Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

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

Did these terrible episodes that struck Frida during her intimacy with Gunnar truly speak of death—for the island and all she cared for? Frida could no longer ignore the possibility. She needed her grandmother's wisdom.

She knew Bothild had her own gifts, and though Frida sensed those did not rival her own, her grandmother remained the only person who might understand. The others, even Elin, would think her fanciful or worse, to be feared. To have a confidant in a matter so personal was a huge blessing.

"Amma?" Calling for her grandmother, she peered around the dim hut. Only the fire-pit illuminated the shadows, its hypnotic flames reminding Frida of her most recent horrendous vision. "May we speak?"

"Frida?" Bothild appeared from behind the line of animal furs that separated her sleeping place from the main living space. "How are you, child?"

"I seek counsel." Frida moved toward Bothild's open arms and accepted her embrace.

Bothild eased herself onto a stool by the fire, gesturing for Frida to join her. "What troubles you?"

"I've been having visions, as before but different… more terrifying." Frida had no intention of detailing exactly how those revelations had visited her. There were limits to what she was comfortable sharing with her grandmother.

"Your foresight has returned?" Bothild's brow rose.

Frida nodded. In truth, her gift had never waned, but Frida kept much to herself. It had always been the easiest way.

"What do you see?" The older woman leaned close, her face lit by the dancing flames.

"Our island is ablaze. I see burning trees and rivers of fire. Our people are destroyed, and there is nothing I can do to prevent it." As the words tumbled out, Frida felt her pulse race. The vision was all too real in her mind. Even speaking of it made her tremble.

Silence hung between them. For a moment, Frida feared she'd erred in coming to her grandmother, but none knew her better than Bothild. Her guidance would be true.

Bothild's lips pressed into a hard line. "I, too, have seen omens which fill me with unease."

Frida's blood grew cold in her veins. She'd held on to the hope that the visions were merely an embodiment of her anxieties, but if her grandmother also foresaw some great calamity heading for the island, it could not be ignored.

"What can we do?" Frida pressed. "If I speak, I fear how the other women will take my words. Especially after the last time…" Only Bothild's intervention had persuaded the women that Frida was harmless.

None would wish to think themselves cursed. The island was their haven, and they'd done nothing obvious to displease the gods, but if Frida began spouting tales of fire and destruction, who knew what the consequences would be? Even her grandmother would struggle to convince the community of danger on such a scale.

"We should say nothing yet." Bothild's brow creased. "But do not ignore these signs, Frida. Your gift is strong. When we know more, we shall advocate together for a path of action—leaving this place, if need be, as the men did before us."

"With our guests?" Frida could not help but think of Gunnar. "We must think of their wellbeing, too."

"Ah, yes. Them, too." Her grandmother's lips curled. "How goes it?"

Frida chose her words carefully. "‘Tis good to have his company. I grow attached to him."

"And you fear parting when the time comes?" Bothild's gaze was knowing.

Frida nodded. "Though he needs to heal before that would be wise. He shouldn't leave… not yet."

Not ever.

She bit her lip.

"What will be, will be." Bothild smiled softly. "Perhaps these men will learn to live here as our equals; perhaps they'll depart when the time is right."

Frida pressed her hands into her lap. "And if the gods bless me with a child, then the pain of separation will be worse."

"Those the gods unite are not easily torn apart, and any child shall thrive if you are its mother, but do not dwell upon that fate. I see a change in you, Frida, and this man is the cause. Let him into your heart, and the rest will follow."

Frida shook her head. "I don't know how."

"Let him know you, even the parts you think none can love." Bothild touched Frida's knee. "Have you spoken to him of your visions?"

"No!" Frida couldn't believe Bothild would even suggest the idea. "He'd think me mad."

"If this stranger is your destiny, he'll accept you as you are."

"And if he's not?" Frida held her breath.

"Then, the gods being gracious, he shall still bless you with a child. It is more than you hoped for."

Her grandmother was right.

"Take these." Taking a pouch from her pocket, Bothild passed it toward her. "My runes can help you decide. A walk by the ocean will aid your thoughts. Take your time, Frida, then go to him when you're ready."

" Takk , Amma." Frida took the runes and hugged Bothild. She had tools of her own, of course, but appreciated the gesture more than her grandmother could know. "I have much to think about."

Walking by the shore, Frida scanned the bright sky. She needed to share more with Gunnar. Needed to be able to be honest with the man she was developing feelings for, but how?

Frida was so used to the scorn and derision of other people, it was difficult for her to open up to anyone, let alone a stranger. But Gunnar had been open-minded in their conversations. He hadn't appeared to judge anything she'd said or done so far. Perhaps she'd been wrong to assume the worst of her new lover. Believing he was like everyone else was unfair. He'd been only kind and tender.

