Solrun opens the tent''s flap before I''d even had a chance to announce my presence, sizzling suspicion in her silver eyes reflecting the light of the setting sun.


    "What foul witch-work have you brought to my tentstep, o'' child of flames?" Solrun asks before lifting a carefully plucked and skillfully crooked brow at my wounds. What can be said of her mastery of strange skills and magical mysteries is nothing compared to her clear perfection of the arched-brow stare. "And what did you go through to bring it here?"


    "Oh, God," my jar grumbles, "another witch, I hate wit–" He cuts himself off with a squeak as bright blue power sparks behind Solrun''s eyes. I almost laugh until I realize with whom, exactly, her ire lies.


    "Keep your thrall in check, Halla Steinarsdottir," Solrun says, her wrinkles twisting down into a severe scowl, "else his words make enemies of friends."


    I nod, the scent of burning flesh faint on the wind, "I will remember that, Seeress, thank you."


    Solrun hums, "I hope you do."


    "But I''ve not come here for this," I give the jar a jostle, which draws a yelp from the dweller, "I come here regarding my father, Steinarr."


    Solrun''s lips thin, "I see." She turns, gesturing for me to follow, "Come in, I''ll have Kolla prepare a kettle."


    A kettle? Tea, now of all times, when my father''s sanity hangs in the balance? No, this cannot be. I''m tempted to raise my voice, to cut her off at the pass, yet hold my tongue. There are few worse times to make an enemy of a Seeress than when you are in desperate need of her aid.


    "Wise-woman, please," I can swallow my pride for this at least, "Steinarr, Dad, his heart devours his mind. He needs your help, and quickly."


    Solrun stands in silence for a single heartbeat, her eyes tracing my face in search of any hint of deceit. Finding none, she nods.


    "Kolla, the raven''s shape-cloak," Solrun snaps her fingers, her daughter manifesting from the shadows with a cloak of raven''s feathers held in hand, "Symptoms," she demands of me as she wraps the cloak about her shoulders and strides forth from the tent.


    I follow in her wake, explaining Dad''s troubles as we walk. With every word I speak, Solrun whistles in time and a pair of ravens—each thick and heavy with spiritual might—carry tools and medicine to her hands. Each new item disappears between the folds of her cloak, vanishing into some space between worlds.


    "Stay close," Solrun says as I finish, her arm spread wide and welcoming. I answer her call and her arm wraps around my shoulders, engulfing me in the raven''s feathers for but an instant before the world twists.


    Time, space, and all that is in and out lose meaning beneath the weight of raven''s feathers. Glimpses of pumping wings, cawing calls, and the wide-open skies are all that remain.


    The world untwists and I find myself collapsing against the ground. Head spinning, I clutch at the earth like a newborn babe does its mother''s teat as I struggle not to vomit.


    Eyes screwed shut and ears ringing with a most dreadful tune, I scarcely hear Solrun''s words, "Let loose your lunch, child, you''ll feel better afterwards."


    I do so, swiftly painting the ground with my stomach''s contents. She spoke the truth, though not nearly as much as I''d hoped. For how long I lay there I know not, only that at some point the ringing stops and my eyes can open once more.


    "God be good," my jar groans as consciousness returns to me, "what the fuck happened? And where are we?"


    "Don''t know," I answer with a cough, breath hard to come by as I sit upright. Casting a glance around my surroundings, I''m treated to a most welcome sight, "but we''re home."


    Stolen story; please report.


    "Which is?"


    "Einhollstad, the east-most Hading-farm."


    "Einhollstad? But that''s... Christ Almighty, that''s where Steinarr Freedfire lives!" My jar swears by the God of the Christians, which is odd, but his words draw a chuckle from my lips nevertheless.


    "He''s my dad, you know," I crack a grin at the sudden, drawn out silence broken only by a hasty prayer.


    "Heavenly Father, deliver me from this ill-fated doom."


