Moon Called (11 page)

Was it true that much of the world outside this well-guarded cup was now patrolled by the enemy? She knew well that any use of power within a land over which the Shadow fell would alert those who served it, that perhaps they had some who could sniff her out even as Kort nosed out the trail of a wild cow. However, it was better to chance such a peril on her own than remain tamely on hand for Borkin and his kind to use as they willed.

First she must get out of the valley, win back into the outer world where she had roamed without more than normal caution. Perhaps it would be well to head east once more. There must have been other survivors of the Craigs. Perhaps even the Three-In-One had found refuge in the broken lands a little to the north. Why had she roamed so from there? Looking back now Thora realized that she had broken a long-held pattern of her people by scouting west and she could not understand why.

She brought her jewel from beneath her clothing. Folding her hands palm to palm with its cool stone tightly clasped between, she
fought to empty her mind, to pass into the Way wherein the Lady, should SHE have reason, might give her counsel—for that she needed above all else.

No vision answered her endeavors—only sleep at last, which was deep and restful and from which she awoke as Kort nuzzled her ear, coming instantly alert, feeling as one who has fed, drank and slept well. This new strength must be the answer from the Lady—her body and mind prepared so for what lay ahead.

They ate again of her supplies. Within the valley she would not dare to hunt, nor must Kort, close to any homestead. And it might be long until she could win past the heights. It was already past sundown, and the walls of the valley shut off those rays early. Dusk was drawing in as Thora wriggled back through the brush to peer out.

There were buildings within sight, several fields away from the wood. She watched a lamp blaze up in a window there. Kort sniffed, testing the wind. In the failing light his tail moved once, an old signal. There was no one near.

Still the hound kept to the edge of the wood, and then along some hedging which separated one field from another. There were sheep grazing which stirred uneasily as the two passed. Thora wondered just how many people there were in the valley. Martan had spoken of those who, unable to find family ties, went out into
the world. Karn must have been such a roamer.

Then there were the sentries in the wall forts. But Thora’s stay there had been so limited she could not guess whether there were those who traveled much across the cup itself. She believed that they must round the end of the lake if she were to win back to the same stairway down which they had come. On the other hand, that road was so well guarded she could not hope to pass out so. She busied herself with the making and discarding of many half-plans, all of which proved to possess an outstanding flaw.

Surely there must be more than one way into the valley—even if that were guarded. She would have to leave the immediate future to the Lady. The farther she went, she could see that the valley was more of an oval than she had believed, and it ran well to the north.

Hedged fields gave way to pasturage. They crept by two more buildings showing small lights. No dogs barked, and Thora began to believe that such companions as Kort were unknown to these people.

The upper end of the valley was in a far wilder state—if wilderness meant unchecked growth of trees and brush. She discovered one small irregular field recently dug over, and stumbled across a heap of root vegetables of last year’s growing. Pausing, she harvested those of the withered discards which were still
edible, stopping again when they came to a stream to wash them as well as drink her fill and see her water bottle refilled. Here Kort did go hunting, to return with a rabbit, she leaving him the whole of his kill since she dared not light a cookfire.

Rested and refreshed after a scanty fashion, they went on. When the first morning light shone, they were in a wood which Thora was sure stretched to the cliff foot. Even though they had seen no pursuit, she knew very well they were far from freedom. Those of the valley might consider them safely pent within that trap and had turned their attention momentarily to other things—sure of their prey when they wanted them.

Again she slept with the moon gem between her hands. Only this time she also pillowed her head on those hands with a vague idea she could so fortify her mind against any invasion. Twice in the early dawn she had burrowed deeper under bushes when a winged wind-rider cruised above, uncertain whether their sight was keen enough to note her.

Her sleep was once more dreamless. Only, when she woke at Kort’s alert, she did so with a feeling of uneasiness. This grew as time wore on. The wood protected them from sighting from the air—but in her was a need for haste.

NO!

It came as a blow which near sent her reeling. As in that wood outside, she once
again met an invisible barrier. The valley men were using their power! Trying to hold her, perhaps even draw her back, as a hooked fish must obey the pull of the line. Only Thora was not a fish, nor was she helpless. The girl brought out her jewel, pressed it to her forehead. The sensation was as if she bathed her face in cool water. That tug lessened, and she could fight it.

How long did she battle so? In such times the world’s reckoning of moments did not measure. As suddenly as it had exerted that pull the pressure was gone. However, she kept the gem clasped tight and stumbled ahead, unmindful of the briars lashing at her, determined only to put space between her and the source of that compulsion. If they could not succeed in controlling her one way, they would surely try another.

