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Edda opened her eyes as the morning light streamed through the split in the curtains. She felt Hrothgar’s breathing on the back of her neck. He was pressed against her, clutching her around the ribs. She hadn’t intended to let him fall asleep here. Sitting up, she threw off the thin blanket. Night’s chill clung to her. She shivered, running her hands over her arms. She found her small clothes, her stockings, her shift, tugging each piece on hastily. Hrothgar stirred. She turned, regarding him with wide eyes.

               “Where are you going?” he asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

               “To the ceremony,” she answered reverently. She looked away, ashamed. “You shouldn’t have stayed.”

               He stretched. She thought he would frown but he smiled instead. “Why?”

               She watched him rise from the pallet, her eyes scanning the length of his body. She imagined what the Skuld would say if she knew he was here, especially on this morning. “You taint me,” she explained thickly.

               His eyes found hers in the dim light. “You don’t believe that,” he challenged.

               He was right. “It was in the runes,” she whispered. “If it’s in the runes, then it’s true.”

               Hrothgar came forward. She turned her eyes from his body, forcing herself to look at the sliver of light that shone through the curtain. He linked his arms behind her back, and though she wanted to lean into him, she leaned away. He dipped his head towards her, his rough beard scratching against her face. “She’s a witch, Edda,” he whispered.

               Her skin prickled at the word. “I know,” she said to the beam of light.  “And I’ll be a witch too,” she said. She smiled slyly, thinking of what she would do after she was given to the spirits. She ran her hands up Hrothgar’s arms, feeling powerful.

               Hrothgar released her. “Go.” He spoke softly. She glanced back at him through the curtain of her hair. “I won’t stop you.”

               She let out the breath she had been holding. She picked up her kirtle, discarded on the floor the previous night. She felt his eyes on her as she stepped into her boots. She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and pulled open the heavy wooden door to meet the morning.

               Her breath floated in the air, a cloud of frost. She pulled the hood over her head and began to move through the streets. The old pavement was cracked and worn, nearly overtaken now by grass and vegetation, though all of it was browned from winter’s bite. Smoke hung in the air, the smell of wood fires filling her. She followed the road until it became more worn, more broken, until she reached the place where it became almost indistinguishable from the fields it wound through. The vestiges of homes sat here and there, old skeletons of lives lived in comfort, before the Freezing. Edda tried not to think of how many had starved inside those old shells. It was long before she came. She hadn’t known any of them.

               She came finally to the end of the road, where it stopped dead at the edge of the woods. Here began a footrail that would take her to the Grove. She followed the trail, weaving around trees and stumps, crunching last year’s foliage underfoot, until the path began to descend into a gully. She turned sideways, stepping carefully down the earthen steps one at a time. She glanced down. At the bottom of the gully there stood a circle of trees, their white bark curling, peeling in thin sheets. In the center of the circle stood the Skuld. Her long white hair was windswept, wild. Her kirtle was perfectly, unnaturally white, just like her eyes.

               Edda stepped into the Grove hesitantly. She heard the hushed whispers of the spirits as she entered. Edda…Here is Edda…She comes. The Skuld’s eyes were unfocused. She held up one hand, and Edda paused. A deep humming arose in the Skuld’s throat. Edda…Secret keeper, the spirits whispered.

               The Skuld beckoned her, and Edda moved forward tenderly. The ground was hallowed. The wild magic was alive here, hidden in the earth. She lowered her hood out of reverence and watched the Skuld smile.

               “You were with Hrothgar,” she said. There was no hint of approval or disappointment.

               Edda nodded. “He came to me,” she confessed. “I didn’t send him away.”

The Skuld smiled knowingly but didn’t press the subject. Her white eyes didn’t leave Edda as she reached into the pouch at her belt and drew out her rune stones—white rocks burned with wild magic. The Skuld tossed them to the ground. “Read the runes, Edda,”

               Edda stooped, glancing over the stones. The circle. The eagle. The cloud. The fire. Ancient symbols recovered from the ruins after the Freezing. The wild magic had shown their true meanings. “There is a change coming,” she said, glancing at the bird. “A trial,” she continued, as she looked at the fire. Her eyes hovered over the cloud. “Something hidden will be discovered.” The circle gave Edda pause. It could mean eternity. It could mean completion. It could mean continuity. She listened past the chatter of the spirits, finding the flow of the wild magic. Eternal…Eternal…Eternal. “The change is forever,” she whispered.

