(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.)
When Hrothgar was gone, Edda donned her cloak and followed the pull of Freya’s anger, unable to resist how it called her. She met Helga on the way, and the two walked in solemn silence. On the outskirts of the woods, they found Ama. She fell in line with them easily, not speaking. They moved in a single file through the woods, down the earthen steps to the gully. Freya and Sif were in the Grove, talking with the Skuld. Edda felt Astrid’s presence behind her but didn’t turn to watch her sister’s approach.
Freya was holding the wild magic, her whole body glowing, light seeming to stream from the ends of her hair. The Skuld looked skeletal, her face gaunt, her fingers as delicate as bones. She was hunched like a crone. Sif held Freya by her hair, which was still black, though it rippled white, like a flashing light inside a glass. Sif’s grip was so strong it turned her knuckles white.
“You cannot go!” Freya screamed. She writhed in her anguish and anger. “You cannot leave us when Edda is so reckless!”
The Skuld sank to her knees before the two Bairns. Edda had never seen her as weary. She caught a glance from her. The Skuld nodded to her surreptitiously.
“You would let the spirits take you!” Freya accused, her voice ringing through the Grove. She tried to take a step forward, but Sif yanked her backward. Freya shook her head, trying to dislodge Sif from her locks, but Sif held firmly. She too glowed with power. Edda saw Astrid moving forward, sneaking around the party in a wide circle. Astrid’s face was full of light. It made her golden hair shine. Freya wailed. “You speak of breaking them, though it would take the wild magic from us!”
“Not I,” the Skuld said, and she sounded like the earth, like the dust she would become. “Edda is the one who will break them.”
All the eyes in the Grove turned to her. She recalled her steely resolve the previous night, when she had overcome the pull into the spirits’ realm. She locked eyes with the Skuld, and the crone smiled at her. “You are the Skuld,” she whispered, staring into Edda’s eyes. Edda could taste Freya’s anger, Sif’s shock, the surprise of Astrid, Ama and Helga.
“She is not!” Freya shrieked. “She is too uncontrolled! She will be carried away!” The color fell from Freya’s hair and eyes. She looked like ice personified. “It should be Sif!” she wailed.
Sif pulled Freya’s hair so hard that she jerked her to the ground. “Quiet,” she hissed. “You will be carried off if you don’t stop.”
Freya went into a rage, clawing at Sif’s legs. Sif fell to the earth, and she and Freya rolled, wrestling across the grass. Freya pinned Sif to the ground, sitting on her belly, and beating her with one fist while the other held her in place. The Skuld made no move to intervene. Astrid approached slowly, watching in horror. Sif glowed with the wild magic, then shot a hand upward in between Freya’s blows. Her fingers clasped Freya’s throat, and Freya stopped swinging her fist. She pulled at Sif’s arm, but her grip was too strong. Astrid dove towards them, dragging Freya from Sif’s body. Ama rushed forward, helping Sif from the ground. She was red from Freya’s pounding fist.
“Freya!” Sif yelled, her voice raw with emotion. “Freya stop! You will be like Ulfrun!” Sif’s tears streamed. She shrugged out of Ama’s grip and reached her arms towards Freya. Edda watched the fight and power flow out of Freya. She reached for Sif, and crushed her sister against her, sobbing into her shoulder. Sif stroked her hair, and her hand seemed to rub the darkness back into it. She took Freya’s face in her hands and kissed her. They whispered to one another, and Sif dropped her hands from Freya’s face. Ama put her hand on Sif’s shoulder to steady her. Astrid moved beside Freya, petting her head like she was a child. One of them was whispering “hush.”
The tension was gone from the Grove. Freya was no longer in danger, no longer angry. Sif turned on Edda, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “You!” she sneered. “This is your doing! You could have killed her! You shared the wild magic with a man!” she screamed, her face red with fury. “You should not be here! The spirits should carry you off the way they almost did to Freya!”
Edda filled herself with the wild magic, almost to bursting. The call of the spirits barely registered. Their words floated through her without recognition. “You don’t have to listen to them, Sif,” she explained, feeling smug.
Her sisters all grew quiet, staring at her wild-eyed. “What did you say?” Helga whispered from her side.
She looked at Helga first, then at the rest of them in turn. Astrid had dropped her hold of Freya, and Ama stood just a pace behind Sif. If Edda didn’t know better, she would assume Ama was hiding from her. Sif’s fury had cooled, but Freya’s dark expression matched her dark eyes. “Don’t listen to them,” she instructed. “They don’t want to help us.”
