DHARMA, 1974

It won't stop screaming.

A small green bird perched on top of the hospital continuously throws his head back and emits an ear-piercing screech. I watched LaFluer throw a shoe at it earlier, but the frightened bird merely dodged the footwear and landed back on the roof with yet another ungodly wail.

"That bird sure is loud."

"Huh?" Annie looks over at me and then looks up at the roof. I've interrupted her thoughts. "Oh, yeah. Uh-huh."

I strangle the small bouquet of flowers Annie and I spent all afternoon picking. She trembles with nerves beside me, but I don't know how to comfort her. Especially because she's right to be nervous. We messed up real bad.

"Do you think she'll accept our apology?" Annie whispers.

I shrug and try not to think about what will happen if she doesn't.

Unable to take the suspense any longer, Annie pulls open the hospital door and rushes inside. I follow closely behind, happy that the shrill bird is significantly quieter inside.

Nurse Burke is quick to stop us. "I thought I told you two no visitors yet."

"Let them in, Jules," a tired voice comes from behind a curtain. "I need to talk to them."

The second I see Miss Collins, I regret coming here. Maybe we should have waited a few days before trying to make amends?

Miss Collins is awake, but just barely. Sweat drips down her pale forehead, and her eyelids are droopy and reddened. Her usually friendly expression is blank, but her eyes cut scathingly through both of us the second we step around the privacy curtain shielding her hospital bed.

We stand before her, watching as she glares at us without actually glaring at us.

"Miss Collins?" I don't know what to say, so I hold out the flowers in offering. Honestly, I'm just incredibly happy she's not dead. "How are you feeling?"

She doesn't reach for the flowers. Her response is quiet and calm, but it's just as bad as if she were screaming. "I was just stabbed in the ribs, Benjamin. How do you think I'm feeling?"

"Sorry." I don't bother trying to fight the heat that rushes into my cheeks and leaves my face red.

She inhales deeply, and I tense in preparation for her to actually start screaming, but her voice is still soft when she asks, "What were you two doing that close to a negotiation?"

"It was my idea," Annie offers. "I wanted to get close enough to see Freyja's face." But Miss Collins won't have any of it.

"I'm not interested in playing the blame game. You were there, too, Ben." At the mention of my name, I look up at her, only to instantly fill with shame and look away. "Were my instructions not clear enough? Did something I say confuse you two?"

It takes Annie a second to answer because I cannot. "No."

"Have I ever insinuated those people were anything but dangerous? Do you two think this is some kind of game?"

Even Annie is too upset to answer this time. We shake our heads no.

"Oh good," Miss Collins huffs sarcastically. "I was beginning to worry this was all my fault."

I have never felt this stupid in my entire life. Looking back on what we did makes me so embarrassed, my stomach churns.

Just this morning, Miss Collins was explaining the differences between a horse, a donkey, and a mule for an upcoming exam when the alarm sirens started blasting through the speakers. She ordered Annie and me to get inside the nearest house before following a group of security, but we didn't listen.

Usually when the norsemen come to negotiate the terms of the treaty, it's only Jarl Sigurd and two or three others. This time she was with them—their god—covered in heaps of brown feathers and beads and bones, riding atop an angry sounding elk with enormous painted horns.

Annie and I thought we were sneaky, hiding behind a house near the meet-up, when we were found by one of the norsemen who lifted me up by my shirt collar. I was so afraid I was going to die, the rest of what happened is a blur. All I remember for certain is suddenly my feet were back on the ground, and Miss Collins was screaming for us to run.

We're her favorite students, her star students, and it's our fault she was stabbed.

"We're sorry," Annie whispers.

Miss Collins sighs, her eyes flickering shut, and I can tell she's not mad. She's disappointed, and that's much worse."I don't want your apologies. I want you both to listen to me when I tell you to do something. You could have died." She extends both her hands, wincing, and we each grab one. "Promise me," she proclaims, her sweaty face suddenly going serious. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."

"We promise," we answer in unison.

Miss Collins releases our hands and sinks back into her pillow, her face looking especially white against the hospital's bleached sheets. "Thank you for the flowers, but I need to sleep now."

Juliet is quick to usher us out, the hospital door slamming shut behind her with a click, and the screaming bird is suddenly ringing in my ears.

It is a relief when Annie finally speaks."She looked like she was in a lot of pain."

"Should we bake her a cake?" I suggest. Miss Collins always makes us dessert when we have a bad day. "We can write 'sorry' in icing?"

