Greetings everyone! Thank you again for the past reviews. I want to encourage open suggestions and thoughts on my character development throughout the chapters! Enjoy
Chapter VI - Feathers
It would be 934 nautical miles from Oslo to their target at the northern coast of Irlanda; at twelve knots in flawless conditions it would be a three days journey. Although a half-day was behind them Floki cursed that it had already felt like an eternity. Frigga position had been claimed reclining at the bow of the ship - watching over the men, her wild hair whipped around her head like snakes in the wind.
"I do not trust her," Lagertha whispered to Erik while she tightened the ropes on the port side of the ship, Frigga had not spoken or moved since setting sail that morning. The Chieftess had indeed been watching the men; taking notice of one unfortunate soul in particular whose face would wince with every row of his oar. Frigga rose from her place at the bow and seemed to glide like water over the floorboards of the ship towards the man. He turned his eyes to her after a moment, naturally startled for he hadn't heard her approach. Frigga held his gaze before kneeling beside him and taking his hand - there in his palm was a festering laceration several days old. Without speaking, Frigga's eyes held what the man already knew. The sweat and dirt swirled with the discolored puss seeping from his palm. Viking men were used to salt water blisters and raw calluses; however, an open wound was not to be left unattended. Behind them the company observed quietly. Frigga released his hand and went to her belongings, a few moments later she returned and held out her hand for his. "What is that?" he said gruffly, spotting the small vile she held lurching his hand away. Frigga's grip only tightened, tugging the man's hand back in front of her.
"White sage, it will pull out the infection and help with some of the pain," she answered before applying the solution to his wound. The man tried to twist his head over his shoulder to Ragnar at the helm only to see the same expression on his face that was on everyone else's. "You will need this changed twice a day." White cloth was wrapped around his hand and fastened in a knot. "Do not row with it," she instructed. The man smiled and nodded grateful for her kindness. Upon turning around Frigga found her self nearly colliding with Rollo yet again.
"We need that man to row." He grumbled.
"You have many men to row for you, what is half of one man's strength going to hurt?" Frigga slid passed Rollo and returned to the bow.
"In order for us to retrieve your sister's precious sword we must first reach land. We need every man's strength. Keep rowing, Olev!" Frigga turned back to Rollo, her mouth agape in disbelief.
"Stop rowing," she called, her voice rising, "if that man's hand becomes any worse you will have no choice but to cut it off." She strode toward him.
"I suggested you take a firm hold of that oar, Olev or I will cut that hand off myself," Rollo yelled advancing towards her. "The next time you think of giving an order to one of my men..." Rollo stared down at her.
"Your men?" she laughed in his face. "Why not ask your brother whether he would like two days with Olev handicapped or a man with no hand at all that will easily get himself killed in battle," her voice whipped across the ship's deck before Floki's grasp fell upon her shoulders pulling her away from Rollo.
"Govern your sister before I use my own methods," Rollo growled.
"I see you have not changed," Floki scoffed forcefully sitting Frigga next to him at the stern. Gathering her hair over one shoulder revealed the elegant black marks that reached up from beneath the collar of her blouse at the base of her neck. Rollo's glare was still upon her whilst she sat next to her brother. Ragnar approached his brother offering a comforting hand upon his shoulder.
"She must be the most loathsome woman alive," breathed Rollo. Ragnar knew when to speak and when to hold his tongue, for now, the silence he gave to his brother would do more good than a stern word. Rollo knew Olev would be of more use in a few days with his hand healed than without one but he was dammed if he would heed to a woman.
"Expected me to change, did you?" Frigga questioned her little brother. His eyes remained focused on the horizon; dark clouds rolled in the distance and he knew the night would soon be upon them as well. "Do not concern yourself with those clouds, brother, you know as well as I tis but a small rainstorm. Your ship will remain true." Still Floki said nothing. "Did you not enjoy seeing the fruits of your sisters' labors, the town is as it has never been before. No reminisce of the past."
"Stop talking," Floki snipped without looking at her. In the distance, the black sky churned and twisted like the unseen darkness within their shipbuilder's mind.
The heavy drizzle urged the men to raise the ship's cloth coverings, shielding them from the impending deluge. Their rumbling conversations rose and fell with the intensity of the storm around them, eventually they settled in for the rough night. Ragnar and Floki sat facing the bow lost in conversation with Athelstan; across from them, Rollo stared, mesmerized by the silhouette at the stern. Facing the open ocean ahead, Frigga appeared as if she was part of the boat, unwavering though the ship pitched and rocked through the storm. In her dripping hands she gripped long black feathers that were tied to her fingers with string. Rollo watched the rain and wind swirl around this woman without disturbing her. He might have thought the rain missed her altogether if not for the fact she was soaked to the bone. Her long, dark hair was undone and hung at her waist reminding him of their introduction sending a wave of arousal through him. The marks on her skin did not appear real through the darkness, the water rippled over them, tracing the black lines down her shoulders and arms. Rollo tried to pull his attention away from her but found it upon her once more several minutes later. He watched as her eyes fluttered under their lids and the water drip from her lashes until slowly her hands began to open. Releasing the dark feathers into the night, the strings stretched and twisted into the air, dancing and spinning in the wind. Through the blackness the strings were almost invisible giving the allusion this extraordinary woman was manipulating the feathers by magic.
"It is not the hours of watch-on-watch and it is not the work that I mind so much. Or the long cold miles from my lover's touch, 'though for sure she is far away," Erik sang the next morning, keeping the rhythm whilst sharpening his sword on the stone in his hand. "No stranger, I, to the touch of steel nor the honest fear any man can feel, but I long for dust under my heels and a pocket full of pay, so I'll take it from day to day." Erik's low, soothing bellow was a bittersweet reminder of the hearth they had been away from for so long.