The Skuld laughed, and then all the focus was on her. Her laughter grew crazed. She seemed to shrink in on herself, hugging her body with her skinny, skeletal arms. “She is right,” the Skuld croaked. “All of you believed,” she said. It wasn’t a complement. “But not Edda,” she added softly, with a measure of awe and respect in her tone. “Edda doubted. And she will be the Skuld.” Her skin was shriveled now, she looked barely more than a husk. “Edda is the Skuld,” she whispered one last time.
Edda watched in fascination and disbelief as the Skuld crumbled into dust. The earth seemed to swallow up the remains. All evidence of her disappeared into the brown grass. A rushing wind came towards her, and she felt the Skuld’s spirit pass through her, her laughter ringing in her mind. Edda reveled in pure delight. The wild magic danced inside her, ready to use. Her tingling limbs felt alive outside of her body. She wondered if she looked inhuman now, if Hrothgar would still want her now that she walked between the worlds.
Then she smiled to herself. Hrothgar would always want her, even if he was afraid of her. She turned and began to walk out of the Grove.
“You aren’t staying here, in the Grove?” Astrid asked at her departing back.
Edda stopped, then spun to face the other Bairns. “No,” she answered definitively. “I am going to stay with Hrothgar.”
Their confusion was delicious. She left them standing among the trees, wondering.
Edda sat in the chair next to the window in her house, running her index finger over the runes of her true name. The edges of the runes were rough, but the stone itself was satisfyingly smooth. She thought she could express the name now, if anyone were to ask, though she didn’t think she would. The name held power. It held truth. Hrothgar did not believe in it, but she had to, after what had happened.
She put the white stone away, not wanting to risk Hrothgar seeing it. He stirred in his sleep, stretched, then rolled over. She rose from the chair and tucked herself in next to him on the pallet.
She curled into him, like a leaf folding in the wind. She felt like a bud of power, waiting to burst open.
“Yrsa had a boy,” she said smoothly, feeling satisfied.
Hrothgar grunted in agreement. “Of course, she did. Sigrid made him.”
She smiled to herself. “And Jorekr made a boy,” she continued evenly.
Hrothgar opened his eyes, looking at her hard. There were several women who had given birth in the last few days. He, like everyone else, waited anxiously for one piece of information about each baby. “And Borr?” he asked. “Did he make a boy too?”
She nodded. “There was only one girl among the five babes.”
Hrothgar breathed a laugh, then smiled at her as he stroked her cheek. His eyes were still sleepy. “And this one?” he asked, touching her swelling belly.
“I told you before,” she teased, pressing her hand against the child inside her. “You will make boys.”
He hesitated before the question came forth. “You’re sure?”
Her hand slid to the white stone in the pocket of her kirtle. If she were to tell him of it, she might say it said Man Mother, or Man Bringer, or Man Birther. Any translation would have been accurate. She nodded. “It was in the runes,” she answered, feeling the wild magic swirl through her.
(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.)
Edda sat at her table, looking at the stone with her true name. It held power, but it was a power she no longer wanted. Yet, power was a tricky thing. The thought of giving it up gave her pause. She plotted how to unlink the wild magic from the spirits. She wondered why the wild magic had given her this name. What had the Skuld meant that she would do what the Skuld could not?
Someone knocked at the door. She tucked the stone into her pocket and moved the three steps from the table to the door. She pulled it open, revealing Hrothgar. He stared at her blankly, waiting. Edda took a step back, opening the door wider. Hrothgar entered her house and she silently shut the door. She wanted to embrace him, but he looked almost wild with anger. She considered him, delving into his emotions with the wild magic. “You confronted Astrid,” she said evenly.
Hrothgar looked cornered, uncomfortable, on the brink of flight. “Yes,” he answered shortly.
She nodded without judgment. She knew Hrothgar, like most men, dismissed the Bairns, thinking their work and their power unimportant. “Why are you here?” she asked tenderly. She reached for him, pressing her hand against his cheek.
He wet his lips, hesitating. “What did you read in the runes last night?”
Edda stroked his black beard, twirling her finger through it as she considered her answer. “The spirits are not our friends,” she said slowly. She ran her hand over his shoulder, down his arm.
“They keep us from having boys,” Hrothgar stated, eyes filled with fury.
Edda nodded. “They want to keep their sisterhood,” Edda explained.
He was silent for a moment. She smelled his nervous sweat. “I want you to read the runes for me,” he said slowly, voice shaking.
She smiled. “Why?” she inquired, feeling smug. “I thought you didn’t believe in their power.”
“I don’t,” he answered. “But you do.”
“I will read the runes for you,” she said. The wild magic surged through her limbs. She felt the warmth of its glow.
