Moon Called by Andre Norton Page A

remains were those of one of Malkin’s people. Also, it was just as plain that death had not come easily. There were wounds enough to show that the furred one had been barbarously used. While the covering which Malkin was now methodically spreading wide was just such a cloak as they had seen on the dead Dark One.
    The fabric was badly stained, in places looked charred as if fire had eaten it. There were two blackened holes high on one side—they might have been at heart level for a man.
    Malkin regarded the cloak and the thing which had been bound in it. Then she raised brightly blazing eyes. Her tongue flickeredout, began those convulsions which proceeded speech.
    “Sssettt—wakesss—Seettt walkkks—”
    “Who?” The girl gestured to the dead. Did Malkin know him?
    “Aaaalkin—brotherrr one—Kaaaarn—likee Maakil—” She labored mightily. Now Malkin swung around to gaze upriver. Though there was nothing in the range of their sight but the water and the land.
    “Why?” Thora could not understand the sense of wrapping this dead one (it had been a male) in a covering plainly of the enemy.
    “Giveee tooo Ssssett sssooo — killll — binnnd—keeeppp sssspirit—bound—” Malkin stabbed the edge of the cloak, fury still afire in her eyes. “Deeeaad—ssservess Ssssettt—soooo—”
    “A sacrifice to the dead of Set’s people?”
    Malkin nodded.
    Thora tried to remember old tales. Yes, there had even been cases among her own people when the living had believed themselves in bondage to vengeful dead. And if that fear had not been ritually lifted they would have died, sure they were being drawn into the Dark Realm to serve their enemies. Here was evidence of a foul act—killing by torture—of a creature before it was wrapped in a cloak-of-Power, perhaps belonging to the newly dead, so that its life force could be drawn to the Dark.

    “No!” The girl rebelled. There was something—if she only knew more! To be on the edge of knowledge and yet lack it—! Still she was a Chosen and had she only last night not been granted a vision? She wore the Lady’s gem which by rights only a full priestess could place next to her skin—and the Mother had shown no resentment. Therefore—
    Malkin was watching her closely. Thora drew a deep breath. There were two ways of returning to that which had given one birth. Four elements were man’s to be used—not misused—earth and air, fire and water. Out of the earth came the harvest—into the fire and water went that which must be cleansed. But she could not use fire here and water had already been profaned—
    Or perhaps water had uncovered this evil by the Lady’s will. Again she felt that wave of helplessness—that she was caught up in a weaving over which she had no control.
    Therefore—it must be the earth which was to receive this remnant of one of the children of the Mother. Into that this torn and battered flesh must be laid so from what was no longer used might spring new life of a different kind.
    Thora dressed hurriedly. Then she selected a place beyond the sweep of the hanging willow branches, well above where any flood might reach. There, with the point of her spear, she marked out lines and set to work, cutting and levering out sod.

    Clawed hands came to her aid as Malkin knelt and worked with a will, jerking and pulling free the clods. It was a lengthy task when they had only the spears and their bare hands—but at last it was done. Malkin went into the meadow where she twisted free lengths of grass until she had blanketed the bottom of the hole. Thora returned to the other problem. She would not allow the dead to rest in the cloak of the enemy—to do so was to defeat her purpose. So she turned to the willows, began cutting withy lengths which she wove together, sacrificing strips of her hide to tie them into a mat. Then, swallowing her revulsion, and using more willow branches, she moved the body onto the flat bier. Malkin came again to help.
    When