A whole new world

There's an awkward silence as I realize Frode is still waiting for my answer, that eyebrow rising higher the longer it extends.

"Have you forgotten?" the smirk turns into a grin. More laughter erupts around us.

My eyes narrow. "My name is Beatrix."

"Ahh....Bea....trix," Frode sounds out, like it's an odd taste in his mouth. "Interesting. Well, Bea..trix" his hand shoots out faster than I can block and grasps my chin strongly, but not enough to hurt. "You are now mine. It will be in your best interest to cooperate and come easily without a fight, although I'm sure my men would love it if you didn't." His grin turns absolutely feral and my stomach drops. The men around us snicker and cheer in agreement to prove his point.

"Come on Frode, you must share," a man with a partially shaved head says, his hair coming to braids in the back of his head. One of the ones who was leering at me earlier. "She is sweet on the eyes." Unable to look at the man directly with my chin in Frode's hand, I glare at Frode instead.

My gut tells me to flee, but I try to force my heartbeat to slow so I can think clearly. This man appears to be their leader and is implying that if I cooperate, for now, I'm less likely to end up in a worse situation. I have no weapons, food or proper clothing for the elements, and have no idea where I could go for help. Frode seems like he wants to keep me alive for now, and I have some form of protection if I do what he says. Logically, it makes sense to cooperate for now, and these people might even feed me and provide water in order to keep me alive. When I can get my bearings and find the opportunity to do so, I will escape and figure out next steps. Somehow, I've been given another chance at life. I'm not going to waste it.

"I won't fight," I say to Frode.

"Hmmm. Good." He lets go of my chin and starts walking back to his mare. "Torsten, bind her."

"Damn, I really was a' hoping she'd fight." Torsten dismounts with a swagger, rope in hand and approaches me. "C'mon lass, give me yer hands."

I sigh inwardly and raise them together for him as he begins to knot the rope around them.

"Why is she dressed so strangely," I hear another man ask.

"Maybe she's a selkie, and cannot get the clothing right" another offers.

"She has hair like yours Torsten, do you reckon she's from your lands?"

"Ach, I dinnae reckon so," Torsten says. "The lass speaks too diff'ren."

Hands bound, Torsten leads me to Frode's mare. "Here's yer kærasta, Jarl."

Kærasta, (darling), my newfound knowledge tells me, and Jarl, which is chief or leader.

Frode smirks again. "Thank you, Torsten."

"Up you go, woman!" Torsten unceremoniously grabs my hips and starts hauling me up in front of Frode. I frantically try to grasp the pommel with my bound hands and miss, about to fly over the other side of the horse. Thankfully, Frode quickly grabs under my elbow to assist, keeping me upright with one arm and allowing me to swing one leg over in front of him. As soon as I'm in the saddle, Frode wraps a hand around my front and pulls me into his hard, muscular body. Despite the awkwardness of the proximity to this strange man, he is warm, and the cold ache in my bones starts to ease a bit. It takes me everything not to scoot in closer to the warmth and I internally scold myself for it.

Instead, I ask, "where are we going?" I need as much information as possible to figure out my next steps.

"We ride for Tír Nairngire." Frode makes a clicking noise and nudges his mare forward with his heels. We begin moving toward the front of the group, Torsten not far behind. Torsten must be his right hand man, then. That's interesting, because he seems like an outsider with his accent.

"What's in Tír Nairngire?"

I feel Frode lean his head down until his breath brushes my right ear. "Inquisitive thing, aren't you?" I try an fail to suppress a shudder at the intimate gesture, all at odds with the question and the warning in his voice. Moments pass and I start to think he won't reply when he finally says, "depending on what we find, perhaps my next settlement. The locals tell us it's a lively fishing town rich in trade."

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"And what happened to those locals?" I ask. If this is an expedition, I can only imagine what the raids have been like for the locals in this region based on what I know about viking history. But is this the past? Have I traveled back in time? It didn't make any sense, because I seem to have also traveled a great distance from Seattle.

Frode chuckles darkly. "What do you think, fiery one?"

"Stop calling me that," I say before I can stop myself. What is wrong with me? I'm not usually this confrontational, and need to not piss off the only person that is showing any interest in keeping me somewhat safe, despite whatever his real intentions are. Maybe death has made me bolder, somehow. Or maybe this man just brings it out of me.