Hrothgar took one of the chairs, sitting at her table with his elbows propped on the tabletop. He clasped his fists together, pressing his mouth into them. His eyes hadn’t left hers. His nervous energy was infectious.
Edda untied the pouch from her belt, then called the wild magic. She held the stones in her hand, letting it glow with the inner fire, before scattering them across the floor. The wild magic burned the runes onto their faces, the smell of burning stone stinging her nostrils, clinging to the back of her throat. She considered the runes one by one. The river. The mist. The man. The branch. She stared for too long, too excited tell him what she read. She stared for so long that he had to prompt her to speak.
“Edda?” Hrothgar asked tenderly. “What do the runes say of me?”
She lifted her eyes from the ground, warmth spreading through her. “You can make boys, Hrothgar.” Her voice was low and tender. She allowed a smile to creep across her features.
She watched his eyes widen with hope and fear. “I can make boys?” he whispered, his question filling the silent places inside her. The spirits chattered but she didn’t listen to their words. “Who is the mother?” he asked.
She already knew, but the power inside her was itching to flow again. Cast!…No!…Edda, cast!… Read the runes…Edda, stop! The conflicting wails began to make sense, considering what the Skuld had revealed in the Grove the previous night. She picked up the rune stones one by one, caressing them softly before calling the wild magic again. She scattered them onto the floor. The heavy sound of them clacking across the wooden beams broke the spirits’ wailings. The circle. The dove. The well. The womb.
She closed her eyes. She had known before the casting. She understood what the Skuld had meant. This reading was more exciting than the one she had just given. This reading sealed her fate, gave her a future.
“Edda?” Hrothgar asked, tentative and soft. “Who is the mother?” His breath was like summer’s breeze, sending heat through her chest. It spread downward to her belly, to her womb. She tingled with excitement.
She opened her eyes, regarding him for a moment that felt too long, too slow. “I am the mother,” she whispered.
Hrothgar frowned. “You?” he asked, barely understanding. “You’re the mother?”
She nodded as the spirits wailed in dismay and laughed darkly in delight.
“Edda,” Hrothgar said, standing up and coming forward. “You…” he cupped her face. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, feeling giddy, feeling drunk with power and love. She tried to release the wild magic but couldn’t let it go. It felt intwined into her in a way it hadn’t been before. “Tell me when my eyes aren’t white anymore,” she said.
She held his gaze, staring until her eyes hurt. Edda counted the seconds in her head. She lost count around 300.
“They aren’t going back, Edda,” he finally said. “They’re still white.”
Raw power slithered through her. She stooped to pick up the stones again. The spirits were all talking at once. She couldn’t pick out any coherent thoughts from them. She cast the rune stones again, smelling the fire of the wild magic as they burned new runes into the surface of the rocks. The fire. The circle. The star. The tree.
She smiled widely, gleefully. Then she laughed heartily, but it didn’t sound joyous. Even to her it sounded wrong. “I will be the Skuld,” Edda said. Hrothgar backed away from her. She watched him, drawn to his terror. She moved forward, but he continued to move backwards, until he was standing against the wall, and she was pinning him in place, her hands pressed against his chest. She tipped her face upwards. “I will be the Skuld,” she repeated, whispering hoarsely, “and the mother of your boys. And I will have everything I ever wanted.” She pressed her lips to his and she felt Hrothgar trying to squirm away from her. She held him in place with the strength of the wild magic until he succumbed to her, running his hands over her back as she kissed him. Inside her mind the spirits argued. No! Edda, no!…Yes…Yes…
Hrothgar stroked Edda’s white hair as they lay on the pallet, snuggling together under the thin blanket. Edda’s head rested against his chest. She traced a finger down his sternum, his belly. The wild magic danced between them. “How do you stand it?” he asked, feeling it slide through him.
“I like it,” Edda replied, and he could hear the smile in her words. “You don’t like it?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered slowly. “It feels…uncontrollable.”
“That’s because no one has taught you how to control it,” Edda said.
Hrothgar didn’t want to learn how to control it. He frowned. “Could you give it up?”
Edda lay still. He could barely feel her breath. “No,” she finally decided.
“Astrid said that too,” he replied, remembering the confrontation from earlier that morning.
Edda lifted her head, her white eyes boring into him, her white hair hanging in a curtain over his chest. “You think we should give up the wild magic,” she assessed, and when he didn’t confirm her guess, she continued. “I think we should use the wild magic.”
“For what?” Hrothgar asked.
Edda smiled but it seemed forced. She didn’t look entirely human. “For whatever we need to use it for.”
