The world seems to still. I don't know what to do with myself. Sitting helps, but not much. I don't even have it in me to read more prayers. I feel my full stomach grumble, wanting more.

Todd jumps off the altar, studying me with his cunning black eyes. "You're not taking this very well."

You just told me I was murdered, Todd. Yeah, I'm not taking this very well. I huff a laugh, but it quickly devolves into something unstable. Breathing in deep through my nose, I try to calm myself before I fly into the same panic that gripped me after Margo's death. "How did I die?"

"I know a lot," Todd tell me. "That is one of the few things I cannot confirm. Too much idle gossip, and nobody can keep their story straight."

I instinctually reach out to pet him, hoping for the same comfort that Margo offered, but I pause halfway to his ears. "Um, I'm sorry, may I pet you?"

"I must admit I don't usually let people poke and prod me. But I will most definitely accept a good scratch behind the ears from you."

I scratch his ears and take in the nice weather. Sunshine, green grass in the distance, a floral scent on the wind. There were worse places for me to end up out of space and time.

"I promise I'm not stalking you." I turn towards the voice and find Alex standing nearby in the dead grass, looking sheepish. "I saw you come out here and I just wanted to make sure you're ok. Oh, hi Todd."

Alex looks similar to my brother and sisters—thin and tall, brown eyes, dark hair, a well-defined jawline—the only main difference being my siblings were much tanner. Nothing like myself. I inherited the majority of my DNA from my father, unfortunately. I'm on the shorter, stockier side, with cheeks that bunch up when I smile. I at least received my mom's long dark eyelashes instead of my dad's invisible blonde ones. It's something, at least. Sometimes it was all that kept me holding on in the wake of adoption jokes and general family alienation.

When she makes no move to sit next to me, I pat a patch of crispy grass and she decides to take a seat.

"So," I start, motioning dramatically at the altar, "I apparently died here."

Todd trots over and rests his head on his paws beside her. Alex smiles at the fox but doesn't reach to pet him. "Yeah. This must be really weird for you. But you're back now! So that's good."

No, no, no. That's not how this works at all.

If these people think I've come back from the dead, it's because I actually did die in the 70's. The current me will become the past me when we time-travel.

Maybe if I find out what happened, I can stop it. From what I remember, island time travel runs on the"whatever happened, happened" logic. Theoretically, nothing can be changed about the past because whatever I'm going to do in the 70's is what's already happened. I am destined to die here.

I still want to know.

"Do you know what happened to me?"

Alex shakes her head no. "I guess it doesn't really matter now that you're back, right?"

There must be someone on this island that knows how I died.

Alex clears her throat. "I'm shocked Erik and Liv let you come out here by yourself."

"I kinda snuck out the window," I admit with a shrug.

"Did you tell them about last night?"

"No," I answer, frowning. "I figured it wasn't a good idea to tell the people who hate you that you've already started bullying me." Heat creeps up my face when her mouth presses into a hard, worried line. "Sorry, I was joking. Bad joke. I'm not mad at you."

We sit in silence for so long, my face warms even more. I don't know how to restart the conversation. I wipe my sweaty palms on the pants she gave me last night.

"Where did you get these clothes?" I ask when the silence becomes unbearable. Everything fit like a glove, even the bra, which is absolutely unheard of.

"They're yours," she says and falls silent again. I don't even bother asking what she means. "Why didn't you heal your eye?"

"Makes me tired. Wasn't worth the trouble. Why? How bad does it look?"

"I've seen worse," she assures me, smiling. "I'm really sorry about my dad."

"That's ok." I relax a little at her calmed state. It's easier to talk to her if I pretend she's one of my younger sisters. "I mean, I'm pretty sure picking fights at a family funeral is a coping mechanism."

"Yeah, he's not usually like that. He feels really bad. I could hear him moving around in the kitchen all night. He just. . . they were really close." Alex grins at a memory and rips brown clumps from the ground. "Margo used to babysit me after my mom died. Mom never liked her much, though."

I nod. Then I realize what she's said. "You knew your mom?"

"Yeah." She tilts her head in confusion and rips up more grass. "She came to live with me for a few years when I was a kid. I didn't know her for very long before she got sick."

Alex pauses, and I rack my brain to try and make sense of this, but it looks like a lot of what's happened so far doesn't make any sense. "I'm sorry," I tell her. "That must have been hard."

