(Find the previous chapter and a description of the project here.)

               Edda returned to her house, pulsing with power. Hrothgar was not waiting for her, and disappointment settled in her chest as she shrugged off her cloak, hanging it on the peg near the door. Her eyes were drawn to the table, on which lay a white bag. Her rune stones. One of the other Bairns must have placed it there. She stilled her heart, and moved towards the table, before picking up the bag and opening it reverently. Four white rocks spilled from the linen mouth onto the tabletop. They were blank. The wild magic had not yet marked them. She tucked them gently into the bag again and tied the drawstrings over her belt.

               Edda moved to the corner of the house, where a rough-hewn chair sat next to the window. On the floor lay the brick. It was glass and metal and she had never known what was inside—a piece of tame magic left over from the world before the Freezing. They were each allowed to have one piece of tame magic. Anymore and the power within the cords would not work; the Waters could not produce enough. She picked it up, slid her finger over the smooth edges. It fit nicely in her hand. She pressed the button on the side. She watched it flicker to life, a bright light shining forth from it. She touched a rune on its surface. The wild magic had not revealed these runes to her. They were unknown. But this rune, when touched, showed her a list written in a dead dialect of her own tongue, and when she touched one of the rows in the list, music played. She picked her favorite one, pressing her finger to the name like her own. Etta James- Wallflower (Roll with me Henry). The song played and she smiled even though she did not understand the words. 

Through the earth, she felt Olga’s pain.

               She pressed the rune that would stop the song. She couldn’t resist the call of the pain. It pulled her towards it, like she was hooked on a line. She clutched the bag of rune stones tied at her belt as she moved through the door of her house and into the street. Olga’s pain was fiery, splitting, a cracking kind of pain. Edda held her breath as it drew her.

               Outside Olga and Hjalmar’s house, a small crowd had gathered. The wailing inside was strong. Edda moved to the front of the group, to stand next to Helga and Astrid. Astrid untied her rune pouch from her belt, and, stooping slightly, cast the rocks to the ground. The wild magic marked them one by one. The smell of their burning hung over the crowd. The mountain. The womb. The man. The fire.

               Edda and Helga waited patiently for Astrid’s reading, though Edda knew what Astrid would say. “He has made a boy,” Astrid said evenly.

               A boy! A boy! The spirits chanted. She was connected to them now through the wild magic. Their chatter was invasive even as it comforted her.

               Helga moved into the house, not bothering to knock. Astrid followed her and Edda came behind. The house was dark. The curtains were drawn. The hearth was burning low. Olga’s groans came from a room to the right. The three Bairns moved through the house softly. Edda tingled with excitement. Helga pushed open a door that had been halfway closed, and there they saw Olga on her hands and knees on a pallet. She cried out in pain. Around her stood five girls—her girls—the oldest only eight or nine years. She was holding the littlest one, who had been born two summers past. Inga, the midwife, was sitting on the pallet with Olga, her soft-spoken words steadying and affirming. Hjalmar stood in the corner with his arms crossed. The room was cramped. Edda melted into the hallway, peering over Astrid’s shoulder.

Olga strained, grunting and gritting her teeth, before the wet sound of the baby sliding from her ended her moaning. Panting, she fell facedown onto the pallet. Inga held up the infant, parting the legs as everyone in the room strained to see what they all hoped for. The infant cried, and a sigh of relief went through the room. The oldest girl bent to whisper in Olga’s ear. “A boy, Madir. He’s a boy.”

Olga sobbed into the pillow, shaking, and the girls around her were all smiling, and the baby was squalling, but Hjalmar was stone. Edda watched Helga and Astrid look at each other meaningfully, then all three of them turned their gaze to Hjalmar. “You made a boy,” Astrid stated, though it was question.

               Hjalmar dropped his eyes, shook his head.

               As one, the Bairns turned their gaze to Olga. “Who made the boy, Olga?” Helga asked.

               Inga had rolled the woman onto her side and placed the infant beside her on the pallet. “Sigrid,” she breathed.

               “Who read the runes?” Astrid asked.

               Hjalmar cleared his throat and Edda and her sisters turned their attention back to him. “The Skuld.”

               Edda nodded, thinking Olga must have been desperate for a boy if she went to see the Skuld. The Skuld never left the woods. Normally, if someone needed the Skuld, they would ask a Bairn to go in their place. If she had needed the runes read, she could have asked any Bairn. There was only one reason to ask the Skuld directly—to ensure the man would comply. No one said no to the Skuld.

               “She told me Sigrid could make boys,” Olga said softly. She was hiding her face from Hjalmar. “I had to try.” She nuzzled the infant as Inga looked him over.

               Edda wondered how fast Sigrid had agreed. Then again, if the Skuld had read it in the runes, he couldn’t have argued.

