Andre Norton - The Gate of the Cat

“Wittle,” Kelsie released Yonan against the nearest column and went to put her hands on the witch’s bent shoulders. “Wittle!”

She might have been calling now upon the wind or upon that tongue of frosty air which had formed the dancer who had so nearly put an end not only to them but also the world in the basin.

“Wittle!”

The witch swept out one arm, catching Kelsie at thigh height nearly spilling her into the basin. Looking down and out over the miniature world Kelsie could see that there was still a fleeing of shadow, a rain of sparks sending that into nothingness here and there.

“She is one with her jewel,” Yonan’s voice behind her sounded as if from a distance. “She will be one with it to the end.”

“But I—that other jewel—” protested Kelsie.

“You are no witch, at least not one of Estcarp where the power is one with the person. If she recalls her jewel, then she is safe. But if it comes not to her urging—”

“We must get away!” Kelsie had thrown off most of the spell which had been woven about her. With the gem she had carried now nothing but splinters, she felt oddly naked, weaponless, prey to be easily hunted down. And she could not believe that they had indeed defeated that which had striven to destroy not only them but all that lay in the basin.

Now she looked and saw the Valley—of that she was sure. And there were other places where the blue of the Light promised comfort and safety. She began to study the miniature land carefully to see where was the nearest of those islands of true safety. The place of columns as it was in the basin seemed unduly large in comparison with the rest of the countryside. And to the north of that was one of the darkest blots of shadow—though that had been driven back in upon itself she was sure. Originally it had reached out to touch upon the place of pillars. But if she could not rouse Wittle from her trance, nor support Yonan for long, then how could she—

“Get away?” her own earlier words repeated back to her. “Think you we are now meant to get away?” Yonan’s voice was low and very tired. She glanced at him quickly. He had slumped farther down against the pillar and now lay there, all color faded from his face so that his weather tan looked gray and dulling.

Kelsie’s chin came up and she looked at him straightly. “So far we have won—”

“One battle in a war,” he answered her slowly and closed his eyes. Wittle, meanwhile, regarded nothing but the spinning jewel to which her hands still stretched, her crooning now reduced to a hoarse whisper. Kelsie looked out over the bowl. Her stubbornness would not allow her to accept the defeat which seemed to have fallen on Yonan, the entranced state of the witch. She settled down on the rim of the basin and began a survey threaded from the place of columns back toward the Valley. That they would come again to any great source of power such as Wittle sought she did not believe. The compulsion which had carried her on and on to this very place was gone with her—or Roy lane’s jewel. There was retreat which could save them. If they left the columns here and went so—a little farther west—there was a river and she could trace there to within a short distance of the Valley. Surely once they were back into patrolled territory they would be found, taken back.

“Wittle,” she moved along until she knelt by the witch again and now she took her by the shoulders and shook her so hard the woman’s head flopped back and forth on her shoulders—“Wittle!”

The dark eyes stared through her as if she were as bodiless as smoke. Nothing she could do would rouse the witch from her need and longing for the jewel. But Kelsie was not through. Now she slapped that lean face hard, on one cheek and then the other so that the print of her hand began to show in reddened patches.

This time there was a flicker in the eyes, the straight stare was broken.

“Wittle!” Under her hands the witch’s body twisted as the woman attempted to see beyond Kelsie to the spinning jewel. Now the sparks from that had become fewer and fewer, only a handful were spilled to hunt the shadows out of the comers in which they lay.

“Wittle, they will be hunting us. We must go.”

“By Hofer and Tem, by the ten lights, and the nine cups, the six faggots and the three fires—” Her words were understandable but they made no sense to the girl. Wittle raised a hand and drove it finger straight for Kelsie’s face, aiming at her eyes. The girl ducked and lost her hold on the witch.

Wittle arose then, the strength of her body such that she had no trouble in tearing away from Kelsie. She took two steps forward, over the edge of the basin.

Kelsie screamed, Wittle was gone. She might have stepped through a door when she had taken that stride forward. There was no sign of her body crashing on the mountains of that other world. At the same time the jewel picked up speed where it hung in the air, whirled twice as fast, threw off a greater volume of sparks. It might have been that Wittle’s act had revived it.

“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 a 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.