"No, I don't feel good. I'm going home," Annie answers. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait. . . do we have school tomorrow? Who's going to teach us if Miss Collins is in the hospital?"

"I'll ask my mom." She sounds like she's going to cry. "Bye, Ben."

I watch Annie's slumped form cross the courtyard and disappear into her house. She's always been the adventurous one. The one with her head held high no matter who bullies us. For a long time, I thought she wasn't afraid of anything. It feels unnatural to see her so deflated.

I stand alone, long after Annie is gone, and worry that we've somehow done something unforgivable.

I worry things are never going to be the same again.

Time becomes meaningless.

I don't know when it happens—as I lie awake, griping the knife for dear life—but I go from feeling panicked but overall well to feeling intensely sick. Each beat of my heart feels rushed but also irregular, bringing with it a thick dotting of sweat on my hairline and nose and neck. When my hand goes numb, I relax my grip on the knife, but I never regain sensation. I flex my fingers and realize both my hands have gone numb.

I jolt at the sudden sound of banging against the door.

"My lady," a muffled voice yells. "Are you awake? It's Gail. The sun has only just risen, but I'm afraid you're needed at the beach. It's urgent."

It's morning? In my sleep deprived state, I roll over and blink in a useless attempt to clear the heavy weight banging around in my skull. This is exactly why I always wrote my essays long before they were due. Freshman year taught me pulling all nighters destroys my sleep/wake cycle in ways that take a solid week to remedy. In my experience, procrastination has never been worth it.

What assignment did I forget to do?

I stand up and immediately fall to my knees. All feeling in both my feet has disappeared, but it feels just like my hands—no matter what I do, they won't wake up.

Oh my God, I've been poisoned. I'm going to die. First my hands and feet, and then the rest of me. I feel Fenrir lap at my face in worry, so I pet him in a feeble attempt to calm down. I can still move, I just can't feel anything.

Am I drunk? Is this what it's like to be drunk? Did the small amount of mead I accidentally swallowed last night somehow give me a hangover?

Am I just hysterical? I feel hysterical. Breathe. Just breathe. Maybe staying up all night wasn't a good idea.

Gail bangs on the door again, sounding much more anxious than before, and I scramble to remember what's going on. I look down at the knife in my hand. Gail has been nothing but kind to me since I got here. She's taken care of me and answered my questions and taken the time to explain my role. I don't care that Ben said to assume everyone is trying to kill me because I don't think it's Gail.

I keep the knife though.

I pull up the wood plank and heave open the door. Gail starts to explain what's going on at the beach but almost immediately stops. "Cora. . . what happened?" She doesn't apologize when I frown. "You look. . . very unwell," Gail continues. "Are you running a fever? Do you need a doctor?"

I can't imagine what kind of treatment a norse doctor would give me, but you can bet it's not FDA approved, so I think I'll pass. "I'm fine, Gail." I'm almost too tired to feel embarrassment at becoming paranoid from lack of sleep. That's what this is, right? Paranoia? "Had terrible insomnia and stayed up all night. Although, I think I bent my arms at a weird angle. They fell asleep."

She nods, but her eyes say she doesn't believe me. "I won't waste more time talking. Follow me. You'll see for yourself."

I find them standing in the middle of the hill leading down to the docks and the beach.

Jane rubs at her temples as I approach. She's changed back into her pants and t-shirt but looks just as aggravated as she did in the dress from last night. "Oh, what the hell?" She turns to gauge Ben's reaction. "Did you know about this?"

Ben, for once, looks equally as incensed as she does. "No," he says slowly, "I did not."

I squint in the early morning sun and finally see what they're talking about. Why are the survivors here? I want to ask Jane or Ben what's going on, but it turns out I don't need to.

Jane spots me as I walk closer and her worried expression darkens. "You need to do something about this," she hisses at me. "This wasn't part of our negotiation. And you look terrible. Are you hungover, too?"

"Thanks," I mumble.

"No, I mean you look really terrible." Jane steps close enough to pull one of my eyelids open to look at my pupil. I yank my face away, but she doesn't grab for me again. "Do you feel sick?"

I flex my fingers. I clap once. Nothing. Not even the prickly numbness that comes from waking a limb back up. Just to be safe, I tell her, "My hands and feet have been asleep for a while."

Jane points at a young woman curiously standing nearby and orders, "Get Annie." When she doesn't move, Jane yells, "Now!" and the young woman breaks out in a run up into the main village.

