Moon Called (6 page)

Thora guessed by the horns— “Set?”

Malkin’s head shake was violent. “Goooddd — offf — Maakill — Brotthher oneee—”

“One of his clan?”

Malkin nodded now. Thora looked at the splotch of blood. It had not yet sunk into the ground, but remained clear. However, the furred one raised her spear, and, with a quick, sure stroke, brought the butt down upon the blood spot, driving it so into the ground as to destroy it.

“Ggooo—” Malkin stood. She pointed to Kort and then to the defaced print, suggesting, Thora was sure, that the hound take up the trail.

One of Makil’s kind then. Thora was not sure she was ready to meet him even if they did catch up. But it would seem she had no choice, for Kort, nose to the ground, loped steadily on. While Malkin limped in his wake at the best
pace she could keep, and Thora was left for rearguard.

The sun was westering now. In this strange territory they should be seeking out some defensible shelter for the night. Still neither of her companions showed any sign that they intended to turn from the trail.

They were shut off on the east by steadily rising ground. The stream here ran in a more narrow and deeper channel between what were approaching cliffs. It would seem they had come near to the end of the open land. Scattered about grew a tangle of brush and small stands of trees. Thora could see ahead the line of what was a sizeable wood. Kort reached the edge of that and stood waiting for them.

The girl marked the mouth of a trail, wider, she decided, than a game one. She eyed that unhappily. If this was a path in use by men—she thought of the traders—however Kort had not warned them away, and she must be reassured by that.

Malkin appeared to have no uneasiness, and kept marching straight ahead. Now Kort trotted with her. The girl shifted her backpack. With spear in one hand and her other one hovering near the hilt of her knife she went forward into the cool of the wood, straining to hear. There were no oaks here, nor any wealth of flowers. She did see the hooks of uncoiling ferns and heard the sounds of birds,
and once or twice a small rustling close to ground.

Then–

It was as if she had walked into a wall!

Thora staggered back, the force of meeting that invisible barrier near over balancing her. Malkin, Kort—they had met no such challenge. The girl put out both hands, half certain there was a hidden wall there.

Her fingers encountered no surface, it was just that they could not pierce beyond. She spread her hands wide, tried to push. There was nothing to feel. Simply that she could not pass—what—air itself? Malkin and the hound, were nearly out of sight.

She uttered a cry and Malkin wheeled to look back. Then, at a limping run, the furred one returned to where Thora stood, still striving to press her hands into the air. Malkin also put out a hand as if she sought what Thora fought against. Whether she guessed the nature of the barrier the girl could not tell, but she was back beside Thora, her eyes aflame.

“I cannot go on,” the girl said. “There is a power set against me.”

“Sssssoooo—” Malkin turned up the wrist from which she had earlier dropped the blood on the footprint. She looked from it to Thora.

“Bllooddd—” She drew the single word into a long hissing sound.

Once more she pricked at the cut, watched a bead of blood gather there. Then she held
up her arm.

“Drrinnkk—”

Thora jerked back. Blood was life. Two men, two women could share blood, so giving and taking, and then be bound more tightly than any kin. If one shed blood for food, or in anger, one must follow ritual—or one lay under the Shadow. She looked at the welling bubble of dark blood and felt a little sick. Malkin’s eyes blazed. She dropped the spear and clutched at the girl, striving to drag her down closer.

“Drrinnkkk—” That was a command.

Reluctantly, Thora inclined her head as Malkin thrust the bleeding wrist higher. She had to fight revulsion as she allowed her lips to open, to touch the other’s fur-covered flesh. She sucked and the moisture she so drew in burnt her lips and her mouth like fire, but she swallowed, because at this moment Malkin’s will subdued her own. Then she stepped forward. There was no wall holding her back now.

The path of the wood led steadily upward into broken country. For three days they followed it into sharp ridges and higher hills until it ended at last at the base of a rise Thora could see no way of climbing. Kort trotted eastward along the base of that cliff, nosing among the debris of earth and rocks, half embedding here and there the trunk of some long-dead tree, evidences of a mighty landslip. But Malkin stayed, looking up, her bushy head
far back on her shoulders—not measuring the cliff Thora thought, rather searching the sky beyond.

Since the furred one had brought her past that invisible barrier, the girl had been uneasy. All the tests she herself knew confirmed that Malkin was not a follower of Set. Still, her powers were of a type unheard of among Thora’s own people. And the unknown was always suspect—caution was the first weapon for those in unknown lands.

Now Malkin was singing again, but the sound was so low it was like a whisper. Though the singer still held her head at what must be a most uncomfortable angle, searching the sky. It was mid-morning and that spread of blue was cloudless, the heat of the sun reflected from the stones about them.

