The Gate of the Cat (Witch World: Estcarp Series) (18 page)
Read The Gate of the Cat (Witch World: Estcarp Series) Online
Authors: Andre Norton
“She—she's gone!” Kelsie swept her hand forward where moments earlier the witch had stood. Nothing but air, not even the traces of something such as the eftan had given off in its going.
“Her power was her—” Yonan said, in a tired, fading voice. “When it would not come to her, then she went to it. She has found what she came for—the final consuming power.”
As if in answer to his comment the jewel was indeed ablaze—almost as bright as it had been when Kelsie's jewel had joined with it in splendor. The shadows—they were fleeing, racing back to certain dark places. Even those, one after another, were vanishing to become spaces bare of the blots of evil which had held some of them for so long.
A source of greater power—that was what the witches of Estcarp had sought and that was what Wittle had found.
Kelsie turned to Yonan. That whirling ball of light out there was frightening. If her own jewel had endured would she, too, have been so drawn into it? Could she be influenced now by Wittle's?
She edged back from the basin.
“You were not sealed,” Yonan's words meant little to her. She wanted nothing as much as to run down an aisle of those columns, to get out of this place. “You are not a witch out of Estcarp. The jewel came to you as a gift, not a weapon—”
“A gift,” she repeated. Such as gift as no one would welcome—“ Who would want such as that?” She gestured to the miniature sun the gem had become.
“Many,” he returned shortly. There was a shadow across his face, not a reflection of evil but rather one of loss. “To each there are given gifts. Those which we cherish grow.” His hand sought his sword belt, closed about the hilt of that broken blade. “I knew another who was offered much and claimed it. She walks now other roads, nor does she remember much of what was before, except as something which is far off and has no longer any connection with her. Glydys,” his voice lingered over that name as if he would call its wearer to appear to them now.
But Kelsie was not interested in things of the past. She had retreated so that the rise of a pillar was between her and the whirling sun-stone. For she could not rid herself of the belief that if she remained directly in its light it could also draw her who had so long carried and used its fellow.
“Let us go!” she demanded of Yonan.
His smile was crooked. “Go indeed, Lady. Though I do not think that evil will hunt now. For me,” he raised his hand in a small gesture which indicated his sprawling body, “I need two legs which will carry me.”
He was right. For him to rise and retreat down that long way between columns would be perhaps impossible. If they went together they would continue to be exposed to what was here for a long time—maybe too long a time. Yet Kelsie could not take the first step which would take her away to leave him there alone.
“What shall we do?” he asked the question which hung in her own mind but which she would not allow herself to voice. “Why, it is simple, Lady. You go for help, I remain—”
“To face that again?” she waved toward the opposite side of the basin and the scorched dead which lay there. He might have been cut to pieces there had not her own jewel played a hand in the final battle. Final battle? How could she judge that that had already passed? She thought of the hounds, the Sarn Riders, the dead monsters she had seen.
Nor could she believe that the single sun-gem would expend itself beyond the place where it now hung to protect either of them now.
“They have failed,” Yonan answered. “Whatever they would have done here is ended. As long as that blazes they are driven back. For I think that this world below us is the mirror image of what surrounds us, and what Wittle has set in motion is for good instead of ill. No, get you gone, Lady—and bring help—”
Instead of answering him she deliberately made herself approach the rim of the basin once more and there stand to trace out what she was sure was the reflection of the Valley, noting the distances between that and the place of columns. With a horse they might have done it—but any horses hereabouts would be those fell beasts of the Riders. It might take her days and she had no surety of keeping to any road when she left here—especially one which led by the keep of the squatting monster.
The Valley. Yes, she could trace it from where she stood. It was . . . right there!
Out of it now arose something which was almost like the mist of the fleeing eftan. She fell back, her hands going uselessly to her breast where there was no longer a jewel to save or strike. There was a small sound of explosion as if the air itself had burst open and then a fierce snarling.
