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               Back in her house, Edda knew the tame magic wasn’t working as soon as she picked up the brick. Fix it…Fix the power…To the Waters…Go! Fix it. The spirits’ instructions churned inside her mind. She laid the brick on the small table, tuning out the sound of the spirits. She rose from the chair and her hand went instinctively to the pouch of rune stones hanging at her side before she remembered Astrid’s warning. She nearly snatched her hand back from the pouch. Instead, she reached into her pocket and drew out the white stone with her true name. The runes were dark against the smooth surface. They still smelled acrid from the burning. She tucked the stone back into her pocket, thinking about the name. The sound of it swirled on her tongue, wanting to be voiced. She pressed the stone to her body, quieting the urge.

               She exited the house. She glanced up and down the street, watching as the first white flakes started to fall. They swirled around her, dancing away from the power she held. Her gaze was drawn to the east, to Freya, who was moving up the street. She rippled with the wild magic. Edda stepped down from her porch and began moving towards her sister. The wind tossed Freya’s dark hair but she never made a move to push it from her eyes or her face. Edda felt that same pull towards her that she had felt towards Olga when she was birthing the boy.

               Freya stopped before her. Her eyes were dark and deep, and glazed, as if she was staring into the past, looking into the future. Edda tingled as she fell into Freya’s eyes. She reached for the rune stones at her belt, but Freya stopped her with a question. “The Waters?” Her gaze sharpened, seemed almost accusing.

               Edda dropped her hand to her side. “The Waters,” she agreed.

               Freya began to move again, and Edda fell into step beside her. “We will need another,” Freya explained.

               “Sif,” Edda answered, thinking of her devil smile. Sif was beautiful in an utterly terrifying way. She had used the wild magic for longer than anyone but the Skuld. It made her seem less human. Sometimes she looked at Edda like a wolf, ready to chew her to bits. She imagined Sif’s mouth stained with blood. It seemed fitting.

               Freya was quiet, letting the wild magic roll through her. The current of it hummed in Edda’s chest. “Sif is with Hrothgar,” Freya said, her lip curling into a smile on one side.

               “Hrothgar,” Edda breathed, thinking of how he moved, how his body felt, how his kiss tasted. “What is he doing with her?” She burned.

               Her jealousy drew Freya’s gaze. “You chose the spirits, Edda. Hrothgar cannot belong to you.”

               Edda called the wild magic, listening to the whispers of the spirits. He will ruin her…Forget him, Edda. She strained her neck to one side, and her bones cracked. “Hrothgar does not want Sif,” she said to herself.

               Freya laughed at her, her mirth stinging Edda’s pride. “Sif does not want Hrothgar either,” she replied.

               Edda frowned at her sister. “Why do you mock me?” The wild magic pulsed inside her.

               Freya’s grin faded and her expression grew dark. The snow was falling in thick, wet flakes now. Freya’s black hair was dotted with them. “You are a Bairn, Edda. You will never be a mother. You will never carry boys. There is no reason to think about Hrothgar. You belong to the spirits.”

               “I belong to myself,” Edda contradicted, even as Freya’s eyes narrowed. “I chose the spirits, but they do not own me.”

               Freya leaned closer, her lips nearly brushing Edda’s cheek as she spoke. “The spirits will take you if you are not careful, Edda,” she said. Freya pulled back from her, smiling warmly. “It would be a shame. You are powerful. You could be the Skuld.”

               Edda shook her head, denying Freya’s assessment. “Sif will be the next Skuld.”

               Freya raised her eyebrow. “Was that in the runes?” Edda shook her head again and Freya smiled knowingly. “When you are filled with the wild magic, sometimes, you don’t need the runes.”

               Edda was used to Freya’s lessons. She had instructed Edda many times on her journey to receive her true name. “Will the urge lessen?” she asked, thinking of the stones in the pouch at her side.

               Freya shrugged. “You learn to be in control, or…” She let the end of the sentence hang.

               Edda knew the dangers. She had been warned. She had known women and girls who had disappeared. “Where do you go when they carry you off?”

               “With the spirits,” Freya breathed reverently.  

               The two Bairns had come to the end of the row of houses, before the road turned a corner and wound past the woods. On the corner, in an empty lot filled with stubby brown grass sat a vehicle. It was a wagon with four wheels and attached on the front was a compartment where three people could ride. It had a huge wheel inside and foot pedals. On the back of the wagon were three letters—R-A-M—so everyone called it the ram. Skogul had once called it a truck, but no one knew which was its true name.