“What about the spirits?” he asked, fear returning to his belly. “What we’re doing…Edda, I don’t want them to take you.”
She laughed at him and glowed with an internal light. “They cannot take me,” she said. “They are weak.”
His body felt alive with energy. “Edda,” he said hoarsely. “Are you saying, you can defy the spirits?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in the spirits?” she asked. She threw off the blanket and Hrothgar’s eyes trailed over her body as he watched her dress.
“I don’t believe in the runes,” he clarified.
She turned her white eyes on him, and he felt the icy stab of fear. “The runes are what told me to carry a boy for you. If it’s in the runes, it’s true.”
“You also said the runes told you that I taint you,” he argued. “And you said you didn’t believe it.”
Edda narrowed her eyes at him as she tugged her white kirtle over her head. “You said I didn’t believe it.”
Hrothgar didn’t want to fight with her. They had had enough fights about the spirits and the wild magic. “What do you think they meant?” he asked, though he was unsure he wanted to hear her answer.
She closed her eyes for a moment, tilting her head as if in inquiry. “That you would help me break their power over us,” she said.
For a moment, he couldn’t understand what she meant, but then it all came together for him. “Will we still need the wild magic to make boys?” he asked.
She sunk to the pallet, and leaned forward, kissing him slowly. He pulled her down to him, and she lay halfway on him as they kissed. When he pulled away from her, she had a mischievous grin. “We don’t need the wild magic to make boys, Hrothgar. The spirits use the wild magic to dictate who can make boys. We need to break the spirits’ control.”
Hrothgar sucked in his breath. “Can that be done?”
She rose from the pallet. She reached for the white bag of rune stones she had laid on the table. She drew them out carefully, giving them a loving gaze before she cast them to the floor. The hiss of their burning was loud in the silence of the room. Hrothgar looked to Edda as she read them, waiting for her to speak.
She lifted her eyes to meet his. “It can,” she whispered.
(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.)
The forest was dark, but it didn’t hinder her. Edda knew the way. She was impervious to the cold. The warmth of the wild magic swirled in her limbs, propelled her onward through the darkness. She crashed through the woods, snapping twigs and rustling foliage, kicking up last year’s debris. She rushed down into the gully, to the Grove, to the circle of white trees standing as sentinels. She entered the Grove with her breath ragged, her heart bare. The Grove was empty. She did not know where she could find the Skuld if not here. She sank to her knees, gasping, her heart pumping too hard in her chest. The spirits were laughing, wailing, whispering, gossiping. “Where are you?” she cried aloud, her face towards the sky. “I need you!”
The Skuld appeared, kneeling next to her on the ground. Edda had not seen how she had emerged. One moment she had not been there, and the next she was. Edda leaned forward, wanting comfort, wanting someone to anchor her to the world. She felt herself being called away and she did not want to go. She fought with the spirits, ignoring them, pushing away their calls.
The Skuld lifted Edda’s chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. “You have been with Hrothgar again,” the Skuld said. She smiled eerily, her white eyes like crystal. She was more a spirit than a woman and she didn’t seem to belong to the world where they sat.
Edda nodded. “I love him,” she explained, though she knew the Skuld would not care.
The Skuld stroked her hair, and Edda watched from the corner of her eyes how the color poured back into it. She felt at peace. The Skuld pressed her palm to Edda’s cheek. “I loved a man once, too,” she admitted softly. “I still love him.”
This is not what Edda had expected her to say. She pulled back from the Skuld, an inch, but enough to cause the Skuld to drop her hand. “What?” she whispered in confusion.
“The blacksmith,” the Skuld said, smiling widely. Her eyes were soft, remembering. She looked like she was laughing to herself. “Leif.” She whispered his name as if it was holy. Her eyes came back to Edda’s. “They will tell you that you can’t have both,” the Skuld said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “But they are liars.” The last word was nearly a hiss.
“What are you saying?” Edda asked, her heart swelling. The hope inside her made her chest hurt. “How?”
The Skuld was looking at Edda, but she was seeing past her, her eyes unfocused. “They want you for their own.”
“Why?” Edda asked. “Why would they lie to us?”
“Fickle, fickle women,” the Skuld hissed. Edda waited for more explanation, her eyes widening. “They make more of us, so they can carry us off.”
Edda thought back to the runes she had read on Hrothgar’s pallet. The darkness. The cloud. The ring. The woman. “I read it in the runes,” she confided. “The women—the spirit women—they keep us from having boys. This is their doing.”
The Skuld nodded. “I read this in the runes too,” she said, “before I chose the spirits. Leif asked me…” she stopped abruptly, and it seemed to Edda that she was choking on her words. The Skuld swallowed loudly. “Leif asked me if it was true,” she continued, her voice low and husky.
