Andre Norton - The Gate of the Cat

“Fool!”

It was the Witch Woman’s biting voice which led Kelsie to glance back over her shoulder. Her skirt caught up with both hands, the woman out of Estcarp was actually running, outpacing in this instant Dahaun and behind her two others, one in the mail of the Old Race, the other, whipstock steady, a girl of the Valley. But before the three of them came Tsali with a whir of speed.

“Fool!” The witch was panting a little but she arrived first and had strength enough left to swipe outward at Kelsie’s hand, as if she would wrest the jewel stone from her then and there. “Would you burn out the last of life—”

“Or the first,” Dahaun’s voice was much more collected. “What mischief has Tsali discovered within our borders?” She came closer to that trembling, fighting rod, dropping down to view the thing the closer. They were all silent now waiting for her to judge. But at last she shook her head.

“Never has the Valley had its ancient safeguards broken. Yet Tsali found this rolling between rocks and about to fall into the spring, perhaps to let the water hide and bring it down. It is not of the Sam, nor the gray ones, and certainly not of the Thas—or if so it is something they have never turned against us before. This is very old—and—”

“And,” for the first time the man in mail spoke. Kelsie thought at first he was Simon returned. But the face half seen below the helm’s nose guard was that of a much younger man. “And, what does that argue, Lady? That those of the Dark have broached some place of ancient weaponry?” He held no sword, rather what seemed a flimsy stick peeled of its bark and with half of its length colored the green-blue of the bird feathers which roofed the Valley houses.

“Well enough,” he said to Yonan, “let us see what the Valley can raise against this.”

Obediently Yonan stepped away and withdrew his sword hilt from the weaving pattern before the strange thing.

The other man spoke. The single word he uttered held no meaning for Kelsie but once more, as she had shrunk from the powers the witch had called upon her, so again her head was instantly filled with a roaring sound as if the very air about them had been ruptured, letting in she knew not what.

The green half of the wand the man held burst into real flame and with an exclamation, he threw it from him at that rod. It fell into the tangle of cloth and smoldered, beginning a fire which seemed to excite the rod for it rolled deliberately toward that piece of scorching fabric and thrust the head end into the small flame. It might have been feeding greedily on the fast dying spark.

“Ha,” the Witch Woman flung back her head and actually uttered a bark of laughter. “See what you would do, Kemoc halfling? This is not for such as you no matter what knowledge you dabbled in in Lormt. Get you off before you make bad matters worse. See—it feeds upon that very thing you would use to quiet it!”

The swirling within the rod part of the lizard man’s find did indeed appear to gather strength, and the murkiness was, Kelsie thought, taking on a glow. There was a sudden sharp pain in her hand and she looked to see that the gem was also awhirl at the end of its chain and the links of the chain were sawing at her flesh.

“By Reith and Nieve—” was that her own voice? Whence had come those names? From her lips right enough, but they had not been generated by any thought of hers!

The twirling stone was throwing off sparks, though none reached as far as the object on the ground. She discovered she could not stop the motion of her wrist which controlled that passage through the air.

“No!” Again the Witch Woman gave tongue and she aimed a blow straight at Kelsie’s arm. Only Yonan’s left hand intercepted that and she was forced a little backward by his abrupt rebuttal to the stroke she tried to deliver.

“She is no witch!” The voice reached a screech. “She dare not use the power. Would you have that which waits fall upon us all? Stop her!” The Witch Woman looked to Dahaun who had made no move either at the destruction of the wand or at the witch’s foiled attack on Kelsie. But now she spoke.

“We do not give names—those are given to us. She was given a name and perhaps more by one of your own kin—”

“Who is dead!” That sounded as if the witch thought such an ending might have been well deserved.

“Who is dead,” Dahaun agreed. “But in dying she may have passed—”

“There is no likelihood of that,” cried the witch. “She has no right—she could not have done so. This one comes from where? She is not of the blood, she has no training, she is nothing except a danger to all of us. Give me the jewel!” Her demand was aimed at Kelsie who had just made a discovery of her own.

Just as she could not stop the twirling of her wrist which kept the gem in motion, so she could not now loose her grip upon it. Instead she was pulled forward as if someone tugged at her with greater strength-than she could sustain. The witch gem swung faster, though its circle was wider until it seemed to rest upon the air itself a distance beyond the circumference of that rod.

All the while the rod flapped up and down, strove to roll and could not, as if it did indeed hold life within it. The whir of the jewel grew faster until Kelsie’s wrist seemed to be the center of a brilliant disc and the sparks it flung off now shot at the thing on the half-burned cloth.

Again Kelsie’s lips shaped words she did not understand:

“Reith—Reith—by the Fire of Reith—by the will of Nieve may this be rendered harmless!”

Wider and more accurate became the rain of sparks. Now they centered straight upon the rod. Then there was a burst of glaring light, first an angry threatening crimson, then blue above and nothing below save a twisted piece of what looked like half-melted metal.

Kelsie’s arm fell to her side without her willing it. It was numb as if she had lifted some great weight and held it out for a time past her own strength. The glitter from the jewel had vanished—it was an ashy gray, like a piece from the fire which had burned itself out.

Dahaun broke the silence first. “It is gone—the evil of it.”

“Back to the sender,” the witch’s harsh voice sounded no relief. “And what message will it carry so? That we have come seeking and are ready to stand with you—”

“Seeking you did come,” Kemoc reminded her. “But it was not to cast your lot and power with us—you thought to take, not to share.”

“Be silent, halfling who should never have been bora,” her harshness close to hoarseness as if she would scream at him but did not have the power.

“Halfling I may be,” he told her, “but that half blood has wrought well for Escore. And before that for Estcarp—

“Man!” she spat at him. “It is against all nature that a man has the power. Because your sire brought that with him through the gate—what has happened?”

“Yes, what has happened,” he returned. “The Kolders are no more, the way to Escore lies open—”

“Which is no blessing,” she interrupted. “Things from the foul Dark roam the mountains now and venture down upon the land. You and those two who share birthday with you have stirred into being a mighty stew of war, disaster and death. And now—” she pointed straight to Kelsie who was trying to rub life back into her numb arm, “there comes this one who took from one of the sisters—stole—what she does not know how to handle and so—”

“And so,” Dahaun’s voice cut clear and cold through that tirade, “and so this thing whose like we have not seen before has been rendered harmless.” She spoke to Kemoc and the girl of her own people. “Let it be buried where it lies and then do you,” she motioned to the stone in which the ancient carvings were still to be half seen, “set this upon it. Reith and Nieve,” she went to Kelsie and laid her hand protectively on that numbed arm. From her touch came a surge of warmth and the girl discovered she could flex her fingers. “Long and very long has it been since those names were called upon—though they were mighty weapons in their day. Do you still have a touch with them?” she asked the witch.