DHARMA, 1975

Our classroom is my sanctuary. It's the one place I can go without fear of being bullied. I've been the target of Doug and his gang of brainless followers since I first moved here. Recently they've even started picking on Annie just because she's my friend. They knock books out of her hands and steal the homework out of her binder.

Miss Collins found out and spent an entire class period poking relentlessly at Doug's forehead while asking him if he was annoyed—poking even harder if he answered "yes."

Now they hate me even more, but they're too afraid to do anything about it.

Annie is friends with the entire class—aside from the stupid bullies—but she's the only classmate who doesn't make me feel like an outsider. She's off somewhere with Susan. I guess I can't hog her attention all the time.

It's easiest to spend my days here, after the school day has ended. The classroom is peaceful and deserted. Best of all, I don't have to worry about my father. There are some things worse than school bullies.

Miss Collins noticed the bruises on my arms today during class, but she thankfully never asked where they came from. I don't think I'd be able to admit that I got them for accidentally dropping my dad's uniform on the floor while trying to hang it in the closet for him. I was sweaty with fear that Miss Collins would make a big deal about it, but she just gave me one of her sad smiles, ruffled my hair, and wandered off to poke Doug's forehead some more.

I like Miss Collins, and not just because she tells interesting stories or bakes the class cookies or gives us presents all the time. She takes special effort to know everything about us. She has a genuine interest in our hopes and dreams and aspirations for the future and gives good advice for how to achieve it. She protects all of us equally— even Doug—from whatever it is that's troubling us.

It also doesn't hurt that Annie and I are her favorite students.

Annie's crazy about Miss Collins, too. Especially because they both share a love of animals. She's constantly lecturing the class on the importance of respecting the Goddess Freyja and her sacred island animals so we don't start a war with the norsemen. Miss Collins is almost as protective of the island's wildlife as she is of us. She's constantly bringing in new animals for us to interact with. But with some of the bigger ones—like Shadowfax the horse —we have to hold class outside.

We were standing around outside, listening to a lecture about the history of horses, when I looked up at Miss Collins right when the sun hit the back of her head. Her hair burst with a shimmering golden glow that almost blinded me, but I couldn't close my eyes. She laughed at something I didn't hear, and continued the lecture with a smile at the questions the class was asking. For some reason, it made me indescribably happy that she was happy.

About a year ago, when our old teacher Mrs. Goodspeed disappeared and was replaced with Miss Collins, she was practically bursting with chaotic happy energy that made school fun for the first time since I've been here. It was hard to be in a bad mood around someone so upbeat and cheerful.

But lately, that energy has dulled significantly. I feel like I see her looking more upset than happy most of the time, and it makes me sweaty with anxious worry that maybe Annie and I have something to do with it, even though we haven't disobeyed her once since the incident with the norsemen.

Or maybe it's the fact that a member of security asked her out on a date, and when she declined, he said she looked like a stuffed pig and he didn't want to date her anyway.

I've heard some of the other boys in my class talk about how she has a nice face and would be hot if she were thinner or taller, but they only say that because their father's do. I've heard it whispered among men all throughout the community. I don't understand. If anything, it only makes her better because she gives the most comforting hugs in the world.

The doorknob squeaks and jiggles. I jump up from my seat on the floor and panic. Where to hide? Where to hide? Nobody ever comes in here at this time of day!

I leap towards the little pushcart where we hang up the dark green Survey Corps cloaks Miss Collins made for when we go on "outdoor excursions." Nestling myself deep within the cloaks, I hold my breath as a janitor walks in, wheeling a mop bucket in front of him.

Dad.

"What the hell?" he mumbles, looking around the classroom in disgust. Miss Collins makes us move our desks to the outer rim of the classroom. She wants everyone to interact with each other, and it also makes it easier for her to bring animals in for us to play with. My favorite is Prince Humperdinck, our class pet rabbit. He shed a lot today, and now his pure white fur rolls around in little fluffy tumbleweeds.

My dad churns the mop in the sudsy bucket and prepares to clean the floor. I hunker down deeper into the cloaks and pray that he doesn't move this pushcart to clean behind it.

The door opens again, and I hear a welcoming voice. "Oh, Roger," says Miss Collins. "I didn't know you were in here."

"Huh?" Dad turns to look at her, and that expression crosses over his features—the one he uses when he doesn't want to talk to someone but is trying very hard not to be rude. "Oh, hello, teach."

"You can call me Cora."

"Yeah," he says. "Okay."

"Your son is in my class," she says. "Actually, since you're here, I figure we can discuss him."

"Yeah?" my dad snaps at her. "What's he done now?"

"Done? Oh, no, no. He's one of my best students. Very curious. Very eager to learn. His brain is like a sponge. It's fascinating."

"Huh," my dad laughs. "You sure we're talking about the same kid?"

Even from my hiding spot I can see Miss Collins' lips twitch in a losing fight to keep smiling. It's as if her cheerful glow is slowly draining away, and in its place is something terrifying. She stares at my father for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"Do you need something?" my dad asks, sounding annoyed. "I'm kinda busy here."

