Andre Norton - The Gate of the Cat

There was a mocking note in her voice and Kelsie was quick to define it. Her resentment for that moment was greater than the uneasiness and wary fear this one always aroused in her.

“I practice no craft,” she returned sullenly. “I do not know why I am here and your gate—” she drew a deep breath.

The witch shook her head. “Not my gate—we meddle not in such matters—though once,” she sat very straight and there was a shadow of pride on her face, “we could do much which perhaps rivaled the secrets of the gates. But—” did her square shoulders slump a little now under the heavy folds of her gray overmantle? “that time is past. Tell me, girl—Kel-Say,” again she drawled out that name, mouthing it as if she said something momentous, “who rules the craft in your place and time?”

“If you mean witches,” Kelsie flashed hotly in return, “there are none—really. It is all just stories—Oh, some people dabble with old beliefs and talk about the moon, have ceremonies which they swear have come down from the old times—but it is all just their imaginations!”

There was silence between them and again Kelsie felt that probing within her head as if the other tested her for some shield.

“You believe what you have just said.” The woman’s stare changed from challenge to wonder. “You believe! How did matters go awry then in your time that the true knowledge was so lost? Yet Tregarth,” it seemed to Kelsie that she spoke that name with a lip twist of disgust, “has a measure of the power and he says that he is from your world—by another gate.”

Kelsie pulled herself up to sit on a rock so that they were lace to face, the woman not looking down at her.

“I do not know what you mean by power—” But was that the truth? There had been the besieging of the circle and certainly the Rider had used no normal weapon to try to get at her, nor had he been able to force his mount into that circle of stones, yet she could pass easily out and back.

“See? You do—at least power as it is here and now.” The other might well have reached within and read her thoughts. “The scrying said one would come and it would mean portentous things. And Roylane,” again her mouth twisted as if she found it very difficult to say that name, “yielded up her jewel—”

“Not to me,” Kelsie pointed out.

“Ah, yes. The cat. And what is the meaning of that, Kel-Say? Answer me now with the truth.” She raised one hand and snapped her fingers. A flash of blue light sped toward the girl and Kelsie ducked. Not soon enough—the spark touched her temple and it was as if a ball of fire had broken apart inside her head. She screamed and swayed.

“ Arkwraka! ”

Kelsie, still swaying, saw another lash of fire come apparently from the sky, cutting between her and the witch. A man, one of Dahaun’s people, raised his arm again and a second lash of fire, for she could feel the very heat of it, passed before her but not aimed at either her or the witch.

He who had used the flame whip advanced another step or so and Kelsie recognized him as Ethutur, the co-ruler with Dahaun of this place of peace, while at his shoulder, keeping step with him, though he carried no bared weapon, was the young man Kelsie had had named to her as Yonan, one of the scouts who went beyond the limits of the Valley and dared the evil at its blackest.

“You call on no such tricks here,” Ethutur spoke directly to the witch and her previously calm face now was drawn up into a snarl.

Her lips moved as if she would spit like an enraged cat. But when she answered her voice was even enough.

“This one is no kin of yours—”

“Nor of your blood either,” he returned. “If she gives anything she will give it openly and by her own consent. This is a place of freedom—there is no mistress, no servant here—”

“You are all servants!” flared the witch.

“To a greater Power than you or anyone else within this Valley can call upon!”

The Dark has penetrated many places where the Light says or once said that it holds rule. Even your oath-bound Lady does not know for sure what she has welcomed into the heart of her safe land. Those who come through the gates have gifts, talents, compulsions that none of us can name. I would learn more from this one—that she not be the key by which the Dark can open your gate!”

“Your rule runs over mountain—or it did, Wise One. But it would seem that you cannot now summon any quorum of your sisters to do much more than the Wisewomen who follow the Lady can. You came to us of Escore for aid for your losses and now you go your own bold way and do not abide by the bounds laid upon power here. You know well that the use of one power always awakens the Dark and in a way strengthens it by that arousing. I say to you now—go your own way or that shall not run with ours!”

“You are a man!” Now there were flecks of spittle shot forth from her lips, an unusual flush painted her sharp cheekbones. “What do you know of Power save through such toys as that!” she gestured to the whipstock he still held. “The higher power—

“Is for any who can hold it—man or woman,” he said. “We follow not your ways of Estcarp here. There are those to be named who wrought mightily in the old days and who were also men. Boast not too loudly of your sistership, seeing to what it has been reduced.”

“To save our world!” Her flush was fading but her eyes were wells of anger and Kelsie could feel that emotion, or believed she could, issuing forth from that spare, gray-cloaked body.

“To save your world,” he nodded. “Well you wrought for your people. But again I say your ways are not ours and under our sky remember that.”

He spoke with none of the emphasis which anger had given her words but she was still wrapped in a red rage as she turned and walked away from them. And Ethutur did not turn to see her go, as if she had already been put out of mind. He spoke now to Kelsie:

“You would do well to avoid that one. She brings with her all the narrowness of the west and I think that she will be a long time giving way to another way of life. It is true that the witches of Estcarp wrought mightily to defend their land against two different evils, but in their last battle they not only exhausted their realm of power but they also lost many of their number, drained of life itself. Now they come questing here for a renewal of what they lost—not only power for those still alive within their citadel but also for those with talent whom they may take and train in their own ways of life. And I do not think, Lady, that you would find what they have to offer good—

“She came to me,” protested Kelsie, “not I to her. I want nothing more from her. And this power of which so much has been said, I do not know or want it.”

Ethutur shook his head slowly. “In life it is not what we want which balances our scales—rather it is what the Greater Ones have seen fit to give us at our birth hour. There can be that locked within a man—or a woman—which such do not know that they bear and which comes forth at a time of stress unsummoned. Once awakened that can be trained as any weapon is mastered by one who wishes to wield it.” Now he smiled and pointed to the young man still a pace or so behind him. “Ask of Yonan what he found to be his portion.”

But Yonan did not match that smile. Instead his face remained in somber lines as if he saw little that was lighthearted in his world.

“Unasked for,” he said as Ethutur paused, “To so gain anything one walks a hard road. But—” he shrugged, “we come to you, Lady, to ask where walks that furred one who came with you through your gate.”

“I don’t know,” Kelsie was surprised at his change of subject and the young man must have read that in her expression for he added: