That same night, I woke up at just past 3 a.m., torn out of a nightmare of tumbling through darkness, disoriented, not knowing which way was up or down. And as I sat panting and sweaty in my bed, waiting for the feeling of the bad dream to dissipate, I remembered where I knew that feeling from. That day in the woods on the Renner property, the strange fainting episode, the sudden darkness and the awful sensation of having the breath sucked out of my lungs.

But unlike earlier in the evening, when I'd been able to smile and laugh at silly ideas, it was different in the dark, the way things so often are. I was alone, with only the sound of my rapid heartbeat pounding in my ears and – for the first time – real fear regarding my own state of mind.

I had to stop it. I had to stop speculating and thinking about impossible things.

So that's what I did. I went to the counselor and made regular weekly appointments, as Jerry Sawchuk instructed, for the next couple of months. I stopped going to the TCO online forum and reading JimmyOcean's posts. When Professor Foxwell called in early May to tell me the third test on the broken piece of brooch had again confirmed initial carbon dating results I thanked him and went back to the case I was working on at the time, one involving the theft of some very expensive equipment from a chemical manufacturer in River Falls.

I did not allow myself to think about the man in furs in the woods anymore, or the broken piece of jewelry, or the odd fainting episodes in the woods. I did not allow myself to think about coincidences. I couldn't afford to do any of those things. I had a small child, a mortgage and a job I needed to keep if I wanted to take care of the child and the mortgage. I did not have room in my life to lose myself in far-fetched theories about missing girls.

So I settled back into work and the daily routines of my life. Jerry Sawchuk seemed to soften a little when I quickly managed to not only pin the chemical factory robbery on a local man and a couple of his unsavory friends, but recover the stolen equipment before it could be sold on, too. Ashley continued to do well in school – and to eat her broccoli with very little fuss – and I was able to spend quite a bit of time with my mother, and Maria.

And then, on an otherwise unremarkable afternoon at the counselor's office, the counselor himself, a soft-spoken and slightly rumpled looking man named Kevin who I neither liked nor disliked, dropped a bomb in my lap.

We were talking about the Renner and Wallis cases towards the end of our stipulated hour, and Kevin mentioned casually that an acquaintance of his was Paige Renner's childhood therapist.

The fact that Page Renner had had a therapist as a child came as no surprise, although I hadn't seen the records the FBI had been able to recover. I knew all about the Renner girl's past, her mother's death, her ongoing therapy as a child. When I'd suggested we try to track down some of those therapists Jerry had shut me down, stating that it wouldn't help us find Paige and besides, the FBI was already looking into it. And that had been the end of that.

Until Kevin the therapist brought it up out of the blue one day.

"Did you?" I asked, unable to stop myself and, by then, confident that whatever mental or emotional wobbles I may have had in the past with regards to the Renner and Wallis cases were truly behind me.

"Yeah," he replied. "Sounds like that girl was always a little...touched."

I didn't like that word 'touched.' I didn't like it used when speaking of small child who had lost her mother. But I wanted to hear more so I didn't call him out.

"Really? Why do you say that?" I continued, making sure to keep my tone of voice light.

Kevin leaned forward across his desk, eyebrows raised. "I probably shouldn't say anything about this."

He was right about that – not that I was going to stop him.

"But my friend – Dr. Hansen – said she had a whole alternate world in her head, not just your usual childhood imaginary friends but a whole world. Apparently she used to talk about it more than she did her real life."

"Oh?"

"He says it was so believable he sometimes wondered if the kid was telling the truth – if there really was a magic tree in her yard that took her back to the olden days."

An image flashed through my mind. My own hand, pale and cold in the winter air, against the large tree in the woods on the Renner property.

"What?" I asked, swallowing hard as I almost stumbled over my words. "Um, what was that? A magic tree?"