Thora stumbled twice before she learned that the ground was rising. Because of the darkness and the thick growth she could not tell if she had reached the valley rim. Kort padded steadily on. The brush began to thin, there was a mass of tumbled stone in which was stuck the splintered trunks of trees caught by some old avalanche. Kort kept to the top of a rock, pointed with his nose toward where brush had began to mask the scar, and gave a short bark.

Here indeed was a wall. Because of the
night, Thora could not see any handholds for climbing. Also the debris was dangerous footing, she dreaded a fall— Instead she waved Kort north again.

They sheltered that day on the fringe of the avalanche where a vast tumble of earth and stone spilled into the valley. Again Thora tried to sleep under the Lady's blessing—encouraged because now the sickle of a new moon would show very thin—a promise. The Maid was riding the skies tonight and SHE might well look upon a young servant with favor.

So she slept through the day, waiting for that night and the moon. This was no vision such as her journey through the Dark world had been. No, she was bathed in silver light and before her was the barrier she had followed with such reduced hope. However, Thora now could spy a dark crack like a doorway, and she knew that this was the way to freedom, and that it was her own Lady who had led her to it. She was still one with the Power she had always served—what lay before her was no trap. It was right and fitting that a Chosen go this way.

No vision—she was not asleep—she was standing so—though she did not know how she had come here. She looked up to the sickle moon, kissed her gem, and held that up to its light gratefully.

Then with it in her right hand—the other
resting on Kort's shoulder, Thora went confidently on into this way which had been shown to her.

11

The break in the cliff was not an entrance to a cave, but rather gave upon an upward climb—easy at first, but growing harder. With Thora's dislike of heights she was somewhat glad that it was night. And she was careful not to look back or down as she made a cautious search for handholds ahead. Luckily the slope was not severe, Kort took it before her, and now and then there came a rattling stone dislodged by the hound's passage.

It widened out so that the sides did not rasp against her back and she had room to move—always up. Then, though walls still hemmed about her, the track became roughly level.

The night thickened about them. Thora used
her spear to tap out the way ahead. There were no lines of silver here to guide the traveler. At last the crevice gave away and she came out on a ledge which she believed to lie on the other side of the valley walls.

Kort had given no warning. If there were sentries here—or any post at all—the hound must have decided those no danger. This ledge overhung a descent which looked too steep to be taken without a rope. But, to her horror, she saw Kort gather himself for a leap and launch straight out into the open air. That the hound had gone mad or was possessed, was her first reaction. Then she threw herself belly down, pulling inch by cautious inch to the lip of the drop to peer below.

She saw movement, heard a subdued crackling. It was plain that Kort had survived his leap, not only survived but was uninjured. For a moment later, there sounded a soft whine which was one of his signals that all was well. To follow him blindly was an act demanding such determination of will that Thora fought a battle with herself. There remained though only one alternative, an ignominious return to the valley—an admission that her courage had failed her. That she would not allow.

The girl wriggled on, allowed her body to slip sidewise while keeping a hold on the ledge, then set her teeth and let go, striving to relax as she fell. She tumbled straight into a mass of sharp-scented vegetation which,
crushed under her weight, gave forth an acrid odor strong enough to set her coughing. On she rolled until Kort's teeth in her belt caught and held so she could lever herself up.

What she had seen of the upward rise of these heights upon their entrance into the valley had been mainly barren country with only a few weather-stunted trees and twisted brush. In spite of the dark she could make out here a thick tangle of vegetation, spongy, springy and odorous—though the scent, once she became used to it, was not too unpleasant.

Kort loosed his hold and nudged at her thigh with his head, urging her on. There seemed at first to be no way through this mass except that gained by simply floundering along. Then she stumbled out into what was perhaps a game trail, at least a way clear ahead.

The growth waved feathery fronds well above her head. In spite of the chill of the heights, this vegetation was thick-set rather like a moss which had grown giant enough to suggest a grove. All she brushed against during her passage brought no hard branch to impede her progress. Kort trotted on, not ranging far as was his usual wont on the trail.

As they went the fronds grew even taller, meeting overhead to shut out both slender moon and sky. But there were odd, pale flowers or rounded blossoms shaped like moon-silver cups tinged with faint blue or green. These shed a haze of phosphorescence, while
about them winged insects which also flashed light from their small bodies.

