Master of My Sea
A massive thank you to everyone and your lovely reviews! It's very encouraging :3
With the new season starting up, I'm wondering what people's opinions of it are? If you can refrain from spoilers in the reviews, or you can message me and we can talk about it ^-^
I will say that Freydis' introduction is giving me ideas for the future of this series, and Bishop Heahmund is giving me life! I absolutely love Jonathan Rhys Meyers, he's a beautiful actor, and Tudors is one of my favourite history dramas, next to vikings. I might have already written a fanfiction in my head XD but, if I do come to that, it wont be for a while, and I want to learn more about his character. And! I might just make it a spin off to this series.
anywhoozle. Hope you enjoy.
chapter eight:
THE RITE OF PASSAGE
"Firstly, I want to announce that we leave for Paris in 3 weeks to the day."
This statement was the first catalyst to a long string of new beginnings that day in Kattegat. When Ragnar announced that they would officially leave for Paris in nearly a moon's time, the energy in the Longhouse bloomed tenth fold. Kára had sat next to Ivar at the table, looking up towards the two thrones where Ragnar and Aslaug were seated. The house was full of people drinking and eating, and bustling servants and slaves weaved through everyone to fill horns of ale or mead, or bring bread and cheese to a table that had run out. Kára understood why her mother hated attending crowded evenings such as this, especially now that Kattegat hosted many men this midsummer. Namely the self made king, Harald Finehair and his brother Halfdan the Black- neither of which Kára was overly fond of. She heard Harald's ambitions was to become king of all Norway, which meant that he was an enemy of Ragnar, even though he did not act like it, and that put her on edge. He had a plan of some sort, and his appearance now that Ragnar is not at his full strength was a little too convenient.
It wasn't her day; the noise, the crowd, the everything, was making her feel ill. She had tried to eat, but found herself at a loss for appetite, and instead was nursing a cup of warm mead in hopes it would soothe her stomach.
Ragnar had more plans that night other than to announce the date of when they'd depart; he called upon his two youngest sons, Sigurd, and Ivar, and bestowed upon them their arm rings. It was then that Kára lifted up her head and watched in mild envy as the boys beamed at their marks of finally being a man. As a girl, she would not receive an arm ring, a fact that had bothered her more than it should. The arm ring marked a warrior to its king, but she was more interested in the warrior part. That part was complicated; she could not be a viking if she could not go out to sea, even if she was allowed an arm ring, but it was her dream nonetheless.
Regardless of her feelings, she offered Ivar a small smile of pride as he came crawling back to his spot and marveled at the gift he was given.
"Do you think this means he will take me to Paris?" He asked, his fingers running across the intricate designs.
"Do you think Queen Aslaug will let you?" Kára asked out loud, then took a sip of her mead. It came out harsher than she intended, which she quickly realized by the furrowed brow on Ivar's forehead. But his expression just stemmed from the realization that she was right. His mother would never let him go.
Kára glanced over at the king and queen, and saw that they exchanged a few words; words Aslaug did not take kindly of. She jutted her chin at Ragnar with her eyes sharp as ever, but by the look on the man's face, he did not care. He collapsed on his throne with his horn, and ignore her snarl. When she turned away from him, Aslaug's eyes caught Kára's and the poisonous look she had was startling. She did not know if the look was just the residue of her conversation with Ragnar, or if in some part it was directed at her. Either way, it did not matter, because her eyes were already off of her in the same second.
Ivar's fingers moved from the arm ring to the rune around his neck as his thoughts began to wonder with the white noise of chatter in the hall. It seemed to grow ever since Ragnar had spoken; spirits were easily lifted when summer made the days grow longer and the promises of epic raids in new lands were just on the horizon. Everyone seemed in a fairly good mood, including Ivar. Everyone, except for the girl who sat beside him, who was making designs with the crumbs of bread on her plate.
Kàra had a permanent frown on her face.
Ever since that day at the beach, Kára's attitude had changed, but in a slow decline. The first time Ivar saw her after that day, she was more aloof than normal, but she was quickly thrown into the work of training that eventually things went back to normal. Ivar decided not to question her about it, mostly, because it was an area that he didn't know how to approach. Besides, if the situation were reversed, he would have appreciated not having the topic brought up.
Just when things were going back normal, Kára's attitude became bleeker and more harsh. If something happened, she wasn't telling him, and he didn't want to press, mostly out of fear of her screaming until his ear bleeds.