Kevin steepled his fingers in front of his mouth and nodded in a way I knew he imagined to be sagely. "Yes. As I said, apparently the girl believed a tree in her backyard was taking her to this other world. Dr. Hansen said she had friends there, that she would talk about the games they played and the adventures they had for hours. Apparently all she had to do to get there was touch this tree, and then everything would go black and –"

"I'm sorry," I croaked, my mouth suddenly parched. "I have to, um – I just remembered I have to pick up my daughter from, uh – from school. For – for an appointment."

My therapist stood up, confused, and began to say something about it being summer vacation – but I didn't listen. I grabbed my bag and raced out the door. And then I walked, confused and unsteady, out of the building and across the parking lot to my car. Once ensconced inside, with the air conditioning on, I took a few deep breaths and tried to talk myself through it.

It's a coincidence. A series of coincidences. There's no portal to another world because portals to other worlds don't exist.

But as hard as I tried, the one thing I couldn't shake was duty. My duty as a police officer. I didn't believe in portals to other worlds, obviously, but what I did believe in was my duty to tug on any and all strings that presented themselves in the Renner and Wallis cases – even if those strings seemed crazy. Besides, surely there was some rational explanation for men with swords and ancient jewelry and fainting spells. And whatever that rational explanation was, it very possibly had something to do with Paige and Emma.

I had to follow up. I had to go back to the Renner property. I considered calling Marla Leigh at the FBI, nervous as I was, but in the end I put my phone down on the passenger seat without hitting the call button. What was Marla, kind and encouraging though she was, going to tell me that I didn't already know? No, it was something I could handle on my own. And it would have to be on my own, because there was no way I was going to Jerry Sawchuk with my ideas. Things at work were going well, but no one had forgotten the incident with the man I shot and then allowed to escape.

So I called my mom and asked her if she could pick Ashley up from daycare that night, and then I drove out to the Renner acreage and circled it a couple of times in my car to make sure there weren't any reporters – or other cops – lurking around.

It was a beautiful summer's day, hot but not too hot, and the ground was no longer wet with the melt of spring. I wasn't in uniform, but I'd stopped by the office on the way and picked up my gun anyway. We were permitted to take our service weapons home, so it wasn't like I was breaking any rules.

The Renner house was, now that summer was in full swing, starting to look unkempt. The hedge that ran the length of the driveway on one side was becoming unruly and tendrils of ivy were starting to creep across the windows and into cracks in the stucco. It had been less than a year and already nature was reasserting itself. I slipped past the house and down through the backyard, and then into the woods themselves.

The brook was almost dry, its surface dark, only broken by tiny little skimming insects. It felt peaceful to be in the trees, not scary or foreboding. Birds chirped and dappled sunlight made patterns on my bare arms.

First, I followed the paths that had been cut into the earth by the feet of a hundred reporters and law enforcement officials. But even as I did that, the tree I remembered falling against stood out somehow, in the corner of my eye. Kevin the counselor's words echoed in my head:

Apparently the girl believed a tree in her backyard was taking her to this other world.

There were a lot of trees around, but that one in particular seemed to draw me. Eventually, I stepped off the path and made my way towards it. I reached out when I got close enough, and then drew my hand back at the last second, chuckling nervously to myself.

It's just a tree, dummy. Get this over with. Confirm it's not a magical portal to unicorn land and then get on with your life and your job.

I reached out again. At the very last second, just before I expected to feel the rough bark against my fingertips, a strange rustling sound filled my ears. It was quiet, almost imperceptible, but it made me spin around all the same, expecting to see a dog or a kid behind me, brushing up against the undergrowth. There was no one there. No dogs, no kids. My mind was playing tricks on me, scaring me.

Once again, I reached out. That time, before I could snatch my hand back again, all I could do was gasp as I seemed to fall suddenly into dark space, somewhere with no gravity or light. I tried breath but no air would go in – or come out – of my lungs.

And then, just as I was about to start genuinely panicking, the light returned, the feeling of the ground underneath my feet returned. The sweetness of being able to breathe returned. I lifted my head and looked around as my heart pounded in my chest.

I was in the woods. That's what I said to myself.