Out into that blue arch of sky came what was at first only a black mote, which could have been covered with a fingertip. The flyer grew larger, moving from side to side in long gliding sweeps, descending lower with each.

A bird? Thora was sure that outline against the sky was that of far outstretched wings. Only, even among the winged ones who rode the air currents thus, there must come a beat of wings now and then, and never did these change position. There was something wrong about the outline of the body those still wings supported—it looked far too slender—too small in proportion to the wings.

The creature of the air dipped closer and closer. Thora moved up beside Malkin, her arm touched the furred one, and she felt the rhythm pulsing through that smaller body, though her song was so muted.

Then the winged creature gave a sudden dip, sailing across where they stood, to vanish beyond the lip of the cliff before them. But it did not pass so soon from sight that Thora had not seen plainly what she would never have accepted for the truth had another reported it. The body stretched horizontally beneath those beat less wings was that of a man! By some art or power he was as free of the air above as if he had been born feathered!

Malkin now watched the top of the cliff over which the flyer had vanished. Kort sat on his haunches, his nose pointing in the same direction.

“Who—?” Thora found her voice and pointed, determined to catch Malkin's attention, learn what manner of man dared so use the sky.

The furred one without looking away from the cliff twisted her tongue to answer:

“Winnnd Ridder—Waiittt noooww—”

Before Thora could ask for further enlightenment, something fell from the cliff top. She saw that straighten out into a dangle of thick ropes which swung back and forth.

There was a loop knotted at the end which had fallen almost directly before Malkin.
Without showing any surprise, the furred one picked that up, set the loop about her waist and pulled it snug. She made sure of the fastening of the rolled cloak, thrust her spear through the thongs securing that, and then gave a vigorous tug to the rope.

It was being pulled up, Malkin kicked out now and then against the wall, as if she had done this many times over. Thora watched her reach the top and vanish as the flyer had done. Once more the rope toppled over, to fall in coil. To follow Malkin so—but there was really very little choice. Kort had come forward stiff legged, as he always did when approaching that concerning which he was uneasy. He lowered his head, pushed his nose under the loop, then stepped forward so it was about his body, looking to Thora with an unmistakable command to make him fast.

With a kick or two—whoever was on the other end of that line must have sensed the dog was secure—Kort faced the wall of stone. He used his four feet to fend himself away, and up he went—to vanish with a flurry of paws.

6

Thora checked the security of her pack, thrust her spear into its sling, making sure it was well knotted. Once more the rope was tossed down. She heard Kort bark encouragingly. Trusting in him as she had so many times before, the girl steadied the loop about her, waiting for an upward pull which followed at once, though it seemed a long time until the edge of the rise was within reach. She pulled herself over, her scramble landing her near face down.

As she rose to her knees she viewed a very wide ledge of stone—stretching well out before her. However her attention was drawn to the man beside Malkin, the rope coils he was looping in. He was so tall Malkin seemed doubly
dwarfed beside him, he must top Thora herself by a head, and she was well grown by the standards of her people.

His body was covered by a form-fitting suit of dull, dark green that revealed him as lean, long of limb, narrow of hip. Only his shoulders were wide and highly developed in proportion to the rest of him. His head was bare, and his hair so closely cut that it was like a tight black cap.

Like the rest of him, his face was long, thin of cheek, sharp of nose, pointed of chin. The exposed skin was dark brown, against which his large eyes (as brilliant as Malkin's, but green) and scarlet lips showed in bright color.

On the breast of his all-enveloping garment was a spiral emblem, a larger copy of that on the cloak, and that was wrought in the Lady's own precious silver. He continued to coil the rope, though his eyes were on Thora as if he discovered her as amazing a sight as she found him.

Behind, on the level rock of this wide shelf, rested the strange winged thing which had borne him, the same dark green as his clothing. Kort sniffed along the jutting tip of one pinion, as if to acquaint himself firmly with a new scent.

The stranger let fall his rope, now neatly packaged. He held up a hand palm out in the age old signal of peace and spoke:

“I am Martan, the Winged.” A bald statement
which Thora answered with the same brevity:

“I am Thora, the Chosen.” She added the title since she was determined to be known at once as one of the Lady's own. She would not allow herself to remain a lesser person before this one, even if he possessed such skills as he had demonstrated.

But, as if he were dismissing her, he now extended his hand to Malkin, who seized upon it eagerly as she looked up into his face. She might have been making some unvoiced demand upon him.

He spoke again, this time directly to the furred one.

“All is well with Makil, little sister. He was wounded, but he mends and his mending will speed the sooner with his blood-one by him.”

His seeming lack of further interest in her was an irritation to Thora.