From the cup flowers arose also a subtle scent, not acrid like that of the mass into which she had fallen, but instead a delicate perfume which must be what drew the flyers, so that they came to cling, weighing down the blossoms of their choice. Their gauzy wings beat the air with a constant busy hum. It was such a place she had never seen, even in a vision. Yet she knew that this was as real as her own feet treading the narrow way.

A slow change began in this wood—some of the fronds now had thicker boles, became closer in size to saplings, then to trees. The light flowers were still thick, but now they nodded from vines which wreathed those trees, forming so close a tangle that Thora believed she could not have forced a way from the narrowly open path. It seemed those growing walls were to screen secrets—for there were secrets here. She sensed a touch, fleeting, faint—within her—as if delicate fingers had reached out in curiosity to examine who had invaded this peaceful place, striving so to measure her in a fashion beyond her reckoning.

The flowers, too, grew larger—their scent stronger. Thora found it more difficult to keep her attention fixed upon the need for going on. With lagging steps she fought a desire to stretch out beside the path—close her eyes—

Startled, the girl looked down at the moon gem where it now swung outside her clothing. There was no angry clouding of a warning there. She felt power but of a new kind—Whatever it was owed no allegiance to the Dark.

Then, even as she had felt the beating of the world's heart during her journey, now she sensed a rhythm also in this place, a soft cadence which could not be heard, but which crept into one's flesh and bones—

Thora found herself drawing deep, even breaths in time to that stimulus. The fatigue which should have weighed her down faded, and she was filled with well being.

She was not sure when the singing began. It must have been a part of that which had entered into her before she separated it from the rest. Also, muted and afar as it seemed, she knew this of old, for she had heard Malkin so summon when Thora had danced for the Lady. Save this was not voiced by a single one of the furred people as it had been when she had danced before Malkin—but rather by how many—?

The path ended in a clearing where the vine-ladened trees were full sheathed in blossoms, so that there was a mist of light. Winged feasters flitted back and forth across the open, buzzing loudly, but not so as to drown out that other sound.

Here were furred ones indeed, seated crosslegged,
even as Thora had seen Malkin sit upon the outspread cloak. Save that these were cushioned from the ground by drifts of fallen blossoms. Though those had been culled from the vines they did not look withered or bruised, only from them arose such a wave of fragrance that Thora wavered. Her booted feet slipped on the fringes of that carpet and she went to her knees, Kort halting beside her.

Yet none of the singers turned to look at her. Instead their red eyes ablaze, they faced the center of their circle where moved a single female of their species.

Even as Thora had danced so did this slender, down-covered body weave and leap, glide and sway. Clawed hands swung a long, thickly plaited garland of the flowers, and, now and then, she advanced on some member of that seated circle, tossed a loose loop about his or her shoulders and held it so for a breath or two, before withdrawing once again into the circle's heart.

Thora found that she could not rise to her feet. Her body would not obey her will. She too began to sway in answer to the hissing croon raised by those who appeared so ensorcelled by some bright vision of their own.

There stirred in Thora's memory what had been said about the youths of the valley—that they went to a wood where they met with the furred ones, and those who were chosen came forth again with familiars. Thus she believed
that she must have strayed into this place sacred to such as Malkin. Here the furred ones wove their own webs of power. She was awed—she who had faced the Dark—for there was something here of a force like unto her own—only stronger—wilder in its own way.

Suddenly in her mouth once again was that biting, acrid taste of Malkin's blood. This was no place for her, warned something, save that she could not obey any such warnings. She could only kneel and watch as the dancer spun her own enchantment, flinging out the wreath to draw one of her fellows into a momentary sharing of high ecstasy. That much Thora knew without the telling. One danced and the power filled one, then—even as she, Thora, passed her own power through the moon gem—so did this one now relay what she had gathered on to her fellows.

Thora took her jewel between her hands—to strengthen her—to ward off this alienness. The stone was chill and the cold of it fought against the cloying scent of the flowers and cleared her head.

With the release of her mind there followed compulsion of another kind. Not entirely aware of what she did, Thora got to her feet. She had dropped her pack, and now with one hand she sought the fastenings of her garments, keeping the other cupped tight about the gem. Leather and linen fell from her body. Here was no moonlight to bathe her—the
Maiden was far too slim and new-born to give true sustenance. Yet her feet moved, her body tensed, as along it ran the summons which before only the Lady's own light had awakened in her.