"Did you see Sigurd's arm ring?" Ivar began talking, his fingers back to playing with his bracelet. "It's not as nearly as beautiful as mine. He's got some wonky looking lizard heads on the ends, and mine-"
"They're not lizards," Kára sighs irritably, and pulls her head up from her folded arms. She glanced over at Sigurd, who was standing far enough that he could not hear them. "They're dragons, because of his namesake."
"No, mine are-"
"Yours are snakes," she pointed out, looking over to Ivar, her tone flat.
Ivar's mouth fell in a firm line as he rolled his eyes and curled his fingers into his palm. Her words and unexplained rancorous tone was testing his patience at this time. Ivar was having a rather good day; his father bestowing this arm ring to him made it so. It was more than a symbol, but an acknowledgement from a man he respected more than anyone, and the ring was also a crowning jewel of achievement.
And Kára was ruining his pleasant day.
"Why must you ruin this? This is important to me," He asks in a firm, yet low tone so their words were only heard between them. Not that it would be noticeable through the loud laughing and drunken singing.
"It's important to you, to be better than Sigurd?" She asks, her brows twisting in a furrow.
"No," Ivar nearly rolled his eyes. "What is important to me is this arm ring… I have been looking forward to this day, for a long time, and you act like a sour old crone."
"How do you wish me to react, Ivar? Every boy in Norway is given an arm ring when he becomes of age. It is not an act of great feat or an accomplishment."
Agitated at her apathy and offended by her words, Ivar's voice rose a tad higher as he scrutinized her fully. It was obvious, more so after her words, why she was so bitter this evening. He turned his body fully to her and picked up his mug of mead.
"I see what the problem is," he lifted his shoulders in a shrug as he continued. "You are jealous. You are jealous that you will never be given an arm ring… Because you are a girl. Girls do not have rites of passages, like we men do, and" he leaned into his cup and took a loud, obnoxious sip. "We all know how much you wish you were one."
Ivar wasn't one to regret many things, especially whatever came out of his mouth, however, this was different. He felt the dread ripple through his flesh the moment Kára's head turned to him agonizingly slow, and the lethal look in her eye was alike the glare of Fenrir when he was tricked into his chains.
And poor Ivar happened to be Týr, with his hand in her mouth.
Kára's hand curled around her hot drinking horn; she felt the muscles in her arms and fingers twitch, and as she was just about to toss the content's right into Ivar's face, a hand landed on her shoulder and a familiar voice brought her back to reality.
"Kára," The girl in question looked up to see the disapproving look of her mother, her face partially hidden under that red cloak. When had she arrived was one question, how she came in unnoticed with another. It was as if she wore a cloak of invisibility until she chose to reveal herself. Her sudden presence did not go unnoticed now that she had spoken, especially by those that were closest. Chatter had quieted a fraction, but there was still white noise in the longhouse.
Kára's eyes shifted from her mother to over to the dais where the King was staring openly at the Red Woman with a look of surprise, but it was nothing in comparison to the look on the Queen's face. Ragnar immediately stood from his throne and walked down the dais, which had quieted the longhouse completely.
"You came," he pointed out. "I did not think you would."
Hulda's hands moved from her daughter's shoulder and crossed it with the other on her lap, "I have not attended a Thing in quite some time. And," her eyes moved with ease towards the woman sitting in the other throne. "It is about time to see old friends."
Aslaug's mouth shrunk to a firm line before it forced itself to smile. Knowing what was expected to her, she pulled herself from the throne and joined her husband in front of Hulda. These two women had not stood in front of each other since Siggy had died, which felt like a hundred years ago. However, despite the pleasant smiles, there was a toxic air that began to suffocate those that were next to them.
"Hulda, my friend," Aslaug's teeth flashed in a wider smiler and her arms reached up to take the other woman's forearms; Hulda did the same. "It is a pleasure, an honour, and a delight that you have come to visit Kattegat."
Ragnar reached to his harness where his horn of wine was, and took a large gulp.
"This visit will be prolonged, my friend," Hulda's smile was gentle, but her eyes were knowing. She could read through Aslaug's fake words and smiles, but her heart carried no ill will for the woman. After many years of isolation, Hulda mourned the loss of their friendship, and the woman Aslaug used to be. Aslaug had become a bitter person, a spiteful queen, and a lonely soul, who had nothing but her sons and an estranged marriage.