Annie? I wonder if she means the Annie. The little girl from Dharma. Ben's only childhood friend. Annie is a common name, but if Miles and Charlotte are here, it only makes sense Annie would be too.

I look back at the survivors and notice the group is far too small to be everyone. In fact, it's definitely not everyone because the only survivors standing awkwardly on the docks are female.

"Miss Collins," Ben starts, pausing when his eyes shift to something behind me.

"Negotiations are off the table," Erik answers from behind us, flanked on either side by Gorm and Inga. All of his cuts and bruises look even worse in the bright sunshine. He steps closer and shoots Ben a look. "I've decided we're no longer in need of your council. Feel free to return to your people in one of our smaller ships. Please follow me, Lady Cora," he says more kindly. "We have much to discuss."

To my immense shock, instead of yelling something snide or punching him in the face, Jane does nothing but watch Erik walk past her down the hill.

Jane sighs, but not dramatically. It comes out more like an anxious snort. "Well," she says, glancing stoically at Ben. "Here we go."

"Why'd you bring them here?" I ask Erik.

From what I can remember from the show, tensions were already high enough when the survivors were struggling to live together. Granted, Sawyer started a lot of the fights this early on—and he's still locked in a room back at the barracks—but he wasn't responsible for everything. Jin and Michael definitely had a fight over a watch. I can't imagine how bad it's become now that family and married couples have been separated.

I watch Fenrir trot through the survivors asking, Hi, are you a friend?

"The men don't exactly get along great." A pain starts in my back. I flinch a hand up to grip where my kidneys are, and I completely reconsider whatever norse medical care they have here. Something is definitely wrong. "They're going to kill each other."

"Saves us the trouble."

"I'm sorry?" I turn and stare blankly at Erik. "What do you mean?"

"I mean they're a waste of resources, my lady. We can always use them," he explains, nodding at the confused female survivors standing farther away on the beach. "No need for the men."

I feel all the blood rush from my head and I totter unstably. "Did you kill them?"

I have never felt so happy to hear a response. "No, not yet," Erik tells me.

"Not ever," I snap loudly, and the man standing to his right flinches. I can't remember a time my body ached this much, and the pain makes it easier to voice my anger. "Nobody is killing anybody. Gorm, right?" The viking who flinched is quick to bow his head. "And Inga?" She looks surprised I remember her name. "Some of these women are already married. None of you are to kill anyone. Understand?"

"I insist you rest, my lady," says Erik. "You have had an exhausting few days, and we can take it from here."

No, you nut-job. I want you to tell me exactly what you plan to do. What the hell is going on? I reach up and swipe at the sweat trailing down my face. "What's the plan? This isn't even all of the women."

This news dents Erik's self-assured smile just a little. "What do you mean?"

I take one last look around just to make sure, but I don't see her. "I mean this isn't—" I look over at the tall bearded man standing beside me, but I can't remember his name. His face is swollen and bruised, and I wonder who he pissed off to get that bad of an ass-whooping. "I mean . . . this isn't everyone." I find Claire amongst the crowd and hurry towards her in the sand, happy to find someone familiar. "What happened? Where's Kate?"

"Don't talk to her," Shannon pipes in. At least, I think it's Shannon?

Wait. Who's Shannon?

I blink at the crowd and struggle to place who they are. A blonde pregnant woman stares at me, brows furrowed. I take a step back and look down at my shoes sinking into the sand. I'm wearing leather boots. I'm dressed in a ridiculous gown.

I try to remain calm and back away from them all. A group of women dressed in shades of pink and purple and light blue stare at me as I turn to gauge more of my surroundings, but I only become more confused. Did I fly home for Christmas break after all? We never take family trips to the beach. I don't see mom.

I spot two people wearing regular clothes amongst a group cosplaying as vikings, and I feel a rush of relief. "Excuse me," I ask a tall brunette. "I'm sorry to bother you, but what beach is this?"

She looks incredibly unfriendly when she says, "I knew there was something wrong with you. We need to get to the infirmary while you can still walk."

"I'm sorry?" I struggle to remain calm as I fight against her vice-like grip of my wrist. "Who are you?"

"Ben," the woman says, "get her other arm."

I feel the pressure of her grip tighten even more, and I have the good sense to start causing a scene. I'm being abducted. I'm being abducted in broad daylight, and they're probably trying to sell me into some kind of sex trafficking ring. Why isn't anyone doing anything?

I scream at the top of my lungs and push against the woman. I don't even push that hard but she ends up slamming into a tree a few feet away and landing in a heap with a surprised exhale.

