Sif stood outside the apothecary, watching through the window as Hrist and her granddaughter, Edda, worked. The girl was smiling as something the older woman was saying. Sif wondered if she was telling a joke, recanting a story, or offering praise for Edda’s work. Sif had watched the pair for well over an hour. The sun was nearly at its peak. Her stomach grumbled for food, but she ignored it. She wanted to understand why Edda was so important, and why she had scared Ulfrun so much that she had chosen to be carried off.

There was a crunch of boots behind her in the road. She turned, feeling the approach of another Bairn. She glowered at Mjoll seemed to float to her side.

“You,” she sneered.

Mjoll was not unraveled by her disgust. “So, you’ve found her too?” she asked, pointing to the girl inside the apothecary.

Sif didn’t answer. She did not like or trust Mjoll. She blamed her for Ulfrun’s recklessness.

“It was not my doing,” Mjoll said. “Ulfrun chose to be taken.”

“But it was you who made her believe there was something more to be had than this life.”

Mjoll smiled to herself. “I wanted to see if she really could climb the great tree.”

“You should have tried it yourself, instead of encouraging her.”

“And why would I have done that?” Mjoll asked, her tone harsh. Her eyes were hard, unforgiving. “I couldn’t go first. What if it had been a lie?”

Sif felt blinded by a wall of rage. “So you baited her, threw her away for your own gain, so that you wouldn’t lose everything if you were wrong?”

Mjoll sneered, leaning closer to her. “I have lived a longer life than any of you,” she said. “I did not get to be so old by being recklessness.”

Sif looked turned away from Mjoll, watching Edda and Hrist again. Hrist was pouring a yellow liquid into glass vials and handing them to Edda. She stoppered them and placed them in a tray. “When you climb the great tree, I hope you find it a pleasant death,” Sif said to Mjoll without looking at her.

“It is a tree of life, Sif,” Mjoll said.

Despite her anger, Sif frowned, feeling embarrassed by her confusion. She resisted the urge to look at Mjoll again, wishing she would go away.

Mjoll leaning closer and whispered in her ear. “If you don’t believe me, look for your sister in the fires.”

Sif held her mouth tightly shut, refusing to engage with her sister Bairn. She watched Edda and Hrist until Mjoll moved so far down the road that she could no longer feel her presence through the pull of the wild magic.

The bed felt huge without Ulfrun in it. The last two nights had been terrible without her. She was cold. She had cried. She wished she still had Bodil. But she was alone now. She would always be alone.

She rose from the bed, unable to sleep. The fire had burned down to coals. She pulled another log from the stack net to the hearth and laid it over the coals. She waited for it to catch before she sat down in front of it, watching the flames. They danced wildly, without pattern, without meaning. The spirits chattered. They urged her to rest. They urged her to cast the stones. She itched with the pull of the wild magic. She closed her eyes and released her breath, letting go of all the tension in her body.

When she had calmed, she opened her eyes, to find that the log had nearly burned out. She placed another one into the hearth, and watched as it caught the flame. Her eyes moved along its length, looking for patterns, looking for meanings, looking for anything that might be Ulfrun. She sighed, knowing it was fruitless.

But then there was a voice amongst the chattering spirits, a voice she recognized. She stared harder at the flames, watching in awe and hope as they swirled into a face. Ulfrun’s face. She dipped her face closer to the flames as the fiery image of Ulfrun lifted her hand to her face, as if kissing her palm, the gently tipped it away, as if blowing something out of her palm.

A shower of sparks flew out of the fire and singed Sif’s cheek. She turned her face away, surprised but the pain. When she glanced back to the fire, the Ulfrun’s fiery face was gone.

She touched the spot where the fire had burned her, a kiss from beyond. A kiss from the roots of the great tree. She drew her cloak tighter around her and watched the fire burn.