You're in the woods, Sophie. Calm down. You're still in the woods. It's OK. It's fine. You must have fainted again.

But I was not in the same woods. I scanned my surroundings further. No, I was definitely not in the same place as I had been ten seconds ago. The woods around me were darker, the undergrowth much thicker, the air smelling faintly of wood-smoke, which it definitely did not in River Falls in the middle of summer.

I splayed my hands out in front of me and studied them to see how badly they were shaking. Just a little. Not too bad.

The question of where I was got pushed to the side, because it was unanswerable. As did the question of how I'd gotten to this other place. What mattered was I was there. And that meant maybe Paige Renner and Emma Wallis were there, too. If I could find the missing girls, there was no telling how my life would change. There was no telling what kind of work I could get, how much money someone would be willing to pay for my story. I could pay off my mortgage, buy my mom a new car, put some money aside for Ashley's education. Also, I could show Jerry Sawchuk that I wasn't some silly little girl playing at being a cop. I was a cop. And a damn sight better one than he was.

I took a step forward, half-expecting to fall into the weightless darkness again – but there was no such thing, just the earth under my feet. A small path snaked its way through the bushes a few feet away, and I began to follow it, keeping my eyes and ears wide open. But I couldn't hear anything of note – no voices, not much of anything, actually. Not even any traffic in the distance. No distant airplanes inscribing their fluffy white trails across the blue sky. Where was I?

Keep going. Stay focused.

I kept going. I stayed focused. The path soon came out of the trees and led into what looked like an overgrown field area. In the middle of it, lumpy tussocks of grass broke the otherwise flat landscape and I went to investigate. Straw. Lumps of rotting straw, tied or woven tightly together and in some places showing what I thought might be scorch marks. There was a piece of something that appeared to be woven from thin saplings, also badly damaged and almost buried under the debris. I had no idea what any of it was – it wasn't dumped garbage, there were no moldy old refrigerators or plastic bags. I stood up and looked around, seeing nothing but more woods on all sides. And then the breeze died down just enough for me to hear something else – something I was pretty sure I couldn't possibly be hearing.

A quiet roar, a rushing sound. Was that - ? No, it couldn't be. River Falls was nowhere near the sea. Certainly not close enough to hear it.

But you're not in River Falls anymore.

The voice in my head was right. I was not in River Falls anymore. That was as far as I was prepared to go at that point, thinking maybe I could conjure up some kind of explanation for not being in River Falls. But surely I was still... close to it?

I turned and began to walk in the direction the sound seemed to be coming from. Another, different path led me back into the woods and I stopped before entering them to pull out a roll of pink trail-marking tape that I'd grabbed out of the supply room at the office. I ripped a short length off it and tied it around the end of a tree branch, in a place that would be easy to spot from any direction. And then I kept going.

The roaring sound got louder in my ears until it became impossible to think it was anything else except the sea. And even as my mind refused to accept that I could be hearing the sea less than a 15 minute walk from the Renner property, the trees suddenly thinned out and there it was.

The water was a deep marine blue, waves rolling in and crashing onto a small, sandy bay. The breeze off the water was fresh, salty, unmistakable. I couldn't be standing in front of the ocean. And yet there I was. Nothing about the scene was dreamlike, none of my five senses were in disagreement. I was where I seemed to be.

Tentatively, I took a step forward, and then another, until I was standing above the high tide line on the beach itself. Once again I looked around, trying to spot something – anything – that would reveal my location. And once again, there was nothing. No boats on the water, no people on the beach, no dogs or kids or parking areas.

I walked slowly down to the water's edge and dipped my fingers into the cold water as the afternoon sun beat down on my back. Maybe I'd passed out again? I'd heard stories of people who passed out, often only for a minute or two, and then woke up with stories of hours-long adventures, other places, astonished at how real it had all seemed.