"I don't miss her. I mean," she adds quickly, "I kind of do, but not. . . I don't know. Not the way I think I'm supposed to, you know?" She pauses, looking embarrassed. "That's terrible, isn't it?"

"No, I don't think so." And I don't. It's like all my distant relatives I never met in Sicily. I may feel sad if I hear they've gotten sick or passed away, but it's not the same as losing someone you're close to. I wouldn't be surprised if Alex was more torn up over Margo's death than she was her mother's. "If you didn't really know her, that makes sense. Just to confirm," I add, "your mom's name was Danielle, right?"

"Mm-hm," she hums confirmation.

Yay. Even more information I don't understand. None of this is matching up to my knowledge of what's supposed to happen. There are actual Vikings here, I apparently destroyed Dharma, Danielle Rousseau was welcomed into the Others, and I have bootlegged island powers that make me hibernate if I use them.

I don't even know if I can use them on other people. Would it feel the same as when I heal myself?

I think about how nauseous I was while my forehead healed and suddenly remember how sleepy I was when I touched Claire's stomach. "Alex, do you know what the plan is for the survivors?"

"They're having a meeting about it now," she says, wagging a thumb back towards the houses. "Your people want custody of them all. Ours want custody of a few." She leans her head back in the sun. "They're always fighting."

"What about the man who shot Margo?"

Alex snaps her head up. "What about him?"

I need some semblance of normalcy or I'm going to spend the rest of my existence here flying from one anxiety attack to the other. I need to talk to someone who isn't fundamentally different from the character I know from the show. I need to talk to Sawyer.

"I want to see him. Please, Alex." Judging from her expression, she wants nothing to do with the man who just shot and killed her friend. I try guilt instead. "You owe me a favor. Please. I really need to talk to him. Can you show me where he's being kept?"

The door leading into the recreational room has been barred with chains and a padlock.

"Great," I huff sarcastically. "Now what?"

"Just break it," Alex suggests. At my confused expression, she adds, "You're freakishly strong. Just. . ." Alex mimes ripping the chains apart.

Huh. I get a good grip on the chain and pull. I change my grip, take a deep breath, and pull harder, but no matter the strain, no matter how hard I concentrate, it's clear nothing's happening. "Uh, Alex? I think you've been lied to."

I watch her expression morph into wide-eyed worry at something behind me a split second before I hear the familiar voice.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I stumble forward, away from him, spinning around only when I've bumped into Alex.

Ben looks curiously from me to Alex, seemingly waiting for an explanation. I think about asking to speak with Sawyer, but I don't get the chance. "Go home, Alexandria," he says.

"I was just—"

"Home. Now." I expect her to fight, or at least whine a complaint. I don't expect her to give me a small shrug of apology and listen to him. Ben glances at her as she walks away, and then he turns to me, stepping closer and nodding with amusement at the chains. "Did you not think to just ask for the key?"

"Sorry." I hate my face for betraying me and enflaming at his teasing tone. "May I please have the key?"

In a few steps, Ben's standing in front of me. He's taller than I am, taller than I expected, and I have to look up at him. It leaves me feeling vulnerable in a way I cannot explain.

"No." His eyebrows furrow slightly, as if he's confused as to why I'd ask.

"Right." I can't figure out where to look. "Okay."

"Wait. Wait, Miss Collins," he calls as I try to sidestep him and get the hell out of here. "A word, please."

I feel my heartbeat quicken even more at his much more friendly tone. "Please tell me you don't need another favor."

This time he snorts a brief laugh. "No. Actually, it dawned on me this morning that we've yet to be properly introduced." He holds out a hand to shake. "Benjamin Linus. Pleasure to meet you." His grip is firm, and his hands are warm and dry. He offers me a smile—one of the lopsided ones that are more smirk than smile.

"Cora," I say. His lopsided smile grows into a grin, but his eyes are dark with lack of sleep. He looks as annoyed and tired as I feel, and I wonder how long it took to conclude Margo's funeral. When he releases the shake, I cross my arms over my chest.

I expect him to nod and leave. Maybe make a sarcastic remark. Try and pry information out of me. Ask me questions about myself. The last thing I expect him to say is, "I believe I owe you an apology."

I look up in surprise. "Huh?"

"I shouldn't have pressured you into helping us last night, and for that I hope you can forgive me. I must confess, I've never been very good with grief." He waits for me to respond, but I'm dumbstruck by his relaxed expression.