"Do you know anything about dragons, Roger?"

"Do I know about what?"

"Dragons," she repeats. "Mythical creatures of unparalleled power. They are most famous for hoarding and defending treasure." Miss Collins straightens up, and even though she's still shorter than my dad, she looks infinitely scarier than he does. "Think of me as a dragon, Mr. Linus. Which would make my students my priceless hoard. As such, I will do what is necessary to protect them from harm."

My dad shakes his head and starts to mop the floor. "You've got a few screws loose, don't you? You sure you should be teaching kids?"

Miss Collins yanks his mop away. "I don't think you understand me, Roger," she states in a low voice. "If you ever lay a hand on any of my students again . . . any of them . . . let's just say things will not end pleasantly for you."

"What I do with my kid is none of your business." My dad doesn't look afraid, but then again he's never been the brightest crayon in the box, as Miss Collins always says. "I'm sure Horace would love to hear about this."

Miss Collins smiles. "Now, think about that for a moment, Roger. Who do you think anyone is going to believe? The island drunk, or the poor little school teacher who enjoys knitting and baking and hosting class outdoors?" Miss Collins circles my father like a lion before the kill. "Dharma has quite an expansive set of rules, and an even more expansive set of unspoken rules. For example, you're not allowed to hit me."

"I've never touched you," my father sneers.

Without warning, Miss Collins lashes out and strikes her own face. "Ow! Why would you do that? I'm going to have to call security and file a formal complaint."

My dad starts backing away, his hands out, palms up. "Holy shit, you're insane!"

In the blink of an eye, Miss Collins knocks my father off his feet with the mop handle. He tries to stand back up, but she stomps a foot hard on his chest to pin him down and smothers his face with the sopping mop. "Oh, my dear Roger," she says and grinds the mop harder into his face, "you have no idea."

No matter how hard he struggles, he cannot seem to break free. All the muscles in my body twitch with the desire to burst out of this coatrack and tell her to please stop, but before I can convince myself to move, she removes the mop from his face. I sink back down on the floor and listen to the sounds of my father coughing.

Miss Collins stares down at him with such intense loathing that it makes me afraid she's actually going to kill him. I don't want my dad to die, I just want him to stop hitting me. She leans in and whispers, "If I ever find bruises on him again, I will take great joy in breaking every last bone in your pathetic little frame."

My father finally has the sense to look afraid.

"I hope we have an understanding," she says, dropping the mop down beside him. "I'm not in the habit of repeating myself. And don't bother reporting this parent-teacher conference, Roger. We both know there aren't any cameras in this room, and you'll only make a fool of yourself." She removes her foot, walks back to the door, and throws it wide open. "Now," she says with a cheerful smile, "get the hell out of my classroom. I'm quite capable of cleaning it."

I've never seen my dad move faster. He wheels his mop bucket so hastily water sloshes out all over the floor. The door clicks shut behind him, and the classroom falls dead silent.

Before I can decide whether or not to reveal myself, Miss Collins speaks. "It's alright, Ben. You can come out now."

"Shut up, Erik," Jane screams from across the raging fire. "He did not kill Cora."

I simply wait for all the attention to fall onto the arguing pair, and then I back away from the fire and disappear into the trees.

It's difficult to see where I'm going, but honestly it's a massive comfort that the shrill hiss and click of night bugs overpowers the random babble of birds overhead.

"Where are we going?" Fenrir asks.

"I don't know. But you two stay close to me, okay?"

"Yes, mama," Pumba answers.

"You can call me Cora." I stop and kneel in front of the both of them. "You two are brothers now. Stay together. I'm going to look after you, but you need to stay close and listen to me. Understand?" When they agree with a bark and oink respectively, I place a kiss on the tops of their heads and continue on into the unknown.

"Why are we running away from the humans?" Fenrir asks.

"I don't trust the humans."

"Why not?"

"Because they can't seem to make up their minds. We're just going to find a nice cave somewhere where we can—" My feet are abruptly pulled out from under me. I'm yanked up into the sky, swinging in midair, trapped in some sort of net. Why is this even here? I thought Rousseau was adopted by the others?

Without any warning, the skies open up wide, and it begins to pour. I dangle silently in the darkness for a good thirty seconds before I've mustered up the strength to be angry.

"WHY?" I twist my fingers in the rope net and shake them with all my might. "Why is this happening to me? I never skip Mass! I pray every night! Why, God? Tell me what I did wrong!" My legs have squeezed through two holes near the bottom of the net, and it's giving me a horrid wedgie. I feel a panic attack arising as my breath gets shallow and wheezes out of my lungs like a rusty hinge. "You want Hail Mary's? Whatever I did to deserve this, I'll make it right, I swear! I. . . I—" I can't breathe. My chest hurts. Am I having a heart attack?

"Mama! Are you okay?"

No, not a heart attack. I don't think? Panic. It's just panic. "Pumba, I need you to go get help. Both of you, stay together. No, no, no, no! Fenrir, stop! Listen to me. Listen to me! I need you to go get help. Stop chasing bugs!" I swing my hanging legs in the air like two angry piñatas as the rain soaks through my hair. "Boys, this is actually very painful up here. Can you please focus?"