Was I unconscious, flat out on my back in the woods on the Renner acreage? I jogged back up to the edge of the woods and tied another piece of pink tape to a tree branch. And then, because I had to do something other than stand still, paralyzed with my own befuddlement, I began to walk up the coastline, parallel to the water. There was a lushness about the landscape that felt unfamiliar. Wildflowers I didn't recognize crowded amongst the grasses and bees flitted back and forth between flowers like girls between boys at a high school dance. I thought to myself that someone must have hives nearby.

Eventually I came to a short, rocky headland, which I began to walk out on before suddenly spotting movement out of the corner of my eye and dropping low.

Children. Two children. No, three. Surprisingly small children, too – definitely younger than Ashley. They were playing about twenty feet in front of me and they were filthy. I had never seen such filthy kids. I stayed where I was, angry that some neglectful asshole had left 3 little ones, much too young to be on their own and dressed in dirty rags, alone so close to the water. Sooner or later, someone was going to come looking for them, and when they did, I was going to arrest their abusive asses for – wait. I wasn't going to arrest anyone. I had a gun, but I wasn't in uniform, I didn't have cuffs, and I was all alone. What was I going to do – drag one, maybe two fully grown adults and three kids back through the woods to my car and then drive them into the station where Jerry could interrogate me about what the hell I'd been doing back on the Renner property?

I decided to get the parents' details, when they showed up, and then have Child Protective Services follow up with the family in a day or two. Who the hell did they think they were, letting their much-too-young-to-be-alone kids play so close to the waves like that, totally unsupervised?

And then, before I had time to more fully work myself into a real righteous fury, two women appeared from the woods and my mouth fell open.

These were not women from River Falls. These did not even appear to be women from the 21st century. One was blonde and one dark-haired, and both carried what looked like large wicker baskets. The dark-haired one nodded at the children and said something I couldn't quite make out, but they hadn't come for them. I watched, fascinated but also scared, because the more I saw of where I was, the more it felt like I was very, very far away from River Falls. The women walked to the water's edge and began unloading what looked like dishes – plates and bowls – from the baskets. And then they scooped small handfuls of sand into them and began to scrub. They were doing dishes. And they were dressed similarly to the children, in cream-colored tunics – although the women's clothing looked to be in much better condition.

I closed my eyes at one point, as they began to rinse the sand out of the bowls in the waves, and then opened them again about ten seconds later, expecting the women and the children to have vanished. It would almost be less astounding than what I was seeing.

But they were still there. They didn't look hostile. Neither one was bigger than me, although both looked young, healthy and physically capable. Still, they were women, around my age, washing dishes. What did I have to fear from them?

Still, I had to wipe my palms on my jeans before standing up, so sweaty had they become. It took a few moments for the women to notice me. It was the children who saw me first – immediately screeching and pointing and clutching at each other as if they'd never seen anyone like me before. And then the two dish-washers looked up, staring and lifting their hands up to block the bright sunshine from their eyes. They didn't look angry or aggressive. But they didn't look particularly friendly, either. They weren't smiling.

"Hello!" I shouted, grinning and affecting loose, unthreatening body language as I approached.

Both of them stood up from their task and the children ran to them, hiding behind their legs and peering out at me.

"Hello," I said again, when I'd gotten closer. "I – I'm sorry, I seem to be a little lost. Maybe you could tell me how to get home?"

The blonde narrowed her eyes but her companion offered me a very small smile. They spoke to each other in quiet voices, so I couldn't hear what they were saying. And then the brunette, still holding one of the bowls she'd been washing in her hand, spoke.

"Are you an East Angle?"

"Am I a what?" I asked, using the fact that we were now conversing to get a little closer – I still intended, after all, to question these women on the state of the children.

The entire group, all five of them, stepped back at once. One of the kids let out a little shriek and ran back up the beach into the woods. The others looked like they were thinking about doing exactly the same thing. I held up a hand and smiled.

"Don't be afraid. I'm just lost, that's all. I don't mean any harm. Can you help me?"

"You are lost?" The brunette asked skeptically. "Where do you seek to go?"