"In light of the forthcoming raids to Paris," the witch's voice grew louder for all to hear. "I will bring counsel, wisdom, and anything I can give in aid to this great return."
There was a roar of applause; pitchers being hit against wooden tables, drunken shouts, cheers, and hands drumming on surfaces. A reaction that was predictable and justified, and yet it greatly displeased Aslaug. The queen strongly considered herself a woman of magic, often claiming to be völva aswell, but the title had never stuck. Aslaug was a married woman and chose to only use her shamanistic gifts for herself, her family, and to gain status rather than aid and help others. Because of this, she could not be wand-wed, and as a result no one saw her as a völva, not even her husband. Aside from that, Aslaug had prided herself to be a great aid to her husband's ambitions, and the raids that had profited Kattegat for years. So, the grand applause for Hulda felt like a slap in the face.
It seemed Ragnar knew how much this would wound her pride, because he put insult to injury when he moved over and offered his seat at the throne to Hulda. The Red Woman took his seat graciously and without hesitation. With great dissatisfaction, Aslaug sat next to her. The tension was as thick as the boar that was served that evening, but aside from the unsuspecting guests that continued to drown themselves in ale and mead, only Ragnar seemed not to be bothered with it. In fact, the smirk he hid behind the rim of his cup showed he was amused by it.
Ivar was aware of the awkwardness as well, so much that his earlier dispute with Kára had been forgotten. His brow furrowed in confusion when his father had offered the woman his seat, but did not question it. He remembered Floki's words about respecting the völur, and that it was common for them to be treated as nobles when they enter a stronghold.
Kára was less confused about how they treated her mother, and more about the dynamic between her mother and Queen Aslaug. She shared a look with Ragnar who passed behind her, and disappeared into the crowd to join Floki and his oldest son on the other end. It was as if he planted the seeds of a chaotic event and just left for it to grow and blossom on its own. The ominous feeling in her stomach had intensified the more she looked about the longhouse and felt that it would soon become the scene of a pandamonium.
She sensed a change in the wind.
The girl moved her legs over the bench and stood up from her seat. Ivar's attention was brought back to her in that moment, and noticed her demeanor changed dramatically. Her face was hard, but not angry, almost worried, but also calculating.
"What is wrong?"
Kára ignore him and walked up the dais and over to Hulda's side, "Mother, I'm ready to go home."
Hulda looked at her strangely and reached up to touch her face, finding it a bit warm. "Are you ill, my child?"
"She had been drinking hot mead all evening," Aslaug answered, bringing her goblet to her lips idly. "The drink can go straight to your head if you drink it too fast, my dear."
Hulda looked at Aslaug, almost making a comment about how she would know best, but kept her lips closed. Her attention went back to her daughter, and brushed her fingers through her hair and tucked it behind her ear.
"Why don't you sit on my lap, sweet dove, and rest your head. We were just about to talk about old times," Hulda's voice was gentle and lulling, enough to calm Kára for her to relent and slowly ease around the arm rest and relax in her mother's lap. The warmth that radiated off of her was comforting, but she was also facing Aslaug and that made her feel small.
Hulda draped her arm around the girl, her long sleeve acting like a blanket over her legs, but also like a shield. Her attention drew back to her old, estranged friend, who looked different yet the same. Those high cheekbones, sharp eyes, full lips, and long neck did not change. Aslaug had always been an exceptional beauty, to a degree of unworldliness. It was not a shock that she drew Ragnar's attention. However, the lines in her face not only betrayed age, but stress. Aslaug was not a happy woman; Hulda remembered that light of happiness faded away when she was pregnant with Ivar, and what was left died the first year of his painful life.
Aslaug openly examined the mother and daughter sitting beside her. Her lips twitched, threatening to fold into a frown. There was some jealousy in her, but the origin of it was ambiguous. At a certain extent, she envied that Hulda had a daughter, and she did not. She was blessed with four sons, all who would become as great as their father, which was a great gift from the gods. However, that was a gift to Ragnar, and not her. A daughter, whom she can impart her divine wisdom to, would be a gift to herself. Ivar, her youngest, was beginning to pull away from her, as most boys do from their mothers. With daughters, the bond lasted far longer. Ivar and kára were roughly the same age, and yet the times when he sat on her lap had long passed.
Aslaug gave a sigh as her twitching lips gave in and pulled into a falsely kind smile, "Motherhood has always suited you, Hulda. You remind me so much of your mother, it is as if I'm sitting next to her right now."
