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That old lady on the surfboard who’d appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the sea—who was she? Then that golden spindle with Viking patterns.

Cathy’s skin chilled.

She had never tried LSD, although she had friends in the yoga circles who had sworn it had therapeutic qualities. Had there been some sort of hallucinogen on the surface of the spindle? The lady had said, “You are going to travel back in time.” But that was impossible, wasn’t it?

That man looked so much like Brad…

Could this be an alternate reality like in one of those sci-fi shows? And in this reality, Brad was alive and healthy…and a Viking?

The lady had said something about helping a man—did Cathy need to save him?

Oh God—what if she failed and he got wounded again?

She crouched and crawled to the mouth of the cave, into the light, but couldn’t see anything from behind the bushes. Carefully, she got out and peered from behind the bush.

What she saw turned her world upside down.

Being raised in a good family, in a safe environment, she had only seen death and violence on TV.

Now, men lay with open guts, cleaved skulls and wounds in their chests, throats, arms, and legs. Others fought, swords and shields clashing. Bile rose in her throat, terror staking her feet to the ground.

This was no movie, no studio tour, no game.

People really were dying right in front of her eyes.

Just when vomit rose to her mouth, she saw Brad. He chased a man in armor who was holding a crumpled and torn banner in his hand. Brad grabbed him and knocked him to the ground, then kicked the man and drove his sword into his neck.

Cathy gripped the branches of the bush so as not to fall back on her ass.

Her Brad would never do that.

Her Brad was a vegan. He hated the idea of killing other living things.

A warrior sneaked up behind Brad and dove the pommel of his sword into Brad’s head. Brad turned and swung his sword, but it looked awkward, like his arms were cooked spaghetti. He collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

The warrior bent down to finish him off. A loud shout from the battlefield stilled the man. He straightened and ran to join a couple of fighters.

On the beach, men still fought, but many Vikings were running back to the ships. Cathy’s blood chilled. If they lost, the English would probably soon come and see that Brad was still alive.

Cathy had to help him.

She couldn’t let him get hurt for a second time.

Her heart was racing. Staying low, she moved to Brad, hooked her hands under his armpits and pulled.

Oh man, he was huge and heavy. He barely moved.

Cathy pulled as hard as she could, and his body inched along. She had to be quick, they’d see her any minute.

But luckily, they didn’t. She managed to pull him into the cave—she had to sit him up, he was so big. With him in there, she barely had any space for herself.

She had to see how badly wounded he was. She felt his pulse, and even though it was weak, it was there.

She quickly scanned his body for wounds but saw only scratches and bruises.

Finally, his head.

The back of his head was bleeding, and the wound looked almost like the one he had gotten while surfing.