She had an accent. Maybe they were tourists? Could that explain the weird clothes and childrearing practices? "River Falls," I replied. "I am trying to find my way back to River Falls. My name is Sophie."

I wasn't actually lost, but I hit on mentioning River Falls to see if either woman could give me some idea of just how far away it was. And I suppose I got my answer when I saw a total lack of recognition on both of their faces.

"I am Bryn," she replied, before nodding towards her blonde companion, "and this is Jorunn. You say you seek the river?"

"River Falls," I smiled, taking note of the foreign-sounding names but not remarking on them. "That's where I live. I'm trying to find my way back there."

Bryn and Jorunn looked at each other, as the children seemed to accept I was not a threat and moved out from behind the women's legs to stare at me more openly.

"What's that?" One of the little ones asked, pointing to the roll of pink tape I still held in my hand.

"Just trail-marking tape," I replied, handing over the roll when the child reached for it.

"Are you an East Angle?"

That question again. I didn't know what an East Angle was. I supposed that meant I wasn't one. "No," I replied. "I'm from River Falls. River Falls, New York."

Something I'd said caused both women to turn to each other at once and confer in low voices.

"York?" Bryn, the brunette, asked when she looked up to me again. "You are from York?"

"New York," I corrected, confused by the almost imperceptible change in the tone of the conversation – I was being eyed with more suspicion than ever now.

"If you are from York," Bryn continued, noticeably pulling away when I took a small step towards her. "How did you get here? Who are you with – where are your men?"

I began to feel slightly impatient. Who were these strange women and their unkempt children? Why was my being from New York so seemingly sinister? And who the hell were 'my men?'

"I walked here," I told them, still smiling. "I'm just a little lost, as I said. Where are you from?"

Once again, both women looked at each other worriedly. And it was once again Bryn who responded. "It's no matter where we're from," she replied, somewhat haughtily. Something had changed. I'd said something that made them suspicious. "Because we're here now. And if you're from York, how is it you're all the way down here with no horses and no men-folk? Did you sail?"

I noticed then that they were repeating the word 'York' but not 'New York.' Were we even talking about the same place? "I walked," I repeated, allowing a very slight note of irritation to creep into my voice. "I told you that."

"You didn't walk," Jorunn, the blonde, finally spoke up. "Look at you as fat as a late-summer pig – you didn't walk from York! Now tell us where you're from or we might begin to wonder why you keep it secret."

I was 5 foot 7 inches tall, 144 pounds. Hardly 'fat' – although if these women and their skinny little children were anything to go by, perhaps I was fat to them. The interaction was going south, though, that much was clear. The first threat had just been hinted at.

"I am from River Falls, New York," I repeated, in a stronger voice. "And I'm a police officer. You do realize these children were playing unsupervised next to the water, don't you? And that they don't look like they've had their hair brushed for weeks?"

Wherever Bryn, Jorunn and those children were from, they weren't intimidated in the slightest by the fact of my being a police officer. Bryn looked at the kids as they fought over pieces of pink hiking tape and then back at me. "What care is it of yours where the children play? Do the children not play by the water in York? Our men-folk are not far from here, you'd do well not to speak in those tones again."

I lifted my arm then, meaning to rub my forehead, but it was misinterpreted. Bryn stepped forward quickly and shoved me back onto the sand. Not expecting it, I fell – but they'd made the mistake of not running, so when I leapt back to my feet I immediately grabbed her and pinned her arm behind her back. She screamed, which made the children scream.

"Calm down!" I barked, tightening my grip on Bryn's arm as she struggled – she was stronger than she looked and I was soon panting with effort.

But Bryn had no interest in calming down. The children fled into the woods and she turned to Jorunn:

"Get Gunnar! Get the Jarl! Go, Jorunn!"

The situation was escalating. I didn't even bother trying to grab Jorunn before she followed the children into the woods, because I knew I wouldn't be able to subdue both her and Bryn at once. And I considered running, too. But I hadn't come to wherever I was just to run without getting any information. I hadn't even had a chance to ask either of the women about Paige Renner or Emma Wallis.