It feels like I'm going to die. Everything hurts. And to make matters worse, I've reached a point of hysterical fight-or-flight that plugs me up like a bad case of allergies. I can feel tears trailing down my face and my nose runs a stream of snot over my lips. I reach up to swipe it and pull away red. My nose is bleeding? I've never had a nosebleed before.

I'm slowly surrounded by worried looking women with braided hair and identical dresses in varying shades of pastel. I cover my ears with the palms of my hands as they all ask me questions at the same time. How do they know my name?

"Everyone back the hell up," an elderly woman bellows louder than I thought was possible for someone of her age, and the crowd closing in on me quickly parts. She strolls past them with an air of authority. I wonder if she's a police officer, although I don't know why a police officer would be dressed the way she is. "Hello, Miss. My name is Gail."

I hold up my shaking hands. "I think I'm bleeding?"

"Yes," she replies calmly. "There's been an accident, and we need to take you to the hospital. What's your name?"

"Cora." I look down at my embroidered dress dotting with blood, at the flower chains around my neck, at the trees and numerous women dressed in a mix of historical and modern clothing, and then look back at Gail. "Where am I?"

"A renaissance festival," she answers with a smile. "I'm with security. Let's get you to the doctor, shall we?"

We walk through trees—Gail steadying me—until we reach a tall metal building covered in vines and foliage. This is the weirdest Renaissance Faire I've ever been to.

I see my reflection in the shiny metal door and stop, reaching up to swipe at my nose, but all I pull away is clear mucus. Fear pools in my stomach until the ache is unbearable. I stare at the blood covering my face and allow the situation to process. My nose isn't bleeding.

I'm crying blood.

I stand on the same beach I started this nonsense adventure on, only this time the group of survivors is infinitely smaller and entirely male.

There's an argument down the beach. Erik is yelling at a very distraught Jin, who I can only assume is furious they've taken Sun away from him. I don't know who starts it, but the two men begin taking swings at each other.

It doesn't last long. One of the bearded men hands Erik a long-handled axe, and all at once I realize how serious the situation is.

It doesn't matter that I order them to stand down. I scream for him to stop, but he's not listening.

The axe comes down heavy, severing Jin's head from the rest of his body.

It's as if I have breached the surface of water. Air hovers in my throat, uselessly stagnant. I can't breathe.

Suddenly, I can.

"Easy," a woman soothes as I gasp wildly. "You're okay." In a hushed whisper, I hear, "Flora, honey, go get your mother. Tell her she's awake. What did you see," she adds, louder than before. "Cora? Cora, honey, what did you see?"

"Who are you?" I blink into the harsh overhead lighting and try to remember where I am. Unfocused beams of white and yellow scratch at my eyes like a wild animal. A door opens, shoes shuffle, and there's a warm hand on my arm. I squint up into the kind face of a freckled redhead.

"Cora?" I blink more rapidly, confused as to how she knows my name. "Hi, I'm Dr. Freeman. Call me Annie." When I don't answer, she steps forward and checks a beeping monitor next to the table I'm on, and I notice she has a rifle strapped to her back. "I'm glad to see you're awake. Are you in any pain?"

"No." My panic lessons when I see Gail is standing beside me. She was the voice I heard upon awakening. I can't stop blinking. "How long was I out?"

"About 24 hours."

"What happened?"

"Let me up," a tiny voice commands from the floor. "Let me up!" Gail bends down, and suddenly Fenrir is plopped on my chest, eagerly sniffing my face. Once he's assured I'm okay, he makes a circle and gets comfortable on my chest.

"You were poisoned," Annie says and checks the IV I didn't notice was stuck in my arm. "You're lucky to be alive. There was enough in your bloodstream to have killed eight people." I hear a click and the beam of a flashlight blinds me as she checks my pupils. "If you're not in any pain, that should mean it's mostly left your system by now."

It comes back to me, slowly. Feeling terrible all night. The insomnia. Paranoia. Confusion. Crying blood. I tried everything at the party. It could have been any of the foods that were shoved in front of me last night. Is anyone else sick? Or dead?

Dead. I remember my nightmare. Try as I might to clear my throat, my voice whinges out of me like a croaking bullfrog. "Where's Erik?"

"His house is not far from here," Annie answers curiously. "Why?"

"Stop him," I beg. "Please, he can't go back to the beach. He. . . the axe! He's going to kill them—"

"Slow down," Gail soothes as I stumble frantically over my words. "Who is going to kill who?"