"Okay! Wait. . ."

From out of the faint moonlight filtering in through the trees, I watch Fenrir lift his head and sniff the air. "What?" I ask. "Fenrir, what do you smell?"

"I smell help! I'll go get them." Fenrir trots off into the trees and returns excitedly barking, "I brought help!"

"Oh great," I huff sarcastically and lean my head against the net. "It's you."

Ben slops through mud and vines until he's standing in front of me, looking up at where I'm stuck. "Are you hurt?" he asks.

"Who, me? I've never been more comfortable." I pull apart a particularly thick clump of rope so I can see him better through all the rain. "I love having all the circulation in my legs cut off. You should try it sometime."

He says something I can't quite hear over the torrential downpour, but it sounds suspiciously like, "Don't move."

"Yes, thank you," I snap angrily. "I was just planning on running away, but now I guess I'll stay put—" I suck in a lungful of air right as I freefall back to the ground and land hard on my buckling ankles. As a shriek of pain rips through my throat, I feel the net loosen around me until I've been entirely cut free. Ben sheathes his knife and holds out a hand to help me up.

"Stop screaming," he orders. "You're fine."

I can't believe I ever felt sorry for you. I can't believe I ever found you even slightly attractive. I can't believe I almost just agreed to marry you.

Ignoring his outstretched hand, I scoop up a fistful of mud and fling it at him.

Ben frowns down at the splatter across his shirt. "Very mature. Thank you."

I scoop up another handful and fling it at him. This time my aim was a little high and he gets a face-full of muddy sludge.

I immediately feel terrible. "Sorry! I'm so sorry. Are you okay? I didn't mean to—"

Ben holds out a hand to keep me away as he swipes his eyes clean and spits as much as he can out of his mouth.

Wait, what am I apologizing for? He didn't refute Erik when he said he killed me. Is that why nobody has been telling me the full story? Did he follow me out here to finish the job? Is that the master plan? What the hell is the master plan?

I shake off the rest of the net, grab Pumba under one arm and Fenrir under the other, and take off running in a random direction. Mud splashes up onto my dress and cakes my boots as I dodge in-between trees for what seems like a lifetime before heading into a long stretch of tall grass. I've stopped trying to navigate and just sprint as fast as I can until I reach a steep embankment and stop before I accidentally slide down it.

"Wait," I hear Ben calling behind me. "Wait . . . would you please listen to me? I can explain."

"I officially don't care what you have to say. No, you know what? Tell me one thing. How are you still alive?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Why did they let you live if you killed me?" Ah, maybe this whole thing was a coup?

Ben takes an angry step forward. "Because I didn't kill you."

"Well, you sure weren't in any hurry to deny Erik's accusation." There's nowhere to run, but I find that—much like earlier on the beach—instead of feeling scared, I just feel intensely irritated. "Why is it whenever you show up, terrible things happen to me?"

Ben freezes, his dark hair plastered to his forehead from all the rain. "I can explain if you would just listen."

Pumba and Fenrir are getting heavy, so I put them down in the mud. "Please, don't let me stop you."

Residual mud sloshes down his face as he blinks at the ground, thinking. "In 1977. . . you were found dead with—" Ben pauses to clear his throat. "—sixteen stab wounds in your back and abdomen."

A thought occurs to me, and suddenly a lot of things make sense. "That's why they spit on you. The women on Hydra. That's why they hate you."

"They hate me because I was there," Ben finally answers. "I'm the only one who saw what happened."

I look up at him, equal parts excited and terrified to finally learn how I'm going to die. "What happened? If it wasn't you, who was it?"

Ben is still staring off into space when he answers, "I don't remember."

"You don't remember. Of course you don't." I can't roll my eyes hard enough. "So what you're saying is the person who killed me 30 years ago may still be on this island? Perfect. Fantastic. I'M ECSTATIC." I'm perfectly aware I'm being juvenile, but I can't seem to stop. Everything I usually scream in my head just keeps pouring forth in real time. "This is great news! Thank you for sharing, Ben. You've been so helpful. I guess we know who just tried to poison me. . . only, no! We don't. Because you can't remember!"

I have no real reason to believe him, especially considering who he is, but I start to feel bad at the intensely chastised look on his face. "I've tried to remember."

"Evidently not hard enough."

"I've tried everything," he refutes sharply. "Therapy. Hypnosis. Some very strange new age techniques. The memory is just . . ." He waves a hand halfheartedly around. "It's just gone."

It's like he's bitterly deflating. Reluctantly retreating into himself. It's so pitiful, so completely out of character, I find myself apologizing again. "I'm not . . . I'm really not doing well right now. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you in the face with mud."

His lips press together in a hard line and he nods. "I suppose suspecting everyone of secretly plotting an assassination gives you license to be at least a little irritable."

"Everyone excluding you, of course?"

"I didn't kill you," he answers so softly I almost can't hear him over the rain. "But to your people, not remembering who stabbed you is the same as being the one with the knife."

"Why did Erik say you killed me?"