"Stop it!" I insisted, pushing Bryn's arm further up her back, making her screech again, when she refused to stop struggling. "Just – stop it, damnit. All I wanted to do was have a polite conversation!"

She finally seemed to give in, ending her struggles and standing angrily beside me on the sand, looking down. "Don't talk to me," she spat. "Gunnar will be here soon. Gunnar is a Jarl now – well, almost a Jarl. And I'm his woman! Well, I will be his woman – soon. He won't be happy to see me treated like this! He won't be happy at all!"

Tucked into the back of my jeans, warm against my sweaty lower back, was my gun. If it had not been there, I may not have stayed on that beach with Bryn. I may have chosen not to deal with her strangely-named boyfriend. But the gun was there, and I still hadn't asked anyone about Paige or Emma.

I heard Bryn's boyfriend before I saw him. Audible grumbling, stomping footsteps, and a metallic clanking. When he finally emerged from the woods and I looked up, I suddenly lost the ability to speak. He looked just like the man I'd seen on the Renner property. His garments were lighter, it being summer, but everything else was the same – large build, a sword of almost cartoonish size affixed to his waist (it was this making the clanking sound, because Gunnar was also wearing a belt made of a series of small, hammered metal circles inlaid with colored stones – and with every step he took the belt bounced off the sword's hilt), a certain look of arrogance in his eyes.

"What is this?" He roared, striding down the beach at such speed I half thought he was going to run right into me. I did not let go of Bryn, though, even as the thought definitely crossed my mind. And when Gunnar got closer, the skirt-like leather garment he was fell slightly open and I saw that his thigh – his left thigh, where I had shot the fur-clad man in the woods – was smooth, unmarred by scars or wounds. This was not the man I shot.

"I am a police officer," I warned him as he came right up to me, so close our chests were almost touching, and glared. "So it would be best, sir, if you –"

"You're a what?"

I frowned, annoyed at the lack of respect. "A police officer. And you –"

"Don't know what that is, girl."

Bryn's boyfriend, whose hot breath was right in my face, looked to be about 20 years old. I'm sensitive to disrespect. It happens. It happens especially, I think, to young women who go into traditionally male jobs and find themselves having to deal, day in and day out, with people who seem to assume that they got the jobs through means other than their competence. So to be called 'girl' by a posturing kid who looked, in spite of his build, like he was barely out of high school – I admit, it made my slapping hand itch.

But, as I'd just informed the lovely Gunnar, I was a police officer. I couldn't go slapping everyone who annoyed me.

"A police officer," I repeated, through gritted teeth. "I work for the River Falls Police Department – and sir, I'm armed. I would advise you to step back if –"

I didn't get to finish my statement, because Gunnar burst into loud, barking laughter. His companions soon joined him, tittering girlishly and sneaking infuriating little glances at me to see how angry I was getting.

Gunnar made a big show of looking me up and down, then. "Armed?" He chuckled. "With the smallest sword in the world? With an infant's flimsy bow and blunted wooden arrows? Even these things I do not see, girl. Tell me, who are you to speak to me in such a manner? The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because the sight of blood upsets my lovely –"

That was it. A clear threat. I let go of Bryn and took a quick step back as I pulled the gun out of my jeans and aimed it at Gunnar.

Neither he nor his lady-friends reacted in the slightest. Just like the man in the woods, they didn't even flinch. It wasn't courage, I saw it now for what it was – it was simple ignorance. Somehow, these people did not know what a gun was. Which meant my gun was useless, unless I wanted to shoot someone down right there on the beach.

Gunnar almost caught a bullet right there when he lunged forward to grab it out of my hands. I was quicker than him, though. I jumped aside and then fired over my head. The sound of the gunshot was deafening, and I was the only one expecting it – the 3 people standing in front of me all jumped in shock. Bryn and Jorunn covered their ears and screamed. Gunnar drew his sword.

"What is that?!" He bellowed, lifting his sword. I took aim at his chest and that time, he decided he didn't want whatever it was that had just made such a sound pointed at him.