"Don't worry about it." I wonder if Ben's the only person who hates me because Margo is dead. Alex doesn't seem to hate me. Did Margo have other friends? "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you."

I haven't seen him smile once since I've been here, and now it just freaks me out. There's something forced, something manic about it. I want to get back home so Liv and Erik can get me out of here. I glance behind him, but I don't see either of them. I don't see anyone.

"Liv is not going to be pleased when she realizes you've given her the slip," Ben comments, sounding amused. "It took a lot for her to relinquish her spot at this morning's meeting to that hothead Erik, but she insisted on being the one to watch over you while you're here."

"Nobody told me there was a meeting."

"Sorry for the lack of invite. It was my understanding that you needed sleep." He draws out the last two words in emphasis. "You must still be exhausted. Do you want to sit down? I know somewhere we can continue this conversation." He pauses, waiting, but I make no move to walk in the direction he's pointing—the direction Alex headed off in.

Continue this conversation? Great. What does he want this time? I rack my brain for memories of his character so I can keep myself in check. Selfish. Egotistical. Deceitful. Power-hungry. Charming.

Charming, yes. It's almost all in the voice. His way of saying things so softly, yet so assuredly. It's actually rather difficult to focus on what he's saying when he speaks because everything he says sounds like he's flirting with me, which just makes me more embarrassed because that's definitely not the case.

He looks sincere—I'll give him that much—but I don't want this conversation to go on any longer. He's talking to me for a reason. Ben doesn't waste small talk. He got what he wanted. He got Margo. This must be pure damage control so I don't get angry and tell Liv and Erik what really happened last night.

No, he does still need me.

Right. Spinal tumor. He needs me to help him recover from surgery once Jack operates on him.

Jack. The survivors. Claire.

Sawyer. Remember the entire reason you're here?

"I want to talk to Sawyer," I manage to say. "Please."

Ben takes a few steps away, ignoring me, before glancing back to make sure I'm following. "You coming?"

If the meeting is over, where is Erik? Did Liv figure out I'm missing? Why the hell did I leave without telling her? What is wrong with me? Sweat dots the back of my neck, and it's suddenly difficult to swallow. "The last time I followed you somewhere, I got this." I point at my black eye. "I want to talk to Sawyer."

"No harm will come to James," he promises solemnly. "You have my word. Don't you want a briefing about our negotiations? We've come to a consensus about what's. . . what's to be done with. . ." His speech slows to a stop as he stares, confused.

I look behind me, but we're still the only two people in the area.

"Your eye," he explains. "You just healed your eye."

"No I didn't." I blink and realize he's right. The tightness has lifted. My fingers probe the surrounding area, but it no longer feels bruised. A rush of lightheadedness hits. "Oh, great." I heave an exasperated sigh. "I have no idea how this works."

"You should. . . probably sit down."

I follow him to the nearest house because I'm dizzy and don't know what else to do. If I wasn't this dizzy, I'd try my luck wandering around and finding my own house. How hard could it be? It's the one covered in offerings.

But I am dizzy. And I don't think I would make it.

I wish Todd was still here, but he wandered off while Alex and I walked to the rec room. A witness would be nice in case something happens to me while I'm passed out. I take a seat on someone's porch and the shade instantly cools my feverish skin.

My one consolation is that now that I'm sitting, I don't think I'm in immediate danger of blacking out. Instead of the tunneling vision and nausea I remember from the beach, I just feel lightheaded. I focus on breathing and staying conscious.

"Would you like to come in?"

I look over to find Ben half inside the doorway. Something about his stance seems awkward, but I can't place it. All I know is this must be his house, and I am not going inside. "No, thank you." The fresh air is the only thing keeping me from vomiting on your porch. "The fresh air is nice."

He nods in a curt jerk of his head and disappears.

This is giving me a migraine.

A slice of cake hovers in offering close to my nose. I smell the familiar scent of my favorite dessert, and my mouth instantly fills with saliva.

"I made you an apology cake last night," Ben explains, handing me the plate, fork, and a glass of milk. "Apologies for getting off on the wrong foot." He motions at the chair next to me. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

It's your porch. I nod for him to sit because I don't have any idea how to say go away.

"Thank you," he says. Once he's seated, he spears a corner of his own slice and waits, his fork hovering over the plate. It takes me a second to realize he's waiting for me to eat first.

