The white fog is so disorienting that I don’t know which way to go. Oski and Einar are nowhere. I stretch out my arms and feel nothing but cool, misty air. There is no sound, save for the pounding of my own heart and the clacking of my runes as they chatter in their pouch.

Which way? What if I can’t get into moonwater? What if I’m not worthy? How will I free Sýr then? I push down my rising panic. I have to say calm.

I still myself and place my hands on my runes, holding them close to my chest. I breathe in, then out, and I focus on the sensation of being in this moment, right now.

“I’m here, Sýr,” I say. “Help me find my way.”

Runa. I hear Sýr’s voice in the fog. I turn in its direction, and I see a faint flicker. Drawing closer, I see that it is a lone moth, aflame and flitting around in a frenzy.

I reach out and cup it in my hands, snuffing the flames. When I open them, there is nothing but a smear of ash.

Runa. Her voice again. Farther along is another flaming moth. I follow this trail of burning moths, catching each one, until I reach an area where the fog clears.

The moths are gone now.

“Sýr?” I call out.

Runa. I’m here. Her voice comes to me again, and when I step forward I see a shining, reflective surface in front of me. It’s like a door made from thin ice, surrounded on all sides by brilliant light. I don’t see any handle, and when I approach and touch it, the surface is so cold that I draw back my hand in pain.

I look at my palm, and the flesh is burned from cold. I breathe on it and try to warm it, but the cold is sinking deeper into my flesh, traveling to my wrist and threatening to claim my arm.

“Sýr!” I call out again.

The reflective ice door ripples and emits a warbling sound. A faint image appears, clothed in a hooded cloak. It looks like Sýr and sounds like her. The image moves toward me, and as it draws closer my heart almost stops in my chest.

It’s my mother.

The cold in my wrist is now in my forearm, and I struggle to reach my hand out to the image.

“Mother?” I ask. Is this one of Katla’s tricks?

But it can’t be. Because the figure in the ice door before me has warm eyes, like Sýr’s, and beautiful tanned skin and black hair that is so familiar I feel like I am home.

“Runa,” she says. I realize it must have been her voice I heard when I was in the marbendill’s cave. “I’ve been waiting so long, my love.”

“Mother, how can this be?” I choke out through my tears.

“You must pass the test, child of mine.” She opens her cloak to reveal a bright blue stone. It’s the moonstone.

“What test? How?” I ask.

She takes the stone and whispers to it, and it glows a more brilliant blue.

“What will you do with the power, Runa? Such incredible power.”

The stone floats beyond the ice door and toward me, then stops and hovers in the air.

“All you must do is take it,” my mother says. “And it will be yours.”

“Mine?” The blue moonstone has me transfixed. It’s as if I can see in it everything I’ve ever wanted. I would be beautiful and strong and free to roam wherever I wished. I could make anyone love me.

“Yes, Runa. Yours. To make yourself into what you’ve always dreamed.”

My mother’s image dissolves and my own takes its place. My wild white hair, my strange eyes, made even stranger by being different colors now, my weak, shaking body. That image fades and a more powerful image of myself appears. Taller, more muscular, with dark hair and green eyes like Sýr’s. Like my mother’s.

My mother’s face comes back again. “Take it,” says Mother, “and you will have everything you’ve dreamed of.”

The blue stone pulses. The coldness in my arm has reached my chest, and it feels like soon I won’t be able to breathe.

“Yes,” I say, my voice weak.

I want to be rid of my old self. To be new and to be special. To have unlimited power.

“Choose,” Mother says, and her image fades for a moment. Behind her I see the faces of my sister and my friends. I see Oski and Einar, frozen in place.

Choose. Power for myself. Or power to help the ones I love. Me or them.

I feel the cold clutch around my heart. No. I don’t want anything if I can’t have it with them. I choose Sýr. I choose Oski. I choose Einar.

I step back from the stone, and it stops pulsing.

“I choose love,” I say, and the stone disappears.

Mother smiles, tears falling from her eyes. “My child,” she says. “My Runa.”

“Mother!” I reach for her, but her image fades, and cracks appear in the ice door. “No! Wait!”

“You are the dream I had for myself,” she says.

“Mother, please! Don’t leave me again,” I beg.

“We’ll meet again,” she says, her voice far away now. “In your dreams.”

The ice shatters, and she is gone.

The door is open now, and I can see a dim corridor on the other side that leads, no doubt, to moonwater.

I stifle a sob and wipe my face. I made my choice. Now I have to see it through.

I step over the threshold, and the terrible cold that had permeated my body disappears. I look behind me, and the doorway has disappeared. All that remains is a stone wall. I move along the corridor, noting that the walls look like they’ve been here for hundreds of years, though moonwater is not a permanent place.

I come to the end, to a simple, unassuming wooden door, and push it open.

I’m here, at last, in the bustling center of moonwater. I step inside, and all around me are the sights and smells of the marketplace.

Tents and stalls. Sword makers. Magic-tool makers. Animals. Food. Entertainment. Drink. Candle shops. Oils. Herbs. Trinkets. Fortunes being told. Fights breaking out. Lovers. No children, as they aren’t allowed. No elves or other supernatural creatures. No Oski or Einar that I can see, but I don’t know if they got in. I don’t know how Katla can get in here, but if she’s possessing mortals, and possessing Sýr as we suspect, then maybe she will find a way.