               The Skuld smiled proudly at her. “You are my Bairn, Edda,” she said with all the love of a mother. Edda’s heart ached at the glisten of tears in the Skuld’s eyes. “And I give you to the wild magic as I promised to do.”

               Edda felt the power moving through her at the Skuld’s words. The other Bairns, all wearing the same unnaturally white kirtles stepped seemingly from the air into the circle. Edda glanced at their faces—dark Freya, bright Astrid, gloomy Ama, sultry Helga, devious Sif. Her sisters. They had all once been where she now stood, timid and weak. Now, they were all like the Skuld, and one day, one of them would take her place.

               Edda was afraid. The spirits whispered around her. Flee!…Edda is strong…No, run!…Stay Edda, stay…Brave Bairn. She ignored them as Freya approached her. Slowly, Freya untied the laces at the neck of Edda’s cloak. It fell from her shoulders. From the left, Sif approached her. She was wielding a knife. Edda’s breath caught in her throat as Sif raised the knife and began slicing the kirtle from her body. While Sif worked, at her feet Ama knelt and began pulling off her boots and stockings. Sif cut through her shift and small clothes. Edda let them work, trusting them not to harm her. When she was naked, Astrid pushed her forward, towards the Skuld.

               “Kneel,” the Skuld commanded.

               Edda complied, putting the bone biting chill out of her thoughts. The Skuld called the wild magic. The spirits hushed in awe at its power. Edda watched as the wild magic burned in the Skuld’s hand, her fingers glowing with its electricity. The Skuld held up a white stone, then traced her finger across the surface. The smell of its burning surrounded her.

               The Skuld stepped towards her, until the hem of her kirtle hovered not an inch from Edda’s nose. Edda looked up, offering her open hands to receive the stone the Skuld was giving her. She looked at the markings on it. “This is your true name, Edda,” the Skuld said. Edda rubbed a finger over the word, written in a language she had never seen, and yet knew. It was written with the wild magic. It was the name the wild magic had given to her. “This name is yours alone. It belongs to you. It holds power. Never speak it. Never show it to anyone.”

               Edda clutched the stone to her breast. It was warm from the fire of the wild magic. She shivered against the chill in the air.

               “Rise, Edda,” the Skuld said. Edda rose and she felt hands on her, turning her away from the Skuld. Helga was holding a stack of garments, bright white and perfectly pure. She allowed Astrid and Freya to dress her. Sif watched with excitement, almost licking her lips in delight. Ama offered her a smile as Freya wrapped her in a new, white cloak.

               Her sisters moved away from her, towards the edge of the Grove, encircling her and the Skuld as the trees. Edda turned to face the Skuld but she was gone. Upon second glance, her sisters had melted away into the forest. Edda was alone in the Grove with the spirits. They whispered to one another in the language of the wild magic. Edda looked at the stone, the letters burned deep into its surface. Never speak it, the Skuld has said. Never show it to anyone.

               She tucked it into her pocket, wondering if Hrothgar would be waiting for her.   

---

               Hrothgar left Edda’s house with a dark gloom covering him. He wouldn’t stop her from becoming a witch—he couldn’t—but he didn’t like it. She had the power. The Skuld had cultivated it. When she came back from the woods, she would be like the Skuld. She would belong to the wild magic. She would never be his again.

               Hrothgar pulled his cloak tighter around himself. The sky was gray; it looked like it would snow soon. The streets were empty of people. They were hiding in their houses, tending fires to fend off the chill. His stomach growled. He’d looked through Edda’s cupboards before he left—she didn’t even have leftover bread. He wondered how she stayed alive.

               The Skuld kept her alive. The Skuld and her witch sisters. Always taking what they needed, whenever they needed it. They had taught Edda to do the same.