"Probably guessed you'd react the way you did. He's deflecting. Which is good, because that means our plan actually holds water. It means he's scared."

I nod, too tried to be angry anymore even if I wanted to be. And then I realize something else. I died in 1977. That means Ben was. . . 12? 13? "How did you know me?" I ask him. "In the 70's. Why were you with me when I died?"

The rain cuts off so abruptly, the sudden silence is startling.

"You were my teacher," he finally answers, still looking at the ground. "I don't remember where we were going or why we were out there."

I try not to sound angry, but it's frustrating to be so close to closure. "What do you remember?"

His eyes dart around like Aiko's as his face settles into something resembling blankness. He doesn't answer for so long, I'm worried I broke him.

"Nevermind," I say quickly. "Forget it. Let's just get back to the—"

"You apologized," he answers in a strangled huff. "All I remember from that night is you were upset, and you told me you were sorry."

"Sorry for what?" But the question is completely useless. "I know, I know," I say before he can answer. "You don't remember. Got it. Okay, can we just go back to the beach? I want to at least dry off by the fire."

"You were headed towards the barracks when you ran off." Ben nods at the land behind me. "We're much closer to that than we are the beach. Erik was heading there anyway. Might as well save us some time."

I turn and peer down the muddy slope leading to a steep drop-off bedded with sharp rocks. "Is there another way down? I don't think. . . we—"

Ben pulls a gun out of quite literally nowhere and spins around towards the two figures I'm staring at behind him. A teenager leaning hard against a makeshift crutch grabs hold of the small child at his side and pulls him behind his back.

"Stop! What are you doing?" I hurry over and push Ben's handgun down towards the mud. "Don't point that at them. They're just kids."

"Who are you?" the teenage boy asks us. "Were you on the plane, too?"

I don't know who these children are—these brothers from the crash. The eldest introduces himself as Peter and the small child is named Darcy. They were sitting in the front of the plane, but that makes no sense. In the show, the only survivor from the front of the flight was the pilot, who almost immediately died after Jack, Kate, and Charlie found and questioned him.

I don't know who these children are, and I think that means they were never meant to survive.

Ben leads the way back to the barracks while I try and keep Peter's spirits up. Upon impact, most of the bones in his right ankle were shattered, and I can tell he's in great pain. I'd offer to help heal him, but without at least trying to reset the bone, all I'll accomplish—if I even accomplish anything at all—is to heal his ankle in its broken and deformed state. I need a doctor to set it before I can heal it. Maybe Ethan can. Or Jack? Peter's making good time using a walking stick to keep up with us, but I offer to support him if he needs it.

"It's okay." I smile at the inquisitive look on Darcy's face as Fenrir and Pumba trot alongside him, sniffing his clothes. "You can pet them."

"He can't hear you," says Peter. "He's deaf."

Although the norsemen have not yet arrived, all hell breaks loose when we finally make it back to the barracks.

Alex never left.

I sit on Ben's front porch and listen to them argue—genuinely argue—for the first time since I arrived. It was such a shock to see her defiantly standing in the doorway, I haven't even had the chance to take a shower or change my clothes. Peter sits on the chair beside me. Darcy sits at our feet, playing tug-of-war with Fenrir while Pumba cheers him on.

Peter stabs at the lasagna I stole from Ben's fridge, taking a tentative bite every once in a while. We sit in silence for a long time before he asks, "Cora, what's happening?"

Nobody ever told me what it was Aiko saw. Jane mentioned Alex was in danger, but that's what Aiko saw for Ben. Does it have anything to do with me? What was it Aiko saw about me? What was it that scared her into tears? "I have no idea." I take another big bite of lasagna and shake my head. "Are you sure he's not hungry?"

Peter signs to Darcy, who shakes his head and happily continues trying to wrestle the edge of his shirt out of Fenrir's growling mouth.

They arrive at the first glimpse of sunrise over the mountains. "Inside," I tell Peter. "Take your brother inside. He can stay with Fenrir and Pumba." Peter glances nervously from me to the advancing norsemen who somehow got through the sonic fence. "It's okay. Go."

"My lady," Erik announces when he's close enough, "we were worried when we could not find you last night."

"Yes, I'm sure you were."

"I assumed you may have been coerced into coming here. I'm glad to see I was correct."

I prepare myself for the inevitable mood-shift of this conversation. Erik is here for a war. These pleasantries can only last so long before he gets bored and starts. . . I don't know? Decapitating random people?

"I've had time to think over this arrangement you proposed," Erik continues. "And I have decided you're right."

"I'm right?" I try not to act excited in case this is some kind of trick. "About what, exactly? The marriage pact?"

"Yes," he answers. "I have decided I will allow it."

"Oh, you'll allow it." Screw you, pompous asshole. "Thank you for your permission, Erik."

"If he lives."

If he. . . what? "What are you talking about?"

Erik isn't paying me any attention. He's too focused on something behind me. "You want a peace treaty, Benjamin? Win it. Here. Now."

I watch as Jane flits around Ben's house and tests the weight of three different sharp swords.