Despite the deceptive smile, Hulda appreciated the comparison. Torunn was a fierce, maternal woman. She had taken care of many children, not only her own, and both her magic and strength weaved into one. While Hulda's father often left them to raid with their earl's warband, Torunn remained untouchable. She was a sow, protecting her cubs. Much was learned by her; Hulda learned a great deal of magic and the gods from her, and Sigrún had adopted their mother's strength and surpassed her skill in such a short amount of time. During her mother's twilight years, Sigrún had taken the position of protector, since many deviants had taken advantage of Torunn's weaken state.
"It is a shame you did not have more children," Aslaug had added after the beat of silence. This time her eyes were casted down to her hands, that cradled her goblet in her lap. That comment was not as appreciated.
"The gods had a plan for me," Hulda replied, her fingers stroking the knee of her daughter. "It took some time and sacrifice for me to realize that, but the path to our destiny is never laid out evenly for any of us."
"Your words hold great wisdom. I do not know if I would have taken to your losses as gracefully as you have done, Hulda," these words were the most honest that Aslaug had spoken. When her eyes lifted from her goblet and onto the Red Woman, they were softer, as if the past had caught up with her and pulled her heart into a bittersweet embrace of regret and sadness. "I've never formally given you my condolences. It had broken my heart hearing of Sigrún, as you know she was like a sister to me. And for your dear Ulf, I wept when I learned of his death. However, it is Eirik's sacrifice that had grieved me the most. He had saved my life and the life of my sons."
Kára's ears had perked. She had begun to relax, and almost drift off, but the moment that name was mentioned, the muscles in her body stiffened. She recognized the name when Bjorn had mentioned it, and given that who ever Eirik was, was close to her father, the chances that Aslaug was talking about anyone else was slim. It had surpass curiosity at this point; what Kára felt was suspicion.
"Who is Eirik?" The girl spoke this burning question.
Hulda had also stiffened, because the answer to that question was something she had thought she ever had to answer, nor thought she had the needed to. Though now, of all times, it had presented itself in a less than perfect setting. Aslaug's eyes shot towards Kára like lightning from the surprise. Her mouth opened to answer, but found no words to form. The queen looked back at Hulda.
"You've never told her?"
Those words were enough to make Kára rise from her place in her mother's lap. Her heart began to pump in anticipation, and the uncomfortable ache in her stomach bloomed.
Her wide, teal eyes fluttered between the two woman, "Never told me what?... Mother?"
Hulda's mouth was partially agape, her eyes slightly panicked at the sudden calamity of the situation. The brief suspicion of Aslaug having planned this was not lost on her, but she doubted how much the woman even knew how Hulda raised her daughter.
But, it would seem that regardless of how little Aslaug knew of the situation, she was going to manipulate it with the pieces that were given to her.
The queen looked at Kára with a calm expression, her body sitting straight in order to be leveled with the girl, who stood before the thrones. "Child, Eirik is your brother."
Hulda's mouth clamped shut, her temper rising at the audacity of Aslaug's insensitive interference. With the girl's mother sitting right there, it was not her job to out this information. It wasn't hers to tell in any situation or setting, unless Hulda was incapable doing it herself. Though, on some dark level, that was done with purpose. Had it come out of the lips of Hulda, the truth wouldn't be much of a blow, but coming out of the mouth of a third party made it so much worst. In the end, it had the desired effect.
Kára acted accordingly; she was already in a sour mood, Aslaug had noted earlier, and she used that as a tool to put Hulda in her place. It was petty, but the queen wouldn't admit to the malevolent intention she had. It was true, though, she did not know the level of Kára's ignorance of her mother's past, but it was an opportunity she took advantage of. Hulda had always presented herself perfectly, and the closeness she had with her daughter reignited the fire under Aslaug. She was sorely reminded of how much envy she had for her old friend, even as they were children. All of Aslaug's sons do not respect her in the way she would like; Ubbe had grown out of her quickly and looked up more to his half brother, Bjorn, than he did his own mother, and Hvitserk was no different. Sigurd was falling out of her fingers at a rapid pace and she could feel the coldness from him as the seasons go by. Ivar was her one and only, and yet he threatened to pull himself away from her, especially ever since he met Hulda's daughter. In the Queen's mind, it wasn't fair.
