Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

The tenth day of the men's sojourn on the island

Taking her place within the circle of the council, Frida looked from face to face—her grandmother Bothild, and another of the senior women, Agneta, alongside Elin and Hedda, Signy and her mother, Ulva, and the other chosen ‘brides,' Grethe and Astrid.

Attending the longhouse to convene with them was the last thing Frida wanted. Naturally, they were concerned about the guests they were hosting, and the men's progress needed to be monitored, but Frida's head spun with the events of the night before.

She could barely believe what she'd experienced. After years of being ostracized, the notion of sharing herself with any man had become fearful, yet Gunnar's authority and tenderness had kindled her desire. Nevertheless, with the rapture had come those horrifying visions—of trees wrapped in fire and a river of flames cascading toward the shore.

Had they been showing her something real of the future? Or were those images intended to represent something else entirely, warning her against becoming consumed by the tenderness she bore toward Gunnar? Was Freyja signaling to her the danger of being consumed by those feelings?

If the vision truly spoke of what was to come, then they were all doomed, but would the others believe her in any case or merely offer scorn?

Save for her grandmother, she knew they thought of her as strange, treating her with derision. Even Elin preferred her not to speak of the signs of nature, as if to do so would bring ill luck upon their heads.

For that reason alone, she hadn't mentioned to anyone the attack of the birds upon the beach or their sudden demise. She hoped the tide would wash away their bodies and all evidence of that horrible episode.

Hadn't she tried to warn them before when she'd foreseen the illness that had struck down their men? None had wanted to believe her. When it was too late, her foresight had been treated with suspicion, as if she'd caused the calamity rather than endeavoring to avert it.

If only she could be sure of what the portents meant…

Perhaps she might speak with Bothild. If anyone were to understand, it would be she. Yet something within Frida shrank from the idea. Could she explain how the trance had come to her in the throes of passion? She felt no shame, but ‘twas not an easy subject to discourse upon with her grandmother.

And what if Bothild decreed that Gunnar had brought on the terrifying vision? Would she insist on dividing them?

As much as Frida had convinced herself an eventual parting was for the best, her heart now fought against it. Gunnar had shown her glimpses of a life she thought never to have. One filled with affection and desire, the chance of a child, and perhaps even love.

Could she risk that being snatched away?

And if the visions are a true prophecy of what is to come?

A wave of nausea took hold.

There were legends of the end of days, of Ragnar?k, when calamities hailed the final battle between the gods and their foes.

If the world were to end in fire, what could she do to prevent it? Was it better to say naught and allow them to remain ignorant? A pang seared Frida's temple. How could she decide such things?

She must hope she was mistaken.

"You'll begin, Elin?" Frida's thoughts were interrupted by her grandmother's question. "A report on these men, if you would. They're recovering from their injuries?"

Elin drew in a breath. "With proper rest and care, my hope is that they'll heal. Frida has done well in tending to the wound upon her man's ankle, but he must wait for the injury to close before attempting to stand, then use a crutch."

"And all is well, my child?" Bothild's eyes turned to Frida. There was concern there, though masked with a smile. "You're making your guest welcome?"

That was one way of describing the interaction between her and Gunnar.

"‘Tis strange having him beneath my roof, but he's pleasant enough. We've been… getting to know one another." Frida hoped her wording would not arouse suspicion. The last thing she needed was an interrogation. She needed time to understand what had taken place between the bed furs last evening.

"The man who resides with Grethe has three fingers broken on his left hand," Elin was speaking again, but her words were lost to Frida, whose thoughts returned to the man now sharing her bed.

What must Gunnar be thinking? After his efforts to please her, she'd rejected him, unable even to speak. It was a wonder he hadn't up and left. Doubtless, ‘twas only his injury that had compelled him to remain at her side.

Her stomach knotted.

I wanted to explain.

Gazing into the fire-pit, she recalled the quiet that had fallen as Gunnar held her, offering the solace of his arms. Though she'd gradually regained her composure, the right words had evaded her.

How could I tell him? He'll think my wits lost if I describe all I saw.

She longed to be alone with him now, to reassure and please him. Gunnar had still been dozing when she'd been summoned to the longhouse, so she'd left him to rest.

If only she could be alone with her thoughts rather than forced to endure this strained atmosphere. Everyone seemed tense, though Signy's tone was softer as she addressed the group.