“He knows?” Edda asked. She wondered what Leif had told Hrothgar as they worked over the forge.
The Skuld shook her head in denial, then paused, and reconsidered. She then proceeded to nod her head up and down, affirming what Edda suspected. “He knows,” she said. “And so does Hrothgar.”
“Can we put an end to this?” Edda asked, thinking of her true name. “Can we undo what has been done?”
“It’s their doing,” the Skuld said, and it seemed to Edda that she turned an accusatory glare upon her. “But we help them,” she whispered, “because the wild magic is irresistible.”
“But why? What do they have against men?” Edda asked, still confused. “Why can’t they let us have the men we want?”
The Skuld raised her eyebrow, looking almost human for a moment. “Isn’t it nice, sometimes, to be with you sisters?” the Skuld asked.
Edda nodded. “Of course,” she agreed enthusiastically. “I love being with my sisters. But not all the time. Sometimes, I want to be with Hrothgar.”
The Skuld nodded. “The spirits—the most powerful ones—only want to be with their sisters,” she explained.
“But why?” Edda pressed. “There has to be a reason!” Her frustration was building. She felt the wild magic swirling, trying to call her away from her body again. The spirits chattered so loudly she could not distinguish their words.
The Skuld shrugged. “They don’t like men.”
“So, they keep us from men? They keep us from having boys?” Edda grew more horrified the longer she considered it. “They keep us seeking after them, giving us the wild magic so we can…use it to determine who can make boys?!” Edda’s anger was rising. She felt the pull of the spirits. She knows!… Edda…Take her! Take her! She resisted. She filled herself with resolve, focusing on the Skuld’s face, ignoring the pull of the spirits. It felt like swimming upriver, but she managed to hold steady. The spirits quieted.
“You are strong,” the Skuld assessed, smiling.
The spirits were warning her, but she pushed all their complaints away. “What would happen if I remained Hrothgar’s woman?” she asked. The spirits hissed at her. She ignored them. It was easy now. She used her anger to armor herself against them.
The Skuld stood, pulling Edda up from the ground with her. The Skuld reached for her rune stones, and Edda couldn’t resist the pull her own stones had on her. She took the rocks in her palm, watching as the Skuld cast her stones across the grass. The wild magic burned them, and Edda cast her own stones on the ground among them. A double casting was rare. It was only done in the Grove. It was only done with the Skuld. Edda looked at the runes. The rock. The eagle. The circle. The river. The womb. The sky. The fire. The tree. The Skuld met her eyes. The words of the casting were on her lips, and she was amazed when they came from the Skuld’s mouth as well as her own. “There will be a change. The birth of something new. It will grow until it cannot be contained. It will last forever.”
Edda grinned. “I will stay Hrothgar’s woman,” she vowed. “I will defy the spirits.”
The Skuld smiled. “Then you will do what I could not,” she said. “And then, you will do what I cannot.” Edda felt a rush of anxiety over her words, but the Skuld seemed satisfied, proud even. “Brave Bairn,” she added, an echo of what the spirits had said on the day she was given her true name.
Hrothgar went to the bakery early in the morning. He had not filled his belly full since the day before Edda became a Bairn. His body craved something other than stale cheese and a bit of salted ham. The smell of fresh bread wafted down the street, mixed with the smell of wood smoke. There was a line outside the bakery. He hadn’t mean to come so early, but he also hadn’t been able to sleep. Thoughts of Edda’s white eyes had filled his head. He was anxious for an explanation.
He took his place in the line, which was only three people deep, and waited impatiently. The cold was biting. The melting snow seeped into his boots. He rubbed his arms, glancing into the window of the bakery. He saw Gisla at the counter, taking loaves from a tray and placing them on the racks. She came around the counter when she was finished, moving towards the door.
An unnatural quiet spread over the area and he knew it was the approach of a Bairn. He turned his head and watched passively as Astrid made her way to the front of the line just as Gisla opened the door. No one stopped her. She was a Bairn. Bairns always took precedence. They could have whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted it. Hrothgar frowned and ground his teeth. Before he could think to stop himself, he called out, “Get in line, Astrid!”
The line of people between him and Astrid melted away as she turned towards him. She was swirling with wild magic. The flow of it around her caused her hair and cloak to dance, as if there was a steady breeze. Her eyes were empty of emotion as she came towards him. Hrothgar felt the nervous tension around them, the others stiff with concern. Astrid held his gaze and Hrothgar wanted to sneer, but he managed to keep his expression bare.
