“I think we’ll likely give your father cause to smile as well, with his daughter coming back from the grave.” Fritz combed his fingers through his steadily lengthening hair.
That was something Vhalla hadn’t thought about. They had known in Paca of Victor’s claims of her death. Fear gripped her. What if her father thought her dead and had left to flee Victor’s slow encroachment north?
Vhalla looked ahead. This far into the middle of the continent, the hills by the southern mountains had begun to flatten, and there was at most a small slope to the land. She could see a far distance, but her home was still well out of sight.
They rode the day with the wind on her cheeks. There was no spark, no magic calling to her in it. Once in a while, she’d clench her hands into fists, foolishly thinking that her magic would return simply by being in the East. But her magic would not return to her unless there was enough to restore the flow to her Channel.
They saw an old road sign that was the first marker of Leoul. The dusty road and worn fences, which penned in livestock and pastures, began to look familiar to her. It all began to connect like a puzzle of memories, and Vhalla could suddenly recall obscure details like how many trees one farmer had in their field, or how many windows another home had.
A child-like squeal rose up in her throat as Vhalla shot out her finger, pointing at a lone tree in the distance. “My farm!” She clutched the reins tightly. “Can we go faster?”
“Works for me!” Fritz cheered and kicked his horse into a lively trot.
The rest of them did the same. The old gnarled oak still stood tall and laden with leaves, even during the winter months. It sat between two large fields that looked a lot smaller than she remembered. Her home came into view.
And Vhalla’s heart stopped.
It was exactly as she’d left it. The thatched roof that looked thinner by the year. The barn with the broken door that had never been fixed. The weeds determined to crawl up the flagstone. Her eyes had seen horror and blood, but somehow they could still look upon the structure that had given her eleven happy years without it spontaneously combusting from being under her stare.
Smoke rose cheerfully from the chimney. The smell of bread wafted in the air as they drew closer. Vhalla glanced over her shoulders, making sure everyone was still with her. The logical part of her brain warned her that this could be a trap. That it could all be a plot to ensnare them.
Vhalla dismounted quickly and paused for a breath at the door, listening to the shuffling within. Her tensions broke, and she knocked feverishly.
“Father!” she called, keeping her voice barely under control. There was a clamor from within. “Papa!”
Casting aside her hesitations and fears, Vhalla pushed open the door, only to have it pulled the rest of the way.
Her father stood on the other side. Of average height and muscled even in age, the rich tone of his skin betrayed every hour he spent in the field. Hair that matched hers in color and tone spilled down in a mess to the bottom of his ears.
“Vhalla?” He blinked, as though she was about to disappear.
“Papa!” The child within her was unleashed, that little girl who desperately wanted her father to hold her and say everything was all right. The girl who had been thrust into the world fearful and unknown. That girl finally won for the first time in months, and tears spilled onto Vhalla’s cheeks. “Papa, Papa, Papa. . .”
Her knees lost all their strength, they were suddenly world weary and exhausted. Her father gripped her upper arms, following her to the ground. They stared at each other in awe, the rest of the world utterly forgotten.
“You’re okay.”
“I should say that to you, little bird.” He pulled her in for a tight embrace.
“I’m sorry. I should have come home sooner. I should’ve been here. I became a lady. I sent coin. Did you get it?” It all spilled out, uncontrollable. “I wanted to come home, Father, but I did so many things. I didn’t even know who I was. I didn’t know what I wanted. But I know now, I know.”
“Hush.” Her father held her cheeks and smoothed away her tears. “You’re working yourself into a frenzy for no reason.”
Vhalla swallowed and nodded, the last of her tears escaping on a laugh. “I’m so happy to see you.” Worry had given birth to grief, which shattered in the face of joy.
“I am happy to see you.” He pulled her in for another tight hug. “Are you all right?”
“I am.”
“I heard so many stories, tall tales all focused on my little bird. I was worried, but I was proud.”
Vhalla sat back on her heels, rubbing her face. She felt foolish for crying so much when nothing was wrong. But, if anything, she cried because it was right and perfect and everything she hadn’t dared let herself hope for.
“Now.” Her father stood. “I am sure you have much to tell me, but let’s start with your companions.”