We press on along the coastline, day turning to afternoon and afternoon to night. It’s getting harder to tell the difference, with the red moon hanging so low overhead. It’s a constant reminder of the threat we’re under. We are running out of time to save my sister. Despite our need for haste, we are walking slower than ever. I feel weak, and Einar and Oski carry everything but my spear and my runes for me. The farther northward we walk, the more bitter the cold is, and we are blasted on one side by the giant waves and spray of the ocean.

Einar throws a heavy arm across my shoulders and sidles in closer to me as we walk. “Don’t go near the water,” he says. “As Oksi warned us, the ocean here has been known to steal people. And I’m not going to let it steal you.”

We go as far as we can before I have to stop. I am near collapse and Einar is exhausted. I think Oski could walk for eternity, if they weren’t always hungry. We stop to make camp in the dark, the three of us settling in among the ruins.

I’m so tired. I can feel Katla in everything I do, as if she is connected to me, but I cannot feel Sýr. I fear she may be gone. No, I can’t think like that. If Sýr were dead, I would know it. I think about how, when I was in the marbendill’s cave for so long, Einar said he knew that I was okay. He felt it. In my soul I know that Sýr still lives.

The ruins are a barren, desolate place. A place where hope would come to perish. There is nothing alive to be found here, only snow and ice and rock.

“Runecaster,” Oski says, breaking through my dark mood. “Look at the sky.”

Undulating bands of green light shimmer across the night sky. The great lights of moonwater. They have appeared at last. We are heading in the right direction.

“Thank you,” I whisper to my runes.

Our camp for the night is on a bed of stone with a crumbling high wall for shelter. We don’t bother trying to get comfortable. There is no point. We simply curl up in our cloaks and try to sleep. But it doesn’t come easy for me.

I look over at Einar’s dark figure leaning against the rock. My chest tightens. If Katla comes for us here, it may be the end of us. I care less about my own survival than I do about my friends making it through this alive.

I sleep for a little while and then jolt awake when I hear Oski and Einar talking.

“If you’re a Valkyrie, why can’t you decide who lives and who dies?” Einar asks, an edge of irritation in his voice. “Why can’t you choose to save her?”

“I have no more power over who lives and dies than you do,” says Oski. “I am here because Runa is the future. This I know. I am no longer a Valkyrie. I gave that up when I turned my back on Odin. And I will not return.”

“You gave it all up for Wyrd. And now you are helping Runa on her quest? Why?” Einar asks.

“Listen, boy. I don’t need to tell all of my secrets to you. Just know that I will continue protecting the runecaster as long as I have to.”

“But—” Einar begins.

“Stop,” I say. “I can hear you.”

“Sorry,” Einar says. “Try to sleep.”

“Wait. Do you hear that too?” Oski asks.

“No,” I say. “I can’t hear anything over your bickering. What is it?”

“A howling,” Oski says. “Wait for it.”

We listen, and all the night’s sounds ring in my ears. The wind and the surf pounding, the water dripping from the ruins. A plaintive wail cuts through the night, a sound like an animal in pain or hungry or disturbed.

We creep on our bellies to the edge of the wall, keeping the largest part of the broken castle to our backs, and look out into the dark night. The moon illuminates the ground below in red relief, the fog glowing red as blood.

“Is that a valley-sneak, or is it some other kind of magic?” Einar asks.

My runes chatter, and I place a hand on my pouch to quiet them. They are so much more sensitive than my old set.

“Magic,” I say. “Dark magic.”

“She comes,” says Einar. “The witch.”

The night is alight with scores of glowing eyes in the fog. They draw nearer.

“Skoffins,” Oski says. “What do we do?”

“We cannot get close to them without risking looking into their eyes,” says Einar. “I can try to hold them off with poison darts.” He dips several sliver-like darts into the small jar of green liquid Píla gave him at the tavern. Then he pulls out a tube that he loads the darts into.

“Wait,” I say. “Have you had this the whole time?”

He nods. “I don’t like to use it unless I have to.”

“The elf doesn’t have the stomach for killing things,” Oski mutters. “I do.” They unsheath their glinting sword.

Einar places the blow pipe to his lips. He takes a breath and shoots a dart out into the night.

There is a yelp, and one pair of eyes extinguishes. More appear.

“There are too many,” I say, standing.

“What are you doing?” Einar hisses, trying to tug me back down.

“It’s me they want,” I say.

“It’s you we need,” he counters.

“If anyone should go, it’s me,” says Oski. “I’m useless.”

“No,” I say. “Stay here and be safe. I know what I need to do.” I search my pack for what I’m looking for and grab it.

“Guide me,” I whisper to my runes.

I close my eyes, my runes creating a path before me in my mind. I can see where to step, for it’s as if night has turned to day.