               A hundred years ago, before the Freezing, Soledge had been a sizeable city, but now you could walk from one edge of it to the other in under twenty minutes. The heart of Soledge had been rebuilt using old ways—logs and thatch, rather than steel and plastic—but the debris from before the Freezing still stood for miles. Everything of use had been stripped from each house, church, hospital, store front and bar, repurposed to a life that resembled an ancient one. Governments, borders and supply chains had collapsed, but not people. People eked out an existence here among the trash.

               Hrothgar pushed open the door of the blacksmith’s workshop. Inside it was pleasantly hot. Leif was standing near the back wall at the worktable, wearing his leathers and fussing with the grinder. Hrothgar heard him cursing as the grinder sputtered. It whirred and then with a loud whine the motor inside froze. Leif pounded on the side of the machine but the belt did not move.

               “Odin’s plucked-out eye!” Leif yelled, banging a fist on the table.

               “You need one of the Bairns,” Hrothgar said.

Leif turned, seeming surprised to see him standing at the door. “Oh, morning Hrothgar,” he muttered. “Didn’t hear you,” he said. Leif moved away from the table towards the fire. He was already dripping in sweat. His arms were still thick, but he was beginning to show his age in his hands. His hair was streaked with gray. Leif checked the coals. “Grinder is not going today. It just gets worse, doesn’t it?”

Hrothgar knew all the Bairns would be at the ceremony for Edda. He wondered how long it would be. “Call one of the Bairns, Leif. They’ve fixed it before.”

               He shook his head. “They can’t fix the tame magic if the parts are broken.”

               Tame magic. Machinery left over from before the Freezing. Machinery the wild magic had been able to restore. “Not going to try?” Hrothgar asked.

               Leif shrugged. “Call your woman if you want,” he said passively. “I don’t think she can do anything for us, though.”

               “She’s not my woman anymore, Leif,” he replied, glowering. “She’s chosen to be like the Skuld.”

Leif looked up from the fire. His eyes were soft, pitying. “I was hoping for something different for you.” Leif rubbed his graying beard thoughtfully. “But it’s always the same. They always choose the spirits.” He paused, and Hrothgar almost looked away from his empathetic gaze. “I’ve been through it, you know.”

               Hrothgar raised an eyebrow, surprised. Leif had never mentioned a woman other than his wife. “Who…” he began.

               “My woman before Bjort,” he explained, as he took the bellows from its hook and began to stoke the fire. “Get more logs for me, Hrothgar,” he asked.

               Hrothgar did as he was asked, bringing the logs to the fire, and adding them one by one. “It’s not fair,” he muttered.

               “We need the Bairns, Hrothgar,” Leif said, pumping the bellows.

               “There’s a hundred other women here who could do it!” Hrothgar hissed.

               “Have you seen many women who can call the wild magic as well as your…as Edda?” Leif argued. His thick arms were shiny with sweat as he worked. He paused for a moment to wipe his brow. “The Skuld chooses her Bairns, Hrothgar. It’s all in the runes.”

               “The runes,” Hrothgar grumped. He laid another log on the fire. “The runes don’t say anything unless they are read.”

               Leif stared at him uneasily. “The runes hold power,” he whispered anxiously. “They keep us alive.”

               “What good are they if they can’t keep the tame magic alive?” Hrothgar asked.

               Leif stared hard at him, his earlier compassion extinguished. “They do much more than keep the tame magic alive.”

               Hrothgar looked away. He was letting his anger cloud his thoughts. He thought back to the things he had seen the Bairns do. Grow crops. Create fire. Purify water. Clear snow. If the people in Soledge had had Bairns when the Freezing had begun, perhaps there would not be rows of empty homes at the edge of the forest. “There are enough of them, Leif. Edda doesn’t need to be one too.”

               Leif nodded to him. “She is strong, Hrothgar. She reads the runes better than any of the others.”

               The runes. Ancient symbols brought back to life by the desperation of the people who lived through the Freezing. Ancient symbols that called up the spirits in the woods, that released the wild magic. “The runes mean nothing to me,” Hrothgar said. “It’s all nonsense.”