"Don't!" I ordered. "I'll shoot you! Don't come one step –"

Gunnar swung his sword down, but he was not as proficient as he looked. Once again, I jumped out of the way, lifting the gun once more in his direction. But before I could fire again another voice, louder and deeper than Gunnar's, came booming out of the woods.

"BROTHER!"

We all looked up then, almost transfixed, as a man who seemed not to be bathed in the golden light of the sun so much as emanating it from his very being strode down the beach. He was magnificent – tall, broad and muscular without being restricted by it. His movements were graceful and quick and his cheekbones high and prominent, as if carved from granite. I wanted to speak, to say something before whoever this was could wrongly discern the situation and perhaps go after me. But no words came out.

"What's this?" The man demanded, glaring at Gunnar, and then at me, and ignoring Bryn and Jorunn entirely.

Up close, I could see that he was dressed finely, like Gunnar, but also less showily. There was no belt inlaid with pretty stones around his waist, no silver cuff around each bicep. Nonetheless, he had a greater air of authority about him than the more fancily dressed man did.

"Leave us!" Gunnar growled. "Voss, Ivar! Why must you follow me around like an old wom –"

I flinched then, hard, as the man – Ivar – lifted a hand as if to strike. Gunnar flinched, too.

"You've always been too loose with your words, brother," Ivar said, his voice low and even and filled with the kind of threat that doesn't need to be verbalized. "I wouldn't need to follow you around if I thought you could stay out of trouble. But here you are, as ever, swinging your sword at lone women on the beach so you can impress the girls."

"I wasn't impressing the girls! I was –"

"Go!" Ivar commanded Bryn and Jorunn, waving them dismissively away. "Go now or I'll have you whipped. GO!"

The girls went, running back up the beach and disappearing into the woods without a single word, without even daring to look Ivar in the eye. And as soon as they were gone, he turned back to his brother.

"The raids go well, Gunnar. We hold the lands we've taken with ease. Do you think it will be this easy in a moon? Do you think it will be this easy in the winter? Do you think the Lords do not plot against us, even now? You try me, brother. You make me wonder if allowing you to join us was the right thing to do."

Wherever I was, it was not somewhere so alien that younger brothers meekly acquiesced to being lectured by older brothers. Gunnar was fuming, his eyes flashing with anger and his shoulders tight with it.

"You do not even ask what it is I do here," he replied tightly. "You do not even ask, Ivar! Voss! All my life and –"

"I do not have to ask, do I?" Ivar shot back. I took the opportunity, as the brothers focused on each other, to take a small step back. Even with my gun, I didn't favor my chances against both of these men – especially not at such close quarters.

And just as I moved out of his reach, Ivar – without even looking! – reached out and grabbed my t-shirt at the neck, using it to snatch me back towards him.

"Don't touch me!" I shrieked, digging my nails into his hand in an attempt to get him to let go. "Get – get off me! What are you doing?!"

My other hand still held the gun. I began to raise it instinctively, simply as a response to being attacked, but Ivar simply knocked it out of my hand so quickly and decisively that I didn't even realize he'd done it until I saw my weapon skidding away across the wet sand.

"OK," I said, immediately ceasing to fight. I had to get that gun back. "OK. I'm sorry. I'm – I'm sorry! I'm not fighting anymore!"

"You shouldn't be fighting in the first place," Ivar commented. "A woman alone against 2 men of the North? I don't know what chance you think you have. As it is, I don't have time to deal with this kind of thing so please, tell me what business it is you have here so I can decide what to do with you."

Decide what to do with me? What the hell did that mean? Not that I had a chance to answer Ivar's questions before Gunnar spoke over me.

"She attacked Bryn," he said. "Bryn is my woman, Ivar. My woman. I can't stand by while some filthy Angle –"

"Ah," Ivar chuckled, prompting me to imagine I could see actual steam coming out of Gunnar's ears. "Your woman? But she's not your woman, Gunnar, is she? She's just the girl you're currently sticking your prick into. And soon there will be another, and another. She's not your woman, boy. You've no business wasting your energy in her defense. When I came upon you here, you had your sword drawn. Why?"

