An American Transgirl in Anglo-Saxon England

[Mongoloigul]

April 7th, 2023, Kentucky
"Hey, faggot!" rang out the voice of the one of boys behind her. Samantha ignored them, continuing to trudge her way home from the bus stop. "Hey Bradley, we're talking to you!" another of them shouted, reveling in the intentional use of the wrong name. She cringed internally at the name, it had never felt right for her, but made an effort to continue showing nothing externally. "You think you can ignore us, you perverted little freak?" a third boy called, anger rising in his voice. Samantha did. Well, until a kick to her back sent her face forward into the dirt below. When she tried to push herself back up to her feet, one of the boys' feet made contact with her stomach and she curled up into a ball from the shock. The boys surrounded her, laughing and jeering as they continued to kick her. She tried to block out the pain, to try to imagine herself in another time, another place, and eventually, she imagined no more...

Adrian looked down at the body he, Thomas, and Jesse stood over. "Is he okay?" Thomas asked, the first one of them to wonder if they had taken this thing a little bit too far. "Who cares?" Adrian asked "He's just a mentally ill freak who thinks he's a woman. Nobody's gonna blame us except his groomer parents, and Jesse's dad won't let them do anything to us". Jesse's dad was a cop. "Uh, guys..." Jesse said, looking up from where he'd bent down to examine the body "I think he's dead".

Jesse's dad tried to stop them from doing anything to the three boys, but when one murders a 17 year old girl - even when it's an accident and she's a 17 year old trans girl - people do tend to take note of these things. However, that is another story...

A Place Beyond Time, The Veil Between Life and Death
Samantha did not know how she'd gotten here, or even really where "here" was. Her senses failed her, yet she felt completely comfortable. For what was perhaps a few short moments and perhaps an eternity, she seemed to drift in the elsewhere, but as she drifted she gradually became aware of a prescence.

Hello Samantha it seemed to say, speaking without sound

She fumbled for a time, attempting to open her mouth, before she figured out the actual way to respond You used my name

What other name would I use? the prescence said, seeming amused

What do you want? Samantha asked, pointedly not answering the thing's question

I come from the other side. the prescence said I saw the circumstances of your passing. How young you were when you died. How little of the world you had seen.

Samantha didn't say anything.

We wanted to give you a second chance.

What kind of second chance? Samantha asked.

You will have to find that out on your own, the prescence said, there are rules to these things.

How do I know I can trust you? Samantha asked

Unfortunately, we are bound by rules from beyond the mortal realm. The prescence said. There is not much we can do, but we can offer three gifts.

Like, three wishes? Like a genie? Samantha asked

Yes. The prescence said.

Okay. Sounds like a deal. So, first of all, I'd like something to make sure I can speak the local language. Samantha said to the creature, making her decision in that instant to take her chance, even if she didn't fully trust the person... thing... whatever... There's this book I read awhile ago where the protagonist could learn languages really really fast. It was about this Italian guy called Baudolino. I didn't get very far into it but I want to have a language talent like his. That sounds useful.

It is done. Samantha got a vague impression of satisfaction from the prescence.

Second Samantha said I want your guarantee right here and right now that I'm going to be in a girl's body when I get my second chance. No bullshit and no shenanigans.

Of course. The prescence responded and your last boon?

Well, I've always wanted a really cool magical sword Samantha said Could you do that? I'd really like a +5 adamantine bastard sword with the Called, Icy Burst, Keen, and Ominous enchantments like from Pathfinder - the first edition to be specific.

That is incredibly specific... and very overpowered. The prescence said.

So you won't do it? She asked?

I never said that... You will have your overpowered magic sword. The question is, can you handle the consequences of having it.

January 1, 878, Mercia
The first thing Samantha became aware of was the cool feeling of the hand and a half hilt in her hands. She knew what it was without having to open her eyes. The last thing she'd been told before she'd found herself here... wherever "here" was - again - left an ominous pit in her stomach. What "consequences" would come with having a cool sword? Was it cursed?

She opened her eyes...

 

[Mongoloigul]

January 1, 878, Mercia

Osraed Cuthbertson was not, as a rule, easily surprised. He had fought the Danes when the Great Heathen Army had first invaded and knew his way around a sword. He had seen a lot during his time in Northumbria, but he had never seen anything quite like what he was seeing right now. A completely nude young woman was walking towards him, carrying a sheathed sword that was slightly over half as long as she was tall. The woman had an unearthly beauty to her, as if the muck and grime of the world hadn’t stuck to her like it did to most folk. She looked Irish or perhaps Scottish, but the tan on large swathes of her skin seemed to indicate she’d seen a lot more sun than they did anywhere in Britain, and the tan lines on that skin seemed to indicate she regularly went out into said sun in a scandalous state of undress. Her face was freckled, but her hair was dark, and her eyes were a warm, gentle shade of brown.

Then there was the sword. When Osraed saw the sword, he immediately knew this woman was either a queen, an empress, or a messenger from the lord himself. He could not see the blade, but the gold inlaid hilt was wrapped in a beautiful dark blue fabric that matched the leather of the sheath, which was also gold inlaid, with ornate gilded patterns on both the metal and leather parts of the sheath. The jewel in the pommel of the sword was a large diamond, allowing one to see through to the other side of the hilt. He was about to kneel when this unearthly woman spoke to him.

