The pain was washing over her in waves, and she did not know how long she would be able to climb the bridge.
She clawed her fingers into the cold stones that she was crawling over, and she kept her eyes on the white entrance that she could barely make out on the other side. It felt like her stomach ripped open, like the skin of her thighs cracked and bled, leaving a trail of ghostly red flowers after her.
When the bright light started disappearing, Frida's mind went wild. She felt panic wash over her as darkness surrounded her slowly, like a wolf encircling its prey, calculating when to attack.
She wanted to scream from her black drowning, but when she opened her mouth, nothing left her dry lips. She pushed herself to reach the entrance, because she knew that she had to, but she was going to slow.
She was never going to make it.
Frida felt her body trembling heavily when the dark reached her, and she felt like she could hear people shouting beneath her, but their voices were distant and distorted. It sounded like hell was right there under her, like the screams were from the tortured men and women who never redeemed themselves during their lives on earth, forever cursed to burn in the dark pits of the underworld between demons and confounded souls.
But then she saw her.
Not many feet away from her stood the goddess, her goddess, in long silky ropes and shimmering jewels, reaching out her hand for Frida to take.
But Frida was still weak, the darkness still paralyzed her, and she cried out helplessly with tears streaming down her cheeks that fell upon the cold floor beneath her, making the stones crumble.
The goddess did not move closer to her, but she held her hand out for her still, smiling down upon her with a calm light in her eyes. Her lips were crimson, the color of the blood pumping desperately in Frida's veins, and her skin was white as snow, her hair a creamy gold falling loosely down over her blossoming chest.
Frida felt her heart grow large in her chest with admiration.
She wished for nothing more than to reach this woman, this goddess of another world, and she felt her muscles tensing as she strained herself to move just a little bit further over the stones beneath her.
The goddess would not come to her.
Frida knew that she had to prove her strength in order for her to accept her. She knew that she had to show her that she really wanted nothing more in this world than to touch her if only just for a second. So Frida pushed her body forward, she pushed all the fear out of her heart as she slowly moved her body closer and closer, further and further into the bright light that hovered about the woman in front of her.
She could feel the warmth of the woman, the heat steaming from her skin, and Frida screamed violently when she pushed herself forward, straining herself through the last couple of inches that separated them, and she let out a deep breath when she felt a hand in hers.
Warmth exploded in her insides, crippling through her veins like an army of ants, slowly replacing the waves of pain that had washed over her in her journey over the bridge. Frida looked up at the face of the woman through half closed eyes, and she knew that she had proved herself.
The goddess was smiling widely at her, acknowledging her, praising her, and Frida finally felt herself relaxing again.
She heard the woman laughing. It was a genuine laughter, an affectionate sound of the heart, and Frida strained herself for the last time, raising her eyes to gaze into the goddess'.
Moss green pearls stared at her, pierced her heart and searched every corner of her soul, and Frida let her see all of the secrets of her heart, all of her deepest fears and wishes folded out for the goddess in front of her.
The pearls of the forest swallowed her, and Frida fell for an eternity through flickering greens into a valley of bravery and loving caresses.
She was home.
...
Frida opened her eyes.
At first she did not know where she was, but it was not long before she recognized the wooden planks above her to be the loft of her own bedroom. A sharp smell of blood and lavender lay heavy in her nostrils, and she tried to sit up but was forced down into the soft furs under her as pain shot from her stomach.
Her empty stomach.
In panicky movements she swayed her hands over her stomach, and she felt sadness fill her heart when she did not feel a stirring in there, when the small life that she had carried around inside her was not there anymore.
Her eyes rolled around in her skull, her world collapsed around her, and she heard a whimper escape her lips as she forced herself upwards in the bed.
When she finally sat up in the bed, her eyes immediately fell upon a figure placed over by the fire pit, and she felt tears gathering in her eyes when she recognized a heavy braiding hanging down over the backrest of the chair.
Her voice was dry and cracked when she let his name sound over her lips, and she saw him turning his head slightly, his blue crystals falling upon her out of the corner of his eyes.
Ragnar carefully rose to his feet, and when he turned around to face her, Frida's heart exploded in her chest.
He was looking down on a little bundle that he was carrying in his arms, and when he raised his eyes to look into hers, she noticed that they were wet.
She felt her throat tightening.
Ragnar walked slowly but deliberately towards her, and Frida felt a rushing for her ears when he sat down on the bed next to her, she felt her heart beating with a renewed vigor.
Ragnar reached his hand up and tucked away some of the clothes in his arms, and his voice was thick with emotion when he whispered: "Your mother wants to meet you, little one."
Frida's eyes widened when he reached the bundle over to her, and she carefully received the bundle and placed it very gently in her arms. An unfamiliar feeling shot from her heart when her eyes finally fell to the bundle in her arms, her eyes immediately locking with two small mossy pearls that were staring at her.
She felt tears streaming from the corner of her eyes.
It was her love, her life, the stirring life from her stomach, looking at her.
Frida heard herself sobbing, and she felt Ragnar placing a hand on her thigh, scooting himself closer to her and the little creature in her arms. He bent over to kiss her hair, and Frida tore her eyes away from the beauty that she was holding and gazed upon the man at her side, her husband, the father of her child.
She felt pride filling her entire being.
"Is it…" she whispered before letting her eyes return to the small bundle, her words disappearing into the warm air of their bedroom.
"A girl, yes," Ragnar answered, and she heard devotion drip from his voice while feeling his calm and loving air.
Frida stared at the life in her arms, and she felt her lips aching from the wide smile that had spread over them as the little child yawned, a small o forming her lips.
"What should we name her?" Ragnar's voice sounded.
As Frida took in the green moss pearls that were staring at her from her arms, she immediately remembered the goddess that she had seen in her bewildered clouding, how these same eyes had been looking at her in her vision, the eyes of a goddess.
Frida let her eyes sway back to Ragnar, and she felt her heart grow big with love.
She did not choose the words that left her mouth, and she was surprised when she heard herself whisper: "Ragnhildir… Ragnhildir Ragnardottir*.
But the name fit perfectly for this little love in her arms, and Frida heard Ragnar breathing deeply when she bent over to kiss her little girl on the forehead.
"Ordained by the gods," Ragnar whispered, and Frida looked at her husband as he smiled widely at her, and cupped her face with his hand.
"It is perfect. Thank you," he smiled with love shining from his blue crystals, "Thank you, love, for giving me this gift."
Frida watched as he bent over to tuck away some of the linens to see his daughter better.
"I promise to protect you Ragnhildir, as long as I shall live and even when I walk in the halls of Valhalla. You have made me so happy."
Frida sighed out in affection and reached her hand up to stroke Ragnar's head.
Her life was complete now.
She was home.
* Ragnardottir means "Daughter of Ragnar/Ragnar's-daughter." It has been a norm in the Nordic culture for the last name of your children to show who the father is. That is why many Danes, for example, are named "Jørgensen, Jensen, Hansen" etc., because they mean "son of Jørgen", "son of Jens", "son of Hans" and so forth.
