#12 And then they were four

“I need to make a few calls,” Linnea says, and goes to collect a strange, flat device. When she flicks her fingers over the glass surface it lights up in different colours – just like magic. I study it, pondering what she means with making a few calls. Are we visiting people?

A beep is heard from the device, and then again, and then there’s a voice on the other end.

“What do you want now?” a woman sneers.

“Venla is alive, and well…,” Linnea says, but the other voice interrupts her rudely.

“I don’t care! I don’t want anything from you, or her. Stay away from me!”

“She hung up,” Linnea says flatly, which doesn’t align with her shocked expression. I’m on the verge of asking her, but she must read the question on my face.

“Venla’s mother… I hate that woman. I can’t believe Venla grew up to be such a nice person while surrounded with cruelty.” Linnea shakes her head, and her ponytail swings from side to side.

“I can’t imagine either,” I say, feeling I ought to reply in some why.

Linnea keeps staring at the phone in disbelief.

“I thought perhaps she’s grieving, you know. It can excuse quite a few things. But not this…”

For a brief moment I wonder why people with horrible parents get to keep them, and why my wonderful parents had to disappear.

But Linnea is quick with her fingers and another set of beeps comes from her device. This time it’s a man’s voice.

“How’s my baby girl?”

“Hi, Dad! Good… I mean great. Venla is well. She sent me a letter. I’m going to visit,” Linnea explains, then looks at me. “We’re hiking… Or?”

I really haven’t thought this through, but if we can’t fly, then yes, we’re hiking. So, finally, I nod.

“We’re hiking,” Linnea repeats in a more decisive tone.

“Not without me, you’re not,” says her father through the device.

“Dad…,” Linnea sighs. “You’re too old to hike.”

“Nonsense! These two legs still carry me good,” Linnea’s father shoots back.

“Just don’t bring Bessy,” Linnea pleads.

“You think I’d go hiking without Bessy?!” her father yells incredulous, as if what Linnea just asked is completely outrageous.

“You’re too old to handle a rifle! Dad, your sight is not half good. Don’t be like this,” Linnea grits.

“I see just fine!” her old man grumbles. “Coming over!”

Linnea sighs, this time she stares at the ceiling instead of the device.

“Looks like it’ll be me and Dad coming with you,” she says, sounding put out and apologetic at the same time.

“Looks like,” I say, wondering what the black feathers I’ve gotten myself into.

“He’s not all that bad, but can be a bit aggravating at times…,” Linnea adds.

“I’m sure you’re right,” I say, probably sounding as unconvinced as I feel.

Linnea gets up. “I need to pack. I’ll get my backpack. Be right back,” she says, and then scurries off. I hear the heavier front door open and close.

It’s just me and Hräsvelg now.

I look at him – not sure what I hope to see. Maybe a confirmation that I’m doing the right thing, or maybe a solution to how we’ll journey back to the Elemental Realm with two featherless humans in tow.

Hräsvelg just stares back at me with his usual unreadable expression.

Venla skied, but she must have taken one of those machines to her cabin. I can’t operate one of them, and I’m convinced Hräsvelg can’t either – and I doubt there’s time to learn.

Walking all the way we’ve journeyed by wing will take a long time. Despite myself, I’m hoping Linnea knows how to operate a machine.

I sigh internally.

Feathers and lore,
There’s much, much more,

//Ást