Moon Called by Andre Norton Read Free Book Online

moisture slide from under them down the furred cheeks. Malkin was crying!
    The girl sat up in spite of the pain in her head, the twinge in her arm. She reached out to take those claws into her own fingers, hold them close.
    “Who—?” She began and then changed her question. “What is Makil?”
    Malkin pulled one of her hands from Thora’s grasp and patted the cloak which was never far from her.
    “Maaakillll!”
    Thora knew the possible power of that symboled cloak. He who would wear such was near to a full priest, if not equal to her own Three-In-One. But the Hunter, in spite of his being the Winter King, never claimed such power. She had never heard of any man who followed the deep rituals. And that vision—surely that had been in another world, one in which the Mother reached, yes, but perhaps only in HER darker aspect. Still the swordholder had brought light into darkness there. No man could do that—!
    The girl felt a flash of anger. Still she dared not deny the vision. To do that was to deny the very power which was the core of her life. She longed for clearer communication with Malkin. Though this Makil meant so much to the furred one he was plainly not of her own species. What was the tie between the two?
    Malkin fought for speech again. She had freed her other hand and now she pointed to her own breast.
    “Maaakill—Malllkinnn—” she held up two of her very slender fingers pressed tightly one to the other, “Ssssistterrr — shadowww — fam — familiarrr!”
    Thora gasped. Old lore—legends—stirred deep in her mind. Only—she stared into Malkin’s eyes. Familiars—those were of the Dark Path!
    Perhaps the other was able to grasp the girl’s thought, for Malkin shook her head violently. Her fingers moved now in the age-old sign of warding off evil and her mouth twisted as it had before she spat upon the wearer of the red cloak.
    Before Thora knew what she would do the furred one flung herself at the girl, jerked at the belt of her breeches, drawing those down to expose the moon gem. Malkin’s claw fingers hooked about that—then deliberately she brought it so into her palm and closed herhand upon it, her eyes on Thora’s.
    As carefully as she had caught it up, she let it go again and then turned up, into Thora’s full sight, her own hand so that the girl could see there was no mark or weal upon it.
    “Seee—noooo—hurrrttt—” she said with a kind of defiance and a touch of anger.

4
    Thora’s tongue swept over her lower lip. No legend—the truth! For let any one of the Dark lay hand so upon a gem which was worn by one of the Lady’s own Chosen and there would follow blighting, and a blasting fire. Whatever Malkin might be she did not give homage to Set or any follower of His.
    “Not the Dark,” Thora agreed. “Then where is Makil?”
    Malkin’s shoulders hunched, her indignation was gone. Once more moisture gathered in her eyes. It was plain that the furred one had lost him who had such a close bond with her.
    “Where did you lose him?” Thora asked carefully. She had never tried to discover beforefrom whence Malkin had come, or why she had been left, a wounded prisoner, in the trading station.
    “Seeeleeep — darrrk — waakke — Maaakil — gonnne — Hunt—” She caught the cloak to her, hugging its folds tightly.
    “Sssseett ones coommeee— Taaakke — Hold — Maaakill Coommme — gettt — theyyy catchh — tryyy sooo—” She struggled to form the words, while flecks of foam gathered in the corners of her wide mouth, spun by her effort.
    Thora tried a guess. “Some of the Dark Path took you—would use you as bait to catch Makil?”
    Malkin gave a cry of excitement and triumph, nodding her head so vigorously that the brush of her hair floated even more widely about her head. She started to gesture now, as if the struggle to talk was too much for the explanation she needed to make. With motions she suggested tying something about her ankle, then pointed to a