Moon Called

  “Which you cannot deny!” The first voice interrupted hotly. “Therefore, having brought her to a source of the Force, you left her in its influence. What would have chanced at the end, do you think, had she not been drawn forth by the Weapon of Lur? Are those with power to be used as tools, to have no purpose nor meaning otherwise? Have we not fought the Dark for that very reason—among others—that no will is to be enslaved, as is true where the Shadow spreads? If we use the methods of the Enemy are we any better then than they?”

  Yes, these were spoken words and not just thoughts in her mind. The glory of the sword’s gem was dimming as if the fire within it died. So Thora could see beyond to him who held it protectingly over her.

  How could it be Makil? When she viewed him last he had seemed an invalid, unable to leave his chair without help. Yet here he stood as vigorous as any armsman she had seen march in protection with a trader’s convoy—such a man as prided himself on strength of arm, the readiness of his body to give and receive blows.

  To one side, still facing him, was Borkin, a frown on his face, a twist to his lips, as if he did not readily accept any rebuke. In him she felt a coldness which was not to be easily melted by the inner fire of the younger man.

  The sword swung up and back, and Makil allowed the blade to slip through his fingers until his flesh covered the fading color of the gem. With practiced ease he slid the weapon then into a sheath he wore behind his shoulder. Once that was done he stooped, his fingers closed about the girl’s right wrist, held firmly, as if he would make sure that the life-blood still pulsed steadily through her veins.

  “I am here,” Thora gathered voice. She tried to throw off his hold, but he would not loose it. “I think,” purposefully she ignored Borkin, spoke directly to the younger man. “that I have now much to owe you.”

  That it was Makil, and what power he could summon, which had drawn her away from that confrontation with the three Dark Ones she had no doubt. What strength he had! With such men as these why did the valley have any fear that the Dark would prevail.

  He loosed her wrist. She had a feeling that during those few moments he had been made as uncomfortable by that contact as she. Now he moved a little back and set his shoulders against one of the stones guarding this place as though he needed such support.

  A smaller figure came running down the spiral opening to this shrine, flung itself at Makil, catching at one of his dangling hands and planting that firmly upon its own shoulder. Malkin was here, and it was plain she was alarmed concerning her blood-brother.

  Thora felt drained, emptied as she never had before. But her stubborn pride made her sit up, lock her hands one upon the other, hold her head high, and she hoped, unwaveringly.

  “I do not know where I traveled—” now she spoke to Borkin, “but there I saw your Karn. They tried to weave about him some netting born of their drums. Later there were three others in red cloaks—and one of those—” she strove to keep her voice level, to conquer any sign of fear, “is a man of very great power.”

  “Some such as doubtless counts a number of skulls in his walls,” Borkin returned.

  His meaning was strange, until Thora recalled an old tale—that those of the Dark were reputed to so set the remains of the enemies, believing that they so imprisoned, even controlled in part, the essence of those who had fallen to their attack.

  “Such a one,” she agreed. The girl was glad that she had so far not betrayed to either of these two her great weariness, and—worse—her fear. She had not lost that, even when drawn away from the dark source. At that moment Thora was not sure whether she could rise and walk. Her limbs seemed as weak as if she had lain days in a bed of fever. She longed for a rest or a full cup of herb-brewed honey mead such as was given always to those who served the Lady by vision calling.

  Kort nudged against her, offering the comfort he sensed she needed, which neither of these valley men might give. She threw an arm about the hound’s wide shoulders and again his tongue wiped lovingly across her cheek.

  “Do you know where lies this place of the Dark Ones?” she asked. “I left your Karn free of the binding they would set on him. However they may have other spellings, and he still lies within their hands.”

  Borkin nodded. “That is so. Still he lives, and you found him. What is seen by the eye of the spirit can be followed by the eye of the body. We now have a guide to Karn—”

  She was startled into speechlessness. Having used her once out of body, did they now expect to employ her again? March her across country into the very heart of the Dark to free a man who meant nothing to her? Expect her to once more front a Dark One of great power? Truly this Borkin did consider her a tool! But she was not, as he would speedily discover.