She was looking at the wildcat, the animal which had led her into the whole of this venture. Its lips were curled back showing its sharp fangs, its fur stood erect, and its curved tail was a stiff brush.
“You . . . come—”
Two words in her mind, quavering as if the animal labored mightily to make her understand. It padded back and forth between her and the basin rim. She understood well enough; it wanted her to follow Wittle, to leap out—or in—aiming her body at the mountains below. She rubbed her eyes sure that this was an illusion, that surely the wildcat was not here, that it was part of her memory playing tricks on her.
“So—that is the way of it?” Yonan's voice startled her so that she started and nearly touched the rim. He was crawling like a sadly wounded beast toward the opening in the floor. She tried to reach him, to grasp his body and hold him back, for it was plain that he was about to do just what the cat wished.
Only, as she took a step toward him, the cat flew at her, one paw up, the talons extended to their farthest limit. Those hit her thighs and she stumbled back. It was too late. Yonan had reached the ridge of the basin, with both hands gripping there he pulled himself forward, leaving a small trail of blood on the stone. Over he dragged himself and was gone!
She looked to the gem, awaiting another flare of energy. But that did not come. Instead she felt again the rake of claws as the cat sprang at her for the second time. She gave way—stumbled back and to her terror felt herself go over.
There was no interval of dark, no feeling of falling that she could ever afterward remember. She opened her eyes and above her was the brilliant tapestry of the roof of feathers. Back in the Valley! Had it been a dream—her journey? Or was this the dream—a nightmare brought on by her fall?
Paws landed on her breast. There were large eyes turned upon her. The wildcat! And above her was Dahaun's face, her eyes also large and mirroring concern.
“This,” Kelsie got one elbow bent, had lifted herself so far from the low mat bed on which she lay, “this is the Valley—”
She had not made a question of that but it would seem that Dahaun took it so, for she nodded.
“This is the Valley.”
What was the truth then? Was there a second Estcarp and Escore in a basin within a forgotten temple, if temple that was, or merely the appearance of it strong enough to draw those attuned to its home?
“Perhaps,” Dahaun was thought reading again, and Kelsie did not resent it.
“Wittle—the jewel—” she said.
As Yonan before her the Lady of Green Silences answered that. “She has what she sought—power unlimited, though not as she expected to choose it. But already the Dark is withdrawing—in that she does what she dreamed to do.”
“And I? Or what is your dream—think upon that, sister.” Dahaun arose and was gone. Only the purring cat kneading the front of her faded and soiled jerkin remained.
“For you,” Kelsie said, “it is easy—you want only safe shelter for you and your family. For me—what do I want?”
By the light it was early evening, she had come out of the Valley and none had spoken to her. It seemed that she was to be left alone until she decided—decided what? She was not even sure of that.
She found herself going arrow straight to the stones—those blue, shining stones. There were no hounds, no Rider now. She had had enough confidence in Dahaun's words not to fear this night and she walked briskly until the stones stood before her.
Kelsie stepped forward until she could lay one hand on either side of that gate she could not see, which might never open again.
“Is it back?”
Startled she looked over her shoulder. Simon Tregarth stood there. For the first time she saw him out of armor, wearing the green dress of the Valley, his head bare of any helm.
“Can it be?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I never tried. I have heard it said, no. But of that I have had no proof. Do you want to try it?”
She looked back at the gate and thought of what might lie beyond it. There was none to have worried about her, grieved for her, and none she grieved for either.
“I am no witch—the jewel is broken,” she said slowly.
“True enough. But that all power is bound to a gem, in that belief, too, there is error. You might be more than you expect—here.”
“Here.” She turned her back to the gate and looked about her. There was a yowl and the cat sprang from the bushes beyond and made a hunter's flying leap upon something small which ran in the grass.
“I think,” Kelsie said, “that it is here.” She took one step and then two and then began to run back to the Valley.