I can't get the words out. He's going to behead Jin, and who knows how many others. "I had a nightmare—" My face flushes at how ridiculous this must sound. "It was just a nightmare."

"No, it wasn't," Gail counters. "Aiko isn't our only seer."

What little relief came upon waking turns back into anxiety. "I had a dream Erik is going to kill people at the beach. On the mainland. I. . . I don't know when."

Gail's jaw shifts slightly as she thinks. "Annie, is Christopher still watching Erik?" Annie nods. "And Benjamin?"

"Left to go find Loki." Annie peals a layer of tape off my inner arm and pulls out my IV. I quickly look away and try not to throw up. "Needed to send a letter to Alex."

Gail humphs. "He needs to bring that girl here. She'll be safer here."

Annie rests a hand on my back and helps me sit up. "You know why he won't."

A set of metal double doors at the end of the room swing open, and a slew of chattering young women enter, followed by Jane, Liv, Miles, and Aiko.

For a while, it's as if I'm not even here anymore. The only one paying me any attention is Gail, and even then, she's more of a silent comfort. Miles is angry with Jane over something, and Aiko clings tightly to him, looking very upset. Four young redheaded girls all attempt to talk over each other until Annie tells them to quiet down. I assume they're her daughters, but nobody introduces themselves.

I lock eyes with Jane and scan her bruised eye, eventually trailing down to a sling holding her right arm tight against her chest. Did she get in another fight with Erik?

"You dislocated my arm yesterday," she says from across the room. "Tossed me like the Hulk flicking a fly."

"I'm so sorry—"

"No," she cuts me off excitedly, "this is great. If you can just channel that energy again, it would solve a lot of our problems. If there's one thing Erik will listen to, it's blunt-force trauma. Please tell me you can channel it at will?"

I don't have a chance to answer before Miles carries Aiko over to my bed and sets her down beside me. Now that she's close, I can see just how frightened she looks. "Okay, little bug," says Miles. "It is very important you tell us exactly what you see."

"I don't want to," she whispers. "Not again, please."

"Aw, you can do this," Miles encourages and fidgets a strand of her black hair. "That's why you're my favorite daughter."

"I'm your only daughter," she says, smiling.

Liv approaches and rests a comforting hand on the top of Aiko's head. "We'll be right here, sweetheart."

I feel her tiny fingers curl around my own, and Aiko's eyes shift from side to side. She blinks out of her stupor and says, "Lady Cora's going to rip a big tree out of the ground."

Miles hesitates before asking, "Is that all you saw?"

Aiko grabs my fingers again, and she's quiet for a long time. Then, as if she were burned, she lets out a startled cry and backs away, her unseeing eyes wide, slowly devolving into frightened tears. Miles picks her up to comfort her, but whatever she saw has left her inconsolable.

The sound of slightly rusted metal squeaks as someone else enters the room. I don't look at him—I cannot tear my eyes away from poor Aiko—but I recognize Ben's hushed voice.

"She's still upset?"

"Not about you," Jane answers, and her uneven tone breaks the spell Aiko's fear has over me. I turn to look at Jane, and my stomach rapidly sinks at her uncharacteristically worried expression. "You need me to go back to the mainland and get Alex?"

"No, Loki is flying her a message as we speak."

"Ben. . ." Jane finally looks away from where Liv and Miles are desperately attempting to comfort Aiko. "You better hope Loki reaches her before whatever Aiko saw comes true."

Dad used to order all of us around like slaves or cattle. He was always on a power trip, sober or drunk. There were times when I'd actually see red from the things he'd say to me or my sisters or my mom. Casper never really got the brunt of his tirades, and I suspect that's because of some misogynistic bullshit that he was the son while we were the expendable daughters.

I have spent the majority of my life fantasizing about how amazing it will be when I grow up and move out and never have to take orders from anyone ever again. Now, as Gail helps me prepare to bluff my way through the violent and confusing politics of people who supposedly worship me, I wish more than ever that someone would just tell me what to do.

"Has Aiko said anything yet?" I haven't been able to get her traumatized wails out of my head, and it makes it infinitely worse that I have no idea what she saw because no one will talk to me about it.

"Liv is attempting to coax it out of her," Gail answers. "The poor girl's only six, Cora. It will take a little time."

"I know." I feel embarrassed having asked. "Sorry."

"Cora needs a weapon," Jane offers, "or this meeting isn't going to last long. The bigger the better. If we have to pretend she's formidable, it might as well be an all-out attempt. You people ever find her axe?"

