“But not for reading of rune or rede,” pleaded the maiden. “Sick at heart doth it make me, for it bringeth Gyda to my mind.”
“No rune shall she read thee, child, though I would that thou wouldst let her. Then would she show thee that thou art destined to sit beside Edward.”
“Speak not so, Adiva,” said the maiden. “Henceforth I renounce all faith in seid and galdra. Of peril they do not warn; neither keep they from sin. I will seek no more to pierce that veil by which an all-wise Father hides the future from our gaze. It bringeth naught but evil.”
“Well, well, do as thou wishest,” grumbled the dame. “For my part, I find that it harms me not to be guided by Gunnehilde, and rare is she as a compounder of herbs. Here we are, child. Thou seest that we have brought the vala with us, for Denewulf, though he believeth not in her craft, wisheth her near him.”
Gunnehilde greeted them with warmth. To Egwina she accorded a respect and deference that confused the maiden, who could not but see what thoughts were in her mind.
“Come ye to consult the runes?” she asked, “or upon the matter of which thou spakest, Adiva?”
“Upon the matter,” returned Adiva. “Egwina will have naught more to do with runes or rede. Therefore haste we to the other affair.”
“She hath no need,” replied the vala. “Skulda hath woven the web and golden is its woof. Fear not, maiden, Verdandi striveth to weave dark threads among the gold, but already do they begin to brighten. Speed thou on thy way. Skulda holdeth the shuttle.”
Egwina answered not. The remembrance of Gyda was still too strong upon her for her to listen without a shudder to the woman’s prophecies. Gunnehilde saw the repugnance in her face, and turned to the bishop’s wife.
“The cart is ready at thy bidding, Adiva. Whenever thou shalt say, then shall Beorn take the maiden to my brother’s, Anlaf the black.”