Celia cut her off. “Hospitality! My child’s life! Thank you, Alea, and your brother! May the gods watch over you as you have watched over us!”
“My life is yours,” Bartrum said fervently. “Anything I can give, you’ve but to ask.”
“Come along, child,” the priestess said with a touch of impatience.
“Good-bye, then,” Alea said to her host, and hurried out the door beside her hostess.
The temple stood atop an oblong hill a mile outside of the village, all columns and pediments, gleaming silver in the moonlight. Across from it stood a second temple, similar but of a darker stone—it was impossible to tell its color in the moonlight.
From the summit, Alea could look down at half a dozen other sleeping villages and understood that the temples weren’t located in any one because they had to serve all.
A boy god and a girl god … Alea remembered the child’s statement of their religion and concluded that one temple must be for the god, the other for the goddess—but the priestess was going toward the silvered temple, Celia close behind, and Alea went with her.
They came up a broad flight of steps, then in among the columns, and Alea saw they were of marble, very pale. Great bronze doors decorated with sculptured motifs opened to them; they went through.
Alea stopped, awestruck by the huge statue of a woman with a strong but gentle face, simply robed, smiling with affection and welcome. In one arm she held a cornucopia, in the other a bow.
“Why, child,” said the priestess, “have you never seen a statue of the goddess?”
“Never … never quite like this.” Indeed, the statue seemed very much like Freya but also very much like Idun. There was something of the Valkyrie about her, too. It was as though all the Germanic goddesses had been blended into one.
She forced herself to turn away and was surprised to discover that she automatically spoke in a hush.
“You cannot work cures in a place of reverence such as this.”
“No. That we must do below.” The priestess gestured toward her right.
Looking, Alea saw the guards disappearing down a broad stairway, Celia right behind them. With a little cry, Alea started after.
“Gently, child, gently.” The priestess touched her shoulder.
Looking back, Alea saw that she smiled with kindly amusement.
“Your brother will wait for us,” the priestess assured her. “First, though, it is you who must wait for him.”
She led Alea to an anteroom where there were padded chairs with small tables between. Pastel frescoes brightened the walls.
“Bide here in patience,” the priestess said. “An acolyte will bring you refreshment. Your brother will be with you in an hour or so. Then we shall tell you if we can do anything to heal his brain.”
“Heal his brain?” Alea started up in alarm. “What do you mean to do?”
“Now, now, we only mean to discover the cause of his wits coming and going,” the priestess said in a soothing tone. “We will not truly do anything to him without telling you and having your consent.”
Alea sat back but eyed the priestess warily.
“Trust the goddess, my dear,” the priestess said with a reassuring touch on her hand, then turned through the curtained archway and was gone.
Alea sat alone, frowning at the murals and trying to puzzle out the story from what was shown there. She saw a young man in rough garb gazing through the rushes at the side of a pond; within the water stood a young woman, and the positions of her hands showed that she was bathing, but her body was only a burst of brightness, and the expression on the young man’s face was awe. The young woman, however, seemed irritated, as any young woman might be in her place. Nearby, six hounds lay; two were coming to their feet.
Footsteps padded; and Alea looked up to see a sleepy teenage girl bearing a tray with some small cakes, a tall pitcher, and a cup. She set them on the little table beside Alea, then stepped back, saying, “Do you need anything more, Lady?”
“No … no, this will do well.” Alea smiled at the younger woman. “I thank you—and I am sorry to disturb your sleep.”
The girl smiled in return. “We who would serve the goddess must be ever ready to come to her service; Lady. Do not hesitate to call out if you have need.”
“Thank you,” Alea said. “I shall.”
“I saw you studying the picture.” The girl turned to gaze at the mural, too. “It would seem to be only the huntsman coming upon the goddess unadorned, in her role as maiden and hunter, for which offense, unintended or not, he died—but the priestesses tell me there is a deeper meaning hidden in the story, even a Mystery.” She turned back to Alea with a smile of embarrassment. “I have not yet discovered it, though. I have a great deal to learn.”
“So have I,” Alea said, “but since I must wait here, I shall contemplate the scene. Perhaps I shall discover what it represents.”
“Perhaps so. I wish you good fortune.” But the girl’s eyes went round in awe and she made a small curtsy before she went out again.
Alea frowned after her, wondering what had bothered the girl—then realized that the lass thought Alea must needs be an initiate to be able to speak of discovering a Mystery.
Well, perhaps she would at that, though not in the way the acolyte thought. Alea composed herself, gazing at the mural as though in meditation—but as her body relaxed and stilled, her mind opened, seeking the thoughts of the people within this temple—first Orgo, who was still in peril despite Gar’s temporary surgery, then Gar himself.
If she could still find him.
8
Orgo was underneath the temple asleep; Alea wondered how he could nod off in the midst of such turmoil, then realized the two who bore him must have given him a sleeping draft—for she was surprised to discover that their minds were not those of the guards; the priestess’s escort must have handed the boy over to these two priests as soon as they had carried the boy to the stairwell.
The priests—scarcely more than acolytes, she realized from their talk—were standing in a small room beside Orgo’s stretcher, chatting about the “case,” as they called the boy. There was a slight jarring and the doors of the room slid back. The men carried the stretcher—no, it was a sort of table with wheels; they must have put Orgo on it when the guards brought the boy to them. They rolled him into a large room and lifted him onto a bed with a sort of tunnel over it. They pushed the bed into the tunnel, then watched a set of pictures on its side—and wonder of wonders, Alea could see inside Orgo! One picture showed his bones, and the flesh seemed ghostly over them; another showed his lungs, but they weren’t light and empty, as she always had thought lungs should be; they seemed cloudy, with only the very top being completely clear.
“Congested,” one of the young priests said, “and he’s picked up some kind of a germ that caused an overabundance of mucus.”
“An antibiotic should take care of it.”
Alea listened to them discuss whether or not they would need a surgeon, blood chilled; she knew that a surgeon meant cutting—but the young priests decided that they could wait a day or two and see what the drugs would do. Alea didn’t understand all their words, but she caught the gist—that they were going to give Orgo some sort of medicine, and that he would live.
But what a wondrous assortment of machinery they had! She was sure it was machinery—she had seen enough of Herkimer to know that, and seen the pictures of modern civilizations he had shown her. What were such wonders doing here in a Neolithic society?
Time later to consider the question—first she had to find Gar. She opened her mind wide again, expanding her attention to include the whole temple and the hill on which it stood until she recognized the overtones of his thoughts. She narrowed her attention to include only Gar and the priest and priestess who spoke to him.