“Hello” said Samantha, “I don’t know where I am or even what planet I’m on. Could you help me please? What’s the name of this country? Who’s the government here? Do they hate trans people? Please tell me they don’t hate trans people.” as the last two sentences left her mouth, Samantha realized that she had been given the body of a cis woman and that it perhaps was not a good idea to let people here know she was trans.

The man before her was very dirty and smelled bad, but he had a very kind face and seemed like he knew his way around the area. It was hard to tell his age from all the dirt, sweat, and grime, but she would have guessed he was in his early to mid thirties, perhaps younger. He had dirty blonde hair that was prematurely greying, with a full beard and light blue eyes with a strange inner sparkle to him. He wore very rough, worn clothing that seemed to imply a medieval technological level and low economic status. When he opened his mouth, she realized that she shouldn’t have worried about telling this man he was trans, because what came out was something that sounded vaguely like English, but she couldn’t make head nor tail of most of it.

For his part, Osraed was perhaps even more confused by the language the woman spoke. His first guess would have been some sort of German, but he could’ve sword he caught some Latin or French words in there as well. She had a drawl to her speech unlike any accent he was familiar with, but her strange language seemed oddly familiar. Dear god almighty in heaven he thought to himself she is an angel.

But she didn’t seem to expect him to kneel, so he decided to stay standing and let god punish him for his insolence if this was not what he wished Osraed to do. “Good day to you… your holiness? I fear I do not understand your heavenly tongue. If her holiness wishes to communicate with one so lowly as me, I fear you will have to do so in Anglish.”

“…English?” Samantha asked, latching onto the admittedly strangely pronounced proper noun she was familiar with.

“English.” Osraed said, modifying his pronunciation somewhat to closer match the one the angel had used. This was his first time – at least which he knew of – speaking to an angel, and was surprised she didn’t seem to understand him.

Samantha silently cursed herself for not asking for the ability to speak all languages. This man obviously seemed to know what English was – at least unless it meant something else in whatever language he spoke, but he didn’t seem to speak it, and she belatedly realized that, remarkably quick as they were, her language learning skills probably looked faster on paper than they actually were in practice.

Sighing inwardly, she pointed to herself. “Samantha” she said, hoping he would understand.

Her second inward sigh was of relief when he responded by pointing at himself and saying “Osraed”. She couldn’t know for certain that this was his name yet, but it sounded like a name to her.

Thus, the process of cross-time cultural exchange began.

 

[Mongoloigul]

January 1, 878, Mercia

Despite the initial barrier in their communication, it was remarkably easy for Osraed and Samantha to set up a quick pidgin as Osraed walked home. Samantha was surprised and rather amused to find out that Osraed thought her an angel, and it was in fact rather difficult at first to rid him of this notion, with about half of the hour long walk back to Osraed’s home spent arguing over whether Samantha’s newfound gift with languages was the Gift of Tongues or not.

Once she finally convinced him that she was, in fact, a human being, their conversation turned to where they currently were and where she had come from.

“I would say I don’t understand how you got here without knowing where you are” Osraed chuckled “but to be honest, by the look of you, that’s far from the biggest question I have”.

“Feel free to ask anything you like,” responded Samantha, “but I’d prefer to know where I am first.”

“Of course, of course. You are in the Kingdom of Mercia, on the Isle of Britannia.”

Samantha paused. “You mean like… Britain? The UK?”

“I don’t know what this ‘yew cay’ is, but yes, you are in Britain.”

“Well, we’re in the same boat here because I have no idea where Mercia is.”

Samantha paused again, furrowing her brow.

“Wait a minute… what year is it, Osraed?”

“It is the year of our lord 878. What else would it be?” Osraed said, perplexed by the question.

“Well, before I came here, it was 2023 where I lived…”

“You use a different calendar where you come from?”

“No, I don’t think we do… Osraed, I think I was sent back in time.”

Osraed opened his mouth. No words came out. He closed it, then opened it again. He did this several times before the shock wore off enough for him to speak again.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing. It goes against all natural laws. Time is supposed to move forward, not backwards. How did you accomplish such a feat?”

“It… was a gift” Samantha said hesitantly, unsure of her own answer.

“From whom?” Osraed asked “Surely only god himself, or perhaps Satan, possesses such a power?”

“I don’t know.” Samantha looked at the ground, shaking her head “I don’t know who sent me back, and I don’t know why. I don’t really trust them either, I just agreed on a whim because I had nothing left to lose.”

Osraed felt a paternal instinct built up by a decade of happy marriage and eight beautiful children, five of which were still alive, well up within him. He put his arm around the teenage girl, suddenly acutely aware of how young and vulnerable she was. “Well,” he said softly “you can trust me. I promise. Now come on, let’s get you back home. Mildred – my wife – might not be happy we have an extra mouth to feed, but I will make sure you have a place to stay. That, and some clothes.”