Kára's eyes were wide and wild as she whipped her head towards her mother. The conversation was quiet enough to not gain an audience by their patrons, but by the sheer volume of a small girl's voice, the longhouse silenced almost immediately and all heads turned to the dais.
"What more have you been keeping from me, mother?! Is there any more family members you are keeping from me?"
"Kára, you must understand-" Hulda sat up straight and tried to take her daughter's hands, but the girl pulled away.
"I am tired of your words," her voice was lower, her face twisted in anger and her eyes began to water. "I'm tired of you," she stepped off the dais in a sprint, pushing through large bodies to make it towards the exit.
Hulda immediately pulled herself from the throne and picked up her skirts. The crowd immediately parted for her to pass, but the moment that she reached the door where Kára had disappeared, a body blocked her path and a hand pressed against her shoulder.
"Let me pass, Ragnar!"
"Look at me," he whispered in a commanding voice. "I said look at me."
His tone was startling enough for her to quickly turn her face to him. In this moment, in the shine of his bright blue eyes, Hulda could see the man Ragnar had always been. They were clear and dominate, like they were the day she met him.
"Let her go," the king muttered.
"She needs me," Hulda's voice was soft and desperate.
Ragnar shook his head slightly, "You need her."
The völva's jaw hardened before it slacked, and in a final moment of defeat, she brought her gaze down to the floor as she stepped away from Ragnar.
x x x
Her head and chest felt heavy, but her feet felt light. The speed behind her legs carried her right through Kattegat within minutes, but that wasn't without effort. Tears blinded her, and in her hysterics she paid little attention to obstacles or the direction she was going. At some point she heard yelling as something fell in a clatter behind her, but it was all moot to her.
Kára's breathing became laboured as she soon realized she had been running uphill. Angrily, she rubbed the tears from her blurred eyes by the sleeve of her tunic and looked around to where she was. The trees were sparse as they grew on the side of the cliffside she had been running up. From where she stood, she could see the city, lit up by sconces and lanterns littered around. The sun had fully set by now, which blanketed the sky in dark purple. Few stars were out that night, due to the heavy clouds that slowly rolled by. Kára growled once she remembered what brought her here, and her determination to distance herself from her mother came back. Now on all fours, she scaled the incline of the cliff.
Eventually the the top could be seen, and just there sitting in the hollow of the sloping fields was a quaint wooden cabin with a faint orange hearthlight peeking through the cracks. She knew of this place, for some reason. An image of herself, much smaller than she was now, stood in front of that threshold in the arms of her mother. A voice, deep, raspy, and ancient, invited them in.
Kára heard that voice once more when she stood in front of that wooden door. Her was frozen and her stomach still ached, but her hands moved on their own as they pushed it open. The inside was dark, save for the small hearthfire. It was enough to see the vertebrae hanging on threads from the ceiling, and the stag, goat, and ram heads that decorated the walls. Inside smelled like burning herbs and medicine, but also a dampness that could only be associated with something very old.
She saw him there, sitting upon his bed of furs and wool, just by the light of his pale face that was tainted by black upon his thin lips. The muscle of his brow was thick and pulled over where his eyes would have been, and left only tiny holes that could do nothing to aid his vision.
"I knew I would see you again, Kára Ulfsdóttir," he was facing her direction, and yet there was no way he knew it was her unless he foresaw it.
"You know who I am?" She at some point closed the door behind her, and now found herself walking around the bed, and sat herself in front of him.
"You have met me once," his face followed her as she moved. "But I have met you several times before."
Kára furrowed her brow, "What does that mean?"
"It means exactly how it sounds," he breathed.
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Hulda had told her about the Seer and his riddles and vague predictions, and how it frustrated more than helped people. At least she spoke truth at least once.
"So tell me, Daughter of Ulf, why have you come to me this evening?"
Kára looked around the room once again, and then at her hands. She lifted her shoulders and sighed, "I'm not sure. I just ran here."
The Seer made some sort of sound of understanding, and in the dark she could see his black mouth stretch into a smile, "I know why you are here. You are here, because you seek knowledge of yourself, that which your mother has been unwilling to share with you."
His words immediately perked her up, "Will you tell me?"
"I can tell you what I am allowed to tell you," he replied flatly. "The gods gave me permission to answer your questions to a degree. The rest is not for me to tell you."
"Who could answer those questions, if not you? My mother?"
"No," he replied lowly, "The only person that could answer those questions is the woman in the water."