"The Chieftess did not tell you anything else?" Lagertha probed. Ragnar and Athelstan exchanged glances before sitting around the sun board. The dawn was still a wash with grey cover though the sun burned through with an intensity known only to those who have traversed the North Seas.
"A sleeping woman in a blanket of water– this is what she said to me." Ragnar assured. "At the most northern point of this Irlanda is an inlet, from there we are to travel south east into the island.
"How are we supposed to find one woman within an entire island." Rollo asked. Frigga had cleaned and changed the dressing on Olev's hand before she joined the group.
"Do not be a fool," Frigga said, sitting amongst them. "I understand I am not wanted on this voyage but do you not think I could be of some assistance." Her eyebrows raised in query. "A sleeping woman in a blanket of water. There is a peak, possibly a three-day's journey from the inlet, shaped like a woman sleeping on her side." The group continued to listen. "The head is a round knoll, it dips down then gives way to a higher rise shaping the shoulder then lowering into the waist and finally into a soft gradient from her hips to her feet. Around the base of the formation ribbons a river, wrapping her in water the entire way around." Through exchanged looks the men seemed more than relieved with this new information. This woman may truly have something to offer. "Do not be too hard on yourselves." She said patting Rollo's knee before rising from her seat.
Throughout the day and into the evening Ragnar sat with his sun board between his feet guiding Floki through the open ocean. The gray cover above eventually burned off revealing a most beautiful summer sky as they sailed. As night settled in their ships passed between an island and the main land of England, the thought of Escocia turned Ragnar's stomach before he was able to direct his gaze back down to his feet. The sky dissolved into a red dusk as the Viking ships lost sight of the sun they'd been chasing throughout the day. Again that night Frigga stood behind her brother at the helm atop the small step clutching the feathers in her hands. As the purple blanket of night embraced everything Ragnar felt it safe to turn his eyes upward to survey his ship only to notice Frigga's activities at his stern.
"Floki," Ragnar said softly, "I will steer for a little while, go and rest." he urged his friend taking his place at the steerboard. Floki silently agreed and bid his friend a good night before finding a space to sleep. It was several moments before Ragnar looked to Frigga and asked, "Why do you do this?" pointing to her hands. Through her gripping fingers the black feathers still appeared wet even in the darkness, as if they were covered in ink.
"Your sun board helps you see things you normally would not, true?" Frigga's eyes remained closed. "Now please be quiet." More soundless minutes drifted by, a steady wind in the sails.
Ragnar was not satisfied with sitting in stillness, "Is it for navigation?" he asked. Frigga's eyes flitted open as she crossed her hands over her chest.
"Yes, Ragnar Lothbrok, they are my navigation," Frigga huffed, "but not the same as your sun board. There are energies all around us most cannot see – these help to guide me." Frigga stepped closer to him. "You have seen these energies… signs? You must trust what you cannot see, Ragnar Lothbrok. Such as when you see your Odin – he is truly there."
The following morning a haze had fallen over the ship, one so heavy the sun had difficulty piercing it. The sails were lifted for there was no wind to push them, the current rocked against the sides of the ship in a futile effort. The sun stone was of no use through whatever mist had found them and the other boats were nowhere to be seen. Before them, the dense cover seemed to stretch and stretch, for hours the ship felt as if it was sitting still.
"What is that foolish woman doing, Ragnar?" Rollo sneered after watching Frigga with her feathers for several minutes. The feathers laid flat atop her small open hands and her eyes were sealed though both brothers were sure she had heard them.
"Let her be." Ragnar hushed, arms crossed over his chest.
"If you trust her, you will be the fool she takes you for." Floki added.
"What does your wife say of Sigyn, Ragnar?" Rollo continued. "What reason do we have to…"
"It will not be long now," Frigga interjected walking towards them. Her hair was pulled back as it had been the night of their dinner in the grand hall; the salt spray had sent wild waves and curls shooting from root to tip. "Trust what you cannot see, Lothbrok."
The harder the company strained their eyes through the mist the more inept the effort seemed to be. Without a hint of a breeze in the sails nor a current beneath the keel the only thing the ship could do was sit. They moved through the morning mist like phantom ships. Tall, serpentine prows arched gracefully on a bow and stern that once skimmed the waters nearing fifteen knots now seemed to sit motionless as it entered into the fourth day.
Frigga looked up from her seat only to catch Rollo's eyes upon her once again. Their green hue reminded her of autumn grasses after all the crops had been harvested and the pasture begins to fade; this thought brought her into a moment of sadness for him. Neither of them spoke however, Frigga could see the blend of emotion behind this fierce man, rage, intrigue, impatience and lust. Without breaking his stair, Frigga leaned forward resting her elbows on her knees before reaching down into her deep cloak pocket and from it withdrew one of her feathers. Rollo watched as she twisted the quill between her thin fingers, spinning it around and around until he was almost dizzy with the motion. She then slowed her fingers until the spinning ceased all together before leaning back in her seat once more. Just then, Rollo saw the first glimpse of a dark gray shadow through the fog.
Trees. Under a shroud of disbelief Rollo stood for a closer look. "Trees!" he yelled to the others before looking back to Frigga.
"Trust what you cannot see, Lothbrok."
A/N I'm finding Frigga becoming like a good friend of mine and fellow author, tigmeyers and I think it's hilarious. Hopefully you like her feistiness as well. Remember to check out the new images I put up on my profile for the story.