Astrid considered him, cocking her head to one side for a moment. Her golden hair was alive. She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you insist on pursuing Edda?” she asked.
Hrothgar couldn’t help from prickling at her question. The Bairns could read people like they were runes. Some said people had runes inside them. This made him think of Leif, and the suggestion that the runes men carried determined if they could make boys. He wondered. “Do you not pursue the things you want, Astrid?” he asked casually, as if he was not unnerved.
She smiled sweetly at him. “You cannot have her,” Astrid explained. Her attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere, and Hrothgar’s gaze went to where hers had gone. Over his shoulder, he saw Helga walking with Sigrid. There was nothing tying them together, but Hrothgar got the impression that Sigrid was still on leash. The man moved stiffly. He was being taken somewhere he didn’t want to go.
Astrid smiled. “She has found another mother,” Astrid said to herself.
“She wouldn’t need to find mothers if she didn’t want the wild magic,” Hrothgar growled.
Astrid’s gaze slid back to him, and the smile she now wore was devilish. She leaned closer to him, her eyes gleaming. Hrothgar could smell the herbs she used to clean her teeth. “We will always want the wild magic, Hrothgar.”
Anger rising, he bared his teeth at Astrid. “It’s true, then?” he asked. “The spirits are the reason we don’t have enough boys?”
Astrid didn’t reply. Her smug grin made his blood hot with rage. She turned from him and walked towards the bakery, where Gisla was still standing in the threshold, holding the door open. She quickly ducked out of the way, letting Astrid past her. The others who had witnessed the confrontation began to move forward as well, falling back into a line, shuffling inside the shop.
Hrothgar stewed in his fury, his eyes cast downwards. He drew breath slowly, but his heart did not slow. Someone tapped Hrothgar on the shoulder. He turned, and Leif was giving him a measured glare. “You’re being reckless,” he growled.
“Why should they get everything for free, while we work?” he asked, his anger at Astrid still painfully fresh.
“They keep us alive, Hrothgar,” Leif explained.
But Hrothgar didn’t believe that. He thought of Skogul and Ofbradh, growing up with first-hand stories from the Freezing, existing among the trash of the old world, surviving on the ancient ways. “The ancient ways will keep us alive, Leif. We do not need Bairns. We need boys.”
Leif grumbled something unintelligible, moving away from Hrothgar slowly. Hrothgar watched his retreating back, still fuming. Once he had eaten, he would find Edda. He would demand she tell him what was in the runes. He would make a plan with her. He would keep her as his woman, no matter what Leif said. No matter what Astrid said.
He waited until Astrid came out of the bakery before he made a move to go inside himself. She slid past him as if he didn’t exist.
(Find previous chapters and a description of the project here.)
Freya drove the ram for most of the day, moving slowly through the accumulating snow along the decrepit roadway. Out the window of the ram, Edda watched the river gliding, and the trees swaying. The spirits talked over one another. She tuned them out.
“You will need to stay calm, Edda,” Sif instructed. “It takes a great amount of wild magic to turn the Waters.”
Edda nodded. “I can hold a great amount,” she replied, feeling nervous. The warnings from the spirits grew loud for a moment before they quieted each other.
“Maybe so,” Sif answered, as if that didn’t matter. “So could Mjoll. But holding the wild magic isn’t the same as using it.”
“I have used the wild magic before, Sif,” Edda countered. “And I will have you, and Freya, with me,” she said sweetly. She smiled almost shyly at her sister, knowing she would like the gesture. She felt the pull of Sif’s attraction to her. It made her want to lean her face against Sif’s neck.
Sif’s eyes sparkled for a moment. “I could be better to you than Hrothgar was,” Sif whispered, taking her hand.
Edda gently pulled her hand away. “But I don’t want you, Sif,” she said tenderly. “I want Hrothgar.”
Sif frowned, and Freya cleared her throat. “You can’t have Hrothgar,” Freya explained evenly. “We’ve told you that. You must give him up.”
“I know,” Edda said, although inside her own mind she disagreed. She wondered if her sisters knew she was lying.
When the sun started to sink low, Edda saw in the distance an enormous wall, gray and unnaturally huge against the landscape. Freya slowed the ram as they approached. The snow was not thick on the ground here. Edda could see only a dusting of white flakes across the grass.
Freya pulled off the road into an open field. A large building sat between the lot and the large wall. The sound of the river seemed almost too quiet. The Bairns exited the ram, Ama clamoring out of the back of the wagon without waiting for one of her sisters to open the wagon’s end. Edda pulsed with energy, anticipation, anxiety. She felt the currents of wild magic here. Wild magic had kept the Waters running smoothly since the Freezing. There were traces of it everywhere.