Richard stands by a bookshelf, watching the entire ordeal with an oddly passive expression. I wonder if Richard is worried about the war? Is he somehow exempt from the slaughter? Does he actually care about what's going to happen? "You can't do this," he says.

"Sure I can," Jane answers happily. "This is, quite literally, a dream come true."

"He didn't challenge you to a holmgang," I argue. "He challenged Ben."

"You're allowed a stand-in warrior. It's their greatest loophole." Jane feels the weight of a particular sword and finally makes her selection. "Besides, have you forgotten I grew up with these people? I've been trained by the best. This won't last very long."

Ben stands next to his desk with an unreadable expression. As Jane continues rambling about the impending duel, Ben removes a syringe from his desk drawer. I watch in confusion as he taps the contents a few times with his index finger, presses the plunger until a tiny spray of fluid shoots out of the needle, and then he walks up behind Jane and stabs her in the neck.

Richard and Gail are already headed towards Jane's unconscious body. "What the hell—"

"Seer Helga told me to practice swordsmanship." Ben walks back across the room to one of the many bookshelves and lifts a long box hidden behind some framed displays of butterflies. "Me. Not Jane. Why do you think that is? For all her braggart bravado, if Jane goes out there, I don't think she'd be coming back."

"You didn't have to poison the girl."

"What would you suggest I have done, Gail?" Ben stares at the both of them with increasing agitation. "You think she would have sat idly by and taken no for an answer? At least now we know she's in no danger of being disemboweled. She won't wake up until long after this is all over."

Richard and Ben exchange a confusing glance before Richard asks, "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Ben lifts a sword out of the box he took from the bookshelf. "I sincerely hope so."

"You're not serious." Alex gets up from her seat on the couch next to me. "Dad, you're not seriously going to do this. He's gonna kill you."

Ben shoots her a look and heads for the door. "Thank you, Alex."

Alex turns and looks at me for help, but I have no idea what to do. I've never even held a sword before, let alone fought with one. When she realizes I have nothing to say, she chases after Ben out into the courtyard.

Aiko saw something bad happen to Alex. That's why Ben told her to leave. And now here she is, running outside to try and stop a fight between her dad and a homicidal maniac. Is this the moment where something bad happens to her? Am I just going to sit here and let it happen?

Damnit. Damnit. Damnit.

I stand to follow Alex out the door and Gail yells, "Cora?" She's kneeling beside Jane's body on the floor where she's cushioned her head with a couch pillow. "Cora, you need to stay inside. You have to stay inside! Stop!"

I step down the stairs and onto the grass, headed in the direction of a rapidly forming circle. "Excuse me? Excuse me, I need through." When nobody moves out of my way, I push people until I've made it into the middle of the circle.

"Go back inside, Alex," Ben snaps forcefully, but neither of them are my focus.

"No, no, no," I tell Erik as I walk across the grass towards him. "No, we're not doing this."

"Of course we are," he answers cheerfully. "It's the most fair solution I can think of. If I kill him, our people will inherit a considerable amount of new villagers, and we can cut this Jacob worship in the bud once and for all. If Ben somehow manages to kill me, he gets his peace treaty and I die in glorious combat."

That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. "You have to listen to me. I'm your goddess."

"I listen to the goddess who led my father and grandfather into battle." He's no longer bothering with polite smiles or tone. "Talks of peace are an insult to their memory as much as it is an insult to yours."

I can do this. I can be angry. My eyes dart at the people standing nearest, but I don't recognize anyone. "I said no."

Erik takes a step closer, towering over me and reeking of campfire smoke and sweat. "And what," he mocks lowly, "are you going to do about it?"

I wait for my throat to close. I wait for all the hairs on my arms to stand on end. I wait for the overwhelming feeling of power to surge through my veins like it did last night.

I don't feel anything.

"Cora?" Gail muscles her way through the crowd. "You need to come back inside, right now."

"I couldn't agree more. Get her out of here," Erik orders. "All three of them."

"How dare you speak to me like that," Gail snarls. "I changed your diapers, young man."

Someone clamps their hand on my arm and suddenly I'm being pulled away from the circle. "Get your hands off me," I scream, but it's no use. They pull me to the recreational room, break the lock with an axe, and shove me inside. I turn around just in time to see them shove Alex and Gail inside behind me before they pull the doors shut.

I rush over to yank the door open, but it won't budge. They must have slid a long-handled weapon in-between the handles to jam it when pushed or pulled. "Open these doors!"

"Well, howdy, ladies." Sawyer sits reclined on a deck chair in the corner of the room. "What are you three in for? Let me guess. . . tax evasion?"

Alex begins to pace erratically. "They can't do this!"

"Help yourself to some lemonade," Sawyer continues, "but stay away from the cereal. That's all mine. Hey, wait a damn minute. . . Cora?"

I ignore him and pick up the nearest thing I see—which happens to be a metal chair—and fling it at the window. "Alex, grab something and help me break this open."

"You're wasting your time, Buttercup," Sawyer scoffs. "You think I haven't already tried to escape this room? Every window is bolted shut."

