Last year, I wrote a story, The White Stone, which was inspired by a verse from Revelation chapter 2. I revisited Revelation chapters 2 and 3 recently, which catalog seven letters to seven churches in Asia minor. I plan to write six other stories using pieces from the six other letters of this section to accompany the story The White Stone. Below is part of one of them.

To read The White Stone, click here.

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Sif pulled back the curtain and looked out across the blinding snow. The gales were so strong they were blowing the flakes sideways. Ulfrun was at the fire, gazing deep into the flames. Sif dropped the heavy fabric, shutting out the cold. She joined her sister at the hearth.

“Can you see anything today?” she asked. Ulfrun had been learning how to speak to the spirits. They came from the fire sometimes, giving her signs.

Ulfrun smiled slyly. “I always see things in the flames, Sif,” she said.

“Why do they use the fire with you, and not with anyone else?” Sif asked, jealousy curling along her spine.

Ulfrun laughed, feeling her sister’s desires. “I could teach you,” she said.

Sif crawled with power. The spirits chattered within her. “It is like reading the runes?”

Ulfrun shook her head. “It is like becoming the fire,” she whispered.

Sif squatted next to her sister, peering into the flames. She saw nothing there except the red glow of fire, the soft blue and white where it licked the logs. She concentrated, letting the power carry her. See…see…see…Sif inhaled the smoke, feeling it twirl through her.

Ulfrun sighed with pleasure, as if the fire were a lover. The sound drew Sif back to the room where she crouched next to her sister at the hearth. Ulfrun’s delight unnerved her. “You’ll be carried off,” she scolded.

Ulfrun laughed. “Would it be so bad?” she asked, her voice thick with power. Her hair had gone white and her eyes were like the snow that was piling outside their house.

“What are you two doing?” their mother asked. She was sitting in a chair, wrapped from head to toe in a thick blanket. She had been asleep most of the evening.

Ulfrun’s eyes returned to their normal darkness as the power flowed out of her. Sif felt the rush of it moving, like an upturned jug spilling across the floor. “Ulfrun…” she whispered in awe, in terror.

“It’s not too much, Sif. Not if you know how to hold it.” Her smile was wicked. She looked like the Skuld.

Their mother rose from the chair. “Not answering your Madir?” she grumped.

“Sif is learning how to read the fires,” Ulfrun said.

Their mother snorted. “Read the runes. Read the fires. Next you’ll be reading the stars. Reading bones.”

Sif shut out the angry hissing of the spirits. She didn’t admit that she already knew how to read bones.  

“You should use the fire to do something about this cold,” the mother said.

Ulfrun let the power flow through her. She opened like a rose bud, drinking in the rush of it. Sif breathed heavily. She cowered in her sister’s presence. Ulfrun closed her eyes, drawing more, until her whole body was white, like the snow outside.

“Ulfrun!” Sif gasped.

But Ulfrun didn’t reply. She rose from the hearth, walking straight towards the door. She threw it open, marched determinedly into the howling wind, the driving snow.

“Ulfrun!” Sif called again, watching as her sister used the power to quiet the gusts. The wind grew still. The snow that had been driving hard as iron a moment before swirled gently down to the earth. All was quiet for a moment. Ulfrun let the power flow from her, her hair returning to it’s normal reddish blond. She collapsed into the snow.

Sif ran from the house without bothering for a coat. She called to the wild magic. The spirits heard her cries, some wailing, some laughing. She dropped to her knees in the snow where Ulfrun lay, hands stinging from the biting cold.

“Ulfrun,” she said, stroking her sister’s face. She was pale. Sif pressed two fingers to her neck. Her heart had a steady beat. The wild magic lent her the strength to lift Ulfrun’s body from the snow. She carried her back to the house, laying her on their shared bed.

“Here,” her mother said, coming behind her with her own blanket. She laid it over Ulfrun’s still body. She stirred, groaning. Then she smiled. She smiled. Sif frowned.

“You are reckless,” she scolded, feeling the frown in her entire body.

Ulfrun’s smile relaxed. “Not so cold now, though, is it?” she replied.

Sif’s mother scoffed. “Why you girls chose this, I will never understand.”

“You don’t know the power, Madir,” Ulfrun said, eyes still closed. “If you did, you wouldn’t have to wonder.”

Sif kept her mouth shut. Ulfrun was right, of course, but she was still angry with her. She would be carried off if she was not careful—and Ulfrun was rarely careful about anything.