The threads of destiny

Everyone at the table suddenly quiets, looking between me and Frode. I grind my teeth, simmering in rage. But, until my situation changes, I must play long. I manage to make a curt nod in response to Frode's question, nails digging into my palms.

Either Frode doesn't notice my reaction or he chooses not to voice it. "Good. Let's get you cleaned up and..." he looks me up and down pointedly, "better dressed." Sniggers come from the other sides of the table, and everyone resumes eating, drinking and talking. Torsten casts a longing look at the table of spoils, chicken and mead. Suddenly Sigrid steps into the tavern behind us.

"The thralls have been organized, Jarl," Sigrid says as she approaches Frode.

"Excellent. Our guest here could use a bath. Do you think we could spare an extra set of clothes as well?" Frode says while motioning to me lazily, picking back up his tankard to take a swig of mead.

For the first time, Sigrid actually looks at me fully, assessing me quietly. She looks at me like she's trying to figure out why I'm being treated so differently, but is careful enough to not say anything. "I can try to find something." She swiftly exits the tavern without another word, and Torsten exhales loudly like he's had a long day, pulling up a chair to the already crowded table.

"Aye yeh better have saved some fer me!"

A few minutes later, I have a bar of handmade lye soap shoved at me along with some clothes while I'm brusquely escorted to the river by Sigrid to bathe in the freezing water. The water is cold enough that it hurts, but I'm grateful to finally have my hands unbound and to get all the peat and mud off that''s been caked on my skin since yesterday. I use the lye soap to scrub my skin until it turns pink. Sigrid stands about 10 feet away from the river, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else. After I exit the river, trying not to slip on the rocks, I grab the pile of clothes I set aside on the bank prior to bathing. They include a basic linen shift, a deep blue long wool underdress, a green apron overdress with an embroidered trim at the top and hem, a set of brooches made from tortoise shells to secure the apron dress, a simple leather waist belt and a deep blue over cloak. The cloak has embroidery on the trim and sleeves, making a diamond shaped pattern with red, green and yellow thread. There is also a string of blue, green and red beads with hooks on either side. I'm guessing they go between the tortoise shell brooches, as they have hooks on them. I do my best to dress the layers appropriately, and seem to do a decent job as Sigrid simply says, "Let's go!" in that gruff voice of hers, pushing me back toward the tavern. By the height of the sun I note that it's probably around noon.

When we re-enter the tavern, I note that the others have left, the spoils gone (likely distributed and stored elsewhere) and only Torsten and Frode remain at the table. Torsten has a roast chicken torn apart, greasy drumstick in hand as he's leaned over talking to Frode in a low voice. Specks of meat litter his beard. Frode picks at his plate with both elbows on the table, one hand propping up his chin, pondering as Torsten speaks to him. As we step through the doorway, Frode notices, then does a double take at my refreshed appearance and new clothes. His eyes rake me from head to toe, and back again, with an emotion I could only describe as hunger, drinking in every detail with a slowness that gives me the urge to fidget, but I don't. I'm not really used to this kind of attention. The men in Seattle I encountered were always awkward and passive aggressive when it came to the dating pool or hitting on me. Then there were the druggies I had to dodge constantly on the street living downtown, so I mostly just kept my gaze down whenever I went anywhere with my practiced resting bitch face and angry walk. I had it down good enough that people rarely bothered me. No one was ever this...unapologetically obvious in their lust towards me. Too bad he's a monster. I try my best to ignore the attention and lift my chin.

"Thank you Sigrid, that's much better," Frode says, still eyeing me. Torsten says nothing but raises a fuzzy eyebrow at me and Frode before grinning. He then digs into the drumstick he's holding with fervor.

"Is there anything else, Jarl?" Sigrid asks. I detect the slightest hint of annoyance in her voice, but not enough to be considered disrespectful. Frode either doesn't notice or doesn't seem to care.

"No Sigrid, that's all. See to Einar to receive your share of the spoils."

Sigrid places her right hand over her heart and bows briefly, then departs the tavern. Once she leaves, Frode brings his left hand up, beckoning me forward with his fingers. Reluctantly, I take a few steps forward so that I stand a few feet away. He leans back in his chair before saying menacingly, "Don't make me drag you here, fiery one." Fine. Everything is fine. I approach until I'm inches away from his chair and can smell the mead and chicken on his breath.

"Kneel." I instantly go rigid. The fuck kind of power play is this?

"Don't make me ask again." He says it like a command, but his eyes give me the wildest impression that he's testing me. Even in the slight chance that he is just to gauge my reaction, I don't think I'm ready to take that risk. So, against the internal voice screaming at me not to, I fucking kneel. That feral grin returns to Frode's cruel face, but his eyes flash a hint of disappointment. It's gone just as quickly as it came, and I start to wonder if I imagined it as he takes my chin in his hand once again. He seems to enjoy doing that. He makes an air of examining me more closely, turning my face over and back. My hair is still unbound, its red curls starting to take shape as it dries from the river water. "You are...beautiful...Beatrix." I say nothing. "You will sleep in my quarters tonight, we'll take one of the upper rooms in this tavern." The fuck I will. I'd rather die...again. But I say nothing. Satisfied by my seeming obedience, Frode lets go of my chin and starts to finally eat some of the chicken on his plate, dismissing me.