  Deep in his throat Kort growled. He swung about his heavy head so his yellow eyes watched the older valley man. Perhaps from the tensing of Thora’s muscles where her arm rested upon him he had read her anger. That the hound was not to be mastered easily either was now plain.

  A chittering cry from Malkin cut through the mounting tension. Both girl and man looked to where Makil had stood. He had slid down the pillar supporting him, only his head and upper shoulders still resting against the stone. With an exclamation Borkin pushed past Thora to kneel beside the young man.

  Just for a moment did the girl hesitate. Then she arose stiffly and with her hand upon Kort’s head, her hide boots making no sound, she wavered to the opening of the spiral, passing on through the light of early morning, to turn her back upon those of the valley and their concerns.

  As she went Thora argued within herself. Certainly she owed Makil for her escape, but just as certainly she was sure his own people, in the person of Borkin, had somehow arranged that night journey using her. Therefore, having freed Karn—if she had—the scales were balanced. She owed them nothing, and Makil had his own kind to nurse him. She would find her way out of this valley, forget it existed. There was too much here which threatened her in ways she did not understand and could not defend herself against. This was no clear-cut battle of the Light against the Dark—rather it was a struggle between two ways of life. And to withdraw from such was no act of cowardice, instead one of prudence for a Chosen.

  Free of the shrine Thora adapted for her journey across the valley the same tactics she would have used in any strange countryside, letting Kort scout, being as sure as she could that she herself passed unseen.

  She was tired, also she knew she must have time to think of a way past the defenses in the heights. If Borkin planned to make further use of her as an unwilling guide to that place of the Dark, then those outer guards would be alerted not to let her pass. She could hope for a little time, while Borkin was concerned with Makil. However, that time might be short—

  At the thought of the sword Makil bore she shook her head. That was a mighty talisman or focus of Power—such as she had heard of in legends. As such it could not be a threat to her.

  The Three-In-One had their ritual knives, their wands, their cups—yes. But though these might hold power for a short space—no one could deliver such a lance of force as she had seen twice now issue from the hilt of that weapon. Her own gem was nothing compared to that. The valley men had learned mighty secrets—Very well: let them now employ them against the Dark.

  Against the Dark—According to them the Dark was rising, lapping farther and farther out from whatever foul source fed and maintained it. She had felt the power of those drums. As for the cloaked Three—especially he who commanded them—even the Old Ones of the Three-In-One after long years of their Calling Down—might not be reckoned his equal. It was treason to all Thora believed to admit that, but she must reluctantly face the truth.

  Still these valley men could also have other strong resources beside the sword. Only, if they possessed such, why had she been used to hunt out Karn? The girl shook her head determinedly as she slipped along a hedge dividing two fields, following where Kort led. Soon the sun would be up, then she would be a fool to seek
a way out by day. She must find shelter in which to rest and break her fast from the scanty supplies remaining in her pack. Now she motioned to Kort, saw him move on, hunting a hiding place.

  They found hiding in a small wood where there was brush enough to form a screen. Kort crept on his belly into the heart of that growth, and Thora, going flat and pushing her pack before her, wriggled after, into a hollow which she enlarged with her knife to fit them better, packing the lengths she had cut to curtain the passage they had used.

  The ground was damp and there were flies which bit viciously until the girl brought out a box of greasy herb mixture and used it, rubbing the stuff over her face and arms, and drawing fingers of it down Kort’s hide. Then, with her head pillowed on the hound’s side, knowing that he was better than any human watchman, Thora allowed herself to sleep.

  The sleep was not deep. Rather she dozed and woke, then dozed again. Grimly she practiced the disciplines she had been taught to relax mind and body. But her last night’s venture had left her as distraught as she had not been since her first vigil under the Lady’s great lamp. It was hard to shut out of her mind the thoughts of the Dark.

  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 la
y 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.