I expect it to be serviceable. It's easy to make good tiramisu. A little more difficult to make great tiramisu. But what I put in my mouth reminds me of the cake my grandmother used to make. It's such a shock to my tastebuds I stop chewing and just let it sit on my tongue for a second.

"Is it that bad?"

No, this is excellent. I look over to find Ben eyeing me. I quickly finish chewing and shake my head. "Where did you learn to make tiramisu like this?"

Of all the things I've said today, for some reason this is what seems to throw him off. There's a bewildered pause before he says, "Cookbook."

I don't laugh because I think it's funny, I laugh because this has been the weirdest week of my entire life.

Ben clears his throat. "May I ask you a question?" I nod for him to continue, and he places his fork down against the plate with a clank. "How does it work? Is it a direct word-for-word translation, or is it more intuitive?"

"Talking to animals?" I shovel cake in my mouth and shrug. "No idea. It just sounds like they're speaking English." I think about Scales' speech compared to Margo or Brego. "Some better than others." Cold sweat creeps up my neck and down my back as a wave of nausea hits out of nowhere. I put the fork down.

Instead of prodding further, Ben sounds annoyed when he asks, "Can you please give me a warning if you're going to fall unconscious?"

"I think I'm gonna be sick." Instead of feeling nervous at his tone, it just pisses me off. Why am I still here if I don't want to be? I need to go back to the house. Hopefully Liv won't get in trouble. Hopefully I won't get in trouble.

A plump raccoon pulls himself up the porch steps and waddles over to my chair, reaching up with two grasping hands. "Gimme."

"Leave her alone, Rocket," Ben chastises. The raccoon waddles closer to Ben's chair and stands on two legs, this time pointing a claw at something behind Ben. "No," says Ben, "I'm not looking behind me so you can steal my cake. That trick only works once."

"Hmph." Rocket huffs with annoyance. "You humans are getting smarter."

I cut a piece and bend down to hold it out for him. Instead of accepting the small portion in my hand, Rocket quickly reaches up and scoops the rest of my cake off the plate.

"You're my new favorite," Rocket tells me as he retreats down the steps on two feet, the cake cradled in his hands.

Did I just get played by a raccoon? I frown at his comedic figure in the distance. My slice is gone in only a few greedy mouthfuls, and I feel my stomach protest. Despite the wavering nausea, that cake was delicious, and I had all of maybe three bites.

Hey, wait a second. "I thought you were going to tell me about the meeting."

Ben is already standing to take my plate. "Do you want another piece?"

No, I would like to know about the meeting. "No, thank you."

"Would you like some lunch?" he offers. "I can make—"

I leap up out of my seat and stumble down the stairs in a mad dash to get in the grass. It feels like my body is desperately trying to purge itself of everything it's eaten since the 3rd grade. Once I run out of food, my stomach keeps contracting until I end up sweaty and gagging on nothing.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and violently shrug it off.

"It's me," says Alex. "I'm putting your hair up. Here, I got you some water."

I gag again, frustrated that I cannot stop heaving even though I've run out of everything including bile. Through the pain welling tears in my eyes, I see someone approaching.

"I'm assuming this is going to be a no for the orange trees?"

"Tom," I hear Ben warn, "do you honestly think now is the appropriate time?"

"Aw, come on," Tom begs. "Those things haven't produced fruit in like 2 years. I love oranges so much—"

"She's not blessing the orange trees, Tom," Ben snaps. "Go home."

Alex holds a water cup in offering and I rinse my mouth out. I take a few gulps and immediately throw it back up.

I hear Alex whisper, "Are we in trouble?"

For a second I think she's talking to me. Then I hear Ben answer, "No, she has to stop eventually."

Another voice joins the conversation.

"While I have you all here at this disgusting impromptu assembly, just wanted to make it abundantly clear I'm not going with you to orgy island, Linus." Jane holds up a hand when Ben tries to counter. "I'm not going to orgy island. Never again. Not happening."

"I thought you'd be excited to join us? Erik mentioned they patched their masonry ovens. There will be plenty of bread. And jam," he adds, giving her a knowing look, but this only makes her more hostile. "You're going," he concludes. "We need a female representative present."

"I literally could not give less of a shit," Jane sneers. "Take Veronica."

"She's on assignment."

"Take Cole. Jessie. Beatrice?"

"They're not equipped for this sort of thing."

Jane shakes a thumb at the man standing beside her. "Put a wig on Tom."