"No, but I think I still have her darts." Gail finishes tying the back of the modest blue dress I requested and starts rummaging thorough one of the trunks in my room. "Ah-ha. Here's something."

"I still think she should wear the feather cloak." Jane eyes my clothing with an air of annoyed disproval. "There's nothing about this dress that screams listen to me asshole, or I'll rip your head off."

"You dress her like a warrior, Erik is going to expect a war. It's best we don't give that boy any more encouragement." Gail is in the middle of tying a long strip of leather with finely-sharpened knives holstered around my waist when one of the young redheads from the hospital sprints into my longhouse bedroom, panting and coughing a frantic plea.

I think her name is Flora?

"Fauna," Gail exclaims, "what is it? Is it Erik?"

"Flint—" she tries to explain, but she sprinted her too fast and cannot catch her breath. I scoop her up a glass of water and wait for her to drink. "Flint's going to get himself killed, lady Cora. Please, you have to stop him."

I glance at Gail and she says, "It's her brother."

"What happened?" I ask. "Where is he?"

Fauna's eyes are practically bulging out of her skull with fear. "He's challenged Thor to a Holmgang."

The word is familiar. I remember it from one of the recent lectures I attended about Norse culture. It's a sort of gentleman's duel for Vikings to settle disputes that cannot or will not be settled with payment of money.

"Are they fighting right now?" I ask. "And. . . and Thor's a . . . regular person, right?" I don't think I can handle having to stop a fight between someone else with super powers.

"Ugh," Jane complains loudly. "We don't have time for this. The meeting's starting soon."

We haven't even reached the rapidly forming circle before I hear Annie shouting.

I look over at a smiling young woman and ask, "What's going on?"

"Oh! Freyja, hello! Isn't this exciting?" Mashing her hands together, she brings them up under her chin, still smiling. "They both proposed, so I'm marrying the winner."

"You foolish boy," Annie seethes into the face of a teenager. "You would throw your life away for a girl who doesn't even care which one of you wins?"

Flint tries to stand tall and look impressive, but he's fairly young. I'm not even sure he's hit puberty yet judging by the size of him. "That's not true—"

"Oh really?" Annie interrupts even louder than before. "Go and ask her yourself. Right here, in front of Thor. Ask her which one of you she hopes wins."

Flint's jaw grinds from one side to the other as he stares silently at his mother. "Will you not watch me fight?"

"How dare you ask me that," Annie exclaims, but her voice is less sharp. It's dulled with fear. "I will not stand around and watch my only son die for such a worthless cause."

I get a good look at the man Flint will be fighting and completely understand Annie's panic. Thor is easily three times Flint's size in both height and muscle mass. Thor grips his sword with ease, while it looks like Flint is struggling to keep his up off the ground.

I take a step forward towards Flint, as if my body is on autopilot. "How old are you?"

Much like he did with his mother, Flint puffs up with pride. "Thirteen, lady Cora."

"I'm sorry. . . what?!" He's my little brother Casper's age. "Yeah, no." I point at Thor and tell him to go home. "Congratulations, Thor. I have absolutely no doubt you would have won. You need me to bless the engagement? Consider it blessed. Holmgang's over, everyone."

"You do the boy a great disservice, my lady." I didn't know Erik was here, but his slightly condescending tone is enough to make both my hands ball into tight fists. "Flint is not a child."

All I can think about is my own thirteen year old brother, who loves video-games and heavy metal and still asks mom to cut the crust off his sandwiches. "What planet are you from where a thirteen year old isn't considered a child?"

"His fighting spirit is admirable for one so small. You dishonor him by calling off the Holmgang. Who knows? You may have tarnished his chances of reaching Valhalla."

"Stop filling my boy's head with lies," Annie seethes lowly, shaking the strap of the rife off her shoulder to better grip the gun. "Stay away from my family. I don't need an axe to kill you."

Erik regards Annie with an air of amusement before dismissing her with a smirk and turning to wander back to the longhouse.

"Stop," I say, but he keeps walking. I hope he didn't hear me because we have a big problem if he did. "Stop," I say louder, and Erik, thankfully, halts.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Erik," I say, struggling to keep my eyes from flicking away to literally anything else within range. Remember what Gail said. Keep eye contact. This is important. This is more important than a decree to leave Charlotte alone, or to let the female survivors go back to the mainland. I have to convince him not to go to war and obliterate an entire society of people living in the barracks.

No pressue.

"I need to talk to you."