Frida did not remember much of the days after Jarl Guthrum's attack on Kattegat.
She knew that Ragnar and his men had caught the messenger that had betrayed his king and let him believe that Ribe was under attack and that Lagertha needed his help. Frida also knew that they had punished the betrayer somehow, however, she was not aware of how.
And she knew that Ragnar had tried to speak to her. Several of her friends had.
But she had not been able to open her mouth to answer them, as if her lips had been closed shut by an invisible magic spell. As if she had been left paralyzed in a state of sorrow and stillness, like the dark waters of a moor.
They had held the most beautiful burial for Freke.
They had dug a deep hole into the earth in the shape of a longship, and laid him to rest alongside several other animals such as a deer, a rabbit and a crow, so he had plenty of food for his travels into the other world.
Frida had not been able to speak during the burial ceremony, but she remembered how she had cried heavy tears when someone had spoken the most beautiful words, praying that Freke may enter the halls of Valhalla and take his place near the feet of Odin.
She wished for nothing more for her loyal friend.
During the days, Frida was as spellbound by stillness. But when night came, she was troubled by a deep restlessness that made its way with her into her dreams that were filled with horrific images and gruesome feelings.
She awoke during the nights covered in sweat and with a beating heart that was filled with nothing but fear.
Some nights, the fear rendered her completely still, and she would lay there alone breathing into the night with a heart that felt as if it would soon explode in her chest.
Other nights, her terrors would awaken her husband beside her, and he would hold her and try to calm her heart.
One morning, after another night filled with terrible dreams of dark creeping shadows and horror, Ragnar had sat beside her and laid his arm around her shoulders.
Frida knew that it must be hard for him to see her like this.
"My love," he had said. "I worry for you. It pains me deeply to see you like this."
Frida felt a sharp pain in her chest as she took in his words. They snuck into her heart and darkened it once more, even as the rays of the sun had made their way into the safety of their bedroom.
She felt nauseous.
Sick of sorrow.
Of pain.
She wanted to answer him and let him know that he was not to be troubled. But as she opened her mouth to answer, she simply found herself empty of words.
Empty all together.
She understood his worry as she felt his blue crystals on her skin, but she dared not to look at him. She dared not see the pain in his eyes.
A deep sigh left Ragnar's lips as he nudged her shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his hands through the fabric of her clothes.
"I want you to go to the Seer's," Ragnar rasped into her ear, making her close her eyes. She did not want to go to see anyone. In a way she just wished to disappear and be alone.
"Please," he pleaded. "If not for yourself, then do it for me."
Frida sighed out.
She knew that he was right.
And as she made her way to the Seer's cottage, she did feel a slight liveliness stirring inside of her legs, while the fresh air also seemed to awaken something within her. The sunlight felt good on her skin, and she almost felt thankful that Ragnar had persuaded her to leave the longhouse.
That was until she sat down in front of the Seer.
He breathed in long troubled and wet gurgles.
Frida looked long at his mouth with lips blackened by the many plant medicines that he frequently consumed to speak to the gods. A stale taste spread in her mouth, and she tore her eyes away from the wise one in front of her.
The smell of death and something rotten was heavy in the air of the wooden cottage.
Frida closed her eyes and imagined Ragnar in front of her, and she strained herself to the best of possibilities to finally open her mouth and speak out.
"I am troubled," Frida started in a weak voice from not speaking for several days, but she soon felt her words dying out.
She breathed shakily as she once more felt a sorrow as black as coal fill her heart. A sorrow that had followed her ever since the death of her best friend.
She missed the wolf so, as did her children. Especially Ragnhildir. She had cried every night with the shine of the moon, and Frida could do nothing but cry with her.
The Seer breathed. "And you have come here for consolidation?"
Frida saw a small curl in the corner of his mouth before she shook her head lightly. Nothing really could take away her pain. Not her nor her daughter's.
She put a hand to her heart.
She felt anxious to share her troubles with the Seer. She was scared that he would verify her inner fear. That he would tell her that she had lost her way. That she was losing her mind to the darker forces. That she was indeed turning mad.
Frida gulped down.
The silence between them was thick and dusty.