Tom makes a face. "Hard pass."

"I'll go," Alex offers. "Please dad?"

"Yeah," Jane adds excitedly. "She's finally of age. Take Alex."

"You're going, Jane."

"You owe me so much vacation time." Jane makes an exaggerated groan of annoyance and blinks at me, as if she's just noticed I'm here. "And you better not have drank all my milk."

Is she talking to me? She's looking at me.

"Or messed up my bookshelf," Jane continues. "They're not organized by alphabetical order, so I hope you weren't trying to be helpful."

"I was staying in your house?" My stomach begins to churn again. "I'm sorry. I thought it was a guesthouse."

"I had to stay with Daphne. She owns a damn peacock." Jane narrows her angry eyes at me. "Do you have any idea how loud a peacock is?"

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever," she dismisses and looks at Ben. "I cannot wait to get this over with. When do they want to leave? Oh, look at that," she huffs sarcastically. "I'll just ask them myself."

"Dad?" Alex asks nervously.

I follow her eyes and find Erik and Liv storming towards us.

"It's all right," Ben tells her calmly. "Stay here. I'll talk to them."

Jane snorts. "I hope he gets clocked."

"Erik or Ben?" Tom asks.

"Either would be fine by me," she clarifies and cracks her neck. "It's so boring around here."

After the fiasco that was riding Brego wildly through the night, I never thought I'd miss riding horseback, but I have officially made up my mind.

Walking is worse.

The direction we're headed is opposite the one I took to see Jacob, so the terrain is brand new, although not much different from the rest of the island. Fortunately, there are far less birds here. If I hear voices, they all belong to the excited norsemen who joined our travel party halfway through. Most laugh at what the other is saying, and there seems to be an overwhelmingly positive vibe.

I wish I could understand their language better.

"They are excited to return home," Liv tells me. "Most have not seen their wives for a month."

Unfortunately, Liv wasn't quite as forgiving of my window escape as I'd have hoped. Although she didn't technically yell at me, her disappointment and worry were more than enough to shame me into silence. She didn't even seem particularly upset that I healed my eye and got sick. Now she stays glued to my side.

"Why were they away so long?"

"In preparation for your return," she says. "Last minute negotiations and such."

Speaking of negotiations. . . "Liv, do you know what's going to happen to the survivors from the beach?"

"I wasn't at the meeting, as you know." She gives me a look, and I regret asking. "But I spoke with Erik. They've been fed and sheltered," she answers. "We have some of our best guards watching over them for now, until we can wrap up Jacob's ridiculous demands."

"What demands?"

Liv sighs, and I worry I'm annoying her. "His followers have a list of people they claim ownership of. It's not how we have ever distributed followers. Erik will not allow it."

I'm relieved to hear Claire and the rest of the people back at the beach at least have food and shelter for the time being. The people Liv is referring to must be Jacob's candidate list. Jack. Kate. Sawyer. Hugo. Sun. Jin. Claire? I honestly can't remember who else was on it.

I wonder how big the list is. Surely it can't be massive. But then why would Erik so passionately shut down a conversation about distributing the survivors amongst the two communities?

Liv is the first person to give me a straight and informative answer as to what the hell is going on, but before I can ask her anything else, we break through the trees and enter a long stretch of sandy beach, headed towards a large longship.

"We're taking a boat?" It comes bursting out of me without warning. "Wait, where are we going? I thought the temple was inland?" That's what Todd said.

"Who told you that?" Liv holds out a hand to help me board a long plank leading up into the ship. "Your temple is across the water on a smaller island. Ah, we're in luck. The winds are good today. We may not even need to row."

Do not freak out. This obviously isn't the first time they've sailed this ship. Just make sure you sit in a middle seat, and nothing will happen. Vikings are famous seafarers. We won't sink. We definitely won't sink.

"My Lady?"

I don't know how to swim.

"Thanks." I grab hold of Liv's outstretched hand and try my best not to give away the levels of rising anxiety welling inside my chest as I walk up the narrow plank. Once inside, I stand awkwardly out of the way, trying to figure out where to sit.

"You three near the prow, in case we need to row," a man points at me and then points at the bench seats closest to the front of the boat.

"Shotgun," Jane yells, pushes past me, and plops down on the front seat, stretching out her long legs across the bench. She fishes around in a backpack for something, pulls out a walkman and a pair of sunglasses, and relaxes.

