Moon Called by Andre Norton Read Free Book Online Page B

weaving?
    The vision—that she must hold in mind as the priestesses did any true dream, think upon it carefully. What she had seen was not concise fact, but rather a suggestion of powers at war and a clear message that she was part of the struggle. Though it would seem that Malkin’s Makil was strong enough to stand against Dark Forces.
    “You seek Makil?” she asked.
    Malkin sketched helplessness. Then once more she fell to stroking the cloak—all which she had left of the one she longed to be with. Thora sighed. She looked out into the rain. Kort had brought in her pack. He must havegone back into the darkness of the slit and dared face again the danger there to drag it along.
    She was tired, hungry, but they were in the open once more and she felt free. Thora dragged the pack to her and began hunting food and water, setting a pannikin out where the steady fall of rain filled it. They drank their fill. The furred one then poured what was over into the trail bottle. She refused the meat the girl offered, drawing instead on one of the vials she had brought out of the storage place, licking at its contents.
    Thora would have liked a fire but decided against the comfort of that in unknown territory. So at last they curled up together as far back in the cave as they could squeeze, Kort being gone, Thora guessed to his own hunting. Malkin lay with her head on a double fold of the cloak, the rest pulled about her. Thora watched her settle so with sleep-weighted eyes, wondering if she herself was about to be haunted by some dream vision. She had had enough of those—hopefully for this—or perhaps many other days.
    She awoke with the feeling that something waited—some action was demanded of her. Though, if she had dreamed again, no memory remained to guide her. The rain had stopped, yet still there was a massing of clouds that promised more. Again she wished for a fire, yet knew that was folly.

    Kort, his coat plastered with mud and water, trotted out of the brush, a rabbit dangling from his jaws. He brought that to Malkin and so they ate. Then Thora climbed a small hillock to see what might lie beyond.
    No sign here of any road, still they were on the edge of open country and to travel across that would make them highly visible. She caught sight of willow and other growth bordering what might be a broad river and there were large animals, a herd of them splashing along the edge of the stream.
    Now she looked to Kort and made the hand signal which would bring an answer if man were near. The hound continued to lick at one foot to clear mud from between his claws. But he barked once, so assuring her that the land over which he had ranged was clear of her own kind. Still she hesitated—since she had fled the Craigs she had been ever wary of open country.
    Returning to the shallow cave she undid her bundles. The poorly dried meat had a bad odor. Though she hated to waste food she dumped that out of the hide which she had scraped and rescraped several times over. Her boots were wearing thin and if they found a safe place to camp awhile she must see to the repairing of them with several thicknesses of hide for new soles.
    Repacking her gear Thora settled the familiar burden on her shoulders. Malkin had inturn replaced the vials within the cloak and rolled that into a tight pack. Though the furred one still limped, it was apparent that her injury was healing well. She no longer needed Kort for support, but she retained the spear-staff.
    Thora looked back once into the dark throat of the cut from which they had won out of the dark. There was no sign there of any door or opening made by man. Her memory of the fight in the dark was such that she wanted no further exploration there. But she did find, huddled against a rock by the entrance, a creature which brought a lurch of fear to her heart. This was a huge rat such as had crawled from around the feet of the statue in her vision.
    It had died snarling, its throat a red ruin. She