The woman in the water? Kára's mind was frantic was questions. She had a feeling that by the time she left the house, she would only get more questions than answers. "How many questions can I ask you?"
The Seer breathed loudly through his mouth and nose, and then turned towards the ceiling blindly. After a moment or two he turned his head back down towards her, "Three."
Kára bit her lip and looked around the room again in thought. There were many questions she needed answers to, but to prioritize three was difficult.
"Why did my father kill himself?"
"Your father killed himself, because he had shadows in his mind that would not leave him alone. They reached for the best parts of him from all corners of his body. One day when he acquired a truth he could not handle and that was when those shadows took control of his legs and feet, and walked him to the lake, where he always felt at peace, and drowned him in ice and darkness."
Kára pursed her lips and looked down at her hands. Her face felt hot, and her nose tingled as the threat of tears came once again. Her twitching fingers reached up to her face as she roughly rubbed her eyes and took a shaky breath in attempt to steady her quivering throat and lungs.
"What was the truth he was told?"
The Seer hesitated before speaking, "The gods have decided that is not for me to share."
She bent her head down and rubbed the area between her eyebrows in frustration. Again, her mind began to frantically collect the many questions she had, but she found herself prioritizing questions that perhaps not even her mother would know.
"I've been having dreams that I'm in a battlefield; first I am flat on my black on a field of grass, and blood is all over my face. When I get up, I see a man with blue eyes charging at me. Just before I feel his sword in my stomach, I wake up. Why do I keep dreaming about this?"
"You are seeing your death," his answer was simple and blunt, but it made Kára's blood run cold once the realization sunk in.
Death was an inevitability, and many men look forward to it, especially if they are to die on the battlefield. However, what made it less frightening was not knowing when, where, or how it would happen, it was not knowing at all. Having that knowledge, it seemed for Kára, made it all the more frightening. Truthfully, she had not pictured herself dying on the battlefield, since she was not a fighter. She had thought she would die as a result of a wolf or bear attack, or from old age by sheer stubbornness of unwillingness to die. But as a child herself, death still seemed like a fairy tale, and aside from animals, she had not seen a human being die in front of her to show the frailty of mortality.
"Why does the water terrify me?"
"Because," he breathed heavily. "Water is your grave."
Kára blinked at him and opened her mouth before closing it. She didn't understand him. He just told her that she was going to die in a battlefield, surrounded by plains of grass, and now he says that water is her grave.
"You just told me that-"
"Your three questions have been answered, child," he moved his limbs closer to himself as he prepared to curl back onto the bed of furs. "The gods have allowed those answers, and it is wise not to become greedy of knowledge, unless you are willing to give up an eye for it."
"Please, just one more question! Will I be like my father?"
The Seer paused and peered at her through the holes in the skin folds of his face. The cabin was filled with the gentle crackle of hearthfire, and the clinking of river rocks and bones brushing together from the gentle wind that slipped through the cracks of the wood.
"Your future has not been released to me, Kára Ulfsdóttir. Not even Freya is privy to your fate… Only you must decide who you want to be: defined by the past, or designed for the future. Your decision, my girl, begins on the night of the Blood Moon."
Kára blinked slowly as she processed his words to the best of her ability. Her young mind could not fully comprehend the meaning of them, but she knew that clear answers were not going to be given to her. In a small voice, she asked her final question, "When will that be?"
His head declined in a slight bow, his hood casting large shadows across his disfigured face. "It has already begun."
Right then, a sharp pain hit Kára's abdomen, as if she had been stabbed. Like lightning, it shot down her spine and lit her core on fire. It was a pain like she had never felt before.
So, unlike boys, women never had a rite of passage where'd they were given an armring as a symbol of their coming of age and their loyalty to their stronghold. But this is because girls have their own rite of passage already, and that is ... you guessed it, their period.
Now a heads up, the next chapter is 100% Kara, but it's really important for everyone to read it. I've written fics before where people completely skip over a chapter just because it doesn't have the romantic pairing in it at all, or they skip the flashbacks. This irritates me the most, because not only are these people missing massive plot and character developments, but I worked hard and took time to write this, and only have it completely skipped over.
Chapter nine is a very important chapter. Chapter ten will mark the end of this first story arc once I hammer the last couple of nails in it, which means 10 and 11 will probably be very long.
Also, all of the Seer's riddles will be unraveled with time. :) I like to keep things mysterious and shadowy.
Hope you enjoyed!
~CB