She's taking up most of the bench, but I'm definitely not sitting on the edge, nearest the water. I take a seat next to her feet. I can hear the music in her headphones from here.

"Pardon me, Miss Collins." Ben hoists a bag over the bench beside me, climbs over, looks at Jane, and frowns. "Really?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jane says. "I can't hear you." With a few taps on the side of the walkman, the music in her already loud earphones gets even louder.

Ben sits next to me in what little space is left, his posture tense and ridged. In fact, he's pressed so hard against the side of the boat, he's somehow managed not to touch me at all. I look at him out of the corner of my eyes, but he's not looking at me. He's focused on the men remaining on the island as they toss up the ropes securing the ship to the beach.

Suddenly, we're moving, and I'm not ready. We lurch forward and start drifting right, and the momentum is strong enough for me to finally panic. I grab the nearest thing and cling for dear life, which just so happens to be Jane's legs.

"Can you not?" she yells and shakes me off.

"Sorry," I whisper, even though I know she can't hear me.

A roaring whoosh sounds from behind me. I twist around to see what's happening and watch as a few men pull at ropes to unfurl a massive painted sail that fills with the wind. With this newfound speed, the boat gains a steady push and pull of gravity as it slightly bobs up and down across the waves.

I can't swim, and I think I may already be seasick.

One of the norsemen brought a lute and a few of them join together in song as he plucks away at the strings. I wish it was enough to distract me from what feels very much like intense carsickness.

"What's that?" I ask, pointing at the plain sack at Ben's feet, partly because the nausea is making me delirious, and partly because I'm nosy. I noticed when I looked back at the sail that he's wearing a backpack, which I assume has his provisions. Jane only brought a backpack.

Ben glances at me for a moment, and then looks back out at the sea. "A gift for your seer. I need to speak with her."

A seer? "What specifically does she see? Fortunes?"

"Prophecies. Glimpses into the future. Although," he adds with exceptional dryness, "the current one is particularly cryptic."

Finally! Answers at last. I relax a little and start forming a long list of things I want to ask, but it doesn't last long. I am most definitely about to throw up.

I'm seated on the inner part of the ship, so I can't just lean over and throw up in the ocean. I'm either getting sick all over Jane or all over Ben. I convulse slightly at the thought, my fist to my mouth, sending out a silent prayer to keep the food I ate before we left in my stomach a little longer. In one swift movement, Ben shakes open the bag and offers it, which I barely grab in time.

"Alright, you win," Jane says in disgust and moves her legs off the bench, scooting away from me.

I spit the rest of my residual sick into the bag. Only after the nausea begins to subside do I start burning with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry," I finally apologize when Ben doesn't say anything.

"Apology not necessary."

"I ruined your gift."

"The gift is in this other bag." Ben pulls another bag up off the floor and rests it on his knee. "That bag was always for you."

"Don't worry, Lady Cora," Liv bellows from somewhere behind us. "You'll get your sea-legs back in no time."

I glance back at her only to find Todd wrapped comfortably around her shoulders. He waves at me with his tail.

I'm not sure what I expected. A crowd? At least a small crowd? We've docked on a shore where maybe five women await us. Honestly, it's a relief. Crowds mean a higher chance of people touching me.

One of the men straight up jumped off the ship and swam to shore when he saw his wife. I heard her laugh and call him a dumbass in English. The rest of the men secure the oars, tie the sail, and walk down the plank like the rest of us.

It was windy at sea, but it's somehow even more windy on the shore of Hydra Island. Enough to make me unsteady on the walk off the ship. A man sees me struggling and grabs me under the arms, setting me down firmly on the dock. I've never been so happy to be back on dry land.

Liv approaches, looking happier than I've ever seen her. Todd is gone again. "First line of business is to talk to my daughter. She's in the Hall of Freyja. It's this way."

As we walk further into the trees, more women appear, although most are much older than I expected. They don't say anything. They just stare at me, smiling. Everyone is dressed in something embroidered with flowers and bright colored necklaces. Im surprised nobody has their hair braided. Instead, they wear it long and flowing.

From out of the on-lookers, an elderly woman approaches. I expect her to delve into some sort of long-winded welcome, tell me she remembers me, or fall at my feet and make me feel guilty for her ailing knees.

