Frigg digs the hole, and together we bury Sýr. We smooth the dirt with our bare hands, crying and leaning on each other, and afterward we sit beside her grave for two days. We don’t eat or sleep.

Finally, we get up and say goodbye, though neither of us wants to leave her.

Frigg turns to me. “Bring her back, Ru, please,” she pleads. “Use the stone.”

“I can’t now,” I say. “I don’t know how. But I will. One day I will.”

The villagers have let us be, and from a distance I have kept watch over them. I will cast spells to supply them with fish and bread and whatever they need. I have heard some of them sending off their dead loved ones with parties. The mead is flowing. They are healing. People need to move forward, as I do. But without Sýr I feel untethered.

“Now I am alone,” I say to Frigg.

“No,” she replies. “I am here. Before Sýr left for moonwater, I promised her I would look after you always. You are my sister now, as you would have been if…I had married her as I intended.” She pauses a moment to steady herself. “We wanted to leave. We were going to take you, as Sýr always said you longed to journey, to sail and see the world. Now she is free, at least.”

We clasp hands and then embrace, and I know what Frigg says is true. I promise that I will return, and Frigg vows to watch over the clan while I am gone. She will be my new guiding light, drawing me back to my home.

Once I am alone again in my little dwelling, surrounded by the things I used to share with Sýr, I know that I no longer belong here. It is too small a life now to contain me and everything I am capable of. I must go. I must honor Sýr by leaving. I know where I am going, but I need something first.

I stand outside Amma’s hut for a while, trying to muster the courage to enter. Her home had been partly burned down in the siege and now, stepping over the threshold, it feels sacred. It’s like being inside a secret only my amma and I know.

Much of her beloved scrolls and belongings were destroyed, but there’s one thing I came for. Picking through the charred wood, I make my way to the hearth and brush off a pile of ash. It’s here. Amma’s special scroll. The one that maps all the waters of the known world. How long I have admired it, coveted it, and dreamed of using it to sail away.

With trembling fingers, I pick it up and unroll it to see that it is still intact and readable. Holding it feels like a gift.

“Amma,” I say, “I will bring you with me. Maybe I will find the next great land.”

It will be hard to leave the place that reminds me of my family, but I must.

Father has not returned, and there is still no sign of him or his sailing party. I know in my heart that he is alive, because I saw it in a vision. I saw my raven, Núna, flying through a storm, the ring I placed on her foot dropping into the ocean. I saw my father’s ship floating aimless and lost in the desolation of the great fog. I saw him aboard, starving but alive. He hauled in a fishing net but found nothing to eat. A trinket caught his eye. The ring. I know he recognized it, for it is the ring he gave to my mother. I believe I will find him somewhere on my journey. There is still hope.

But before I leave, I need to find Oski.

Taking the moonstone out of its pouch, I place it on the ground in front of me and cast my runes around it.

“Take me to the Valkyrie,” I say.

The room floods with red light. Gone is the swirling white confusion of my past experiences. I feel in control now, and I can see around me with clarity. There are many paths snaking out from this one, some stretching into the future and some stretching into the past. There are pathways running parallel to me. When I look into them I see myself as if in a mirror, except the image is different. I wonder how many variations of me exist through time? How many lifetimes could I live?

“Oski,” I say, and the name echoes throughout the time-lines until one from the distant past aligns and I see all the way to end of it, like a drawing of light at the bottom of a well.

I move forward, and in a rush of red light I find Oski standing alone on a green hill beside the golden lake. I reach out my hand, and they take it.

“Home,” I say, pulling Oski with me, and I see myself sitting in my dwelling with my runes and the moonstone before me. We move forward, and now we are back in my room.

Oski is shaken. This Valkyrie, once mighty, seems vulnerable as they look around in confusion. I stoop to gather my runes and the moonstone, and they step back to make space for me.

“I have brought you back,” I say. “Shouldn’t you thank me?” The anger drips from my voice, and I struggle to contain it. When I’m mad the stone grows hot, and I don’t know what it will do.

“Runa,” Oski says. “I am sorry. I did what I was fated to do.”

I walk outside, desperate for the sun and the openness and the sea wind on my face. Oski follows me.

I turn to them. “But how could you lie to me? We had an oath.”

“I’m sorry. I upheld our oath. I helped you to moonwater. I wanted to keep you safe. And when we started our journey, I didn’t know you. And now I love you,” they add.

I don’t want this to soften my heart, but it does. “I understand,” I say at last.

“You are the human family I have always longed for. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I may,” I say, trying to suppress a grin. “But you owe me.”

Oski laughs. “Of course, runecaster. Forever.”

We sit in the sunlight, our legs dangling over the cliff. The ocean is calm and clear. The endlessness of it grows inside me.

Oski asks what they must, for they know me well. “When will you be leaving us?”

I sigh. “Now,” I say. “I must find Odin.” I don’t reveal my true plans, but something tells me they know.

“You mean to return it?” Oski asks. “Dangerous journey. Maybe you need a former Valkyrie to come?”

“No,” I say, my voice firm. “Please, will you make another oath?”

Oski nods. “Anything.”

“Stay here,” I say. “And protect Frigg and my clan until I return, or until my father does. I know he is alive. And my raven, Núna. Please feed her worms when she comes home.”

“I will,” they say, unsheathing their sword. “In the name of Chooser of the Slain, I vow it.”

“Thank you,” I say, and we sit in silence for a long while.

I take a final breath of the salt air and rise. I have my moonstone, my runes and my spear. I need nothing else.

“What about Einar?” Oski asks. “I don’t even know if he is alive.”

“He is well,” I say. “Rebuilding. Which is what you need to do while I am gone. I have cast spells to sustain the clan in my absence. If you need me, I will know.”

I turn to go, this time planning to walk westward to the wilder shores to secure a ship.

“And Einar?” Oski asks as I walk away. “If he needs you?”

I turn back. “Tell Einar…” I trail off, thinking. “Tell him I couldn’t wait.”

Oski nods, a sad look on their face.

“But tell him there will be time for us,” I say.

As I set off alone, with Oski watching over my home, I think about Einar and how disappointed he will be when he finds out I am gone. My choice isn’t to abandon him. My choice is to live for something bigger than myself. Something bigger than our love.

I walk, my feet toughened by so many miles, so many days, of journeying. It feels right to be moving again, to be leaving this past behind me and forging headlong into an unknown future. Time itself is always moving, and I must move with it.

If I had to choose a time to live in forever, then I would choose the one that is closest to my heart. I’d choose the one with my sister in it. I’d choose my amma. My friends. My love.

But time is slippery. It does not stay the same. I can only watch it flow like a fast-flowing river trapped under a glacier. I cannot control its direction. Not yet. One day I will unlock the secrets of time, and I will find a way to defeat death itself. If it takes a thousand lifetimes, I will find a way.

The horizon glows blue and gold, and I know that somewhere on the open water I will meet my destiny. Through the wisps of cloud that dot the sky, a lone bird flies. Its path is aligned with mine, and it cries out to me in a raven’s voice. I watch its black wings, furious shadows that beat away the past, as it it soars into the sunlight of a new day.

Stay with me.