               Ama was standing at the back of the wagon, humming with wild magic. She nearly glowed. Freya and Edda waited patiently for her to finish. They watched as the wheels became rounded, filling with air and the ram slowly hiccupped and roared before the machinery inside streamed a steady humming of its own. The glow emanating from Ama dissipated slowly and she turned her gaze to her sisters. “Do you have a third?”

               Edda could feel Sif moving towards them, drawn to the wild magic Ama had called. “Sif is coming,” she stated, though she knew her sisters would feel her too.

               “I could go too, ride in the wagon,” Ama offered. “In case the ram needs repair again.”

               Freya was calculating. “It would save our strength for the Waters.”

               Ama nodded slowly. “Even then, it might not be enough.”

               Edda did not feel the anguish that tried to well up from her soul. She was numb to any hope. Every day was more dire than the last. “If it’s not, then so be it. We go back to the ancient ways.”

               Freya shrugged. “Don’t we mostly practice the ancient ways anyway? One piece of tame magic per household is hardly a restoration of the time before the Freezing.”

               “Do we try to repair the Waters, then?” Ama asked plainly. “What is the point? The last time, we thought it would be the last time we could do it.”

               Edda looked from Freya’s dark expression to Ama’s grief-filled eyes. “Sif can do it,” she said. “Sif is stronger than any of us.”

               The other Bairns considered her silently. They waited for Sif without speaking, listening to the ram’s engine. Edda turned when she recognized how close she was, and watched Sif sliding towards them. Sif’s eyes were white; she was ecstatic. Her hair had gone white as well, and Edda sucked in a breath at the display of power. Sif looked like a wolf and Edda had the urge to offer herself as a meal.

               Freya’s expression was hard. “You call too much,” she warned.

               The color came back into Sif’s eyes and hair. She seemed less alive as the wild magic left her. “It is…tempting,” Sif breathed heavily.

               Ama and Freya nodded, as if they knew the feeling, but Edda did not betray that she felt the same way. Sif’s eyes slid to hers and she smiled, though it seemed more like she was baring her teeth. “You will come to the Waters with us?” she asked. Edda nodded. “It still might not be enough,” Sif added, looking at Freya.

               Freya let out a long sigh. “We try, or else embrace the ancient ways.”

               Sif laughed. “Haven’t we already embraced the ancient ways?”

               Edda listened to the spirits. The ancient ways are wiser…The tame magic has no place..The power is in the wild magic…Why risk going to the Waters? “Is it dangerous?” she asked, growing self-conscious as her sisters turned their eyes to her. “The Waters?”

               Ama came towards her, eyeing her coolly. “The Waters is not dangerous. It is calling so much of the wild magic that is dangerous.”

               Sif seemed to ripple with light at Ama’s words. “Mjoll was carried off at the Waters,” she stated flatly.

               Edda hardly remembered Mjoll. She was a Bairn when Edda was a still a child, though she didn’t remember how long ago. “Is that how everyone is carried off?” she asked, unsure she wanted to know the answer.

               “No,” Freya explained. “Some are carried off because they choose to be.”

               Sif’s face fell, and it was so odd that Edda found herself staring in disbelief. Sif was never sad. “Ulfrun,” she whispered, as a tear ran down her cheek. “My blood sister.”

               Edda remembered Ulfrun. She had been wildly powerful, and just as wildly terrifying. She had been carried off four, maybe five summers ago. Edda heard the spirits chattering, calling to her. They tell you to test…Be afraid!…You will do well, Edda…You are strong…Don’t go to the Waters!

               Edda reached for her rune stones. She had resisted several times already today, but she couldn’t any longer. The other Bairns watched her passively as she untied the bag and spilled the stones into her palm. She cast them across the dry grass at her feet. The wild magic burned the marks, first searing red, then cooling to a deep black. The eagle. The wind. The river. The darkness. It was her casting, and thus her sisters all waited for her reading. “The Waters can be repaired,” she said with authority. “But just one more time.”

               She looked up into the eyes of her sisters. Each was nodding approvingly. Edda stooped to pick up her stones, then tucked them into her bag. When she rose, Ama climbed into the back of the ram, and Freya and Sif moved towards the compartment at the front. Freya tugged open the door and slid inside, but Sif waited for Edda to enter before she too slid onto the bench inside. Freya placed her hands on the wheel, and working the pedals with her feet, began to move the ram onto what was left of the road.