I slam the chair against the window again and again until I'm out of breath, but Sawyer's right. All I've managed to do is pull a muscle in my arm. The metal bars blocking the window isn't even dented.

I abandon the chair and look through the window. For some reason, the circle of people are sparse on this side facing the rec room, so I can actually see what's going on. Erik did this to spite me. He probably told people to move so I could have full view of the fight I forbade.

Alex squeezes in next to me. "What's going on? Have they started?"

"Started what?" Sawyer walks over to a window and peeks through the bars. "Are they fighting each other with swords? What, you people didn't have any bullets to reload the gun you stole from me?"

Each of the two have been given what looks like a wooden shield alongside their respective swords. They circle each other for a long while.

"Come on," Sawyer complains and munches on a handful of Dharma cereal. "Kill each other already."

Alex frowns at him. "That's my dad."

"Congratulations, sweetheart," he says snidely. "You're about to become an orphan."

Erik strikes first, and his blow lands hard against Ben's shield. Again and again, the sword swings down and cracks against wood until I start to worry it's about to break. In the span of a single miscalculated second, Ben's shield finds an opening and smashes against Erik's face.

"That's gotta hurt," Sawyer mumbles and absentmindedly pops more cereal in his mouth like popcorn. "So are either of you gonna tell me what the hell is going on here? I've been stuck in this room for days, and now there's a renn faire outside my jail cell."

Erik only becomes more angry as time goes on. It's apparent he was expecting this all to be over by now, and honestly so did I. But between Ben's much better timing and a steady series of solid parries, the fight is more evenly matched than Erik anticipated. A shield smashes into one of their faces, then the other, then a sword is dodged at the last second, and they spin around the circle again and again until both their faces are bloodied.

I try my luck at the doors again, but no matter how hard I pull or push or bang my fists against the metal, they remain locked. "This is so stupid!"

Alex gasps and turns away from the window.

"What?" I hurry back to where Sawyer is making low "Oooooo" sounds. Neither of them have shields anymore, and it looks like Erik's new strategy is to just swing hard and fast. I can hear the metallic clanking from here.

"Wait, wait, Alex look." Ben swings upwards and catches Erik off guard long enough to follow through with a kick straight to his gut. "I think he's winning." I smile at her to try and placate what looks very much like a panic attack. She starts nodding but doesn't come back to the window.

There's a part of me that dreads the final blow. It makes me sick to even think I might see someone fatally stabbed or disemboweled or beheaded at any second. But at the same time, I cannot seem to look away when Ben disarms Erik.

"He won," I all but yell. "Ha! Alex, come look. I'm not kidding. Look, it's over! Ben won!" I feel her trembling hands on my arm and put my own sweaty fingers over hers.

"He's still alive?"

"Yes," I say. "Look! He won!"

"No," Gail clarifies, "Erik. He's still alive. He's not supposed to be alive."

Ben's the only one left with a sword, but he doesn't stab him. "They're talking. I can't hear what they're saying."

"Foolish boy," Gail whispers. "What are you doing? End this."

Ben holds out a hand and helps Erik up. They each clasp each other's forearms in a gesture I've come to recognize as a norsemen handshake.

Sawyer sighs dramatically. "Would somebody tell me what the hell is going on?"

With his free hand, Erik removes a knife from his belt and sinks it into Ben's side.

It's suddenly freezing as I blink at the commotion in a shocked confusion. Alex panics all over again, spinning away from the window as Erik knocks Ben down onto his back and picks up his sword. Ben barely has a chance to grab hold of Erik's disarmed sword in the grass before the two are fighting again.

"That's cheating," I breathe in disbelief. "He can't do that, that's cheating."

Erik raises his sword over his head, rearing back to strike again. I watch him swing down hard, and although metal meets metal, the impact reverberates throughout Ben's body. It's evident he can't take anymore.

I turn to Alex, and she looks so much like my sisters. I never wanted them to see our parents fighting. I tried so hard to shield them from the truly terrible parts of our family. I watch her sobs grow more unsteady, but I cannot hear her crying anymore. All I hear is a steady ringing in my ears.

Although my vision never changes, my eyes sting as if I haven't blinked for a solid hour. Every inhale burns, filling me with something heavier than air. Breathing ignites a fire in my lungs that seeps out to every pore, every hair follicle, until I feel like my body is made of solid stone.

People part for me like the running of the bulls, but Erik is so focused on delivering the final fatal blow, he isn't aware I'm suddenly feet from him until it is too late. His expression fills with surprise and he takes a step back, but he has started something that I intend to finish.

Words I've always wanted to say to my father pour out of me in a violent string of threats and swears that echo through the courtyard like screams in a cave. I'm aware of his fingers desperately clawing at my hands, I watch his mouth open and close as he chokes and turns a dark shade of red, he even kicks and swats at me violently, but I don't feel it, and I don't let go.

I strangle him—both hands around his neck—until I'm satisfied he's going to start listening to me. And then I grab him by the collar and the back of his pants, lift him up off the ground, and launch him.

I only meant to toss him, but my body is still humming with energy and I have no reference for this strength. Erik flies wildly across the courtyard, his legs clipping the side of a nearby house, sending him spinning through the air, stopping only when his body slams into the ground and eventually rolls to a stop. He doesn't immediately move.