Gunnar closed his eyes and looked down at the sand, his fists clenched at his sides. "Did you not hear the sound of a thunderclap, brother? The woman is a witch! It came from her! I was protecting –"

"A witch, is it?" Ivar demanded. "And an East Angle at that – have you forgotten where we are? Have you forgotten that we come to conquer this land? Did you think to ask this woman a single question before you moved to relieve her shoulders of the burden of her head?"

"She says she's from York," Gunnar sulked. "She says she's not an East Angle."

"Is that all? You find a Yorkish woman on the beach, days and days from her home, in the middle of a war of conquest, and the only thing you can think to do is kill her? You must learn to think, brother. Until you do that, the greatness you seek will never be yours. Here," Ivar turned to me, "we'll bring her back to camp, I'll question her myself."

"No," I whispered, not wishing to anger either of the men further but terrified by the words Ivar had just uttered. A camp? Questioning? No. Especially unarmed.

"No?" The older man repeated back to me. "And what say do you think you have in the matter? If you're truly from York, which I doubt, you can tell us of the secret paths through the forests and marshes, and the weakest gates to the city itself. And if you're not from York, you can tell us why you lied."

He moved to grab my arm, then, and I jumped out of the way. He wasn't expecting that – he wasn't expecting how quick I was.

"Voss! Enough! Come with me now, woman."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see my gun lying on the sand, about 6 feet away. I couldn't get to it, both men stood in my way. Ivar was eying me, sizing me up, ready to grab me again – and I didn't have any confidence I would be able to slip out of his reach once more. I had 3 choices. Run, surrender, or try to grab the gun. I ran.

And as I ran, almost stumbling in the soft sand before getting to the dryer ground at the top of the beach, I heard the sound of both men dropping their swords and then, soon enough, the sounds of their pursuit. My heart was soon beating near out of my chest, not just with the effort of flat-out sprinting, but with the animalistic fear that comes with being pursued.

The ground was uneven, I had to keep my eyes low so I could try to work out where to put my feet, but I also had to look up, to try to spot the pink hiking tape tied to the tree. One set of footsteps drew nearer and nearer, sending a hot, tingling wave of panic through my veins.

And then I saw it – a flash of pink against the green of the woods. I veered off the path towards it and screamed with terror as I realized my feet were no longer on the ground. I landed hard enough to knock the wind out of me and lay there, panting and trying to scramble away, as a heavy hand grasped one of my legs.

"No!" I screamed again, kicking out blindly as I was yanked backwards on my belly. I reached out, grabbing at the earth, at the slender trunks of young trees, but I wasn't even half as strong as my captor. And when I finally managed to flip over and look, I saw that it was him – Ivar.

"You run," he panted, "as if for your life. You – you run fast, too. I don't think I ever saw a woman run so fast."

It's not that I didn't sense a threat from Ivar – I did – and it's not that his golden good looks had somehow mesmerized me into compliance. He simply didn't give off the feeling of volatility that his brother did. I didn't fear that Ivar was about to kill me at any moment. Perhaps he could be reasoned with?

He pulled a leather tie from around his neck and used it to tie my wrists tightly in front of my body and then, when we'd both caught our breath enough to walk again, he hauled me to my feet and ordered me to walk.

And so I walked. There was nothing else to do, no heroic escape attempt to mount. I'd already tried that and I'd failed. So now I was being marched back to whatever 'camp' these strange hillbillies called home.

I was almost thankful, in an odd way. There wasn't much room in my head to think about the things that didn't make any sense at all – such as where I was, or how I'd gotten there, or how I was going to get back home – with those two dragging me away.

Not once did it occur to me that I wouldn't be getting home. There was a lot that didn't occur to me that day, as I walked into the woods away from a sea that by all rights should not have existed.