My body tells me Sýr is here. And the moths I saw do too. It’s not a huge place, so I’ll have to be careful, but maybe I’ll find Sýr without too much trouble. I see that the green lights form a dome over moonwater, and the temporary city itself is a big circle. Around the perimeter of the marketplace are makeshift taverns and boardinghouses. The casting circle where the competition takes place will be in the center, as will the sacred moonwater reflecting pool. I walk that way, weaving through the crowd of people buying and selling.

When I arrive, the casting circle is empty. It’s much smaller than I imagined it to be. In my mind I had envisioned a huge battleground and a large, majestic pool of water. What I find is a simple dirt arena, surrounded on all sides by stone seats where the spectators and other casters will watch and wait. There is a row of elevated seats on one side, which is where the council of elders will watch. In front of their seats is a small basin about as big as a large cooking pot, forged from stone and rising from the earth. It shines with a reflecting water as still as the ice door that I entered through to get here. The sacred waters.

“Enchanting, isn’t it?” says a voice.

I whirl around.

“New arrival?” a haggard woman asks me. “Need food? Board? I have a place.”

“Uh, y-yes,” I stammer. “Please.”

“Good, good. I’m Vilný,” she says, reaching out a gnarled hand.

I grasp it. “Uh, hello. I’m…Gudrun,” I say, using my formal birth name. No one calls me this, and it’s a very common name on the island.

Vilný grunts. “This way,” she says and leads me from the casting circle to the outskirts of the marketplace. We arrive at a little shack that looks more like a stable for animals, but I’m so tired I don’t care.

“Competition begins tonight,” she says, “after the eclipse.” She points up, and I see the moon edging next to the sun. “I will bring some stew.”

“Thank you,” I say and then stare at her when she doesn’t leave.

“Oh!” I say. “Of course.” She wants to be paid. “How much?” I ask. “Wait. I don’t have any money.”

She grumbles to herself, then says, “Well, what have you got? I take trade. That spear is acceptable.”

I move it aside and place it down with my pack. “Not for trade,” I say. “I have jewels though.”

Vilný’s eyes light up. “Jewels I like.”

“One minute.”

I crouch by my pack and scoop a few pebbles from the floor. I feel bad for duping the woman, but I don’t have much choice.

I whisper to my runes, “Turn stone to gem, by the bounty of Freyja.” My runes clatter and glow, and the pebbles in my hand turn into sparkling, clear gems.

Standing, I turn back to Vilný. “Here,” I say. “Will this suffice?”

“Oh yes,” she says, grabbing the gems with shaking hands. “Pretty. I will bring a big bowl of stew.”

“Thank you,” I say as she retreats. I hope she trades them before they turn back to rocks.

As I settle onto a mound of dried grasses and blankets, I hear lumbering footsteps outside. I scuttle over to the shuttered window and peer out. Jötnar warriors. Several of them. Huge sentinels that would strike fear into the heart of anyone, but these Jötnar ones have a glazed look in their eyes, like walking puppets. Even so, if they are close by, that means Katla is too. And Sýr.

I must disguise myself. I gather my runes and cast them onto the dirt floor.

“Make me unrecognizable,” I say, invoking the rune of Hagall.

I watch as my hands wrinkle and wither and my skin turns a mottled color. The ends of my hair turn a dull gray, and I watch in awe as my belly protrudes. I hope this will be enough.

“What in Odin’s name!” Vilný walks back in and almost drops her stew. “Why do you look so different? You are the odd girl I rented the room to, yes? You have the same fancy cloak. And strange eyes.”

I look down. My clothes are not different. “Change,” I whisper, rubbing my hands on my cloak. It turns from its shiny black to a dull brown.

Vilný gasps. “Magic before the competition is not permitted.”

“Well,” I say, “won’t those gems, and the promise of more tomorrow, keep you quiet?”

“Oh,” she says, setting the stew beside me. “I think so, yes.”

The smell of it makes my mouth water, and I grab the bowl and start slurping.

“Hmm. Tasty, yes?” she asks. “Are you casting?”

“No,” I lie. “I’m watching. Learning.”

“Ah,” says Vilný. “Be careful.”

I look at her.

“Between you and me, I have heard tales of a witch,” she says.

I finish chewing a piece of meat before I respond. “A witch?” I ask.

“Nasty one,” says Vilný. “Snatching babies. Has the heart of a monster.”

“Well,” I say. “Perhaps she won’t get in?”

Vilný grunts. “There are already whispers of people going missing. Some say the witch changes her face.” She looks at me with suspicion.

“And you think that could be me?”

Vilný stammers. “N-no, I did not say so.”

I stand and walk over to her. I hold my hand out, offering another tiny jewel.

“Would a nasty witch give such lovely gifts?” I ask with a smile.

Vilný takes the gem. “Ah, I knew you were a good one.”

She collects my empty stew bowl and makes to leave.

“Vilný,” I say, and she turns back. “If you don’t disturb me, and you keep people from my door, I will give you three more tomorrow.”

“Three?” she asks.

I nod.

“Sleep well, good one. I will have porridge tomorrow.”

She leaves, and I lie on my sleeping pile. I must rest for a little bit, and then, when it is dark, I will look for Sýr. I will need to be careful, for it sounds like Katla is afoot. As much as I want to kill her, I need to get Sýr out first. If Oski and Einar got through and are here in moonwater, I hope they are safe.

I run my hand along my upper arm, gingerly touching our tattoo, and fall asleep with Einar’s golden eyes floating in my dreams.