All the hairs on my body are still buzzing when I turn around and walk over to Ben. His face is a crosshatch of bloody cuts and already swelling bruises. Alex presses a worried hand against the blood seeping through the side of his shirt, and she slowly flattens against him, eyes wide in terror as I approach. Ben rolls his eyes up at me, sighs at the realization of what's happened, and relaxes completely against the ground.

I crouch down to pick up his sword and start back across the stretch of pavement to pick up Erik's sword. One in each hand, I walk up to where he lies sprawled out in the grass, trying his hardest to crawl away with one unbroken arm. By the look on his face, he must think I mean to kill him. I toss his sword at his side with a dull thunk.

"Pick it up," I order, but he only stares at me. I lift the sword in my hand and press it against his neck. "You want a personal escort to the afterlife?"

Yelling has made me dizzy with euphoria, but the fact that he's just gaping at me makes each word I say louder and louder until it feels like my voice is physically pressing him against the grass.

"You want to laugh at me behind my back? You want to lock me in a room and start a war so badly? You want to cheat your way to victory? Well, guess what? You don't get to be a coward." He's rolled over in an attempt to crawl away, so I use my foot to push him onto his back, so he has to look at me. "I hate cowards. So pick it up. Fight me." Erik darts his eyes to the glimmering metal tightly gripped in my hand, and his refusal to answer only makes me angrier. "Pick it up, you little shit," I scream into the silence.

From out of the fog, I hear Gail say, "Put him down. Cora, honey, it's over. Stop. Stop. Drop him. Cora, put him down."

All at once I snap back to reality.

Erik's pleading face is between my hands. I let him go, and he lands at my feet with a painful moan. I blink down at Erik and look over at Gail's hand on my arm and try to keep my expression from giving away my confusion.

"Forgive me," Erik begs, still looking frightened and confused. A long patch of bloody skin along his cheek has been scratched off from his impact with the sidewalk. "Forgive me, Freyja. Please." One of his arms must be broken because he struggles to position himself so he is practically flat against the earth at my feet.

God Almighty, I think I broke his arm. Is that. . . bone?!

"Please," Erik rasps. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Even though the breeze is cool, I feel myself sweating like I've just run a marathon. Whatever energy surge I conjured up is rapidly depleting. That's definitely bone sticking out of his arm.

"Please. I will never defy you again."

I would have thought this moment would be satisfying, but I just feel a complicated mixture of horror and resignation. I can't take back what I did, so I might as well make the best of it. "No," I agree, "you won't, because you're no longer jarl." He looks up, immediately changes his mind, and averts his eyes. "You will be able to vote on your replacement, and you may speak your mind at the Thing, but nothing more."

I definitely broke both of his legs, judging from the angle they're twisted. Now that I'm not as angry, I can hear the pain in his voice. "Yes, my lady."

I'm all turned around and not really sure where to go. All I know for certain is my vision is tunneling, and if I don't get out of the public eye fast, all this exertion will be for naught.

"Holmgang's over," I announce with as much strength as I can muster. "Go home, everyone." It's only when I look up to glare at the onlookers and scare them into listening to me that I realize there isn't anyone here.

Richard carried Jane back to her house and put her on the sofa to sleep out the rest of her tranquilization. I sit at Jane's kitchen table because she's not awake yet, and I didn't know where else to go. Gail keeps busy by fussing with my hair. Ben sits silently across the table. I have no idea where Alex is. Judging by the way she was looking at me earlier, I wouldn't be surprised if she's too scared to talk to me ever again.

Gail keeps busy by unbraiding my hair and running a brush through it. Apparently, the silence is too much for her to handle. "Looks like it's almost time for a haircut."

I reach up and realize my hair doesn't fall right below my shoulders like it did when I first crashed here. In only a few days, it's grown down my back almost past my hips. I'm too tired to ask why.

Gail rests a hand on the top of my head, but instead of feeling angry or itchy, I find the contact comforting. "Would you two like some tea?" she asks. "I'm sure Jane won't mind if we make one pot." Without waiting for us to answer, she disappears into the kitchen and riffles through the cupboards.

Ben washed the blood off his cut face, but the remaining skin is already darkening with bruises. He taps a thumb against the table. "I suppose it's the understatement of the century to say thank you?"

All the confusing rush of emotions from earlier get lodged in my chest again, and I end up sounding more angry than I intend. "For what? Accidentally breaking Erik's entire body? Yeah, don't mention it." Don't be a bitch. This isn't even his fault. I feel bad even before the words have finished leaving my mouth.

"I didn't come here to patronize. I truly mean it. Thank you." His expression softens for a second, like his eyebrows are relaxing for the first time in years. "I had nowhere else to take Alex."

"I should heal him," I think aloud. "Erik. I should at least try."

Ben tilts his head a little. "Why would you do that?"