---

               Hrothgar heard the distinct sound of the ram moving up the road behind him. He stopped, looked over his shoulder, then slunk to the side of the street, where the crumbling curb rose to what was left of a stone path. There was hardly any stone left. The path was mostly choked with weeds. Hrothgar watched the ram’s approach. There were three women sitting in the compartment at the front of the wagon. Edda looked right at him as they drove by. From the wagon, Ama stared at him as the ram rolled down the street. Hrothgar gritted his teeth, watching until the ram disappeared.

               He pushed open the door of the smithy. Leif was sharpening the newly forged knife by hand. Hrothgar slowly made his way across the room. The heat of the forge already had him sweating. When he reached Leif’s side, the older man stopped working, and waited for what Hrothgar would say. The words rolled from him at a crawl. “The Bairns went to the Waters.”

               Leif nodded, though he wasn’t looking at Hrothgar. “How many?”

               “Four,” Hrothgar answered.

               “They’ve had a reading, then,” Leif reasoned. He went back to sharpening the knife. “I haven’t known them to ever take more than three.”

               Hrothgar frowned, thinking of Edda’s eyes on him as the ram went by. “Sif said it was an opportunity for Edda to…” He stopped, as Leif turned his gaze towards him. His mentor’s eyes were hard, full of warning and pain. “To…rid herself…of me.”

               Leif laid the knife on the table and turned fully around. He crossed his arms over his chest. Hrothgar prepared himself for a lecture, but Leif took a long time, thinking over his words before he began to speak. “Before Yri became a Bairn, I tried to convince her not to.” He shifted, leaning back against the edge of the table. “She was close to abandoning the wild magic,” Leif continued softly. His eyes were unfocused, seeing deep into his past. “But in the end, she could not resist the spirits’ calling. She wanted the power of the wild magic more than she wanted me. More than she wanted to carry a boy.”

               “Yri was…your woman? Before she became the Skuld?” Leif nodded. “She knew she would carry a boy?” He was confused. Bairns did not carry any children.

               “No,” Leif answered shortly. “But don’t all women dream of carrying a boy? Just like men dream of making them?”

               Hrothgar bit his lip. He had nothing to add. “I didn’t try to convince Edda not to be a Bairn,” he replied. He paused, wondering if he should confide in Leif. “Not exactly.” Leif raised his brow at him, and Hrothgar crumpled under his questioning gaze. “I went to her last night,” he admitted. “I knew it would be the last time I could be with her, but I was hoping that she would change her mind. I was trying to change her mind.”

               Leif nodded, and shut his eyes for a moment, as if remembering something painful. “We’ve all done that. All of us who loved a Bairn.”

               “Did it ever work?” Hrothgar asked.

               Leif shook his head mournfully.

               “Why?” Hrothgar wondered aloud. “Why do they choose the wild magic over us?”

               Leif eyed him, looking as if the answer was obvious. “Wouldn’t you?”

               He had never considered this before. “The wild magic doesn’t choose men. It doesn’t matter.”

Leif was looking at him like there was a secret trying to escape his lips. He swallowed down whatever words he was going to say, but Hrothgar’s curiosity wouldn’t allow him to keep his thoughts to himself. “What?” he asked his mentor.

               “Do you ever wonder why the wild magic doesn’t choose men?” Leif asked slowly.

               He did wonder. Every day. Especially as Edda had grown more powerful, more distant. “Of course, I do,” he admitted. “It seems…”

               “Unfair?” Leif asked, guessing at his next word.

               Hrothgar negated the guess with a shake of his head. “Convenient,” Hrothgar explained. “All the extra girls, just waiting to be called by the spirits. Are the spirits only calling girls because there’s too many of them?”

               A drop of sweat rolled down the side of Leif’s head. He wiped it away with his forearm. “Are there too many girls because the spirits only want girls?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

               Hrothgar’s flesh prickled. He felt the rippling chill move through him as he considered the implications of Leif’s question. Freya had hinted at this only that morning. “What are you saying?” Hrothgar choked.

               Leif shook his head fiercely. “Nothing.”

               But now that the idea had been introduced, Hrothgar felt it taking root, invasive and unwelcome. “Leif,” he breathed. “Have you ever asked anyone else about this?”

               Leif would not meet his eyes. “I asked Yri, on the night before she became a Bairn. She laughed and told me I was clever.”

               Hrothgar was trembling with terror and adrenaline, his fight or flight reflexes activated by the nagging thoughts spreading through him. “Could it be…true?”

               Leif’s eyes slid back to find his. The look in them was all the answer Hrothgar needed.