slaying a troll.” He ran his hands over his chest and belly. I was starting to get nervous. “One must wear protective armor at all times, don’t you think?”

I stepped closer to him. I scanned every inch of him, and then circled around him. “Who are you?”

“I am Beowulf.”

I stared at him for a very long minute. I nervously primped myself. I tried to comb my greasy hair with my fingernails. I gazed at his brawny physique, his long un-kept golden hair, his bushy beard, his chain mail, and his sword. I tried to curtsy, but almost fell over.

“May I ask m’lady her gracious name?”

“My name?” I had to pause and think a minute. “Kyla! Yes, Kyla Brookes is my name. Do you wish to call me Lady Brookes?”

“Is that how you are called here, in this time?”

“No. Nobody here in this time calls me Lady Brookes.”

“Then why would you make this request of me?”

I fidgeted with my chipped nail polish. He smiled at me. His eyes seemed kind and warm. He stood in my dorm room with straight posture, looking strong and mighty.

“I really don’t know. You’re a fine actor.”

“Actor? No, I am Geat. I am from Geatland. Where is this I am at now?”

“Ah, you see, you are a fine actor.” I had almost completed the removal of my nail polish. What the hell was this gorgeous bloke going on about? “You are in England, the United Kingdom, the British Isles.”

“I am among the Saxons? I am in Britannia?”

“Britannia? Oh, yes, of course. Yes, you’re in Britannia,” I said.

“Perhaps I have put you in grave danger. You are Saxon and I am Dane. Not a pleasant combination I’m afraid.”

“Who are you?”

“Beowulf.”

I stepped closer to him. I stared at him. “Beowulf? You’re Beowulf?”

“Of course I am.”

I threw my arms in the air. “Did your mother have some fixation with the poem or what? Who calls her son Beowulf?”

“Poem?”

“Yes, I’m writing a paper on it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He had a puzzled expression on his face. I got a bit fidgety.

“How can you not know about the poem, if you claim your name is Beowulf?”

“I’m the one and only, m’lady.”

I felt awkward. This man who claimed he was Beowulf was standing in my flat. Maybe he wanted to rob me? Or, even worse, maybe he wanted to kill me? What’s he doing wandering about female dorms? He could be loose upstairs. I shouldn’t let his good looks sway me. I slowly walked up to him and gawked without saying a word. He looked into my eyes and smiled. He lifted his head, and then wore a serious expression.

“I was in the middle of the bloodiest battle with Grendel. It appeared he was about to take me over. The rest of my men fled and left me cornered in a dark cave with the beast. Even my most fearless best man, Wiglaf, fled. I was surprised. Perhaps, he may have already taken me for dead.”

“Yeah, yeah, right.” I pretended that I understood. This poor man was obviously mentally ill. “Hey, Beowulf, didn’t you say you had a train to catch?”

He was definitely in character. He could have been one of those eccentric method actors.

“Train?”

“Yeah, maybe you should be getting on your way, hmm?”

“I had been praying to the witch for days that she needed to cast a spell upon me, so I could leave my time and venture to yet another.”

I backed away a few steps. “So, now there’s a witch?”

“Oh, yes, most definitely. She cast me here.”

“In my dorm?” I asked.

“Dorm? I thought you said this is Britannia?”

I wanted to laugh, but for some reason I believed him.

“My dorm is in Britannia. Oh, and stop calling it that. This is England, the U.K. Just accept it, okay; there was a name change.”

“Name change?” He paced my tiny room. “Britannia changed to England? Did Geat also have a name change?”

“Where in the bloody the hell is Geat?” Then I thought of my English lit class. “Wait a minute.” I stepped closer to him. “Geat is Sweden. You’re Swedish.”

“Swedish?” He gazed at me aghast. I couldn’t help but light up when I saw the smile on his handsome face. “I’m Swedish.”

He threw his arms in the air with delight. I got a little hysterical with emotion, so I leaped into his arms like a fool.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! You’re Swedish.”

We embraced each other. He swaddled me tightly in his strong arms. “Thank-you, m’lady.”

“For what?”

Only one of my eyes peered through the cuddling of his arms. His arms tightened around me. He sighed with relief.

“For telling me I am Swedish, of course. Maybe now I will fit into this time period, now that I know Geatland is Swedish.”

“Wait. Wait a minute. Geatland is not Swedish – it’s Swed´en. Geatland is now Sweden.” His arms slowly released me. I scratched my head and paced around the room. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get it?”

I rubbed my face with both my hands. “Shit,” I said.

