beginning of a storm, save there was no wind, only a spattering of acorns loosed to fall. Then the trees stilled. Kort sat, though he continued to hold his head high. Malkin turned a little in Thora’s hold.
“Ssssettt—” Her tongue fought for words —“Nooo commmeee heerree— Ssssaffeee—”
Once more that feeling of safety was close about them—warm, comforting—as if they had been gathered tightly into a loving embrace. Yet Thora knew that the enemy had tried to reach them.
“Weeee goooo—” Malkin continued, “Maaakilll caallls—”
She did not try to shake off Thora’s hold, rather she rested against the girl as if she had taken some wound from her own spelling. Malkin must be suffering now from that draining of inner power which she had expended in the making of the manikin.
Again the clawed hand moved as Malkin’s head rested against Thora—the wide mouth opened and her breath came and went in smallpanting gasps. The furred one waved weakly to one of the vials she had brought from the storage place. Snatching up the nearest the girl put that into the feeble hand.
Pushing free the cap, the other licked at the powder as Thora continued to support her. As a restorative the dust worked swiftly, the furred one sat erect on her own as she looked to the girl and nodded.
“Maaakilll livesss—” There was triumph in that. “Weèe gooo—”
Thora sat back on her heels. It was true that to her one place in this strange country might well be as good as another. Only in her stirred a small resentment. She was Mother Chosen—near to being a priestess. The man in her vision was greater than any Horned Priest—she sensed that. But his power was a contradiction of terms which she was not able to accept. The Lady wrought through her Daughters—theirs was the power. No priest could hope to call Her save through the Priestess. Yet the will she knew had animated that manikin for a space had in some way influenced her and that it was a man who had done this. There were many peoples in this land of which she knew little—look at Malkin whose like she had not dreamed would exist.
With those of Set it was the priest who was the vessel of power. Still this Makil was not of Set. What WAS he then—this one who wore a man’s body and yet was able to call upongood? She shook her head at her own thoughts. In spite of that spark of resentment, she knew that she would indeed go north—into what danger she might not begin to reckon—whether she willed it or not.
While they spent the night within this forgotten sacred place, Kort went hunting. However, he did not bring a fresh kill for Malkin. Even that four-footed ranger accepted the age-old rule that fresh blood could not flow within a shrine. It was those of the Left Path, the Dark, who broke that Law. Their perverted followers slew even upon a very focus stone. Then even the true Power could not banish such shadows as lingered there to stain and destroy.
Malkin counted the vials left in her store—five. Of those she uncapped another and licked half its contents. Then she pulled the cloak straight, wrapped her supplies within it. Thora ate of her own meager rations.
She half expected that in this place she might meet with another vision. The spell casting should have alerted the force brooding here—old as that might be. For any arousing of a place of the Ancient Learning brought answers. She made a slow round of the circle, nothing but the moss grew within the circle of tree and stones.
The sweet scent of the tree embracing flowers gathered strength at the setting of the sun. Yet this night she dared not dance downpower, for the Mother Lamp was not out and this was a time of full darkness. Still she was restless. Though Malkin had curled up, her head pillowed on the folded cloak, Thora had no wish to join her. Now came a sighing of wind through the trees. The girl listened—not knowing what she sought.
At last she came to the North Stone and there
“Ssssettt—” Her tongue fought for words —“Nooo commmeee heerree— Ssssaffeee—”
Once more that feeling of safety was close about them—warm, comforting—as if they had been gathered tightly into a loving embrace. Yet Thora knew that the enemy had tried to reach them.
“Weeee goooo—” Malkin continued, “Maaakilll caallls—”
She did not try to shake off Thora’s hold, rather she rested against the girl as if she had taken some wound from her own spelling. Malkin must be suffering now from that draining of inner power which she had expended in the making of the manikin.
Again the clawed hand moved as Malkin’s head rested against Thora—the wide mouth opened and her breath came and went in smallpanting gasps. The furred one waved weakly to one of the vials she had brought from the storage place. Snatching up the nearest the girl put that into the feeble hand.
Pushing free the cap, the other licked at the powder as Thora continued to support her. As a restorative the dust worked swiftly, the furred one sat erect on her own as she looked to the girl and nodded.
“Maaakilll livesss—” There was triumph in that. “Weèe gooo—”
Thora sat back on her heels. It was true that to her one place in this strange country might well be as good as another. Only in her stirred a small resentment. She was Mother Chosen—near to being a priestess. The man in her vision was greater than any Horned Priest—she sensed that. But his power was a contradiction of terms which she was not able to accept. The Lady wrought through her Daughters—theirs was the power. No priest could hope to call Her save through the Priestess. Yet the will she knew had animated that manikin for a space had in some way influenced her and that it was a man who had done this. There were many peoples in this land of which she knew little—look at Malkin whose like she had not dreamed would exist.
With those of Set it was the priest who was the vessel of power. Still this Makil was not of Set. What WAS he then—this one who wore a man’s body and yet was able to call upongood? She shook her head at her own thoughts. In spite of that spark of resentment, she knew that she would indeed go north—into what danger she might not begin to reckon—whether she willed it or not.
While they spent the night within this forgotten sacred place, Kort went hunting. However, he did not bring a fresh kill for Malkin. Even that four-footed ranger accepted the age-old rule that fresh blood could not flow within a shrine. It was those of the Left Path, the Dark, who broke that Law. Their perverted followers slew even upon a very focus stone. Then even the true Power could not banish such shadows as lingered there to stain and destroy.
Malkin counted the vials left in her store—five. Of those she uncapped another and licked half its contents. Then she pulled the cloak straight, wrapped her supplies within it. Thora ate of her own meager rations.
She half expected that in this place she might meet with another vision. The spell casting should have alerted the force brooding here—old as that might be. For any arousing of a place of the Ancient Learning brought answers. She made a slow round of the circle, nothing but the moss grew within the circle of tree and stones.
The sweet scent of the tree embracing flowers gathered strength at the setting of the sun. Yet this night she dared not dance downpower, for the Mother Lamp was not out and this was a time of full darkness. Still she was restless. Though Malkin had curled up, her head pillowed on the folded cloak, Thora had no wish to join her. Now came a sighing of wind through the trees. The girl listened—not knowing what she sought.
At last she came to the North Stone and there
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