“What are you—beside winged?” she demanded abruptly. “From what shrine do you draw such power? Who are your Three-In-One?”

A slight race of frown showed on his face. He stooped and caught up Malkin, who settled against him with a sigh as if at long last she had come home. Thora frowned in turn. Why did he act as if she were invisible—that the furred one was all important? No man had the right to so ignore a Chosen!

“You speak of things,” he said deliberately.
“of which I do not know.” His hand touched the spiral on his breast. “We have a source of power, yes. But one does not speak commonly of such.”

That was a rebuke and she smarted under it. That
he
should undertake to lesson her in proper ways! Still, because it was never wise to carry strife into the unknown lest the enemy have hidden resources, she battened down her longed-for hot answer and spoke as deliberately as he:

“Other people, other customs. Where do you propose to take us Winged One?”

Now he studied her narrowly, as if he sensed her rebellion. Only he did not add to the insult he had already offered her. Rather he half turned, glancing over his shoulder to where Kort still sniffed along the wings.

“You cannot bear us hence with that!” Thora objected. Though she did not know the limits of his power, she, for one, would not go skimming off into the air with this stranger.

He smiled then, or at least his lips curved, even if the harsh green of his eyes did not lighten.

“I could not rise myself now—from here —one needs the upper peaks and the strong currents there to launch one. I was sentinel when the sister's heart-call reached me—thus I came.” His arm about Malkin tightened, and, with his free hand, he smoothed the bushy hair back from her small face as tenderly as if he
held a child of his own blood. “Those,” with a lift of his chin he indicated the wings, “must remain here for a space. Our way now will be trod by foot alone.”

Abruptly he turned and, at the same time, Kort left off his investigation of the flyer, came to the man as if he had been whistled at—a desertion which added to Thora's sense of outrage. As the stranger started away, with Kort at his heels and Malkin in his arms, she fell in behind, nursing rising anger but knowing she had no choice.

Though this country seemed wild and unsettled to the eye Thora discovered that that appearance was deceiving, perhaps one deliberately fostered. Her guide made a detour around a tall rock and before them arose a series of steps cut into the side of the next range of heights and leading upward, very plainly the work of men.

These the man climbed with a springing step, as if he was well at home on such a road. However Thora crowded close to the wall averting her eyes from the drop on her right. The climb was a long one and the heights towered well above the ledge on which the flyer now rested.

Here the air was chill. In some of those heights the snow must still lie on the ground. Though the steps were wide, but there were also longer spaces where one might pause to rest. Though, because their guide did not take
advantage of these, Thora would not allow herself to lag behind. Her legs were beginning to ache with the strain of this endless climb.

It seemed that half the day had passed (though the girl knew that was not so) before they came out on another wide platform backed by a building which was part of the solid cliff itself. There was a doorway, deep incised over it the spiral symbol, narrow slits of windows flanking it—a row of those extending along one side until the cliff was beyond the ledge.

From the doorway stepped another man, dressed in the same close-fitting clothing. He was enough like Martan to have been his brother. Except that this newcomer had a frosting of gray across his cap of hair, Thora could hardly distinguish one from the other.

“Little sister!” He held out his arms to Mal-kin. The furred one made a crooning sound and went to him eagerly. Then there came trotting out of the door another of Malkin's own people, a male. Seeing her he raised his head, uttering a loud, hooting cry. Kort sat down to watch the scene as might a hound who had done his duty well and Thora longed to drop beside him. Only pride kept her on her feet, facing stiffly these men who were so lacking in proper respect that they did not know the deference due a Chosen.

For the first time Martan seemed to recall that she was a member of their party for he
turned and waved her forward.

“This is Thora who has brought our sister!” He made introduction to the older man, though he did not carry through the courtesy and speak that one's name to the girl in turn.

A second pair of hard green eyes surveyed her. Then the older man nodded:

“Who has aided our sister, has aided us. Come—”

Her stiff pride got the better of her. Thora remained where she was and her voice rang out coldly, as if to lesson some stupid trader to a proper sense of what was correct.

“I am a Chosen, Man—” deliberately she used the bare word of address which could be one of scorn if a woman willed it so. “If you are not of the Dark—then you know the rule of the Lady. From my hands can come Her blessings—when She wills it!”

There was a shade of expression on his face which Thora could not interpret though she was sure it was not recognition of his own present discourtesy. Instead he uttered two words—though the accent he put upon them was unlike that which she had been taught. Yet they were part of an invocation of the Power. Swiftly she answered them, completing that fraction of ritual as might any one who could sing down the Moon.