"Why not? Your hair is like fire," he says as he sweeps a hand through my red curls, "and you seem to have some fire within as well."

I snort. If only he knew past me, I think to myself. I could have used some fire to deal with that horrible boss of mine. At least I will never have to see him again, nor hear any more of his disappointment about my reports. In fact, he's never going to get that finished report. This time, a feral grin appears on my own face. Maybe you'll just have to write it yourself now, Asshole.

Frode speaks again, breaking me from my sinister thoughts. "One thing you should know fiery one, is that it's a good thing to be useful or valuable," he says as he returns his hand to my waist. "That is how you survive in this world."

This world. If I really have been reincarnated in a new life, perhaps this is a completely different world that is similar to that of the viking age of my own. I remember the pain I felt earlier right before being able to speak and understand Frode and his clan. It must be part of the reincarnation somehow. In order for me to start a new life, in a new world, I need to be able to speak at least one of the languages here. Thank GOD I was reincarnated with clothes on. Although it would have been nice to start with clothes and gear appropriate for the climate and region. Oh well, beggars can't be choosers.

We continue riding for a few more minutes before Frode says, "tell me, what family are you from?"

Family?

"I can tell you are well cared for, based on your appearance. Your family must be eager to get you back. Don't you wish to see them again?"

I hesitate, not knowing how to answer. If he thinks I belong to a wealthy family in a nearby village or town, that is likely why he spared me and is looking to exchange me for a ransom. Be useful or valuable.

"Or did you run away from home?" He guesses. "Maybe you weren't pleased with an arranged marriage proposed by your family?"

Thinking quickly, I force my body to react and go rigid, like he guessed the mark. If I act like I ran away, I have reason to not want to go back and to hide who I am until I can figure out a believable story.

"Ahhh...so that's what it is. Well fiery one, I will find out sooner or later."

"Maybe she's one of Lief's daughters," Torsten offers. I didn't realize he started riding astride us to speak to Frode more easily. "If so, she'd fetch us a good ransom."

"I'll decide after we reach Tír Nairngir. Until then, make sure that none of the men touch her."

"As you command, Jarl," Torsten says and lets his horse fall back once again.

We continue riding for several hours, through endless grassy highlands with the occasional copse of trees, until we stop once at a bubbling creek to water the horses. The creek cuts through a copse of silver birch trees, with scattered shrubs dotted with plump yellow berries that look a lot like raspberries from my home world.

Frode dismounts behind me, then surprisingly, turns to me and lifts me off his mare. "Stay close fiery one. If you try to run, you will not get far before I find you, and you will not be happy with what happens when I do." The menace in his eyes is enough warning for me, even though his voice is calm and almost casual. This man is terrifying. I simply nod, then he walks over to Torsten who approaches on foot, already dismounted from his horse.

"Based on what the villager told us, Tír Nairngir is a few more hours ride from here," Torsten says as they meet. He takes a swig from a water skin. I eye it, wondering the last time I ate or drank something. In another lifetime, I realize. Frode notices me eyeing the skin, then reaches to his hip where one is strapped. He unhooks it and throws it to me, which I actually manage to catch somehow with my bound hands. Unstopping the cork proves more difficult, but I eventually get it open and drink. Water has never tasted so good in my life. Lives. Huh, that's going to take a while to get used to saying.

Suddenly, a screech pierces the air and a massive black bird swoops in towards Frode. I duck on instinct and nearly drop the water skin as it barely misses my head, but Frode recognizes the bird and extends his arm. As I get a closer look, I recognize it as a Raven. "Hugin," Frode says and strokes the bird with a a surprising gentleness I didn't think he was capable of. The bird makes a series of small croaks.

Frode looks at the raven quietly for a moment before turning to Torsten. "The raid in Torlundy was a success. We acquired gold from the monastery and slaves from the village. The rest of our party should join us in Tír Nairngir in a day's time."

Did he just...communicate with the bird?

"And the Seeress? Has she made any more prophetic claims?" Torsten asks.

Frode looks over at me, then lifts his arm while Hugin takes flight into the sky. "When Skuld reaches Tír Nairngir, she will meet the woman."