I don't expect her to hurry right by me and spit angrily in Ben's face. Even more surprising is the fact that he doesn't even flinch. He simply continues walking and reaches up to wipe the spittle off on his shirtsleeve.

"Yeesh," Jane comments in disgust and hurries her pace so she's no longer next to him. "Her aim's getting better."

"What was that about?" I ask her.

"Your people are famous for holding grudges," she says cryptically. "No forgetting, no forgiving. Just lots of spitting."

I want to ask her what kind of grudge that woman has against Ben, but now I cannot help but notice that lots of women are muttering something, spitting on him, at him, and in his general direction. The old woman must have broken some kind of emotional dam because someone throws a small rock.

Jane grabs my shoulder and strangles it in an effort to keep me from turning to tell them to stop. "Don't," she hisses. "You'll only make it worse. Trust me, he's used to it by now."

Up a small hill, amongst a stretch of healthy green grass, an enormous longhouse covered in brightly colored flowers of every shade sits in the middle of what looks to be a bustling fish town.

Ben stops before we reach the door to the floral building and takes a seat on a bench. "Men aren't allowed in," he answers before I can ask.

Jane sighs heavily. "Well, let's get this over with."

Two women tug open one of the massive wooden doors and beckon us inside. We walk down a small hallway lined with candles, each wall painted with incredibly realistic images of naked women. It immediately makes me stifle a giggle out of pure shock.

"What is this place?" I whisper to Jane.

"What do you mean what is this place?" Jane snaps irritably. "Its your temple."

We exit the hallway and enter what looks like a sizable greenhouse. Vines hang down from the high ceiling, interspersed with even more flowers and enormous candle-lit chandeliers. Crammed shoulder to shoulder, silent but obviously excited, are dozens upon dozens of young women of various ages. Some carry babies, some rest a protective hand on the top of their young children's hair. They've made a narrow walkway for us, and it feels beyond claustrophobic.

I keep following Liv because I don't know what to do with myself. "Liv said we were going to the Hall of Freyja."

"Yeah," Jane says, looking at me like I'm stupid. "Congratulations, we're here."

That's when the first woman touches my hair. I shrink away, but this only gives access to the women standing on the other side of the walkway to run their fingers through. The women smile and tell me something, or ask me something, I have no idea. I just want them to stop touching me.

I'm so distracted by the unpleasant feeling of multiple strangers running their fingers over my scalp that I crash into the back of Liv. We've stopped at the far side of the longhouse, where an elevated throne of plants lies at the top of a platform.

On either side of the platform are two large painted statues carved of wood. The left is of a terrifying woman wearing a heavily layered outfit, long bulky cloak, and an intricate headpiece.

The right statue is dancing, arms raised gracefully above her head, hips slightly tilted, eyes heavy-lidded and sultry, clothed from the waist down in a slitted skirt, but completely and utterly topless. I double and triple-check the face to make absolutely sure this is supposed to be me, but there is no mistaking that face or that body for anyone else.

People are looking at this. Children are looking at this. Everyone can clearly see this naked statue of my breasts. Who carved this? Whose idea was this? Just. . . why? I am so beyond mortified, I burst into loud laughter, immediately bringing a hand up over my mouth and regretting the noise I make.

Jane nudges my side. "They just repainted those. Nice."

I want a crack in the earth to swallow me whole and crush me to dust so I don't have to be here anymore.

"Way to keep us waiting," a sarcastic voice calls from atop the throne. "We were told you'd be here almost three days ago."

Through the swirling smoke and candlelight, I focus on the face of the man and my nose slowly scrunches in confusion. "Miles?"

Miles Straume steps off the throne platform and approaches, looking at Jane. "Should I be worried or flattered that she already knows who I am?"

Liv gives a long, drawn out shout of joy before lifting Miles up off the floor in a bear hug, kissing the side of his head.

"Light of my life," he wheezes, "you're crushing me."

"You're the seer?" I ask aghast. I'm confused as to how he's even here. He's not supposed to be here until much later, shipped in on a freighter offshore. Yet here he stands, dressed in an embroidered tunic, belt, and pants, smiling at me with pity in his eyes.

"Ok good, you don't actually know what's going on." Miles laughs and shakes his head. "Nah, I'm no seer. You're here to talk to my beloved spawn. That's the only reason I'm allowed access in here." I was so thrown off by his presence that I didn't even notice there's a woman sitting on the throne. "Go on up," he says, "she's waiting for you. She's been waiting for three days."