“What does it do?” she asked, wondering if any of them knew how the Waters worked. “How does it make the power?”
Ama shrugged and Freya shook her head. Sif licked her lips before answering. “Tame magic,” was all she said.
Sif took the lead, moving with purpose towards the structure before them. Freya and Ama followed her. Edda brought up the rear. Her sisters called the wild magic. Edda watched as the color melted from their hair, leaving their locks eerily white. She called the wild magic too and imagined what Hrothgar would say about her white hair and white eyes. The spirits chided her. Forget him!…Edda, leave him…You will never be his now…Hrothgar will not have you! She ignored them, and her hand drifted to the white stone with her true name. She grasped it as she moved, feeling the weight of it in her hand, running her thumb over the runes burned into it. Hrothgar would never know this name. The thought bothered her, though she didn’t have words to explain why.
Inside the structure it was dark, and a high-pitched whining filled the air, along with the sound of rushing water. Ama sent the wild magic upwards, to light fires inside the glasses above them. The light drew Edda’s eyes. She scanned the ceiling, broken and crumbling, and yet alive with the tame magic. The tame magic always inspired such awe in her. She often wondered how the people before the Freezing had discovered it. How did they make these huge metal buildings? What was plastic? How did they capture light inside a glass? Edda pulled her gaze away from the lights.
On the floor before them, lined up in a long row, were cylinders, each topped with a glass. They hummed. Edda looked to Sif and Freya. They were holding the wild magic, glowing. Sif looked like she would burst from the light within her. Edda called the wild magic to her, letting it fill her to bursting. It moved along her limbs. She felt its power and its warmth. She wanted to fall into its stream, but she remembered Sif’s tears when they had mentioned Ulfrun. She let go of her longing.
Sif moved forward, towards a metal box several paces apart from the line of cylinders. Freya moved behind her. Edda watched as the two of them placed their hands on the box, releasing the wild magic. A grinding, clanking noise emanated from the box. Ama looked over her shoulder at Edda, then nodded her head in the direction of the box. Edda moved forward slowly. The wild magic danced through her. She placed her hands on the box too. She felt it humming with life, filled with the power of the wild magic. She emptied herself, drained by the flow of power leaving her body. Freya’s hair darkened as she slumped against the box. Sif was still a conduit. Something inside the box started to move. It sounded almost like the ram. Edda could feel the last of the wild magic leaving her. She pushed it forward, downward, inward. The sounds from inside the box heightened. She lost her thoughts for a moment, her eyes swimming with dark dots. She laid her head against Freya’s back.
Finally, Sif dropped her hands from the box. Edda peered at her. Freya stirred underneath her head, and she lifted it slowly. Sif was panting as she stepped back from the box. She wore a satisfied smile, though her brow was beaded with sweat. Her eyes went across the room, and she raised a hand, pointing in the direction of the cylinders.
Edda turned, feeling sluggish. All the glasses atop the cylinders were blinking steadily. She turned back to Sif holding onto Freya’s arm as she finally rose from where she had laid against the box. “How long will it last?” Edda asked, itching to cast her stones again.
Freya shrugged, gasping. “Pray it is long enough to learn to live without it.”
Ama came forward, drawing Freya into her arms. Freya moved tenderly, the way a woman did after giving birth. Edda followed them, reaching out for Sif’s hand to steady her. Sif snaked an arm around her waist, and hoisted Edda’s arm over her shoulders. Edda’s feet felt leaden. She could barely lift them from the floor. The sound of her dragging her boots filled her ears.
“You did well,” Sif whispered, her lips brushing against her ear. “You are powerful,” she continued. “You frighten me.”
Edda smiled. This was high praise from a Bairn. “And you frighten me, sister,” she croaked, feeling the swell of pride in her chest.
When they reached the ram, Freya looked like she had recovered her strength, though she was beaded with sweat. “I’ll ride in the wagon,” she offered. “Ama will drive.” Sif lowered the gate of the wagon, and Ama helped Freya climb inside. She closed her eyes almost immediately. Ama scooted along the bench in the front compartment. Sif took the middle and Edda slid in beside her. The ram rolled down the broken roadway. Edda rested her head against Sif’s shoulder and closed her eyes.
Hrothgar blinked when the tame magic came alive. His piece of tame magic, a glass for light, held high on a pole, flickered once, twice, then stayed lit. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He had left it on the night before, thinking ahead for if Edda had not let him stay with her. It was not lit when he returned from the smithy, and he had neglected to turn it off. He rose from his pallet and rotated the plastic stick to extinguish the light in the glass. He stretched and went to the window, pulling back the curtain. There was a pristine blanket of snow on the ground. He dropped the curtain, yawning again as he laid down on the pallet once more.
