This she brought to the stream side, working over it with wads of scrub grass, sinking it at last into the stream to be further scoured clean by running water. It was while she was about this task that she discovered its inner lining was worked with thick, colored thread, the patterns making her start in surprise, peer the closer, even trace some with fingertip.
Here were her own moon signs, but with those a spiralled circle which she puckered forehead over—knowing it must be a sign of power but not one used by those who had taught her. There were other symbols, too, the crossed spears with a surmounting horn which belonged to the Hunter—the Winter King.
The cloak had plainly never been made for Malkin. Even when Thora drew it about her own shoulders the hem swept the ground. It was a garment of ceremony, but whoever had worn it must have been tall and broad of shoulder. As she shook it out Malkin's eyes blazed once more in that fiery brilliance which Thora was sure expressed emotion the other could not or would not communicate otherwise.
Though she had opened the two other doors leading out of the great room in the traders’ rest she had found nothing but bare chambers. Perhaps these served as storage chambers. Sometimes the traders were rumored to hold back part of their stock in well guarded places, taking with them only small loads for trade.
How had Malkin come to be here? Traders did not deal in living things, guarding jealously even their beasts of burden which were well trained to trailing. Sometimes they had a hound such as Kort, but those were never sold or bargained for—they were too highly esteemed. People (Thora classed Malkin as that) were not items of trade. So why had this furred, silent creature been abandoned here?
On the third day Malkin moved about restlessly, pulling at the binding on her ankle. Though Thora tried to restrain her, the girl at last gave up the struggle, watched the wrappings she had put on so carefully stripped away. Then Malkin set about working over her own hurt, taking her toeless foot between her hands, massaging and bending it.
Thora could sense the pain that manipulation caused the other. Still Malkin continued with determination. And Thora did not try to interfere. Fresh meat provided by Kort, who brought in small kills, seemed to revive the furred one amazingly. Thora's own revulsion at the manner of Malkin's feeding died away. It was really no different than Kort's; only because the furred one was humanoid in appearance did it bother her.
They were five days in the copse camp. On the night of the fifth the waning moon was narrowed to a thin slit in the sky. Now it would disappear, and with it the strength which Thora believed she could call upon. At the rise of that crescent she threw aside her clothing and walked into the open. The rituals she knew she had mainly watched, only a few of them had she ever taken part in at the Craigs. But, since her wandering westward, she had not neglected any that she knew or could improvise upon. This was not the fullness of the ripe moon, but it was the Last Light before the rebirth of the Maid.
Beneath her feet the new growing grass was soft as she walked first that Path, seeing in her mind Tall Stones which were not here, but which must each be saluted in turn. She faced the Nameless Lords, the Four Watchers. Though those she dared not invoke. However she hummed the Drawing Song, the invocation to HER ABOVE ALL. The old ache, the lack stirred painfully within her. If only she had been Blessed before she had been set adrift . . .
Then—
It was neither a whistle nor a hiss—only a sound as thin as the lightest of breezes. The faint notes of it rose and fell with a cadence which Thora had never heard. Her body answered before her mind was aware of what she did. She dipped and swayed, twirled, turned, foot forward, foot back, caught in the net of that sound as securely as a salmon might be caught in a net set in the spawning river. The sound was so low that at times it echoed more in her head than in her ears—
She moved faster and faster until, turning her head up to the sky, it seemed that the star points shining there were spinning too, following also the bidding of that singing. For singing it was even if it came from no human throat.
Round she went, following the sunpath, pausing at each Watcher's point, north, east, south, west. About her waist the chain slipped and there was a radiance growing. The moon jewel flashed as she moved. Thora did not even feel the grass beneath her feet. Instead she was free, as if flesh and bone, all which made up Thora, had grown as light as some wind-carried seedling reft away from the earth to be born up to the very sky throne of the Mother.
2
Even as it had slowly caught her by its rhythm, so did the song to which she was captive begin to die. Moisture dropped from her chin, to spatter on her breast as Thora stood quiet, her body bathed in sweat in spite of the now-chill night wind. Both arms and legs felt leaden, as if she had used them for some task which had pushed her to the very edge of endurance. She raised one arm slowly to draw the back of her hand across her face, pushing away the hair plastered to forehead and cheeks.
Thora felt as one fresh awakened out of a deep sleep—a sleep in which now-forgotten dreams had moved. She saw Malkin dully. The furred one was seated on the cloak—it spread wide with that many-patterned inner surface up. Between her claws the other held a length of reed such as could be culled from any stream side. As Thora stared Malkin dropped that from her wide mouth where her tongue no longer caressed it. So quiet was it now—in spite of the wind—that Thora heard a crunch as the pointed teeth crushed the reed. Malkin spit the bits into a narrow palm which closed about them tightly.
The red eyes flamed so Thora would not have believed those of any living creature might do. She was certain that actual radiance fanned out from each. Then the lids half closed, and Malkin's shoulders hunched, as if the wind were becoming too strong for her bone-thin body.
Thora's very bones ached. She had felt this way before when she had tramped all day on some hard road trail. Pain gathered about her hip joints as she took one stiff step and then another towards Malkin, her arms swinging, dead weights, by her sides. Though never had she been so exhausted as this, still she felt no touch of evil such as she had been warned against.
