“He is.” I tried to soothe the voice of doubt inside of me.
“I want to see him. I want to see him first.”
Fiske nodded, stepping forward, and he whistled into the trees. We waited silently, my heart pounding, until a whistle sounded back. “We’ll meet them in the ritual house.”
“No.” My father’s tone turned sharp.
I shook my head at Fiske. My father was a superstitious man. There was nothing that would convince him to step foot into a ritual house for Thora.
“My house then,” Fiske agreed.
My father and Myra both freed their axes from their sheaths, stepping heavier into their feet as we walked. I did the same, finding my axe with my fingertips at my back. When we finally broke into view, my steps faltered, my eyes going wide. It was dark, but the homes were lit like little fires in a winding trail and more Riki were camped in every open space. They covered every inch of the village.
Armed. Ready for battle.
I slowed, and Myra and my father’s swords slid free. I instinctively set my hand on the hilt of mine as the defenses woke inside me. I hadn’t seen this many Riki together in one place since I was captured in Aurvanger.
We stayed at the village’s edge and moved against the trees, keeping out of sight. Fiske came to the other side of my father, pulling his axe from his back. The four of us walked in a line, shoulder to shoulder with our weapons ready. Heads turned toward us, like a ripple over water, as we made our way closer. They were quiet. Eyes gleaming.
Cold stares and angry whispers surrounded us, closing us in as we headed up the incline, and the buzz of battle ignited in my bones, ready to turn and swing my axe. I met their eyes as I passed, telling them what I wasn’t saying out loud.
That we weren’t afraid.
That I would kill them.
That everything I had left to lose was right here in this village.
Fiske led us toward the familiar wood-planked house standing on the fringes of the village and whistled again. Smoke trailed up from the roof and the door opened.
Inge stood with her hands pressed, palms together, in front of her chest. Long, unbraided black hair fell over her shoulders like a raven’s wings.
“Fiske!” The high-pitched tone of Halvard’s voice broke the silence.
He appeared in the doorway and barreled into Fiske, wrapping his arms around his waist. Fiske put one hand on him, still watching around us. When Halvard opened his eyes, he let go of Fiske, running until he slammed into me. I held my axe up in the air and squeezed him against me with my other hand, unable to help the smile on my face. I pulled the yarrow bloom from my cloak and handed it to him. His grin widened before he took it, running back into the house toward Inge.
Myra and my father watched me, shock written across their faces in deep, hard lines. And then my father’s face fell, looking beyond me into the house, where Iri stood in the shadows against the back wall. His shoulders were hunched, his frame bent low to see through the doorway.
My father didn’t think. In the next breath, he was moving, one pounding footstep over the other through the snow, and Inge stepped aside, moving out of his way. I followed, trying to keep up, but he was past the gate before I could catch him. And then he was through the door, moving past Inge. I came into the house and stopped short, my heart jumping into my throat.
My father had his arms wound around Iri like ropes, hunched over and weeping into his shoulder, his body wracked with sobs. The sound of it filled the house and spilled out into the village. And Iri was the same, his face broken into pieces as my father held onto him. I closed the door as soon as Fiske and Myra came through, leaving the rest of the Riki outside. Runa stood beside the fire, watching them with her hands tucked into her elbows. Inge, too, stood at the wall, staring.
I gulped down the cry forcing its way up from my chest. My father was a proud man and I’d wondered which would have a stronger hold on him—his Aska blood or his love for Iri. Relief flooded through me, unwinding every tense muscle and calming my heart. I already knew that Iri’s betrayal was nothing compared to the truth that he was ours, but seeing my father know it, too, made it more real.
He was saying something into Iri’s ear, but the sound of it muffled against his hair. Iri nodded, wiping at his face and trying to catch his breath. He had outgrown my father only in width, their tall statures matching. Behind me, Myra watched with the eyes of a warrior, her weapons still clasped in each hand.
“Eelyn.” Inge’s soft voice lifted beside me and she touched my back, smiling. “I’m glad you’re back,” she whispered.
I breathed in the smell I’d come to associate with this place. Toasted grains and drying herbs. “This is my father, Aghi,” I said. “And this is Myra. My friend.”
Inge nodded to both of them in greeting and Halvard came around me to look up at Myra inquisitively. My father wiped his face on his sleeve, coming back into himself, and I instantly felt safer. Seeing him lose control was something that scared me. He looked across the small house, taking it in, until his eyes landed on Inge. They looked at each other in silence.
A knock pounded on the door and Inge stepped forward, lifting the latch. Vidr stood on the other side of the threshold with the Tala behind him, her eyes landing on me first. They stepped into the house and we fanned out against the back wall as more Riki I didn’t recognize filed in. My father looked to me and I watched his hand tighten on his axe. Myra watched them from the top of her gaze in the corner. Their faces, too, were shrouded in suspicion.
Vidr stood at the front, sizing up my father from head to toe. “We’re glad you’ve come.”
My father looked them over carefully, left to right. He stood beside me, his sword still hanging at his side. The glisten of tears still shone on his cheeks, but my father was a dangerous man. Anyone could see that.
Beside me, Halvard was still inspecting Myra. He reached up to touch her hair and she recoiled, moving closer to the wall to get away from him.
“Welcome to Fela.” The Tala stepped forward, breaking the silence. Her fingers tangled into her necklaces. “We understand the Aska have been raided by the Herja. As you can see, we’ve suffered great losses as well.”
My father didn’t answer.
Vidr watched him with flinty eyes. “These are our other village leaders—Freydis, Latham, Torin, and Hildi.” He motioned to each of the faces in the crowded room.
“There are seven Riki villages,” my father corrected.
“The other village leaders are dead,” Freydis answered. Her cloak was pulled over one shoulder, an injured arm hanging out.
“What is it you want from us?” My father took command of the conversation the way I’d seen him do many times before. He was always in control.
“We have a common enemy. One that will likely be the end to both our clans.” Vidr took a step forward. “We want the Aska to join with us against the Herja.”
“And after?” My father unveiled his real concern. They would find out soon enough that the Aska were weaker than they were. “What’s to keep the Riki from turning on the Aska after we’ve defeated the Herja?”
The other village leaders looked to Vidr, as if they wanted the answer as much as we did. “A truce. Neither of us will be able to fight after we take on the Herja. And even if we are, we won’t fight each other.”
“And generations of war will end just like that?” I asked, my eyes narrowed on the Tala.
She let the silence widen before she answered. “Perhaps the gods have a new path for us.”