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"You can get up, but stay close, fiery one. Wouldn't want you wondering off too far." I start to get up off of my knees and dust them off once standing. "You must be hungry...come sit and have some chicken." As if on queue, my stomach grumbles. Well, can't escape on a empty stomach. I drag a chair back from the table to sit in and grab the most untouched roast chicken I can find, tearing off a drumstick. Similar to Torsten, I bite into it with fervor. Fuck, this is actually really good. It's seasoned with garlic, salt and some herbs I cannot place. That and the lack of chemicals, GMOs and other crap the food of my home world is full of just puts it on a whole new level. I manage to resist the urge to groan, but the bliss must show on my face as Frode smirks, then pours a tankard full of mead before pushing it towards me. I side eye it at first without reaching for it, but don't see any water anywhere in sight. The chicken is salty, already giving me thirst, so I reluctantly grab the tankard and take a swig. The mead is sweeter than the kind I've tasted in my world, with a stronger honey flavor and subtle spice notes of cinnamon and cloves. It's delicious.

"It's good stuff ain't it lass" Torsten says as he takes a rather large swig himself.

"Is it from here?" I ask. It wasn't uncommon for Vikings to travel with mead in my world's history. Frode nods, still studying me with that telltale smirk of his. "It is. there are barrels of it stored in this tavern. But I'm afraid with my clansmen and clanswomen it won't last long even then." Torsten chuckles loudly as if in agreement, taking a large swig. He's starting to get a red flush on his cheeks and nose.

"Do you like it?" I look over at Frode, his eyes twinkling, genuinely interested in my response. Why does he care? Wasn't I just on my knees earlier?

"It's unlike anything I've ever tasted before. It's delicious," I answer honestly. He doesn't need to know that I was a huge fan of mead in my home world. I'd often partake in drinking it with friends at the local renaissance faire, and would bring home a bottle from the farmer's market every now and then. None of it ever compared to this, though.

"Then I will make sure you have some whenever you want it, as long as it lasts." Huh? I look over at him in bewilderment. Before I can ask him if I'm still a prisoner, a horn blasts in the distance. The sound is a resonant blast, similar to a long-distance trumpet or war horn. Torsten hiccups, then stands abruptly, causing him to sway a little before he charges out of the tavern. He soon comes back in with a holler of excitement. "They've come, Jarl! The rest o' our clan."

Frode stands casually, plate now empty and abandoned. "Come fiery one.." he beckons to me to follow as he walks toward the door. "It's time for you to meet my Seeress."

As we exit the tavern, I can see that on the river a narrow long ship approaches. It's about 70 to 80 feet in length, shallow in design, with a single, large square sail adorned with a vibrant red diamond pattern. There are 16 oar positions on the sides of the boat, but the oars are up as the river flows the ship toward town. Frode's clansmen and a few clanswomen are already gathering at the river bank, hooting and hollering and raising their weapons as greeting to their fellow clans members. Others mimic the gesture I saw Sigrid perform before, pounding their right hands over their hearts, but without the bow. Frode, Torsten and I approach the increasing group of clansmen, Frode in the lead. As we get closer to the ship, I can see that wolves are carved into the curled stern and bow posts, and there are two silver ravens adorning the prow towards the curl. There are about 40 people on board, matching the cheers and gestures of their fellow clansmen on shore.

All except one. A woman with ice blonde hair stands motionless at the foot of the mast, cloaked in an black lambskin hood, so I cannot see the upper part of her face. Besides the hood, she wears a ermine-fur mantle, fastened by turtle brooches adorned with translucent crystals and chains of glass beads draped between them. Underneath this, she wears a blue and red dress similar to mine, only there are runes and symbols embroidered down the front in gold thread and it's encrusted with green, rose and clear stones. She grips an iron staff with a bronze knob of swirls at the top, set with more translucent crystals. About her waist she has a linked charm belt with a large purse, and on her right shoulder perches a raven. It's a little more scruffy in its head feathers than the last raven I saw, so I wonder if this is Muninn.

"Völva," some of the clans men whisper near us in awe. Seeress. So that's her.

As the long ship lands on the river shoreline, a pair of clansmen disembark first before turning back toward the ship. The seeress finally moves, accentuating each pace with a clink of her iron staff on the wooden planks of the ship. The raven stirs at the movement before taking flight, circling overhead and rolling in the wind almost playfully. As the seeress nears the gunwale of the boat, the clansmen reach for her arms to help her step out and onto the shore. She strides toward us with purpose, the staff piercing the riverbank with each step and the raven continuing to circle overhead.

"Hail and Joy, Skuld," Frode greets her with open hands as she reaches us. Skuld pauses to remove her hood with a delicate hand, revealing ice blonde eyebrows, grey, glittering eyes and full, pouty lips. She looks to be around my age. "Hail and Joy, Jarl." Her voice is smoky and sultry. But she's not looking at Frode. She's looking right at me. Frode notices this, and turns, looking between us in what could be described as anticipation.

Skuld takes the motion as an invitation to close the distance between us with a confident stride. Her eyes lock me in place with a hypnotic gaze, and strangely I start to feel a little dizzy. I blink rapidly and toss my head, trying to shake the feeling. When she speaks again, she is in front of me, but also all around me, whispering into my ear from behind and echoing within my mind. My world suddenly starts to tilt and I start to feel uneasy. What is happening?

"Hail and Joy, Otherworlder."