Tired as he was, his mind wandered. He thought of Edda and the other Bairns, stuffed onto the bench of the ram, driving through the dark and the snow from the Waters to Soledge. He wondered if they slept at all. He wondered what they would eat. He wondered what it would be like to use the wild magic as they did.
The thought made him go cold and fear slithered through him. He wondered if the spirits heard his thoughts. It seemed silly, though, after he took a moment to think it through. The spirits were not interested in men. He couldn’t see any reason the spirits would be listening to him.
There was a soft scraping noise coming from outside his window. Frowning in confusion, he rose from the pallet, and pulled back the curtain again. He watched the ram slide up the road, crunching the snow as it moved. Its lights were visible long after it passed, two red eyes in the night. He watched until he couldn’t see them anymore.
He dropped the curtain, leaning against the window, his mind full of nothing.
The sound of footfalls in the snow drew his attention. He listened as whoever it was approached the house. They were at his threshold. Slowly, the doorknob turned. He held his breath, too unnerved to move. The door opened and he saw the white cloak of a Bairn. A blast of cold air hit him as he sucked in his breath, backing away from the figure. She pulled the hood back from her face. Edda shook her hair, and her eyes drifted towards him, finding him in the darkness.
“Edda,” he whispered, fear climbing his throat, heart beating wildly. He stared at her, wanting her, wanting her to go away, wondering what she was doing here. “I should send you away,” he said thickly.
She untied the laces at her neck, letting the white cloak melt from her shoulders. She came towards him, the sound of her unsteady breathing raising his hair on end. Hrothgar held his ground, refusing to retreat from her, though she rippled and glowed with the wild magic. When she was upon him, her nose nearly touching his own, she closed her eyes and turned her mouth upwards. Hrothgar couldn’t resist her. He bent his head, kissing her mouth. She was soft, but he tingled as he kissed her. He wondered if that’s how the wild magic felt inside her. His limbs were pulsing with something foreign, and he didn’t know if it was simply his adrenaline or the power Edda was holding.
He released her, and she opened her eyes slowly, sighing in contentment. “They tell me I can’t have you. They tell me I belong to the spirits now.”
Hrothgar wasn’t sure how he should reply. Edda had doubts, even on the morning before she became a Bairn. The fact that she was here now was proof that she was still uncertain. “Is that what you think?” he asked slowly. Leif’s and Ofbradh’s warnings were fresh in his mind, but he couldn’t deny his desire to find a way to hold onto Edda. If there was any way at all, he would try. He couldn’t stomach seeing her become like Sif. He knew she would be as powerful as Sif one day, and maybe just as wild as Ulfrun had been. She might one day even be the Skuld.
Edda didn’t answer his question with words. She kissed him again and this time, she reached her arms around his shoulders. Hrothgar put his hands on her, knowing he shouldn’t, knowing this was dangerous for her. The magic inside her slowly crept into him, until he felt that he would burst. Suddenly, he understood. No Bairn could belong to a man and the spirits without letting the man get a taste of the wild magic. And if the spirits were keeping men from using it, to the point where they were somehow keeping men from being born, then allowing them to access it through their woman made their exclusion complicated.
He pulled away from her. Her hair and her eyes had gone white. She smiled at him and reached for her rune stones. She seemed to hesitate, before she cast them. He glanced down at the stones, strewn across his pallet, watching as the wild magic burned them one by one. He didn’t know the runes. He couldn’t see them in the dark after the glow of red cooled to a soft black. He looked at Edda. In the darkness he could see her white eyes, wide with wonder. Her mouth hung open, and she seemed to shudder as she exhaled.
“I must see the Skuld,” she whispered hoarsely. She stooped to his pallet, hastily gathering up the rune stones, stuffing them hurriedly into the pouch at her belt.
“Edda,” he called to her as she returned to the place she had discarded her cloak. She didn’t reply. She hefted the cloak across her shoulders and tied the laces at her neck. Without looking at him, she rushed from his house. The sound of the door slamming pierced the stillness of the night. He went to the door, yanked it open and called after her. “Edda!” His voice carried across the emptiness. He could barely make out her form running down the road. The snow, her clothes, her white hair masked her. He shivered, returning to the darkness of the house.
He laid down on the pallet, but he couldn’t sleep. All he could think about was the fear he had seen in her eyes, wondering what she had read in the runes.
(Find previous chapters and description of the project here.)
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.
(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?”
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.”
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.
The Quick and the Dead 