Pressing her feet into the sand, she wandered on, considering her options as she wrestled with the truth. She didn't know how he'd react to knowledge of her clairvoyance, but there was only one way she'd find out.

Maybe he'd surprise her, showing more concern than censure. He might even admire her gift. She smiled at the idea, momentarily lost to the imagining of their happy alliance. Gunnar would be loving, would plant a child in her belly, and choose to stay with her and the babe.

Except that there might be no happy ending for any of them if her visions were to be believed.

Calm yourself. There is naught you can do until more is revealed. I must put my trust in Freyja to show me more, when the time is right, and tell me how I might save us.

She was close to the wreck now. She paused, wondering if this might be a good time to cast the runes Bothild had given her.

She then heard a sniffling and a shuffling. An animal of some sort?

Only when she rounded the hull did she see the true source.

Hedda was crouched low, her skirts wet in the sand, though her sister rarely visited the shore. Looking up, Hedda gave a ragged sniff.

"Frida?" Hedda's eyes were rimmed red.

Crying? When was the last time I saw her so?

Hedda was always in command of herself.

"What are you doing here?" Frida knelt. "Are you unwell?"

"I'm fine." Hedda wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "What brings you this way?"

"I was just musing upon things." Frida glanced back to the ocean. She knew she needed to be more vulnerable with Gunnar, but she wasn't ready to reveal her thoughts to Hedda as well. "I thought a walk by the shore might help."

"And?"

Frida shifted to sit beside her sister. "In truth, I wanted to come to this place specifically." A slight tremble entered her voice with the lie. "I've been wanting to cast my runes beside their vessel."

Hedda looked at the cloth Frida held.

"The omens are ominous." Frida's fist tightened about the pouch. There was still so much she didn't know, but she felt a sudden desire to share some part of the burden with her sister. "Something dangerous is coming."

"For the men?" Hedda's tone seemed sincere, which was odd considering her usual skepticism regarding Frida's gifts.

"I can't say." Frida was unsure of how to deal with her sister's change of attitude, though she wanted to believe that her interest was genuine. "The peril perhaps derives from the men, else it's headed for them."

For us all, most likely.

Hedda shivered. "Frida, you don't think…"

"I don't know what I think." Frida slipped the pouch of runes into the pocket of her apron. "Not yet."

"Of course." Hedda's smile seemed forced. "I was only wondering,"—she paused—"what you make of them… these strangers among us."

"Living with a man is not as I imagined it would be. They're troublesome creatures. Nevertheless, I feel an attachment growing." Despite her reticence, it was a relief to say so. "It is most curious… as if I hardly know myself or that I'm discovering some corner of my being of which I had no knowledge before. Of course, it must be harder for you since you wanted no part in the plan."

Hedda's jaw tightened. "Mine's a brute. I hate him!"

"Oh?" Frida's brow rose at Hedda's outburst.

"Well, perhaps not all the time." Hedda's expression softened. "Sometimes, he's not so bad. I'm drawn to Eldberg, even when I don't wish to be…" Her voice trailed away. "It's more than just desire."

"Hedda." Reaching for her sister's hand, Frida touched it lightly. "There's no shame in the way you feel. We aren't weak to express such sentiments."

Hedda balked. "You mightn't say that if you'd heard the way he spoke to me earlier." She glanced up to the cliff edge, apparently not keen to elaborate.

"You've spoken to him about how you feel?" Frida was surprised. Hedda was the last woman she'd expect to divulge such personal feelings, especially to a man! Moreover, she'd been the biggest advocate of killing the men where they lay upon the day of their arrival.

"Not exactly," Hedda mumbled.

"I think you should." Frida couldn't help but smile. Despite their difference, she wanted her sister to be happy. If Hedda could find contentment in Eldberg's arms, then perhaps love was possible for her and Gunnar as well. Maybe all would be well, despite the sinister signs. "It takes strength to admit such feelings."

"Perhaps." Hedda sounded uncertain.

"I know you were never happy with Einar." It tore at Frida's heart to see her sister so miserable. "But if you think this man, Eldberg, feels as you do, you must tell him, Hedda. Perhaps this is a battle worth fighting."

"I don't know." Hedda seemed conflicted, obviously filled with disquiet. Several moments passed, but then she gave a shout, calling his name. Her face filled with fear, she looked toward the cliffs that rose above the beach.

Frida followed her gaze in time to see a small silhouette slide precariously at the very cliff edge. Someone—Eldberg—was in peril!

"Stop!" Hedda was already on her feet, chasing across the dunes. Her voice traveled on the breeze. "You do not have my permission to die! Eldberg, you cannot!"

With her heart leaping in her throat, Frida raced to catch up.