Thus step by weary step she came to the furred one, standing before Malkin where she sat cross-legged on the cloak with the authority of an Old One. Malkin's own hand came out, gripped the swinging moon jewel. The gem within it was aglow, alive, with light. Malkin did not try to take it from the girl, only cupped it in her own hands. Though, Thora realized at that moment, the virtue had so been drawn out of her that she could not have defended her precious thing even if Malkin had reft it from her.
Instead she stood quietly while the furred one held the pendant so. Then Thora knew—into that gem of the Mother's bestowing she had danced all the power which her own spirit and energy could draw. Now from it Malkin, in turn, was draining that into her own furred self—another form of feeding—or rebuilding.
Nor could Thora deny the other that nourishment. She had never known of such a ceremony as this. But she was only partially an initiate. What was done among the Tall Stones at certain times only those with the full knowledge could say. Malkin had used her to produce this strength, as if by right.
The furred one released the pendant which no longer glowed. Thora wilted to her knees. Putting out a hand to steady herself, her palm pressed upon the cloak. She uttered a sharp cry. It had not been cloth she had touched then—rather a source of warmth—as if she had rested her hand against some living entity.
On her knees, her head was nearly at a level with Malkin's. Now the other put forth both thin hands, the claw tips of her fingers just touching, sliding across the girl's forehead, down her cheeks, to flutter across her lips. It was a gesture of caress, a kind of greeting—a thanks—
Malkin moved a little aside, drew Thora forward so that she, too, sat on the cloak. The warmth of it arose above her. Nor did she really know when she crumpled down, to lie in a curl, while the furred one sat beside her, slowly, gently, brushing the hair back from the girl's forehead, the long tongue flickering in and out betwee
n her jaws, her red eyes half-lidded. So Thora slept.
She awoke suddenly in the light of predawn. The cloak was now wrapped around her and for a moment or two she was dazed, for there was a maze of fast fleeting dreams behind her—strange dreams of singing, and another who had leaped high over a fire, bright steel in hand, spinning, smiting at the air, as if he battled fiercely the unseen. Now as the girl lay blinking into the lighting sky she sought to hold to that picture. Only it shredded from her, as dreams so often did.
Kort stood over her, his nose against her cheek. Deep in his throat sounded the rumble of a growl. Instantly Thora pushed aside the dream as well as the cloak. Caution awakened. She threw herself upon the pile of clothing she had discarded the night before, at the same time using eyes, ears, nose, to test the world around. Malkin stood with her back to the girl, facing in the direction of the building—though there was a screen of tree and brush to hide it.
In her hands she held the second of Thora's throwing spears, not fitted to its hurling stick, but rather as an in-fighting weapon. As the girl came up beside her she glanced up and radiated, in a way Thora could not understand only acknowledge, not only a strong sense of danger, but also hate tinged with fear.
Thora caught sound, the thud of pony hooves, a mutter of distant voices. People were on the road, undoubtedly heading for the traders’ rest. She moved with speed. Much of the meat, only half-cured, must be left. What she could take she bound up in the hide of her kill. Her shoulder pack was already together, for never did she neglect that precaution along the trail.
She looked doubtfully at Malkin. The furred one had rolled the cloak, was tying the ends, before slipping the circlet of cloth over one shoulder. But was her ankle strong enough for the going? And if they had to take to real flight—
Kort surprised her then. He moved in beside Malkin, his head near on the level with that of the furred one. She threw an arm across his back and he matched his steps to hers, supporting her weight as she limped along.
Thora followed, after shouldering both of her packs. There was no time to conceal the camp site. But she could depend upon Kort's wisdom to guide them into the best hiding place which could be found. He was ahead making a slow way to favor Malkin, farther into the small wood. Under the trees the ground began to rise. Thora played rear guard, using all she knew to disguise their passing. But if these strangers had companionship of such as Kort, what she did would count as nothing.
There came a loud bray. So those travelers must have the small donkeys who could carry such heavy burdens—as well as ponies—in their train. Traders then, for raiders did not use such animals. The day grew lighter and the girl watched Malkin anxiously, wondering how, even with Kort's support, the furred one could keep going. Her limp was pronounced, and now she used Thora's second spearbutt down as a staff.
They had advanced for a time before Thora discovered that under the drifted leaves of last season there was so firm a footage that they must be following a road such as the Ones Before had once laid down. The taller trees grew in lines, leaving mainly brush and saplings between.
Kort, during his explorations, must have chanced on this, though why he selected this direction now Thora could not guess—save she depended on him. The land immediately ahead was banked on either side by a rise yet higher. Here the drift of soil and leaves had not been so deep that she could see at times the dark of the roadway.
Thus they came out into a hollow where there were the remnants of another building. Only time had not dealt so well with this one. For there was left only a crumple of walls, some pits in the earth. Thora would have skirted this, seeing more of a trap than a shelter. However Kort headed for one of the cellar pits.
He looked back from its edge to the girl, his message plain in a slow swing of his head as he looked down into the dark opening and then back again to her. Kort was urging descent into the earth.
