CHAPTER THREE #2
Maybe that was my selfish reason for wanting her to like me. Maybe I just wanted an invite to a life I knew wasn’t for me. My own parents had too many rules. I was told what to wear, who to play with, what games to play, when to laugh and when to smile, and I was sick of it.
As we approached her house, Kera suddenly stopped. She hadn’t slowed down since we’d left the Barrow, but as she stood on the porch of her own home, she froze.
Maybe she didn’t know what to do. Normally, she’d probably just burst through the door without a second thought. But she hesitated. Maybe she was afraid of what waited on the other side. Shock, joy, or confusion. Most likely all three.
That was when I realized something.
Kera had no idea what had happened over the past month. She didn’t know that everyone thought she was dead.
Or that other children in villages had been taken too.
But no one else had been found alive.
And the wreath hanging on the door wasn’t for decoration.
It was a prayer.
Kera kept looking over her shoulder, like she was waiting for something to come out of the trees. I checked too, but there was nothing there. I wondered if she remembered what happened to her. If she would tell me one day. I told myself I wouldn’t ask, but if she wanted to tell me, I’d listen.
“They never stopped believing you'd come back,” I said, gesturing toward the wreath. Its once vibrant flowers now wilted and faded.
Kera's face twisted as she looked at it.
“How long has it been?” she asked, gently plucking a flower from the decaying arrangement.
“A month,” I responded. “Everyone thinks you’re dead.”
Kera closed her eyes and took a deep breath before knocking on the door. She stepped back and waited, and I resisted the urge to knock again, out of respect for her. This moment belonged to Kera.
If she needed time, we would wait.
Then we heard movement inside the house, and a man’s voice.
“Who in the world… at this hour…”
The lock clicked and the door opened.
Her father stood in a robe, holding a lantern in hand.
And then… he saw her.
“Kera?” he gasped.
She let out a broken sob and ran into his arms.
“You’re home,” he breathed. “Oh gods, Kera—what happened? Are you hurt?”
Then he shouted, wild, hoarse, a voice that hadn’t screamed in weeks.
“SARA! SARA, SHE’S HERE! SHE’S BACK—SHE’S ALIVE!”
Her mother came tearing into the hallway, barefoot in her nightdress, eyes wide and glassy. She skidded to a stop when she saw Kera and just stared at her.
“Kera?” she whispered, like she couldn’t believe it. ”I told them. I— told them you could swim. That you wouldn’t drown.”
Kera took a step forward. Then another.
Her mother met her halfway, sinking to her knees as she pulled her into her arms.
But then she recoiled.
She’d felt it, the wet, sticky fabric clinging to Kera’s body.
Her fingers trembled as she reached out again, running her fingers over the dress. The entire back of it was stained dark.
“Kera, what is—baby, is this blood?”
Her voice rose with panic. “Are you hurt?”
She was already tugging at the dress, lifting the hem with shaking hands, her eyes darting over every inch of her daughter, her arms, her back, her ribs, her thighs.
She found nothing. No wounds. No bruises. No cuts or scrapes. Just blood contrasting her pale skin.
Kera’s mother sat back, stunned, her hands hovering in the air.
“But all this blood…” she gasped. “Where did it come from?”
“I don’t understand—there’s nothing,” she whispered. “Where did it come from? What happened to you? Did someone hurt you?”
“I’m okay,” Kera said, her voice trembling. “Licia found me.”
“Found you?” her mother echoed. “Found you where? Where were you—what happened to you—oh, Kera, I thought you were dead, I thought you were gone—”
Then Einar came into the hallway, rubbing his eyes. He blinked at the mess in front of him.
“You’re… You’re back?”
Kera looked up at him with tears streaking her cheeks. Einar dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her, and the three of them clung to each other, crying and thanking the gods.
I just stood there, unsure what to do. My throat was tight, my eyes stung. I wanted to cry too, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
It wasn’t mine.
Kera’s mother turned, blinking at me like she’d only just realized I’d been standing there. Her eyes swept over me, my tangled hair, the torn sleeves of my coat, and my red, sticky hands.
“Sweet girl,” she said. “Did you come here all by yourself?”
I nodded.
“Where are your parents?” Kera’s father asked, his voice now thick with concern. “Licia, was it?”
“I followed the voice,” I said. “I heard her. I heard Kera.”
The words seemed to knock the air out of them. And honestly? I didn’t blame them. I wouldn’t have believed me either. I don’t even know if I believed me. That voice had sounded like Kera, but why had I heard it? How had I heard it? Maybe I was still dreaming. Maybe none of this was real.
“You heard her?” Kera’s mother repeated. “What did she say? What did you hear?”
“Screaming,” I said. “Begging for help.”
She flinched and her face crumpled.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured, gently brushing the hair from my face. “We really need to get you home. Your parents must be so worried.”
Then Kera’s father’s eyes fell on my hands again.
“We can’t send her home like this, Sara. With bloody hands. Gods—they’d think we did something to her.”
Kera’s mother nodded quickly.
“Come, girls,” she said, holding out her hand. “Let’s get you clean.”
We followed her out the back door, onto a wooden deck. A bucket sat in the corner, and cloths of different patterns and sizes hung drying along the railing. She took two, handing one to me.
“For your hands,” she said.
She knelt beside Kera, easing the torn, blood-soaked dress over her head with careful hands. Without a word, she dipped her cloth into the bucket, wrung it out, and began wiping Kera’s back and arms, her movements quick but gentle.
“There we go,” her mother murmured, more to herself than to us. “There we go. You’re safe now.”
I crouched by the bucket, dipped my cloth into the water, and scrubbed my hands, watching the water cloud pink.
Pale dawn was creeping across the horizon in streaks of blue and silver, the first light of morning brushing the rooftops. I wondered if my parents had even noticed I was gone.
