Land of promise

“Here lass, you shou’d eat somethin,” Torsten says as he hands me some salted meat and hard tack. Scattered amongst our resting point in the copse of trees, the others are eating the same and drinking from water skins. After Huginn the raven departed, Frode walked off to do Jarl-related things, I suppose.

“Thank you,” I say to Torsten as I take the provisions. Torsten winks at me, then takes off to a group of warriors talking by the creek. One of them audibly slaps him on the back as he joins them, and Torsten’s booming laughter is heard not long after. My stomach growls, hunger suddenly remembered after all the shock of what’s happened starts to wear away. I tear an aggressive bite off the salted meat and chew, noting that it’s pork. Honestly, it’s not bad.

The sun has gotten lower in the sky, starting to paint softer colors across the horizon, telling me it will be another hour or so before sunset. It appears to be early spring in this world, based on the young lambs I saw earlier, and blooming wild flowers. In addition to the buttercups and bluebells I’ve sighted, there are plenty of thorny looking bushes with equally vibrant yellow blooms. I wouldn’t want to get my hand stuck in one of those.

I look around the camp, noting that although the warriors are resting, eating and laughing, there seems to be another edge or excitement in their eyes. They must be waiting until dark for their next raid, and will likely keep the horses out of sight to raid on foot in the night to gain the element of surprise. I tear off another bite of meat, thinking. Maybe I can try to escape in the commotion of the raid. It will be dangerous, but it’s probably my best chance. The thing is, I need a map. I still have no idea where I am at and where I can go from here. I also really need different clothes. It doesn’t help me much if I stand out like a sore thumb wearing office clothes from another world. It’s strange that Frode hasn’t asked about them.

“Planning a futile escape?” Frode says from behind me, causing me to jump and nearly drop the salted meat and hard tack. I whirl to find him leaning against a nearby tree, arms crossed and watching me. There is a black fur draped over one of his arms.

“What makes you say that? Maybe I’m just enjoying my little meat stick here,” I gnaw off another bite of the pork pointedly.

“With the way you are chewing it, it’s as if you wish to slay the pig again,” he says as the ghost of a smirk returns, but there’s curiosity in his eyes.

“I haven’t eaten in a while. Honestly, I don’t even know how long it’s been anymore,” I say, looking down at the food.

Frode simply nods, and walks over with the fur, then drapes it over my shoulders. The unexpected chivalry from a viking Jarl completely throws me, and I’m even more shocked when he pulls out my hair from underneath the fur so that it’s not tucked anymore. I look up at him, bewildered, then suddenly I realize how close he has gotten. He lowers his head so that his face is only inches away, eyes locked on mine.

“I will find out who you really are, sooner or later,” he says in a tone that brings chills to my skin despite the fur draped around me.

Shit. “I…I already told you my name,” I stutter.

That menacing grin returns. “I talk not of your name, fiery one.”

This isn’t good, I’m not sure how to convince him I’m from a wealthy family in this region when I know so little about it. I’m not good at this…what ever this is. I think it’s pretty obvious I’m not from here with the clothes I’m wearing and we both know it. The vikings only spared those that they found useful or skilled in their raids from my world’s history, so I need to either find a way to be that or use this next raid to escape.

“I’m…not from here,” I hesitate, trying to find the right words. “I’m…a traveler.” Not exactly a lie. I seem to have traveled through space and time to another world.

“That much is obvious,” Frode retorts, looking me up and down. “And where are you traveling from?”

“A faraway land, much different from here.” Also not a lie.

“Hmmm…” Frode picks up the pendant on my neck, I honestly forgot I was wearing it, his fingers brushing my skin and sending tingles through me. That’s right, I put the pendant on this morning before work, which feels like a lifetime ago. It’s a Celtic pendant from my trip to Ireland a few years back, a silver Triquetra shaped knot that forms around a set emerald gem. I’m very fond of it. “A wealthy land, it seems. Do you know what this symbol means?”

I nod. “Eternity, interconnections. The cycle of life, death and rebirth.” The deeper meaning of this in my current situation is not lost on me. Frode’s mouth forms it’s little half smirk, satisfied with my answer. I don't know if I'm going insane but I have the strangest urge to prop up the other side with my finger. Oh my god, no I will not touch him. That is a death wish.

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“My people also use knot work in our metalwork and textiles, but we often incorporate animals in the designs. They each have their own specific meaning.” He drops the pendant, and it makes a soft thump onto my chest.

“What meaning does a raven have?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. Frode tilts his head.

“They mean many things to us. Wisdom, memory, symbols of war and the transition between worlds. They are sacred.”

“I’ve never seen one before today, but I’ve heard about them. I’ve heard that they are very intelligent and loyal to those who are kind to them,” I say. We don’t really get ravens in the Pacific Northwest, but plenty of crows.

