The Girl the Sea Gave Back(47)

Hylli lay across the valley in the distance and I was at the foot of the mountain, stuck between dying worlds. By now, Latham would have gotten word of the Svell attack on Utan. Wherever they were, my nieces would be watching their mother and father ready their weapons the way I watched my father and brothers as a boy.

At any moment, the sea would appear beneath the sky and I would be home. I could already smell the water, mixed with the far-off rain and the new grass of early spring.

The horse picked up its pace as we made our way through the familiar land, remembering the way, and though everything within me wanted to be home, some part of me also dreaded the moment I’d walk through the gate. When we came out from under the trees, warm sunlight hit my face and I breathed through the lump in my throat. The rise of land ahead pulled down, the gray water meeting the sky, and as I came over the hill, the horse halted, hooves sliding on the damp ground.

Down the slope, all the way to the village, the Nādhir were camped in rows of tents painted with the blood of sacrifices. The shapes and symbols of Sigr and Thora covered them, dark against the white canvas. Warriors from every village on the fjord and the mountain were waiting for the fight coming across the valley. The enormous camp covered the grass, hiding the rooftops of the village behind them.

I swallowed hard as the horn sounded, echoing up the hill and drifting into the trees behind us. We watched as bodies moved below, coming from every doorway and tent, and I pressed the heel of my boot into the side of the horse, moving down the hill slowly. Faces peered up at me, many I didn’t know. But I knew the look of warriors waiting to see if they’d survive battle, even if it had never been cast upon me.

Myra pushed through a group of men at the gate, and as soon as she saw me, she froze, dropping her hands heavily at her sides. Her lips moved around a prayer and then she was walking one foot in front of the other up the path to meet me. I swung my leg over the saddle, sliding down, and as soon as she reached me, she wrapped her arms around my neck, holding onto me tighter than she ever had.

Her words were muffled against my shoulder and I pulled back, looking down into her reddened face. Her bright green eyes were filled with tears, the darkness beneath them evidence that she’d slept little in the days since we left.

“I thought you were dead,” she cried. “I thought I was going to have to tell them you were dead.”

“I’m sorry.” I pulled her back into me, wrapping my arms around her. “Are they here?”

“Not yet. They’re coming.”

I swallowed, the pain in my throat widening. “Aghi…”

But I could see on her face that she already knew. She nodded, wiping the tears from her face with both hands. “A man from Utan arrived this morning and told us what happened.” Her voice broke. “I should have gone with you. I should have been with you.”

She squeezed me tighter and I bristled, the armor vest pulling against the bandage beneath it.

“What is it?” Her hands ran over me, looking for the wound.

“It’s nothing.”

But she looked up at me through her eyelashes indignantly.

“Halvard!”

Latham walked up the path, clad in his armor, the thick furs on his shoulders blowing in the cold wind. Freydis was at his side, the relief not hidden on her face as her eyes landed on me. Myra stepped aside and I walked to meet them.

Latham lifted a hand, catching my shoulder in greeting and I did the same to him. “You’ve heard what’s happened.”

“Just this morning.” His jaw clenched around the words. “I’m glad to see you, Halvard.” And I could see that he meant it.

Freydis lifted a hand, touching my face. “Thanks to Thora.”

I swallowed hard before I spoke. “I’m sorry.” I hoped they heard my meaning. That I wasn’t just sorry for the loss. I was sorry that I didn’t stop it. I was sorry that I’d failed to save even one of them.

“Lag mund,” Latham answered and Freydis echoed, though the look in their eyes betrayed how much the pain of it struck them.

It was the way of the elders to respond to death with “Fate’s hand.” They’d spent much of their lives reasoning away the losses of the fighting seasons. Saying good-bye to their families and their clansmen before running into battle. They were more practiced at loss than I was.

I looked over my shoulder, searching for Asmund and Bard in the crowd. They were still mounted on their horses at the top of the hill. It had been years since the brothers had come home, and I hoped that the memories of this place wouldn’t drive them to disappear the way Kjeld had.

“How long until they reach us?” Latham lowered his voice.

“They’ll be in Hylli by tomorrow. We’re out of time.”

“Their numbers?”

A hush fell over everyone gathered around us and I tried to keep my voice even as I answered. “Greater than ours. I’d guess maybe eight hundred.”

Latham looked to the ground, thinking. “The rest of our warriors will be here before morning. We’ll hold the ceremony tonight.” He turned back to the gate.

“Ceremony?”

He stopped midstride, looking back at me. “Espen’s dead, Halvard. The place of chieftain falls to you now.”

I stared at him, not knowing what to say. But he surveyed me with a look that reminded me of Aghi, a bit of humor in his eyes. Since the day they’d told me I’d take Espen’s place, I’d never believed Latham supported the decision. He’d questioned me every step of the way. He’d argued with every decision. But now, in the darkest moment since the Herja came, with every eye on us, he didn’t hesitate to put his trust in me.