Kera’s father offered to walk me home, and I started toward the gate with him.
“Wait!”
I turned. Kera was hurrying toward me, now in a nightdress, her hair still damp. She threw her arms around me.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
In that moment, I felt something I can’t explain. It was like her warmth passed into me. Her joy, her relief and her love, melting the cold inside.
I never wanted that feeling to end.
But I had to get home.
My feet dragged along the cobblestone as I walked back to town, away from the farms and the quiet and the freedom.
Back into my world of white houses with iron fences and bullies and rules.
Kera’s father walked quietly beside me. I hoped desperately that my parents hadn't noticed that I was gone yet, though deep down, I knew they had.
“I could just sneak back in,” I said, wishing to avoid the inevitable. Kera’s father shook his head firmly.
“I can't let you do that. I'm responsible for you now.”
As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew he was right.
“My father will be fuming…” I trailed off.
His temper was notorious in our village, something I’d always felt ashamed of. I had cursed my mother countless times for marrying a man like him. Their marriage had been a trade—her beauty for his wealth. I doubt they ever loved each other.
I had vowed never to follow in my mother’s footsteps, never to end up with someone who treated me the way he treated her.
“I’ll deal with him,” Kera’s father said.
That was the kind of father Kera had been blessed with. He was firm yet understanding, soft but strong. On Midsummer, when Kera disappeared, he’d stood up to my father, something very few dared to do. His calm manner and quiet strength probably earned him the respect of everyone who saw it.
The metal gate to my home came into view. And my stomach tightened.
I pushed it open with a soft creak.
Roses in red, pink, and white filled the garden. My mother had to do something with her days other than gossip with her friends, I suppose. Gardening kept her busy, but never too busy to have a warm meal ready for when my father got home from work.
I slipped quietly through the still-unlocked front door and gestured for Kera’s father to leave, hoping he would understand that he’d done his part.
I was home, safe. But he ignored my silent plea and knocked firmly on the door.
I snuck back out.
A moment later, the door swung open and my father stood in the threshold. His eyes darted between me and Kera’s father, trying to make sense of the pairing, before grabbing my arm and pulling me toward him.
“What are you doing with my daughter?” he growled at Kera’s father.
“Good morning, Mr. Warlin,” Kera’s father said in a calm, polite tone, unfazed by his hostility.
So my father turned it on me instead, digging his fingers deeper into my arm.
“Where have you been?”
“I… I found Kera,” I stammered.
“Oh.” He blinked, taken aback by my words. “You found her... body?”
“No. I found her alive. I brought her home.”
I tried to hold his gaze, but my voice trembled as I spoke.
He didn’t look convinced.
“You don’t lie to me,” he demanded. His eyes bore into mine, and I knew that he was searching for any sign of dishonesty.
He always knew when I was hiding something.
Always.
“It’s true,” Kera’s father cut in. “Your daughter found my Kera. I felt it was my duty to bring her back home to you.”
“I hope for your sake that’s all you did,” my father growled, grabbing the collar of Kera’s father’s coat. “Lay a hand on my daughter and I’ll—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
His eyes dropped, narrowing as he took in the robe underneath the coat.
“What’s wrong with you country folk?” he sneered. “Ever heard of getting dressed before you leave the damn house?”
“He wanted me to get home right away, so you wouldn’t worry,” I said, trying to defuse the situation.
“And how exactly did you find Kera?”
“I had a dream,” I said. “I heard her voice calling for help... so I followed it. I found her at the Ships’ Barrow.”
“You were at the Ships’ Barrow?” he snarled. “Alone, in the middle of the night?”
Before I could respond, I heard footsteps on the stairs, and my mother emerged at the bottom, her brow furrowed.
“What’s going on?”
I broke free from my father’s grip and rushed into her arms.
“That’s enough,” she said firmly, pulling my father off him. “Let him go.”
Reluctantly, my father obeyed.
“I found Kera! She’s alive!” I exclaimed.
My mother’s eyes widened, then she smiled.
“Oh, thank goodness. Where was she?”
I told her everything about the dream and the voice.
She listened closely, her hand resting on my shoulder.
“Is it true?” she asked, turning to Kera’s father.
But before he could answer, my father spoke again.
“She’s sleepwalking, hearing voices, and having visions. And we’re supposed to believe it? Act like it’s normal?” His tone was so full of disdain I could smell it.
My mother shot him a sharp look. “How do you explain her finding Kera then?”
“It doesn’t matter,” my father snapped. “She shouldn’t have been out at all. Maybe I’ll have to put bars on the doors. Make sure she can’t leave again.”
My mother let out a tired sigh. But before she could answer, Kera’s father stepped forward with quiet dignity.
“I should be getting back to my family,” he said gently. “And Licia… thank you. Truly. If you ever need anything.”
I gave a small wave as he turned to leave.
“Thank you, Mr. Edeng?rd,” my mother called after him. “Good day!”
The door slammed shut.
“I hope you’re happy. You’ve embarrassed us,” my father hissed, turning back to my mother.
Her jaw clenched. “I embarrassed us?”
He took a step closer. “Our daughter disappears in the dead of night, gets dragged home by some backwoods halfwit in a bathrobe, and I’m the problem?”
He turned away before she could answer, storming across the room, his hands trembling as he poured himself a drink.
He always kept a bottle of ale on the side table by his chair. It was the first thing he reached for when his temper flared, but it always just made things worse.
“You’re always the problem,” my mother retorted. “Because you don’t listen. Not to me. Not to her.”
She scooped me up, and I threw my arms around her neck. Then she covered my ears, as she always did when they fought.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, Frida,” my father muttered, lifting the glass to his lips. She didn’t respond. She just started walking up the stairs to my room. But I still heard him.
“There’s something wrong with her.”