It didn’t work. Hamnet hadn’t thought it would. Maybe Gudrid hadn’t, either, but she’d tried. The priestess’ voice, though, remained implacable: “No. That is not what I meant. No one leaves the Golden Shrine with more than he-or she-brings to it. Did you hear that?”
“I didn’t think you were talking about things.” Gudrid tossed her head. “I thought you people meant spiritual silliness.”
“Spiritual? Material? Under the One Stone, what is the difference?” the priestess said. Count Hamnet had never heard that name for God before. The priestess went on, “We meant what we said. We commonly do. And so you will take no more away than you brought.”
A priest strode up to Gudrid. She handed him the jewel and the chain. He made them disappear; Hamnet couldn’t quite see how.
The priestess pointed her forefinger at Gudrid. She murmured something in a tongue Hamnet didn’t understand. Gudrid’s eyes went blank. A look of idiocy spread across her face. Eyvind Torfinn cried out in anguish. In his own way, he had to love her.
“She will never remember anything of her time here,” the priestess said. “Never. Nor may she ever return. That is her punishment.” Face softening slightly, she spoke to Earl Eyvind: “She will regain her wits, such as they are, when she leaves this place. Be thankful the Golden Shrine knows mercy, even for those who may not deserve it.”
Eyvind bowed-creakily, as an old man would. “I am thankful, priestess. Gudrid would be, too . . . if she knew.”
“She will not.” The woman in gold sounded altogether sure. Eyvind Torfinn sighed and bowed again.
Taking his courage in both hands, Hamnet Thyssen said, “May I ask you something, priestess?”
“Not about that woman. I know you were also connected to her once. The judgment is made, and will only grow harsher if you push me.”
“I was wed to her once, yes, but I will not say anything about that,” Hamnet replied. “I want to know what to tell Emperor Sigvat about the Golden Shrine-and everything else that’s happened.”
Slightly but unmistakably, the priestess’ lip curled. “Oh. Him. Tell him this.” She spoke four words in another language Hamnet didn’t know. He repeated them after her till she nodded, satisfied. “They are truly ancient: from the time before the time before the Glacier last advanced,” she said.
Hamnet repeated them once more. “But what do they mean?” he asked.
“When this Emperor Sigvat hears them, he will know,” the priestess promised. “And so will you.” With that, Count Hamnet had to be content.
XXI
Not everyone who’d gone into the Golden Shrine wanted to leave so soon. Liv and Audun Gilli seemed to be learning things. So did Marcovefa. Trasamund and Runolf Skallagrim looked as if they were enjoying a safety they hadn’t known for too long. Ulric Skakki might have been a sponge; he was soaking up as much as he could. He might not be able to take away more than he’d brought, but he seemed ready to try.
Eyvind Torfinn, though, kept twisting like a man in pain. And Hamnet noted that the priests and priestesses seemed steadily less welcoming. The men and women in gold steered the strangers toward the doorway by which they’d come in. Gudrid came along with everyone else. She could walk, but not much more. Her eyes stayed blank. A thin, shiny line of spittle ran from the corner of her mouth down to her chin.
“May God keep you safe,” said the priestess who’d ensorcelled her.
“What is God?” Yes, Ulric was still doing his best to come away with something.
The priestess smiled at him as she opened the door. “Why, exactly what you think he is.”
That might have been true, but it wasn’t helpful. “Thank you so much,” Ulric said with a bow. His grin was wry.
“Happy to help,” the priestess answered sweetly. The adventurer laughed and spread his hands, owning himself beaten.
As soon as Gudrid walked outside, her face cleared. She looked around behind her. “Oh! The Golden Shrine!” she said. Then she went on toward her horse. Her interest in the place seemed to end right there. Hamnet Thyssen decided that the priestess had been merciful after all.
“Where do we go now?” Trasamund asked.
“Wherever we please. The Rulers are beaten,” Marcovefa said.
That was true . . . now. Would it stay true? How many more invaders would come through the Gap? What would happen when they did? Hamnet decided to worry about that when it happened . . . if it did.
For now, he had other things to worry about. “The priestess gave me a message to take to Sigvat. I don’t understand it, but she said he would. And so I need to go south. Anyone who wants to come with me is welcome-I’d be glad of the company. But I’ll go alone if I have to.”
“I’ll come,” Ulric said. “I want to see him get this message from the Golden Shrine. I don’t know how these people can be so sure he’ll understand it. He doesn’t understand much.”
“I will come with you, too,” Marcovefa said. “I have my reasons.” She didn’t explain what they were.
Hamnet didn’t press her about them. Instead, he asked, “Did you understand what the priestess told me?”
“No.” She shook her head. “From not just before the last time the Glaciers moved, but from the time before that?” Her eyes went wide with awe. “I had never dreamt of so deep a time.”
“Who would have? Who could have?” Hamnet said. “Only the folk here. I wonder if these are the same ones who saw that distant day.”
“Nothing about this place would surprise me any more. Nothing,” Marcovefa said. Count Hamnet nodded. He felt the same way.
His horse seemed happy enough to ride away from the Golden Shrine. It had no trouble staying on the narrow road that led from the Shrine to the former shore. The mud to either side of the road seemed as thick and wet and uninviting as it had when Hamnet rode out onto the lakebed toward the building from days gone by.
Trasamund looked over his shoulder. Hamnet understood the gesture-he not only understood it, in fact, but imitated it. In a low voice, Trasamund asked, “Do you think we’ll ever come back here?”
“Come back?” Hamnet started to laugh. “I never thought-I never dreamt-we’d come here once. I’ll worry about doing it again some other time.”
“Well, when you put it that way . . .” Trasamund also chuckled sheepishly. “I was looking at that wall of war mammoths. I was looking at the Rulers’ shamans out ahead of them. Meaning no disrespect to Marcovefa, but I thought I was a dead man. I thought we were all dead. I was angry, because I hadn’t got as much of my revenge as I wanted.”
“How far has that wall of water gone now?” Hamnet murmured. “How much has it carved up?”
“Probably just kept going till it smashed up against the mountains.” Trasamund pointed far off to the west. “Maybe there’s a new lake over there now. The clans that roam that part of the plain must be mighty surprised. Where’d all this water come from?” He mimed a surprised Bizogot very well.
“Are you riding south with me, or will you head back up toward the Gap?” Hamnet asked him.
“I’m with you for now,” Trasamund answered unhappily. “My clan is broken. One of these days, I may go back. With luck, we can keep more Rulers from coming down into our land. But that’s for another day, not this one. The Bizogots aren’t ready to try anything so grand.” He sighed. “My folk’s not really ready for anything.”