Again, I cannot stop myself from lashing out. "I broke both his legs and one of his arms. He could have internal damage. His femur was sticking out of the skin—"

Gail is suddenly soothing a hand up and down my arm, smiling tersely, and I realize I've stood up so forcefully, I've knocked my chair over. Embarrassed, I sit back down and cover my face with a hand.

I've never hurt someone before. I've never caused physical injury to another person. That was the way my father operated, and it has been my life's goal to be absolutely nothing like that monster.

"He's not going to die, if that's what you're worried about." Ben accepts a steaming teacup from Gail and adds a single sugar cube. "Ethan's resetting the bones as we speak. Erik should be good as new in a few months. And—one can only hope—much more open to following your orders."

I accept a teacup from Gail, but I honestly just want to attack the refrigerator with a reckless abandon. I don't even care what it is I eat anymore. Food is food is food, and I'm starving.

But I don't get up and pillage the fridge. I don't reach for casseroles and puddings and quiches and scrape them out of their containers with my bare hands. If I was alone I would, but I would rather starve to death than gorge in front of Ben and Gail and make a complete fool out of myself. Instead, I sit at the table and try not to sulk. "Why didn't you kill him?" I ask. "That's how holmgangs work, right? I was watching you fight. You disarmed him. You could have killed him."

Ben fixes me with a completely blank, yet somehow intense expression. "Would you prefer I had killed him?"

That's not what I mean, and he knows it. I can tell.

"He conceded." Ben takes a sip. "Before he literally and metaphorically stabbed me in the back."

I forgot he was stabbed. My eyes trail from his bloodied face to a small patch of blood seeping through the backside of his shirt. "Let me heal that."

His eyebrows come together so fast you'd think I'd been the one to stab him. "No, thank you."

There's something condescending about his tone that pisses me off. I feel the need to defend myself. "I just went berserk and didn't even feel nauseous afterwards. I think I'm getting used to it."

"Thank you," he says without a detectable trace of sarcasm. "But I've already gotten eight stitches. No need to worry about me."

I don't know what to say, so I busy myself with stirring my cup. "It really would have come down to war?"

"Slaughter, more like," he answers solemnly. "There are demonstrably more of your people than there are of mine. Honestly, they could have killed us all and taken this compound long ago."

"Why didn't they?" I quickly backpedal when he gives me a look. "Sorry, that came out wrong. I'm glad they didn't. I'm just curious as to why."

"That," he says, "I have never figured out."

Gail has finished with the tea, but I have no idea what she's still doing in the kitchen. "Did you know this would happen?" I ask Ben. "The holmgang?"

He shakes his head no. "The unfortunate thing about consulting with seers is they are often so vague their advice is rarely as helpful as it should be. Aiko wasn't even the one who helped me prepare for this."

"She wasn't?"

"No, credit for that goes to the previous seer. Even then, all she would tell me is to familiarize myself with swordsmanship."

"But you knew you would be okay?"

"No," he says, and the way he says it makes me believe him. "I was very much aware of the risk involved."

"You fought Erik without knowing you would win?" I felt better when I thought he approached the holmgang with the reassurance he'd make it out alive, but now I feel even worse. "What would have happened if I hadn't been able to break through the doors?"

Ben glances out the window. "My head would be rolling around out there on the sidewalk." He looks back at me and smiles. "So thank you for stopping him. I'm rather attached to my head."

I aggressively stir my tea some more as I try to think of something to say. Hooray? We did it? Congrats on not being dead? "How does it feel?"

"I'm afraid you'll need to be more specific."

I wave my spoon around and try to ignore my aching stomach. I would eat this teacup if Ben and Gail weren't here. "Finally achieving world peace."

"Ah," he says with a raise of his eyebrows, "but we haven't. Technically."

"What do you mean?"

"If there's one thing I know about people like Erik, it's that for every one of him, there are six very quiet Eriks. If we don't set an example in a way they respect, we're going to have to deal with this all over again in a year or two or three or ten. I don't know about you," he says and takes another sip, "but I'd prefer to never go through that again."

"Are you seriously suggesting we still get married?" I push my teacup away without having taken a single sip. "What's the point? Everyone's going to listen to me now."

"A treaty to your people is just a piece of paper." I don't know when Gail came back, but she offers me a plate of cookies she found in the pantry and takes a seat beside me. "A marriage is something completely different. Just look at the Initiative. They had multiple treaties with the norsemen, and none of them lasted very long. If you want this goodwill to last, I'm afraid Benjamin's correct."

I don't know if it's because I'm starving or not, but the idea doesn't bother me like it did yesterday. I just want people to stop threatening each other so I can sit on a beach all day and contemplate how everything I previously believed about the universe is a lie.

I sigh, give into the voice in my head, and shove a cookie in my mouth.

Ben finishes his tea, but Gail doesn't offer to pour him any more. I catch them having a non-verbal conversation—mostly of Gail glaring at him—and my stomach begins to sour.

"What?" I ask, exhausted. "What's going on? What could it possibly be this time?"

"Oh, nothing too egregious." Ben smiles, but it's the same forced one from a few days ago, when he would spend the entire conversation evading my questions. "I just need to apologize up front for a. . . small piece of misinformation Jane gave you about the wedding ceremony."