"I have dark dreams," Frida whispered in a short breath. Her voice was so frail, she did not know whether the Seer had heard her.
He hummed.
She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes before she continued in a breathy voice. She could not look at him.
"Every night I… I dream of dark woods and forests. All the time running in the shadows. And I see in these forests people of the past, sitting together around scattered campfires. But I never join them. I want to go and warm my body at their fires, but I don't. I just run around them in the dark."
As the words left her mouth, she hurriedly clasped her lips shut. A wave of cold fear washed over the skin of her back, like a snake slithering its way up over her spine. Every part of her body wanted her to stop. To not share any more.
The breath of the Seer rattled from his throat but he did not say anything. As the silence lingered between them, Frida felt tears gather in her eyes when she knew in her heart that she had to share her darkness with him.
"I feel…" she started, not knowing how to express herself. "I feel dark. As if I am a darkness warm with anger. As if my blood boils with rage. I see myself slash the flesh of living beings. I feel evil. Like a demon."
Frida lifted her hands to cover her eyes as she finally let the tears fall from her eyes, and she felt her body tremble with fear.
"Am I becoming mad, wise one?" she finally dared, regret immediately filling her heart. In some ways she wished that he would answer her fears, but at the same time, she wished that he would not.
What if she was really turning mad?
What if she was haunted by demons?
What if she herself had become a demon?
As the questions hung in the air between them, she saw dark and bloody images of Jarl Guthrum flicker behind her eyelids, and she heard the sounds of blood gushing and bones cracking. A wolf's snarl. Shadows creeping closer.
"Demon…" the rattling voice finally sounded before her, causing Frida to look up at the cloaked figure in front of her.
She saw his cloak shaking lightly, and she was surprised when she heard a low cackling escaping his black lips.
She furrowed her brows at him, and where there had only been sorrow and fear, she now felt a small spark of anger sprouting. This was not funny at all. She opened her mouth to tell him off, but the Seer soon spoke again.
"In your dreams," the voice rattled, "Do you follow this… demon, or are you the demon itself?"
Frida stared at him with hard eyes and tightened her knuckles.
Had he not listened to her?
Before she could answer him, the Seer continued in a chuckle, apparently amused by her sorrow, fear and anger: "I wish to tell you a story."
A long dramatic pause had Frida's heart beat loudly in her chest.
"A long time ago, in a small village in Selund, a peasant woman had grown bitter of the pain of childbirth. In the darkness of night, she therefore gathered several of the village women to perform a forbidden magical ceremony that would rid them all of birthpains. And they were all successful. But their forbidden magic angered the gods. And so as punishment, the gods cursed them and made them into maras* which caused the women to turn into wolves every night in a most painful and horrendous manner."
Frida widened her eyes in horror at the ancient tale, her breath became staggered, and she squirmed uncomfortable in her seat. She longed for the Seer to stop his tale, and she wished to run away and shut out the many images that flashed for her eyes.
"With the shine of each moon, their skin would tear open to reveal their hideous and monstrous fur, and their fingernails would rip themselves off to grow long and sharp claws."
"And so," the Seer continued," the women were cursed to be birthed into wolves every night with the most terrific pain imaginable, haunting the dreams of their people, and their female kin would forever live the same fate as them."
There was a long moment of silence that roared loudly for her ears.
Frida's heartbeat was fast and wicked, and she regretted ever stepping into the Seer's place.
"Why do you tell me such a story?" she cried out. "Are you saying that I am cursed? That I am a mara?!"
Frida felt her head spinning, and she could no longer sense her feet touching the ground.
"No," the Seer smiled creepily. "But I see that a certain god has his eyes on you. He is curious as to what you will do now."
"Who is this god?!" she asked in anger.
But the Seer just cackled in a wet and breathy manner, as he reached out his boney hand at her, ending their conversation.
When Frida left the Seer's cottage, she did not turn towards the path leading to the longhall but to the one leading to the fjord.
There was only one man she knew who she could talk to about this. One that knew of this darkness she was facing. Who might know which god the Seer was speaking of.
Floki.
* Mara: A "she-werewolf" creature that, according to Norse folklore, comes during the night and sits on top of your chest, causing you to have troubling nightmares (hence the word nightmare).