    So my jar is a Christian, is he? This is the perfect time to ask all those questions I''ve go– Dad!


    I leap to my feet, sudden realization striking harder than the Hammer of the Gods, and into motion in a single move. Bursting through two sets of doors, I''m met with my family gathered around Solrun as she carefully feeds a steaming brew to an upright Dad.


    Dad''s face stops me in my tracks. He''s up and awake, but his cheeks are gaunt and his skin is pale and waxy. Dad has always had a rather round face, one inherited by yours truly, so the sight of such clearly defined cheekbones draws me up short. His chapped and bloodied lips part as he slowly yet purposefully swallows mouthful of brew. The bitter taste reaches my tongue even at this distance, yet Dad swallows it dutifully and without even a hint of a twitch upon his face.


    That is, until his eyes fall upon me—me and the blood on my body.


    Dad coughs, a mist of bitter brew spraying from his lips as he hacks and wheezes, eyes wide with worry as he tries to force himself to his feet, "H-Halla?!"


    "Be calm!" A verbal whip cracks as power surges through the house, rattling wall-bound tools and shaking dust from the rafters as Solrun''s words carve themselves into the air in letters of brilliant blue. They hang there effortlessly, as if suspended from the ceiling by impossibly thin strands of string.


    The spell does its work, for Dad''s eyes mist over and his breathing evens out. Solrun guides him back into a resting pose before handing the brew off to Mother and turning to address the family.


    "My work here is nearly complete," Solrun begins as the family collectively sucks in a breath, one that''s soon released with her next words, "Steinarr is nearly cured of his condition."


    "Wh-what was wrong with him?" Asva steps forward, her fingers working themselves into knots as she stares at Dad''s now sleeping form.


    Solrun hums, "A difficult question to answer, I''m afraid, as I lack all the details. What I can tell you is that a spirit, a dead man''s ghost, was able to slip past Steinarr''s fylgja and make it into his heart, where it proceeded to make mayhem. The spirit was foreign in origin, from an arid, distant land, which may have been how it was able to avoid the fylgja. Though," Solrun frowns as she continues, "I suspect there were other elements in play. Upon probing his soul''s defenses, I discovered that they are in quite dire straits. With how belabored his fylgja was, I fear it was only a matter of time until Steinarr succumbed."


    “So,” Asva continues, lips twitching into uncertain frowns, “it was just a spirit, then? And not his mind failing him?”


    Solrun’s lips thin, “This time, yes, it was ‘just’ a spirit.”


    “This time?” I find myself asking a question I fear the answer to.


    “Should a Speaker of the Law live long enough to grow gray in the hair, either his body or his mind will begin to fail him. This, tragically, is an inevitable process,” Solrun’s face twitches as she says ‘inevitable’, like she’s not entirely convinced of that herself. “There are ways to delay and stave it off, but there are no permanent solutions.”


    "You said his defenses are in dire straits, meaning you were unable to fix them?" Mother asks as she carefully administers the last of the brew. Though Mother knows many spells and incantations, only a Seer knows the full extent of the soul.


    "What I did was little more than a stop-gap measure. It will fail in time unless we discover and solve the root cause of this issue."


    Mother stands up, the brew bowl empty, and addresses Solrun with her full attention, eyes alight with fierce, fiery determination—a determination I know all too well, for I see it in my reflection every day. "What can we do to help?"


    Solrun nods, accepting Mother’s conviction, "Inner turmoil is often the primary cause of weakness in a soul''s defenses. Cast your thoughts into the past, consider what might have eaten away at Steinarr''s mind until he couldn''t take it anymore. There, we shall have one half of the equation."


    The other half, of course, being the solution.


    I grimace, not needing much time at all to realize the root of Dad''s problems. After all, it''s splattered all over my body.


    "It''s me." My voice cuts through the room like the work of a well-honed sword. All eyes fall to me as I gather my courage and stand as tall as I can, "I… I''m the reason."