There are the skoffins, at least a dozen of them, all slavering and yipping, nasty things with Katla’s yellow eyes. They draw nearer to me as I advance.

I want them close enough to tear my flesh. Close enough to try to kill me should I open my eyes. But I will not. My runes are my eyes.

I will not let them kill my friends.

I move beyond the protection of the ruins and into the open ground. The skoffins draw closer to me, and closer still, until they are a few arms’ lengths away and ready to strike.

“SEE YOURSELF, WITCH!” I scream.

I pop open the vial of reflecting powder and spray it in an arc in front of me. It’s the substance Orð warned me about back at the great library. It feels like I’ve lived several lives since I filled my bag with Sýr’s tinctures and potions, and I am full of glee at knowing my beloved sister has had a part in the undoing of Katla’s vile creatures.

The shiny powder plumes outward and upward in a shimmering rainbow. The skoffins all freeze, transfixed by their own despicable images. They squeal and wither one by one.

“Thank you, Sýr,” I whisper, opening my eyes. We are rid of the skoffins and safe once more.

I return to the ruins, and when I climb back to the crumbling wall where my friends wait, Einar grabs me and crushes me in an embrace.

“Crazy runecaster!” Oski scolds.

“You could have been killed,” Einar says before releasing me.

I place the empty vial in his hand. “A little help from my sister.”

“Did she give you anything else to help us?” Oski asks. “Because we will need it. Look.”

This time there are no eyes. No skoffins. This time the field below us creeps with ghosts. There are so many that it’s hard to distinguish between them and the fog around them. Some are large, the ghosts of giants past. Some look as if they are fresh from the grave, with bits of flesh hanging from them and their intestines spilling out. Some wail in a tone that feels like a thorn working its way into my mind.

“They’ll drive us insane.” Oski sounds panicked.

“It’s okay. We need to stay calm,” I say.

“I don’t like ghosts,” says Oski. “I had a friend once. A ghost took a liking to him. That ghost has haunted his children, and his children’s children, and his children’s children’s—”

“Enough,” says Einar. “We have to think. What can we offer them?”

“These aren’t regular ghosts,” I say. “These are Katla’s servants. Daylight will destroy a ghost, but it’s at least two hours until dawn.”

“We won’t last that long,” Einar says.

I have an idea. “Maybe, with your help, I can create some false light, enough to keep them at bay and to use as a shield so we can flee to safety.”

We gather our weapons and begin sneaking to the far side of the ruins, where we can slip through to the ground once the ghosts are distracted.

When we are in position, I whisper to my runes, “Give me the power of Sól.” They glow in response, ready to do my bidding.

I look at Oski and Einar. “Now I need you both to concentrate. You need to think of something happy or something that reminds you of the best day of your life. The essence of your positive energy will help brighten the dark.”

“How can I do that when I’m afraid?” asks Einar.

“All I can think of are those ghosts,” says Oski.

“Ignore them,” I say. “Close your eyes. Reach down deep inside your feelings. Uncover who you are. Your dreams. Your desires. Hold those thoughts and do not stop.”

“The ghosts will find us,” Oski says. “They are attracted to our life energy.”

“So then why are we making the energy if they are trying to find it?” Einar asks.

“It’s also the way we protect ourselves,” I say.

Einar laughs, but it sounds sad. “The way my life is going,” he says, “it seems like the thing I need is the thing that will be my undoing.”

I take his hand and he lets out a shaking breath. “All you have to do is trust me,” I say. “I will get you through this.”

Einar nods and squeezes my hand.

“And me as well, já?” asks Oski. “You’re not planning on sacrificing me, are you?”

I look at Oski and take their hand too. “Try not to worry so much, Valkyrie. I’d never leave you.”

“Then hurry up, runecaster,” they say. “I haven’t lived this long just to be slain by a ghost.”

“Sól,” I say. My runes radiate like stars. Oski and Einar are concentrating hard, and I can feel their energies flowing through me. Oski’s is cool and old and furious. Einar’s is warm and young and loving.

I see Sýr in my mind. I see her helping me sleep at night. I see Amma, and Núna, and my father somewhere out on the open sea. I see Oski, and the light my runes cast brightens.

I think of Einar, and it bursts upward in a wave. It’s dazzling. The sky goes blue and bright, as bright as true daylight. I can feel the heat of a midday sun radiating through me. It’s the light that brings life, that grows everything green and new and pure, and that cuts through all darkness. I am life and nothing dead can harm me. The ghosts scream as the intensity of our combined light snuffs them out into wisps of yellow smoke.

We hurry on in the false daylight we’ve created, following the great green lights in the sky as they dance. We draw closer, and the lights grow brighter and taller. At last the real sun rises, and we reach the boundary of what we’ve been looking for.

Moonwater. We made it.