“Shit?”

He looked at me with a serious expression. His deep blue eyes almost pierced through my body. His cheekbones were high, with a straight bridge nose, his lips were full and luscious. The man was gorgeous, yet so innocent. I then noticed he was wounded, because he hobbled when he walked.

“Please, sit down. Can I get you anything?”

“Water, please, thank-you. My thirst has been raging for days.”

I awkwardly exited for the dorm kitchen to fetch the man some cold water. When I returned I found him peeling his tunic off his body. I noticed several wounds on his chest. He glanced at me.

“Ah yes, you’re noticing my wounds. Grendel, of course, is responsible for this.

Do you know of Grendel?”

“Of course,” I said, as if I we were addressing an old foe.

“He terrorizes Daneland, and he is a troll.” My lips were parted, but I was speechless. “How do you know of Grendel?” he asked, while he guzzled the water I gave him.

“I’m writing my English literature essay on him.”

He nodded as if he knew what I meant, but how could he? “You are writing something on Grendel, the beast?”

“No. I’m writing about Beowulf. So, let me get this clear, you wished for life in a different time and the witch granted you your wish?”

“She did.”

“I wish I was a millionaire, but that doesn’t seem to be happening,” I said, exposing my empty pockets.

He stood and shuffled his wounded leg around the room.

“One must remember that one must be careful of what one wishes for…chances are one may be granted,” he preached to me, as if he had said this before.

“So, tell me, Beowulf, do you know what time period you’re now in?” He looked around the room and made his way to the window.

“No, I don’t know.” He pulled away from the window. “Ah!”

“Oh.” He was definitely shaken up. “Are you alright?”

He flopped on the floor.

“I need to understand this world I’m in.”

“Here, why don’t you sit down?” I offered.

“I am sitting, m’lady,” he said, almost wheezing. “Are you alright? Did I do something to offend you?”

He sat crossed-legged on the floor with his head hung down.

“I don’t understand where I am. Please, you’ve been so kind. I may be on my way. Thank-you,” he said, and quickly stood up.

“When you looked out my window, you got frightened, didn’t you?”

“I am a fearless warrior. I don’t know fear as you speak about it. I don’t smell fear. I don’t feel fear, m’lady.”

He turned to me and bowed. I followed him to the door. “What are you doing? You can’t even think about leaving.” He was still in his bowing position.

“What time period am I in, m’lady?”

“Time period? Well, you’re in the twenty-first century,” I answered.

I scanned the room trying to avoid eye contact with him. He sighed. “The twenty-first century? And, I’m from the sixth.”

He approached the window again. I stood behind him.

“The twenty-first century is actually quite nice. We have television, cars, cellular phones, computers, and Mp3 players.”

“Mp3 players?” he asked.

“Yes, they’re little gadgets we don’t really need in our lives in order to survive.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You may never understand, Beowulf.”

“You have instruments that are not so important for human survival – is that it?”

“The twenty-first century is loaded with that kind of crap.”

“Crap?”

“In my century,” I said, “We have crisps and pop.”

“What is that?”

“Food…allegedly.”

“Food? Food is vital for our survival, why would you say this?”

“I say this…” I hurried to my tiny bar fridge and pulled out a bottle of pop. Then I threw a large bag of crisps at him. “I say this, because this tastes good but it is quite terrible for a person’s health.”

He held the bag of crisps in his hands and noticed the text on the bag. “I see the scriptures.”

“No, no scriptures,” I said. He stood by the door and smiled at me, but I could see how uneasy he was. “Yes, you’re far away from your time. And it would be beneficial for you to clean up and change your clothes if you plan on staying a while, that is.”

“Yes, I may never be allowed back into my own time. The witch has developed a sincere love for Grendel that I don’t understand. He’s a troll.”

“So, she took you up on your wish, so she could save Grendel from you slaying him?”

“Of course.”

He looked at me as if I should know this. He stared at me, as if I had a piece of snot hanging from my nose.

“Is something the matter?”

“Forgive me, m’lady, but I am enchanted by your fair beauty.”

“Really?” My awkwardness was uncontrollable. “Well, I guess my diet has been working. I already shed a stone just in the past few months.”

He moved very close to me and began to fondle with my hair.

“Such magnificent hair. So straight, so short, I have never seen anything like it.”

“So, you like my blunt cut?”

I giggled and blushed like a little schoolgirl. He was silent, but stared at me almost as if he undressed me with his eyes. I could be thinner, but maybe sixth-century men appreciate my hourglass figure more than these modern types.