"Of my family I remember little save my mother and my grandfather. I have many memories of my mother. I am in her debt forever for her instruction in the value and meaning of loyalty, of love, and devotion. She began teaching me when I was only a baby, and by the time I was taken by the Rus at age fourteen, her words had taken hold.
        "My father, as you know, was a fur merchant. Our family lived in Kiev. Father was almost always gone from the city... far to the north, buying his wares, or in the south, selling them in the markets of Mesech (which was a growing village back then, nothing like it is today). I was learning the fur trade myself when I was captured by the Rus. Or, more specifically, when I was captured by the warriors of King Rus the first, the grandfather of Rus the Great… who, as you may know, is making war on Novrogod to this very day.
        "In the spring of my fourteenth year I was traveling with my father in the far north, a great distance north of Novrogod. We were trading with the native people on the river. A hardy bunch of wild men they were - people of the old ways, you see: as deadly as sharks and as tough as ivory. There wasn't an iron sword to be found among them, but they made do with bronze quite well, I must say.
        "Early one morning, I borrowed a small boat from our camp to do some fishing. To my surprise, one of the raiding parties of old King Rus happened along, and well... there you have it!
        "I was captured. I never knew what happened to my father or to the rest of our party. I was sold as a slave in Helsinki to King Ingeld, father of Vigmarr. But the capture and the years of slavery were only a part of my youth. Quite fortunately, they made the least impression. I had many wonderful years in Kiev, the city of my birth. During the years of my early childhood I enjoyed many good years in Kiev with my mother and grandfather.
        "By the way," he added, with a whimsical tilt of his head, "my mother was a gifted musician. She used to sing very popular duets with her brother, my Uncle Inved." Ivan's eyes began to twinkle, a sure sign that he was becoming playful. "Uncle Inved had a nickname for me, a very special nickname." He paused. "Of course," he added, glancing at Ilse, "you wouldn't be interested in that."
        "Of course we would," protested Ilse.
        "You're too polite," he continued glumly, "You're only saying that to be kind."
        "Oh, Ivan," she said, "you're terrible! Tell us."
        "My own dear Uncle Inved called me," Ivan paused, looking around, embarrassed, "Butterbelly."
        "No!" Ilse chortled, "You've got to be kidding!"
        Upon my word, my lady," said Ivan solemnly. "My uncle earned great fame in our city. He was an iron wright who made a pair of war hammers, unique weapons that became famous in Kiev and the surrounding countryside. They were commissioned by order of Prince Gorgoth himself: ornate monstrosities wrought of iron and bronze, inlaid and covered with gold and precious gems.
        "Uncle Inved's gilded battle hammers were given as gifts to the Weir-Huns by our great and noble Prince Gorgoth as a gift to his wife, Zilga the Heavy-Handed. But that is another matter, entirely."
        "Oh, Ivan," Ilse sighed, rolling her eyes, "really... are you kidding?"
        "Not at all," he replied, looking at her and then at Lady Katla. "There actually was a Zilga the Heavy-Handed, and she did her best to live up to her name. Fortunately, she left the battle hammers on the wall."
        "Tell us more," Lady Katla said, casting a bemused gaze upon her daughter. She did so love a story!"
        "Yes, yes, of course. You wanted to know about my family. I've already told you something about my immediate family; my father was a trader, and my mother spent her days with me, at our home in the city. My grandfather, Taball, came from the Caucasus Mountains in the south with his friend, Justin Andronicus, who had grown up in the famous city of Rome.
        I spent much time with them, sitting and listening and asking them questions. It seemed as if they were as ancient as the mountains, although I imagine that they were no older than I am now. But I was an only child. I had an exciting youth in Kiev."
        "It was a great city, an international city, in its own way," Ivan said, pausing and shaking his head, "but there was always a shadow on the horizon. The Rus were approaching from the north." He looked up at Lady Katla. "They were traveling in their long boats up the river, beginning to endanger the lands to the north of Novrogod. We knew that if Novrogod fell, Kiev might be next someday. Well, as you know, I never had a chance to find out about that."
        Ivan looked up at Ilse from his footstool-cum-chair and smiled at her warmly. He loved this little girl as if she were his own daughter. "My parents, my Uncle Inved, and my grandfather were the only relatives I knew. Our ancestors, however, had a history that I think you will find interesting.
        "Of my ancient ancestors on my mother's side, I know only two things. The first is that they were exiled from their own land far to the south in the ancient days. The other thing, and the one that has set my kindred apart from the nations with whom we have lived, is that my ancestors and my mother - and I too, in my old age - have always believed that there is one God: that he is alive, all-powerful, and all-wise: the maker of all things, yet Himself unseen."
        "But Ivan," said Ilse, looking quickly at Katla. "We believe that, too. Don't we, mother?"
        "Well, yes," answered Lady Katla. "We do. And others have also believed this, including our King. But, of course, many in our kingdom still worship the gods of the wind, or rain, or thunder."
        "Yes, I know," Ilse replied thoughtfully. "Ivan, tell me. Does God ever send us dreams, to teach us, or to prepare us for things?" Ivan looked at her soberly. Her mother tensed, suddenly alert, surprised at her own reaction.
        "I believe that He may, sometimes," he said, looking at Lady Katla. They exchanged a glance and then looked back at Ilse.
        "Your grandmother was a draumspaki," Katla informed her. "She was a reader of dreams."
        "Well, I had a bad dream last night. It kept me up for hours. When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed it again."
        "What was the dream?" Ivan asked, praying for understanding. He did not like the sound of this.
        Ivan was, indeed, a man who believed that God cared for humankind. He was convinced that God communicated with his creation as He saw fit. But Ivan was a thoroughly pragmatic mystic. If Ilse's dream was truly a divine message, he wanted to respond to it correctly. If it was not, he hoped to quickly move on to other matters... matters such as the beautiful new hat that Ilse was holding in her hand.
        "I was standing by the sea," Ilse began. "I was looking at the waves as they crashed against the rocks. Then I turned around, and I looked up the cliff to the King's house. But his house wasn't there, Ivan. There were two trees where the house should have been. One of them was huge, but the other was just a sapling. I mean, it was big, too, but it looked very young. Anyway, I saw all of this, and then I saw some woodmen, strangers with big axes, who climbed the cliffs and cut down the big tree. They even cut up the stump and burned it with fire. Then, they climbed up in the younger tree and cut the top off, along with the branches; you could see that it was going to live, but they hurt it badly. Then they dug it up, and dragged it away!"
        Ilse paused now, her eyes gazing off into the distance, out the window, oblivious to the fact that the two adults were staring at her in shock, transfixed by her narration. "I fell asleep, after a while, and I dreamed it again a second time, just like the first." Now she turned and looked at her mother, and then at Ivan, who continued to stare at her in disbelief. "Tell me, please," she asked them, gazing in surprise at their stunned expressions. "What does it mean?"