Now he did register real surprise. Malkin moved in his hold, not striving to form words with her tongue, but uttering a series of hisses
which the girl judged to be her normal speech pattern. He listened gravely and then spoke again:

“It seems that there are things to learn. Malkin tells me that you are one of the True Light and that you stand against the Dark even as we—though you work by a different pattern. To us all who do thus are welcome—and you doubly so for what you have done for our little sister. Also she tells me that you are now blood-bound to her.”

Martan gave a start, staring at Thora. Before she could avoid him he took from her her pack. Then he offered his arm as if for her support, but she avoided him with a definite shake of her head.

They went into the cliff house past a cunningly devised barrier which Thora saw was faced with bits of stone fitted skillfully together, so that, when it was closed, it must resemble entirely the native rock. There ran a long corridor, crosswise lighted through the slit windows, yet still dusky. The inner side of that was broken by three doors of heavy wood and it was to the center one of those that the older man led them. Here was a room cut out of the rock, the walls of which were deeply incised with the spiral, and those incisions filled with colors, gold, green, blue—all well displayed by baskets of burning stuff fastened to those same walls.

On the floor were mats of heavy reeds and
the skins of the fabled mountain bears of which traders told horror tales—one of the most-to-be-feared predators of their world. There was furniture, plainly finished, with no touches of that ornamental carving which Thora's people favored. But the surfaces were polished and the chairs cushioned with pads made of reeds or cattle-hide quilted with thongs. On a long table, sided by benches, were dishes and another man moved quickly about, bringing goblets to set out along that board, plainly preparing for a meal.

Thora realized that she was not only hungry, but that it had been very long indeed since she had eaten. She sniffed the smell of roasting meat and freshly baked bread, such as she had not put tooth to since the Craigs had fallen. Now she had to summon up pride to keep her from an onslaught on that table and the filled trays the serving man was bringing from a curtained inner door.

All of these men were dressed alike. There appeared to be no insignia of different rank among them. The two serving the table had glanced up when the others entered and then away—as if to view strangers violated some rule. There were no signs of any woman's presence. Thora was disappointed. No matter how high these men might hold themselves, she was sure that any woman would recognize her at once as a Chosen—one to be held in esteem.

The man carrying Malkin placed the furred
one on a raised portion of bench so that she could see well above the top of the table, and the male of her species at once climbed up beside her, reaching out to touch her gently, then give a tug to the cloak she still carried. There were no dishes before her and she unrolled her burden to display those vials with their dust. As Malkin revealed these the man who had brought her in caught one up, to hold it closer to the nearest basket light.

“Where is this from?” There was urgency in his demand. Quickly he crossed to Thora holding out the vial almost accusingly. “Where did you find this?”

“Malkin found it,” she retorted. “It was in a container in the underground place—”

“Underground place?” he seized upon that. The two men who had been bringing in the food stopped, stood still behind him. Martan loomed up by her side as if they would ring her in.

Thora refused to be overawed. Instead, speaking deliberately, she told her tale of how Kort had led them underground and what they had found there—including the party of the dead led by the red-cloaked man of Set. She had gained their complete attention now, and they heard her out to the end before their leader said:

“A place of storage—”

Martan broke in. “And one known to those of the Dark!”

“Maybe not at present,” the older man returned. “If any escaped death they would not have left the body of their priest. Also,” he turned again to Thora, “you said they were long dead, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“So. Then that could even have happened in the Time of Wandering. If so, none of the Dark Followers would know of it now or it would be looted. What could lie there!” His hand tightened about the vial until Thora thought he might crush it. Then he turned and set it back among the others Malkin had put out. The furred one had forced the cap off one and handed it to her companion who licked up the dust with every appearance of satisfaction and pleasure.

“It was a pity that cloak was not destroyed,” Martan commented. “Like calls to like—even after years—let one of the adepts approach near enough and it would draw him there.”

“True,” the elder took a quick stride and then came back. “You can find this place again?” he asked Thora sharply.

“If I could not, Kort can.” She remembered their fight with the things of the dark cliff. “There are those there on guard,” and she explained about their battle.

Martan nodded. “Yes, the rock rats. Such we have faced before. There are worse things to be met with when one walks in the ways of the Dark. Now—Lady, you are our guest and there
is food waiting—”

He spoke with none of the sharpness which the leader had shown, his voice was low and pleasant as he indicated the table. Nor did the leader add any comment, but rather appeared lost in thought as he went to the other side of the board and seated himself. Martan sat beside Thora on one side, the two furred ones on her other. One of the serving men brought a larger platter piled high with meat which he put on the floor before Kort.

When they were all seated, the elder raised his hand and made the spiral sign and the rest of them followed his example, save that Thora spread her fingers in the salute to the Lady.