Frode’s eyes slightly widen with interest. “Ah, and what did you think of my Huginn?”

“I’ll admit he started me at first, but he is quite magnificent. Does he…” God I feel silly asking this, “does he talk to you?”

“We speak to each other. As does his twin, Muninn. They are my advisors,” Frode says, lifting his head and looking to the sky, as if he could see them now. So there are two of them. Huginn means “thought,” and Muninn means “memory.” Appropriate names for raven advisors, I would think. Although Frode is Jarl, his name doesn’t mean leader, but “wise” or “learned,” which traits would make a better leader anyway in my opinion.

“What do they advise you on?” I ask.

With his head still raised to the sky, Frode laughs dryly. “That’s not something I would tell you, fiery one.”

Fine. Small talk is over. “What do you plan do do with me?”

Frode finally looks down at me, considering his answer. “In Tir Taingire you will meet my seeress, and she will determine your path.” So, they plan to keep me alive at least until she gets to Tir Taingire. I have time to try to escape.

I nod. “When do we head out again?”

“YOU will stay here with Torsten and the horses while we complete the raid,” Frode says. Well, there goes that plan to escape in all the commotion. Frodes eyes twinkle and he flashes a feral grin like he knows.

“Great,” I look down at my feet, not masking my defeat well. Escape is going to be harder than I thought.

Frode’s rough hand grasp my chin once again and tilt my gaze back up to his. “I trust you won’t cause me any trouble while I’m gone.” It’s not a question, and his eyes take on that commanding edge that unsettles me. “Beatrix.” It's the first time he's said my name without hyphenating it.

“I’ll behave,” I grind out.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Frode lets go of my chin and walks towards the others, who have started to gather in the setting sun. The feeling of excitement is palpable in the air. A giant warrior with a long brown beard and braided hair examines his extremely large axe with care, looking for dullness. It doesn’t look like he finds any before hooking it over his back with a look of glee. Looks like they leave for the raid soon. Tir Taingire has no idea what is about to hit them, and it’s going to be bad.

"Let us claim what is rightfully ours!" Frode shouts as he stalks toward them. This time I raise an eyebrow. Theirs? But the group gathered eat it all up and shout in agreement. Frode begins to pace as he talks. "Glory and riches await those who fight without fear, and we do not show fear. Fear is for the week," Frode says, glancing back at me. My eyes narrow. "And should death claim us, we shall meet a glorious afterlife in Valhalla. But today, my warriors, Odin smiles upon us." More sounds of agreement. "For Odin and Valhalla!"

"For Odin and Valhalla!" the rest shout in unison.

Short and sweet. Not bad for a pep talk. "Thorsten, I leave the rest to you here," Frode says, as he turns North without another glance at me, the clan following.

"Aye, Jarl. Ye ken count on me. Fight fer the glory of Valhalla!" Torsten yells. I wonder if he's bummed he's going to miss out on all the fun because of me. But I guess someone has to stay behind for the horses too.

As night falls, Torsten starts a fire and we sit beside it. I stare at the flames, just imagining what carnage is taking place a few miles away.

"Sometin' on yer mind lass," Torsten asks.

"Why did you join them?" I ask, because I've been wondering.

Torsten seems surprised by the question, as he was expecting something else, and he's not wrong.

"I was very young when d' clan came to meh village, bak when Bjørn was Jarl," Torsten said. "Bjørn was Frode's father," he added when I frowned at the name. "I had eh choice. Be killed, or prove meh worth," he says as he takes a swig from a skin. "I was good wi' a blade even at eh young age, so, I prove'd meh worth."

"How so?" I almost dread the answer, but can't stop myself from asking.

"I killed one o' meh own people, at the ripe age o' twelve."

I stare at him in shock. So this is what it takes to join a viking clan. Utter ruthlessness. Killing your own countrymen. At such a young age.

"I'm so sorry Torsten." I honestly don't even know if that was the right thing to say or not, but he simply shrugs and takes another swig. I smell the nutty scent of ale coming from the skin.

Eager to change the subject, I ask, "so when do we go to Tir Taingire?"

"We ride ou' in th' mornin.' Will bring o' few horses wi' us as well for others to return with for the rest."

I nod without saying anything, and we are quiet as the wood in the fire crackles, sending small floating embers to towards the sky. This new life...what will it become for me? Will I abandon everything I know in order to survive? Will I become as ruthless as Torsten if it means I have a chance of surviving at all?

Torsten keeps me bound but lies down another fur for me to sleep on near the fire. Despite my desire to plan a way out of this mess, the exhaustion and trauma of my first day in a new, dangerous world completely overtakes me and I am lost to the blissful nothingness of deep sleep.