Shucking off her pack and the unwieldy bundle of the meat and hide, Thora came level with the hound and the furred one to look down in turn. The darkness was daunting and she hesitated. Kort's lip lifted—he was growing impatient. Only because of her trust in him did she yield.
Brush and saplings hung over the edge, a veil shadowing much which was beneath. However a tree, storm struck seasons ago, cleared a space. Thora went to her knees by that, sweeping aside a clump of tall-stemmed weeds, now able to see that here was a flight of stairs—covered with moss and a greenish slimelike growth.
She signalled to Kort and Malkin to remain, and, spear ready, she slipped over, descending into a twilight gloom. It was not a long stair. Perhaps ten steps brought her onto a firm pavement. Once her eyes adjusted to the gloom she saw a mass of debris reaching nearly to where she stood. Beyond that was a black hole which surely had been uncovered by the fall of that—not a hole but rather a door, for the sides of the opening were regularly cut.
Thora had no desire to push on blindly into the dark, even with Kort to reassure her. However there were lengths of wood, old but still firm enough to be bound into a torch, and in her belt pouch was a striker box to spark that flame. She stood at the bottom of the stair and beckoned to the other two.
Malkin loosed hold on the dog, waited, balancing with one hand on the wall and the other on the spear, while Kort rolled both packs down to Thora. At the foot of the steps he waited for the girl to knot the hide and meat burden to his back, then, with a flirt of his tail, went confidently on through that waiting doorway.
Thora was gathering wood for her proposed torch when a clawed hand caught at her wrist and she looked to see Malkin shaking her head firmly. Instead the furred one opened her eyes wide, blinked several times as if to direct the girl's attention to them, plainly suggesting that Malkin, for one, needed no such light.
Thora hesitated. The fewer signs of their passage which they left behind them the better. But those slippery steps and the slow way Malkin had descended them was a warning. Thora sent her one spear thudding into its carrier and held out her arms. She gathered up the other, the warm fur soft against her arms, as she carried her new companion as she might a child.
Once across the pile of debris the furred one twisted and signed to be put down, as one confident of being able now to manage. Kort, waiting just inside that doorway, once more moved to her side and they started ahead. There was something odd. It took a space of several steps for Thora to realize that the cloak which Malkin wore tied around her was giving off a ghostly aura of light.
What had been woven into that? To the girl the fabric had seemed very like any that she knew—save perhaps smoother and finer of weave. This light was thin, only showing a portion of Malkin's and Kort's outlines—but it was a beacon she herself could follow.
Once Malkin looked back. Her eyes were so brightly ablaze—more brilliant than Thora had ever seen them—that the girl was amazed. It would seem that the furred one DID have her own method of seeing in the dark.
Away from the entrance the floor was very smooth and unencumbered with any loose stone. Thora stooped once and ran her finger tips along it. The pavement was surely not stone and she wished she had more light to see it better.
She had no idea how long they traveled that underground way before the haze which marked Malkin and Kort halted. Then she heard that hissing speech—a word repeated several times as she caught up:
“Doooor—”
The other two stepped aside to let Thora approach the barrier. She put out her hands to run those over what seemed at first to be a wholly smooth surface. Then at waist level, she came upon a projection in the form of a wheel. There were spaces along the edge of that into which her fingers seemed to slip of their own accord. Tightening hold she tried to turn it—first one way and then the other. She had never seen such a locking device in use before but those of the Before Time had many lost secrets.
This resisted her efforts and she began to believe that there was no way of loosening the lock. They would have to retrace their path. Then, out of the shadows, beh
ind her there arose the same kind of low crooning as had set her dancing beneath the waning moon. This time it did not woo her into any movement of body or feet, but rather it appeared to strengthen her in her battle with the wheel.
Thora threw her full strength in that direction which came natural, the sun's path. It seemed locked forever. Then—so suddenly that she was near spun off her feet—the resistance of ages broke, the wheel turned—only a fraction to be sure. But, so encouraged, Thora bent her whole strength to its subjection. There was a grating, harsh enough to drown out the song.
It had come near completely around now. Also she could urge it no farther. Still holding on, she pulled, dragging it toward her. Again she met resistance. But Thora fought on, varying a steady pull with sudden short vigorous jerks. It began to yield gradually. There puffed out at them air which was less chill, less tainted with the scent of mold.
Shaking from her efforts, Thora moved aside to allow Kort to brush past her. She felt Malkin's claws gain a hold on her belt. Together the furred one and Thora forced their way through that narrow opening into a burst of light, as if a torch had been put to the flame by their coming.
Before them now stretched a hall without any breaks in the smooth walls. Those walls were fashioned of a smooth blue-green substance like metal, and all about was fresh air and light. Though there was no sign from whence those came. Above all lay a brooding silence through which Thora fancied she could hear their own breathing. Kort's spine hair was up a fraction, his dark lips wrinkling back, and the girl's unease matched that of the hound.
Malkin twitched away the vine wrap tie of the cloak she carried. With a quick flip of the wrist she sent the fabric swinging out, to lie open on the floor, going down on her knees at the edge of its expanse. From the searching look she gave it she might be now consulting a map.