Moon Called Read Free

move.
    Still there was nothing reptilian about this stranger. Back and forth moved that tongue as if its owner was struggling with great effort. Then came a hissing with such a guttural distortion the girl barely caught what might be a word—or a name—a name of power!
    “Hhhkkattta—”
    Thora's hand flew to her birth marking. That this one knew that Name! Truly all things which moved, and breath and life, were children of the Mother. But to hear that name so—She answered with another Name—one of the inner circle—the way of day and not of night:
    “Ardana.”
    Again the tongue writhed as if it must catch hold upon a word—to drag it forth from a laboring throat which was plainly never meant to shape human speech:
    “Sissiterrr—” Slurred and mangled though that was, it made sense.
    Thora pointed to the sky which was now indeed deepening into twilight where they could see it through the tree branches.
    “Moon—” It was waning, but still it had the power in it.
    The creature raised its head a fraction and nodded. Though that seemed to have exhaustedit, for it fell back, its hands lying limply across its body, touching its fur covered, shrunken breasts. Then once more the tongue worked and one hand arose to touch claw to breast.
    “Malllkin—”
    Was that its own name, or the designation of its kind? Thora had no idea. But she nodded vigorously, pointing once more to herself and repeating her name. Then to the other and saying:
    “Malkin.”
    Moved by some impulse she could not explain, she stood up and loosened her belt, turning the top of her breeches down about her hips to display the moon gem.
    The red eyes, sighting that, blazed—it seemed to Thora—with actual fire. Then both claw hands came up and moved slowly, but with the ease of long knowledge through certain gestures—two of which brought a gasp from Thora. Those were private things, signed only by the High Priestess (she who was possessed by the Lady when there was great need). The others were strange, but between this stranger who was not born of man and woman, and herself—yes, there was a common heritage, an unbreakable bond.
    Their camp in the copse could only be a temporary one. Thora had no idea when another party of traders might come to the rest stop of the building. She traveled a short distancealong the road, sighting there the dried dung of ponies, as well as the scuffed marks of boots. There had not been rain for some time; those had been set there when the ground was muddy. She sent Kort to scout for a distance but he reported nothing of any recent passage.
    While Malkin lay gathering strength, Thora set about drying the meat in strips. But also the girl slipped down to make a more detailed search of the building. There was no covering on the bunks—save a malodorous tangle in the one where she had found Malkin. When she gingerly twitched that out on the floor she found it to be a very finely woven weather cloak—three thicknesses quilted together.
    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 forMalkin. 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