               Leif eyed him, calculating. “It’s not all nonsense. How do you think any of this tame magic came into being? Runes. Why do you think some men can make boys and others can’t? It’s the runes in their blood.”

               Hrothgar ground his teeth to avoid contradicting Leif. “Runes in their blood?”

               Leif nodded. “It’s what the Skuld read in the runes,” he said. “Before you were born.” Leif lowered his voice, looking pointedly at Hrothgar. “They keep us alive, Hrothgar. How long do you think Soledge would last if we didn’t have any boys?”

               There were not enough boys. There were nearly two girls for every boy in the town. Some men would make seven or eight girls before they made a boy. If any man made two boys in a row, he was told to make more boys with different mothers. Even if a man preferred men, he still had to try to make boys. It was what the Skuld expected, and she was as good as a thegn. They needed boys to survive. Women went to the Bairns to ask who could make boys if their husband could not. Men went to them to ask if they could make boys. The Bairns read the answers—all answers—in the runes.

               “Did the Skuld say why it’s this way?” Hrothgar asked.

               Leif shook his head. “That wasn’t in the runes.”

               The door opened and one of the Bairns—Freya—walked into the shop. Everything about Freya was dark, except the pristine white kirtle and cloak she wore. Her hair was dark, her eyes were darker, and her humor was darkest of all. “Someone called for Odin’s plucked-out eye?” she teased, smiling.

               The Bairns were drawn to strong emotions. Freya had heard Leif’s anger rippling through the earth. Hrothgar shifted away from the fire, staring at Freya. She seemed taller today, but maybe he was imagining it. She had been in the Grove with the spirits. It made her radiate strength.

               “Leif’s grinder quit working again,” Hrothgar explained, pointing to the table.

               Freya moved to the table, her cloak swirling unnaturally behind her. The air around her tingled with power. Hrothgar watched her lift her hand, watched her call the wild magic, watched her hands glow. She touched the grinder, and the wild magic pulsed in and around it. The motor clanked to life once more, whirring and whining as the wild magic moved through it. She took her hands off the machine and the motor continued to run. Freya looked over her shoulder, smiling directly at him.

               Leif moved towards the table and switched off the machine. He flipped the switch back on and the machine came to life again. He shut it off a second time. “Thank you, Freya.”

               She turned from the table and Hrothgar marveled at how white her clothes were. Not even her hem was gray with dust or dirt. “Tame magic is weak, Leif. You should learn to call the wild magic.”

“You know that can’t be, Freya,” Leif answered curtly.

Freya nodded slowly, as if she was thinking. “We can’t give men to the spirits,” she agreed. “The spirits don’t want any of you.” She smiled and she reminded Hrothgar of a cat. Her eyes met his for a moment, and he swallowed down his fear. Freya’s eyes were white as ice after calling the wild magic, but they slowly regained their color as she stared at him. She stepped forward, coming within a handsbreadth of him. “Edda did well today, Hrothgar,” she said. The smile she wore seemed baiting. “Sif was so pleased with her, she looked ready to eat her like a honey bun.”

               “Sif looks at every woman like a honey bun,” Hrothgar grumped.

               “Only the pretty ones,” Freya corrected. She swept past him, brushing his shoulder with her own. Her touch gave him gooseflesh.

               When she was gone, Leif returned to the forge, checking the temperature again. “It’s ready Hrothgar,” he said.

               Hrothgar picked up a steel billet with a pair of tongs and placed it into the fire. The two men worked in silence for a time before Hrothgar had the courage to ask, “Your woman…your first woman.” Leif’s eyes were hard when he looked up from the fire, but he nodded for Hrothgar to continue. “What happened to her?” He waited for Leif’s answer, but he wasn’t forthcoming. “Was she…taken by the spirits?”

               Leif was quiet as he pulled the red-hot metal from the forge. He placed it on the anvil between them and picked up his hammer. “She’s the Skuld,” he said gravely, before letting his hammer fall.