Fatigue and bemusement were gone. She leaped, she skimmed through the air as if she wore the wings of the Windriders. Over the heads of the furred ones that leap carried her. Then she came lightly to earth beside their dancer. The glowing red eyes of the flower-bearer looked upon her, accepted her. Thora began to follow the earlier pattern of the other's in-and-out steps, circling around the furred one who no longer tossed her garland to one of her people but stood, feet planted to earth, body swaying sensuously, the flower string now wound tight about her, now tossed out by the movements of her arms and shoulders.

In and out—always facing the furred one who turned with her so they continued to lock eyes. And from that locking came communication:

“Hail—moon daughter—” In Thora's mind the words formed clearly. “Long has it been since one touched by the Mother has sought us out.”

Not out of Thora's conscious memory came her answer—yet it was in her mind sharply and clear.

“Hail, you of the blood kin. Like greets like
along the Road.”

The furred dancer made a graceful gesture of greeting and the end of her flower rope flashed out to touch Thora's breast just above the sign of the Chosen. It was as if a pointed finger had pressed against her with some force, bringing with it a sense of comradeship, of sharing. Not as those of the valley would share with these—that she knew now. This sharing was of a different degree—even stronger in its own way. Far from like they might be in body, even in mind—but the dancer was a spirit who had long walked the White Path and perhaps once she, too, had danced for the moon.

“Just—so—” Thora received an answer to that thought. “There is no end to true life, only changes brought about by time, and time does not indeed bind us as we think when within this one short life. Welcome, sister—”

The furred one held out a clawed hand and Thora in turn reached out with hers in which the moon gem lay. Their fingers met and clasped about the stone. From one to the other and back again flowed the force of what they summoned. So it was as if they drank together a strange but restoring wine.

Then the dancer went to her knees and Thora knelt beside her—finally discovering it better to stretch her body along the ground, propping herself up on her elbows so that she and the dancer could remain eye to eye. Dimly
she was aware that these who had formed the circle were slipping quietly away, melting back into the vine tapestried walls of the wood, leaving the two of them alone.

“The Dark rises—” There was no struggle to voice words such as Malkin had had to make. The furred one might hiss but Thora could readily understand.

“The Dark is strong,” she replied.

Those eyes blazed with such strength Thora seemed to feel all the heat of the emotion behind them. “Then we must be stronger. The brothers move to battle. What do you?”

Was there dissatisfaction, a rebuke in that? Thora was not sure, but she was uncomfortable. Though she felt no kinship with the valley people, though she resented what she believed that Borkin, at least, had tried to use her for—still it was true that, though they might not be comrades, the Enemy was common to them both.

“I am not one of them—” the girl began defensively. “I stand alone in this land.” It did not seem strange that she could speak and the other readily understand, that the furred one might hiss in her own language and that now Thora found that intelligible. In this place of enchantment anything might well happen.

“You are one through which Another acts—” the furred one returned. “Not for such as you and I the blood bond—”

“That is so.” Thora felt relief. Though the
valley men could accept such a kinship, and proudly, yes, she understood that a little. But she was not one to follow such a way. In spite of need she would shrink from that linkage, and blood bond must be between two who willed it with all their hearts.

“So—for us it is thus—” Again the claw hand linked with hers over the moon gem. “In this way we strengthen one another. I am Tarkin—”

“And I Thora.” The exchange of true names, that, too, was a bond—a link which Thora well understood.

“Together then we shall go—” Tarkin nodded vigorously, her gleaming eyes still alight with their deepest fire.

“Into the dark—” Thora knew, was forced to accept that. There might be no escape. What she did now was a part of the weaving after all, she had to surrender her own will to that belief. She had not really drifted without purpose when the Craigs fell. No, all she had done since that hour of the raiders had been wrought on the loom of the Mother. So this was her fate.

“Into the Dark, sister of the moon.” The furred one's hand lifted from above the jewel. Then claw tips touched her lightly, so very lightly, on her lips, before rising to trace a symbol on her forehead. “But first you shall rest, and only when the hour ordained comes will we go.”

Thora carried from that moment only the dimmest of memories. She had fallen asleep on the carpet of unfading flowers, watching still Tarkin seated nearby, those blazing eyes near closed. The other had crooned softly so that a thread of sound lulled the girl into slumber.

The first rays of the sun rising in splendor crossed the sky when she awoke. Under her the flowers had withered at last, quickly fallen away into skeletons of themselves so that they remained only the tracery of long dead petals, though their perfume still clung to her skin. Tarkin was gone, nor was there anyone else within that circle of open glade save Kort, his muzzle deep in a bowl of polished wood. Beside her was another such bowl, but smaller, in which was a mixture of fine-ground, moistened grain with dried fruit, and beside that a bottle filled with green liquid.