“Thank you” Samantha said, beaming at the man who, until recently, had been more than a thousand years separated from her “I’m not used to Medieval living but I promise to help around the house if I can.”

Osraed resolved to ask at a later time when Samantha wasn’t in such an emotional state what “Medieval” meant.



January 2, 878, Mercia

Mildred was indeed very unhappy about having an extra mouth to feed. Sure, it wasn’t like the poor girl had anywhere else to go, but it was the middle of the Winter, and their supply of food didn’t magically get bigger just because she was doing charity work.

Besides, Mildred legitimately doubted the strange girl from the future had ever worked a day in her life. Her hands were soft and devoid of callouses, she grew tired easily, and was utterly inept at most chores Mildred put her to. She was good with the animals, but that would require going outside in the daytime where the others living in their little hamlet could see, and everyone in the house worried they would react poorly, especially since the silly girl refused to cover her hair like a decent young woman.

She claimed to be good at hunting, as she had done so with her own father on many occasions before coming to Mercia, but she had used a strange device known as a “rilfe” to hunt, which she claimed was a dreadful weapon that had much further range and greater accuracy than a bow and arrow, yet was also much easier to use. Mildred had her doubts about that, but she did not think the girl was truly lying. She was simply exaggerating – or, as she put it, “telling tall tales”.

…A thing that she was remarkably good at. It had been one of the girl’s many expressions that had confused the family when she first used it. Samantha had explained that it was a great bardic tradition in her homeland, a mysterious land across the ocean known as “America”. It was when one told a story that was deliberately exaggerated to the point of unbelievability, often about great American folk heroes with names like Calamity Jane, Casey Jones, Daniel Boone, John Henry, Paul Bunyan, and Pecos Bill.

All of those names sounded completely alien to the Anglish in the household, but that did not dissuade the children demanding to hear stories of all their exploits and what battles they’d fought in and what lands they were the king of and…



January 1, 878, Mercia

“Why would they be kings?” Samantha asked.

“Emperors?” asked the oldest, Cuthbert. He had figured out the nature of these stories and was eager to hear of these great “Emperors” of America.

“Well,” Samantha replied “I think we had a guy who claimed to be one once in California, but not really. They were just-”

“Just lesser noblemen?” offered up Eadgar, eager to help.

“No.” said Samantha said.

“Were they Queens?” asked Edgar’s twin sister, Edith. To the girl, this unearthly woman from the future with her beautiful sword seemed a queen herself, and she could well imagine hundreds of such queens in this mysterious land across the sea.

“Metaphorically, many of them were,” Samantha said, confidence returning to her voice as a sudden gleam seemed to appear in her eyes. “But none of them were noblemen…” she continued. “See, in the faraway land of America, we cast off the only king who ever ruled us a long time ago. You see…”

And Samantha wove a marvelous tale for the spellbound children – and adults – in the tiny medieval house – hovel, really – she had found herself in instead of her house tonight, more than a thousand years born, instead of her house seventeen years after she’d been born. That gnawing pit in her stomach returned. She tried to ignore it, had been trying and mostly failing since she’d met Osraed’s family.

Osraed was a real bro, and his wife was gruff, but kindhearted. But Osraed wasn’t her dad, her father who’d been with her after… even more emotions welled up inside her. She’d never get to see her dad again. Or, for that matter, her mom, though she wasn’t sure if…

She turned her mind away from that and focused on the stories. She wove a larger than life history of America, one filled with larger than life explorers, soldiers, pioneers, inventors, revolutionaries, and presidents, men that she explained were elected by all of the people of America.

“All of them?” asked the youngest, Leofric, in awe.

“All of them.” Grinned Samantha, knowing this wasn’t technically true, but seeing no need to explain the complexities of American law to the Medieval English family.

“Were you ever president?” asked Wigstan

“No,” said Samantha “I was too young. You have to be really old to be president. Like ancient old. The youngest president we ever had was Teddy Roosevelt, and he was old enough to be Osraed’s father when old William McKinley got shot. You see, Teddy wasn’t elected for his first term, but he was elected for his second, and he would’ve been elected for his third if it weren’t for his rival, Woodrow Wilson…”



January 2, 878, Mercia

Mildred was lost in thought, pondering Samantha’s wild stories of rifles and presidents and countries that spanned continents where people rode in horseless chariots called “cars” and lumbejacks carved canyons with their axes. She could hardly imagine such a place and such a time. If even a tenth of what the girl claimed were true, America must be a truly alien world, one she didn’t know if she wanted to live in. But perhaps it was not so dissimilar to her own world…

She put another log on the fire, and as she absentmindedly reached for yet another, her fingers brushed the hilt of the strange sword Samantha had been given, apparently by the same power that had sent her back.

She jerked her fingers back in surprise, then tentatively touched the surface of the strange metal. It was cold to the touch. Not just cool, but cold. It had been sitting next to the hearth since Samantha had left it there the day before, seemingly unsure what to do with it, and she had made sure everyone, especially Samantha, remembered to keep the fire burning all night, but the metal was cold.

“Samantha!” she called “You get over here! It’s your sword! And Osraed, you’ll want to see this too!”