"They should be allowed a meeting," the girl asserted. "And I agree, giving them something useful to do is a good idea. Even my Viggo can help. It will be good for him."

"Mine has been asking the same." Frida was glad to be able to say something constructive.

"We can't keep them apart forever!" someone else agreed.

Bothild raised her hand for quiet. "This can be arranged. Moreover, it sounds as if some men are fit to be assigned tasks. The rest need more time to recover. As long as they show themselves pliant and no danger to our women, all will be well."

"Aye!" Ulva concurred with enthusiasm. "Let them work, but if they step out of line, I'll stand with Hedda in wielding the knife!"

Frida glanced from Elin to Signy, their anxious expressions reflecting her feelings on Ulva's rash statement. Fortunately, it seemed the meeting was over.

Thank the gods.

Frida lingered. Making sure to accompany Elin as they departed, she caught her arm. "I need your advice."

"What is it?" Elin frowned. "Has something happened?"

So many things!

The words almost spilled from Frida's mouth, but she held back, keen to make sure the others were beyond hearing.

"Is it Gunnar? He's not in pain, is he?" Elin was all concern.

"Nay, naught of the kind. Come, walk with me a little." Frida steered her toward the dunes, away from observation.

"He seems a gentle sort. You like him, do you not?" Elin prompted.

"I…" Frida did her best to gather herself. "Nothing is wrong between him and I."

I hope.

There was much for them to speak of, but she needed time to plan her words.

"We've become closer, and I think affection is growing."

Elin's expression softened. "I'm glad for you."

"But there is something worrying. Yesterday, he…" She paused, hardly able to believe what she was about to convey to her friend.

"Go on." Elin's tone was neither impatient nor judgmental.

"He kissed me…" Frida gestured between her legs, unable to articulate the matter further.

Elin's brow rose. "And was it pleasant?"

"Oh, yes." Frida felt herself blushing. "It was what happened afterward that concerned me."

"After?"

"Yes, I mean when my passions peaked…" Frida was aware she needed to be careful in what she chose to reveal. "It was so powerful, and it scared me. I saw such things in my mind!" What had happened could not be usual, Frida was sure, but Elin had been married. She would know something of such things, wouldn't she?

Taking Frida's hand, Elin gave it a squeeze. "When a man is very attentive to our needs and gradually rouses us, it can be so. It sounds as if Gunnar made you see stars."

Frida thought back to the shooting star she'd witnessed over the sea not long since. Had that been an ominous sign or one of hope? Certainly, the matter of the birds had been unpleasant, and she could not put aside the unease in her mind. Still, she shrank from telling Elin of it.

Her friend laughed. "‘Tis naught to worry over. It seems Gunnar is well practiced in this art."

"‘Tis good to know." Frida forced a smile.

"Now, I'd best return. Rangvald struggles with his pain, and I've been gone long enough."

For the first time, Frida noticed some tiredness about Elin's eyes. She'd been so fixed on her own problems, she hadn't thought to ask how her friend was faring. It seemed impertinent to do so now, as if she asked merely in courtesy. She directed her question instead to the wellbeing of the stranger.

"He suffers greatly?"

"He'll recover." Elin's voice held resolve. "But he's insufferably mean-spirited in the meantime." Her lips twitched. "Ah, well. He's a test from the gods, no doubt, to see if my patience is worthy of the trial."

"If anyone can heal Rangvald, it is you." Elin was one of the most tolerant people Frida knew.

"Kind, as always." Elin looked at her wistfully. "Return to your lover and tend to his needs." Her tone was knowing. "May there be many more peaks of passion for you both."

Frida feigned laughter, but a new fear gripped her.

Many more peaks of passion.

She wanted to pursue this newfound pleasure with Gunnar and for their mutual joy to bring a child, but… the thought of being assailed by those visions again! Could she endure it?

Gunnar might excuse her overwrought state once, but how would it be if she lost herself to the terror again? Would he grow fearful, turning on her as the other men of the island had done when she'd failed to hide her gift?

She was caught in a trap. And if catastrophe loomed…?

Help me, Freyja.

Frida pleaded from her heart. If there was any hope, Frida would need the goddess to guide her.

The shadow of all she'd been shown hung heavy, but Frida was determined to have faith. The gift of sight was hers for a reason. Freyja would not forsake her.