Page 68 of Sky in the Deep
“I understand.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Aball of firelight glowed in the darkness ahead. As we neared, it turned into many, stretching out to each side, and the night fog flowed toward us like a hungry breath until my feet disappeared beneath its thick cover.
Mýra called out and we stopped, waiting. I kept my eyes on the torches until one of the orbs began to move. A man jumped down from a tree, seeing Mýra standing up ahead of us. Then he looked past her, to Fiske and me. “Eelyn?” He squinted in the dark, holding up the torch between us.
“It’s me,” I answered.
“Who’s this?” He stepped forward.
“He’s a Riki, Hagen.” I spoke the words as calmly as I could. “He’s alone and he’s here to speak with Espen.”
But Hagen’s sword was already drawn before I’d finished, his eyes looking into the trees around us. The other menstepped out of the brush, followed by the sound of more blades sliding from their sheaths.
“We’re alone.” I held up a hand to him.
“Check.” He called out over his shoulder, eyeing me angrily as the others followed his order. They spread out into the forest and the glow of their torches fanned out around us.
He held his sword at the ready, checking Fiske for weapons.
“He’s not armed.” I lifted my hands higher as the men returned from the trees.
Fiske was wound tight beside me, eyes alert and catching every movement.
“It’s clear, Hagen,” one of the men shouted.
He looked at me for a long moment with his jaw working, before he finally lifted his hand and grasped my right shoulder. I did the same, meeting his eyes. “Espen won’t like this. Neither will your father, Eelyn.”
I nodded for Fiske to go first and followed behind him, deeper into the trees where the humming sound of moving water took over the quiet. The torches stilled and the sound of feet stopped at a wall of black.
“We’re going down.” Mýra came through the men to meet me.
“Down where?” I followed her to where the others stood and it wasn’t until my feet were at the ledge that I realized it was a drop-off.
She handed me a rope. “Tie it around you like this.”
I watched her carefully, doing as she instructed. Whenthe knots were tight, Hagen clipped his rope into the metal hooks of one that was lying on the ground. He gave the other men a look before crouching down and throwing himself back over the cliff without warning. My heart jumped, watching the rope pull taut and then go slack again.
Mýra followed, backing up to the cliff’s edge and meeting my eyes before disappearing. I looked down, trying to see her, but there was only the movement of water catching moonlight. The men pulled the ropes back up and the clips at the end were empty. Two others were next, pushing out from the cliff without any hesitation.
Fiske tied his own ropes and I clipped a metal hook into the knots around me. He backed up, bringing his heels in line with the edge, and braced me with his hand as I did the same, trying to secure my arm against me. It would hurt no matter what I did.
“Ready?” I whispered.
He gave me a nod.
I crouched down and threw my weight back as hard as I could, sinking into the air. The length of the rope rippled out before me like a snake against the night sky above. The light of the torches disappeared over the cliff above us and the rope caught us at an angle just as the others came into view, putting their hands up, fingers splayed to catch us.
“Eelyn!”
The sound coiled around my heart as I swung toward the cliff wall and something caught my boot, sending mespinning until more hands slowed me. When I stopped, my father was shouldering his way through the crowd.
My hands shook, reaching for him as I still hung from the rope. The cry broke free from my throat and I clutched at the air until his big hands found me and pulled me to him. I wept into his shoulder and he shook against me, a cry slipping from his lips as the others unclipped the rope from around me. I squeezed him tighter. He lifted me up and a piece of the fractured world inside me settled back into place. When I came over the ridge to see Hylli burned and broken, I’d been so sure I would never see him again. But he was here, back from the dead, like Iri. Like me.
He pulled my face to look at me, his hand running over my hair. The tears in his eyes fell down into his thick, bushy beard and landed on the laugh bubbling up from inside of him. I had only seen my father cry twice. Once when my mother died and once when Iri died.
The truth seared inside me.
