their human links that they could not exist for long away from them. Yet Malkin had survived and seemed stronger each day. Therefore that part of the legend must be false. Only—Thora wanted so much to understand what fate had overwhelmed Malkin’s human—the man of her vision. Had he been slain? Was he prisoner of Set’s forces? The furred one had indicated that she hadbeen used as bait to entrap him—that the plan failed with the coming of traders. Thora shook her head—if only she knew more!
Mid-afternoon the rain ceased and the sky lightened. They had come a good distance and Thora was hungry. Even a small evoking of the Power could exhaust one and she had touched on it when she had used her jewel to “seal” the dead.
In spite of her limp Malkin had kept a steady pace. Kort must have gone twice the distance scouting. Now Thora saw him waiting for them at the edge of a thicket which stood before a stand of trees of taller growth than any she had seen.
There was something about those trees—Thora recognized them with a stir of rising excitement. Oaks! Though what such were doing in the middle of this open land she could not understand—unless they had been planted so. She quickened stride, passing Malkin. When she reached Kort she caught a glimpse of grey-white—a stone standing tall among the trees. Then she stopped, her head high. She might not be able to test the wind for scent as well as her four-footed companion, but there was another sense—that which recognized the stir of Power—that might carry either a welcome or a warning.
5
There was a scent borne by the air as Thora went forward slowly. In the grass growing about the bases of the stones shone color—blossoms of white, purple, yellow—violets in such quantities as she had never remembered seeing. And their perfume drove from her the last shadow of the horror she had faced this day.
She approached the nearest stone, trying not to tread upon the clustered flowers. From this point she could see farther into this pocket of woodland. More white stones stood by trees—surely not just by chance. The curled heads of ferns pushed upwards. Here and there in small patches of bare ground lay acorns which displayed no signs of a season’sweathering, but rather appeared as if they had fallen only today. Thora’s fingers curled about some she stooped to gather. Acorns were a priestess’s true jewels, she wore such as a harvest necklace when she surrendered her wand to the Horned Hunter for the winter months.
Cupping the nuts to her breast, the girl went on. Yes, the trees and the stones made a pattern—leading one forward into the heart of this miniature forest. There stood more stones, none marked by man’s defacing tools, yet set in a circle for a sky-roofed temple which was truly of the Lady. Thora entered that circle as might a child come safely home, dropping on her knees to the earth where the ground was bare save for a cushioning of moss, soft and brilliantly green.
Kort threw himself down beside her and lay panting, resting his head upon his forepaws as would a hound at his own hearthside. Then Malkin came. The furred one moved with ceremony, facing in each of the Four Directions, her head a little to one side as if she listened. Her tongue flickered ceaselessly but she was not forcing any words. Instead she pulled from her shoulder the roll of cloak, shook out its folds with a whirl of arm so that its symboled side lay uppermost. When that was done to her satisfaction, she seated herself upon it, her hands between her knees.
Peace wrapped them in. Thora wanted to stretch out as she might on a sun touched hillside,unburdened in body and mind. Only Malkin then stirred. Her hands moved in gestures, first slowly, and then with speed, as if what she wrought was an invisible fabric. Also she hummed, her hiss-song growing louder, taking up a more demanding beat.
Thora strove to close her eyes that she might not watch that weaving. It
Mid-afternoon the rain ceased and the sky lightened. They had come a good distance and Thora was hungry. Even a small evoking of the Power could exhaust one and she had touched on it when she had used her jewel to “seal” the dead.
In spite of her limp Malkin had kept a steady pace. Kort must have gone twice the distance scouting. Now Thora saw him waiting for them at the edge of a thicket which stood before a stand of trees of taller growth than any she had seen.
There was something about those trees—Thora recognized them with a stir of rising excitement. Oaks! Though what such were doing in the middle of this open land she could not understand—unless they had been planted so. She quickened stride, passing Malkin. When she reached Kort she caught a glimpse of grey-white—a stone standing tall among the trees. Then she stopped, her head high. She might not be able to test the wind for scent as well as her four-footed companion, but there was another sense—that which recognized the stir of Power—that might carry either a welcome or a warning.
5
There was a scent borne by the air as Thora went forward slowly. In the grass growing about the bases of the stones shone color—blossoms of white, purple, yellow—violets in such quantities as she had never remembered seeing. And their perfume drove from her the last shadow of the horror she had faced this day.
She approached the nearest stone, trying not to tread upon the clustered flowers. From this point she could see farther into this pocket of woodland. More white stones stood by trees—surely not just by chance. The curled heads of ferns pushed upwards. Here and there in small patches of bare ground lay acorns which displayed no signs of a season’sweathering, but rather appeared as if they had fallen only today. Thora’s fingers curled about some she stooped to gather. Acorns were a priestess’s true jewels, she wore such as a harvest necklace when she surrendered her wand to the Horned Hunter for the winter months.
Cupping the nuts to her breast, the girl went on. Yes, the trees and the stones made a pattern—leading one forward into the heart of this miniature forest. There stood more stones, none marked by man’s defacing tools, yet set in a circle for a sky-roofed temple which was truly of the Lady. Thora entered that circle as might a child come safely home, dropping on her knees to the earth where the ground was bare save for a cushioning of moss, soft and brilliantly green.
Kort threw himself down beside her and lay panting, resting his head upon his forepaws as would a hound at his own hearthside. Then Malkin came. The furred one moved with ceremony, facing in each of the Four Directions, her head a little to one side as if she listened. Her tongue flickered ceaselessly but she was not forcing any words. Instead she pulled from her shoulder the roll of cloak, shook out its folds with a whirl of arm so that its symboled side lay uppermost. When that was done to her satisfaction, she seated herself upon it, her hands between her knees.
Peace wrapped them in. Thora wanted to stretch out as she might on a sun touched hillside,unburdened in body and mind. Only Malkin then stirred. Her hands moved in gestures, first slowly, and then with speed, as if what she wrought was an invisible fabric. Also she hummed, her hiss-song growing louder, taking up a more demanding beat.
Thora strove to close her eyes that she might not watch that weaving. It
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