Edda backed further into the hall, turned, and with her sisters left the house. The three went abreast through the streets. They ignored the onlookers. No one would question a Bairn when she was filled with the wild magic, as they were now, especially not if three of them walked together to the same destination. Edda felt the wild magic swirling inside her. The spirits laughed delightedly.

               When they came to Sigrid’s house, Helga knocked. The Bairns waited in silence for Sigrid or Anarr, his husband, to open to the door. It creaked open after a moment and Sigrid regarded them cautiously. He looked pale as death. Edda could smell his fear.

               “You made a boy,” Astrid explained without preamble.

               Edda watched Sigrid’s face fall, his eyes closing in deep disappointment.

               “She had a boy?” Anarr asked from behind him. Anarr put his hand on Sigrid’s back as a show of support.

               Astrid ignored the question. It was not necessary to repeat herself. “You will make more boys,” she instructed Sigrid.

               “I don’t want to make more boys,” he growled back.

               Anarr dipped his head towards Sigrid’s ear. “It must be done, Sigrid. I don’t mind.”

               “I mind,” Sigrid grumped. He turned to his husband. “Did you like doing it?” he asked sarcastically.

               “I made girls,” Anarr answered softly, almost ashamed. “I only could ever make girls.” Anarr had made two girls before they stopped asking him to try.     

               “You will make more boys,” Astrid said again, and this time, Sigrid didn’t argue. “We will find the mothers for you.” He lowered his eyes.

The Bairns left Sigrid and Anarr standing in the doorway of their house. Edda’s fingers itched to touch the stones in her pouch. Astrid took her hand as they moved. “The runes want to be cast,” Astrid said. “They will always call for you to cast them, Edda. But you are in control, not the wild magic.” Astrid met her gaze, and her eyes held a warning. “The wild magic will take you if you are not in control.”

Edda nodded in understanding, but the wild magic still swirled through her, tempting her.

---

Hrothgar held the knife up, examining the blade. He passed it to Leif, who ran his finger over the edge. “Sharpen it,” Leif instructed after his inspection. He handed the knife to Hrothgar, who moved towards the grinder. He switched it on, but it didn’t come to life. He flipped the switch again—off, on, off, on—but nothing happened.

He turned towards Leif. “There’s no power,” he said.

Leif sighed heavily, his frustration plain. “Make sure,” he said.

Hrothgar laid the newly forged knife on the table, then donned his cloak and left the smithy. He went to the baker next door. The smell of fresh bread made his mouth water. His stomach growled. Hrothgar opened the door and made straight for the counter, where Gisla was busy stacking rolls into a basket. “Does your tame magic work?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t tried today,” Gisla answered, unconcerned.

“Try,” Hrothgar grumped at her.

Gisla frowned at him and shook her blonde hair away from her face without a reply. She finished stacking the rolls and wiped the excess flour from her hands on her apron. “Madir!” she called into the kitchen. “Have you tried the tame magic today?”

Gertrude, her mother, came into the front room. She had a smudge of flour on her cheek. She carried another tray of rolls. “Haven’t needed it today. Been mixing by hand.”

Hrothgar ground his teeth impatiently. “Can you switch it on?”

“What, you think it won’t work?” Gertrude asked. She set the tray on the counter and Gisla began shuffling the rolls from the tray to another basket. Gertrude returned to the kitchen. After a moment they heard her call, “No! It’s not working!”

Hrothgar muttered a thank you and left the bakery. He went to the next building in the row, the herbalist. Her door was locked. He peered inside the window, but didn’t see any evidence that Hrist was inside. He stepped back, looking for smoke from the chimney. There was no smoke. Cursing under his breath, he moved on. The next shop was the clothier. Skogul spun yard and thread and Ofbradh was a tanner.

Skogul was busy spinning when he entered. She looked up from the wheel. “Hrothgar!” she said, surprised. “Don’t see you in here much.”

“Skogul, does your tame magic work?” he asked, avoiding small talk.

“No. I sent Ofbradh to fetch one of the Bairns.”

“We can’t use ours at the smithy. And Gisla and Gertrude can’t use theirs either.”

“Yggdrasil’s bark,” she cursed. She rose from the wheel, leaving the wool and yarn where it was. “Are you sure?”

“Freya used the wild magic on the grinder this morning, but now it’s not working. Gertrude couldn’t turn her mixer on either.”

Skogul was frowning. She rubbed her hands together, blowing through them to warm them. “One day, the tame magic will die forever. We should learn to go without.”

“And fall even further into the ancient ways?” Hrothgar asked. He felt a sneer forming on his lips but didn’t try to hide it.

Skogul laughed at him. “The ancient ways kept us alive for thousands of years before the tame magic,” she explained. “What’s wrong with them?”

