Sif found he could not sleep on the hard floor, and was kept awake, dreamless, in the dark room.

In the morning, the door opened fully, and Dubhán stood over him, arrogant.

He kicked at Sif.

" It is done," he said. " Your people have been pardoned, for I have received what I needed from them. Aren't you pleased?"

" Indeed, I am," Sif responded as dryly as he could.

Dubhán did not seem amused by his attempt at humor, as he kicked him once more.

" Do not mock me," he snapped. " Your time has come to an end. Today I will free Silver Helna's body of you."

He grabbed Sif by the twine holding his wrists, and hoisted him up.

" Do not struggle," he said. " The twine of birch bark has sealed your power."

" You're a bastard," Sif said. " I fetch you that body and you make to kill me?"

" I can still change my mind about the pardoning of your worshippers," Dubhán said, dragging Sif behind him. " Make an effort to die gracefully."

Sif was horrified when Dubhán opened the door at the end of the hall, for it let out to the city center. Armed men were holding back crowds of crying people.

There, in the middle, stood a great beam of wood, upright. Around it was kindling.

" People of Híebard, of Hélna, of Cwge," Dubhán yelled, his voice projected unnaturally. " You have been deceived by this wicked creature, which has stolen your Lady Hélna's body and drove you to war."

Sif panicked, not because he was frightened that he might die, but that something worse than death was about to occur to him.

" No!" He cried, weakly kicking against Dubhán, who paid him no heed. " Don't tell them that! No! I'm Hélna! I'm Hélna!"

" Lord Calsar himself sent me, his grand inquisitor, to root out this evil- it is the malevolent ghost of an animal, a fiend cat!"

" No!"

" In order to free Lady Hélna's body from it, it must burn!"

Sif was overcome with fear; all he could do was scream. Everyone was looking at him; everyone would know. He was to die a fraud, besmirched, and none of his people would look upon his memory kindly; how could they, when an imposter walked in their midst?

Two of the soldiers wrestled him from Dubhán, and tied him to the beam, cursing at him as he struggled against them.

" I am Hélna! I am Hélna! I am Hélna!" he cried. " Save me! Rágn! Rágn! Yrnhold! Grandmother!"

He could hear nothing but the blood pounding in his ears, and Dubhán's proclamation.

" Do not pity it! For this monster was the one who killed Helna!" Dubhán said. " It stole her body, and drove out her soul! Think of it, and you will know this to be true!"

And when he had been fully tied to the stake, it was Dubhán who lit a torch, and threw it down upon the kindling.

At first Helna's body resisted the flames, trying to heal itself; but its divinity could not keep up with the fire's spread and strength, and it consumed Sif.

He thrashed in pain, screaming until he could not even hear his own screams, or understand what he was screaming; it was the worst pain he had ever been in. When he had been broken against a tree, when he had been poisoned by Nelmar, the wounds he received on the battlefield- none of them compared to the raw agony of being burned alive, in a body that stubbornly refused death. And more kindling was stacked on; the flames grew to inferno, monstrous and hungering, such that not even he could recover.

What could he do?

He was just a little cat.

The fire burnt until dawn of the next day, and all that was left of him was a blackened shell.

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