Frida and Floki had hurriedly made their way back to the camp to warn the others that the people living here now were aware of their presence.
And the other Northmen had immediately come to life when they told them what had happened, stirring around in the little camp to gather their belongings, shields and weapons, preparing themselves for whatever was coming their way.
It was not long before Frida found herself hiding behind yet another lush shrubbery, with Floki right by her side, breathing into her ear as they both stared out from the dark green leaves and into the wet landscape before them.
She could feel his hand hovering over her back, and she turned to look at him, his face painted like a warrior's. His eyes were squinted at the emerald field stretching out from the forest, concern obvious in his every feature, and she felt guilt wash up in her mouth, a sour taste spreading over her tongue as she too turned to look at the field in front of them.
She had been careless, curious.
And now, the few Northmen that were left of their crew all sat crouched down in the bushes, hiding from whatever was coming their way. Calculating.
The red-haired man was probably already gathering his men to fight off the raiders that had embarked on their territory.
The rain was still very heavy, falling down over them from the bright skies like a waterfall, and Frida strained her eyes to see any differing colors in the landscape before them, but all she could see was a blur of wetness and green.
She hoped that the gods were still with them.
A tense sigh sounded from several of the men around her when something moved out over the field, and Frida quickly bent her head and narrowed her eyes at the movement.
It was the red-haired man.
He was… alone.
She heard one of the Vikings snort as they watched the redhead ride slowly and lonely forth over the green field on probably the smallest horse Frida had ever seen in her life. She could tell that he was searching for them, his head turned intriguingly from side to side as he rode slowly closer to them, and before long, the man chose to break the tense silence that prevailed among them, his voice carving through the air like a warning.
But Frida could not hear what he was saying, his words blurred by the heavy rain and the distance between them.
She felt Floki bending slightly forward next to her, attentive.
The man shouted at them again, his voice clearer now, but Frida still could not make out what he was saying. His words sounded strange and very throaty, and it took her a while to realize that he was not speaking Norse.
He was speaking a language that she had not heard for a very long time.
While straining her ears, she bent even closer to the leaves that were the edges of the bush she and Floki were hiding in, and she felt the blood rush in veins when she recognized one of the words that left the red-haired man's lips: "Woman!"
Frida furrowed her brows heavily.
How far had they really drifted during the storm?
As the redhead rode closer to them, he shouted the word once more, and Frida turned her eyes to look at Floki who had raised his ax in front of him. Just as Frida opened her mouth to let Floki know what the man was saying, because she was sure he did not understand him like she did, however, Floki shot out from the bushes.
Frida felt her heart skip a beat as she realized that the rest of the Northmen followed his notion, and she felt fear spread over her skin as she saw how the red-haired man came to a halt on the field in front of them as the Vikings appeared before him.
She could see fear shining from his eyes too now, the small horse he was sitting on trotting a few steps back.
The silence between the men was loud in her ears.
She heard the man shouting something at them, but she could not tell what.
The language that he spoke was not her mother's tongue, and it had been such a long time since she had listened to anyone speaking it. But she easily recognized the throaty twists of this language, and images from what seemed like an old life flashed before her eyes in short and quick lights.
A hard gush of air escaped her lips before she finally had the courage to step forward from the bushes too. Floki, who had raised his ax for the man to keep his distance, hissed at her as she walked to his side, and he gave her a small push with his arm, urging for her to stay back.
But Frida kept her eyes on the foreign man in front of them, and she could see how his eyes widened when he saw her.
She strained her mind heavily to find a word in his language, but she did not remember much.
As she took a step forward, she raised her hand at him, shouting: "Greeting!"
She felt all of the eyes of the Northmen turning to her, and she heard Floki hissing at her from behind. She took another step towards the man who was staring at her intently, and she noticed a relieved smile curling in the side of his mouth. The tension was still thick between the group of Northmen and the redhead, and Frida turned to send Floki and the rest an assuring smile.
"Be calm," she whispered before turning back to the man.
She felt Floki following her every movement, and she knew that he did not like the situation. "Is he a Saxon?" he hissed out in a silent whisper.
Frida shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes on the red-haired man.
"Wherefrom you?" she managed to comprehend between the still heavy drops of the rain and the throaty words of the foreign man.
But she did not know how to answer him so she just pointed to the direction of their boat.
"Rest?" she tried in a nervous tone, hoping that the man understood her tongue. Her eyes roamed back to the Vikings behind her.
She could easily understand why the foreign man was hesitant. Her group of men looked dangerous, weapons and ink paint so Norse and different from what he must have seen in his lifetime, she tried to send him a smile.
They did not have to be enemies.
Frida suddenly felt Floki grabbing her arm, and she was soon pulled angrily back behind him, his eyes burning heatedly at her. She felt anger starting to boil in her veins too now, as Floki once more hissed at her.
"What are you saying?"
Frida sighed out heavily. "He has not come to hurt us, Floki, or else he would not have come alone."
Her eyes shortly connected with Faxe's, and she could see curiosity spire from his eyes.
"Ask him where we are," he urged in a low whisper, and Frida nodded her head at him before turning back to the redhead.
The tension was still so thick, she was sure it could almost be sliced with a knife.
She cleared her throat, as she tried to remember more words that the man would understand. This language was very difficult.
"Éire?" she managed, and she could see the redhead widening his eyes at her, his horse suddenly taking a few steps in her direction.
This, however, caused most of the Vikings beside her to raise their weapons slightly, and the man stopped promptly. He slowly started to shake his head, his eyes ever shifting between the men around her in nervous movements, and Frida felt a growing wish that she could speak to the man without them being there.
She knew that he was not there to harm them. She could feel it.
"Isle of…" she heard him say, but she did not recognize the name.
Had he said Thule?
Frida did not even realize the strange face she was making before she sensed Faxe stepping up next to her. Curiosity shone from his eyes like small bonfires, and for a short moment he kind of reminded her of Ragnar.
She felt a short flinch of pain crossing through her heart. She wished he was here with her.
"So?" Faxe pressed.
Frida looked at the foreign man once more, and she turned her head slightly at him. "Thule?" she asked in a light voice.
The redhead nodded, earning for her to sigh out and turn back to the Northmen that were staring at her impatiently.
She bit her lip. "He, uh…" she started out cautiously, not knowing how exactly to bring them the new information. "He says we are at the end of the world."
Her eyes turned to lock with Floki's.
His embers were burning ever so brightly at her from his dark circles, she had to tear hers away from him again.
Had they really reached the end of the known world?
Would they ever be able to go back?
...
"By a route obscure and lonely,
haunted by ill angels only,
where a spirit named Night,
on a black throne reigns upright.
I have reached these lands but newly
from an ultimate dim Thule.
From a wild weird clime, that lieth, sublime,
out of space and out of time."*
*This is actually from a poem by my favorite American author, Edgar Allan Poe, but I thought it appropriate here even though it is not Norse.