Hrothgar looked at her wrinkled face, her graying hair, and her gnarled hands. Her parents had lived through the Freezing. The only reason she was standing here in this shop was because of the ancient ways. “When did you send Ofbradh?”

She shrugged. “It’s been a little while now,” she said. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see a Bairn or two coming this way soon. Once they’re done with that birth, that is.”

“Olga?” he guessed.

Skogul nodded. “Ofbradh said she had a boy.”

“A boy,” Hrothgar breathed. It was what every man hoped for. The ability to make boys. They needed boys. There were only twenty-three boys in the town, compared with thirty-eight girls.

“My mother used to say that there were more boys than girls, before the Freezing,” she commented absently. “About a hundred and five for every hundred girls.”

That seemed impossible. He didn’t reply.

“I never saw one hundred and five boys for every hundred girls, though. Not in my lifetime.”

His thoughts escaped him before he could hold them in. “So, it wasn’t a problem until after the Freezing.”

Skogul eyed him. “Of course,” she answered, looking at him as if everyone knew this.

The door opened and Ofbradh came into the shop. Sif was on his heels. Her white kirtle and cloak seemed nearly alive as she moved. She tingled with energy. Hrothgar frowned despite his better judgment.

Sif’s gaze met his. “Have you seen Edda since this morning?”

Hrothgar ground his teeth. This was the second Bairn to bait him. “No,” he growled.

Sif smiled devilishly, as if she knew he was lying. “She is strong now, Hrothgar. Much better that she was given to the spirits than to you.”

He took a step forward, as if to challenge her, before he stopped himself. Sif could burn him to a dry husk in a blink if she chose to. “The Skuld stole her from me,” he sneered.

Sif’s grin only widened. “The spirits don’t accept anyone who doesn’t want to be given.”

Skogul cleared her throat, gesturing to the small white plate on the wall where the cords that powered the tame magic were inserted. “Can you fix the tame magic, Sif?”

“No,” Sif said quickly, her eyes still on Hrothgar. “We need to go to the Waters.”

Ofbradh sighed. “So, we’ll be without for more than a day.”

Sif nodded. “I should think so,” she answered. Her eyes narrowed on Hrothgar as she continued to stare. “This will be a good opportunity for Edda, I think.”

Hrothgar, despite all the fury within him, lowered his eyes under Sif’s stare. “To prove herself?” he asked quietly, remembering how she had been the previous night—untamed, unabashed, enamored with him. The wild magic would burn all of that out of her, until she was just a host for its terrifying power.

               Sif stepped one step nearer to him. “To see if she can rid herself,” she replied slowly, “of you.”

               Hrothgar bristled at her words, frowning deeply. Sif’s eyes held his for a moment more before she turned her back on him and walked from the shop. Skogul muttered under her breath and Ofbradh placed his hand on Hrothgar’s shoulder. He squeezed him lightly. “Don’t let her rile you up, Hrothgar,” the older man instructed. “They all like watching a new Bairn’s lover squirm.”

               Hrothgar shrugged from under Ofbradh’s touch. “I don’t care,” he lied. Edda was still his, even if she did belong to the spirits. He had seen the doubt in her eyes that morning. Hrothgar knew he could win her back from them if he pursued her. But he also knew he shouldn’t try. It was dangerous. “The spirits can have her. She wanted them more than she wanted me.”

               “There are plenty of others, Hrothgar,” Skogul said tenderly.

               Ofbradh hummed, full of dark humor. “He doesn’t want one of the others, Skogul,” he explained. Her husband turned his head to look over his shoulder at her. “Did I?” Skogul said nothing and went back to spinning yarn. “Give yourself time, Hrothgar,” he said, placing his hand on his shoulder again and giving him a light squeeze before taking it away.

               Hrothgar eyed Ofbradh, but didn’t want the pity the older man was offering him. “You had one too?”

               Ofbradh nodded. “Not many men my age who didn’t love a woman who chose the spirits.”

               This admission made Hrothgar think of Leif, loving whoever the Skuld had been before she chose to walk between the worlds. “What happened to your woman?” he asked, though he already had an idea.

               He shrugged. “She was carried off. She might be one of the spirits. Who can know?”

               Hrothgar gritted his teeth again. “The Skuld would know,” he answered with disdain.

“The Skuld won’t give you any answers, Hrothgar,” Skogul warned. The men turned towards her at her words. Her eyes were full of fear. “Don’t go looking for answers from her.”

               Hrothgar’s guts felt like ice. “I don’t want to,” he whispered, feeling Skogul’s fear move through him.

               Ofbradh patted him on the back. “Best forget her, Hrothgar,” he instructed. “Better for you and her if you do.”

               Hrothgar nodded, but it wasn’t as easy as that.