Moon Called by Andre Norton Page B

it lay so Malkin produced three stones from the stream edge, they had been fashioned by the action of the water into discs near as perfect as any gem stone of the Lady’s. Two of these she fitted over the pits of the eyes. The other she laid upon the rent flesh of the breast.
    Thora dragged the mat to the waiting grave and they lowered it in. More branches were laid across the body and then, working together, they shoveled back the earth and fitted the clods of sod as a cover. The place was not perfectly hidden but with the falling rain and the growing grass it soon would be.
    As she knelt beside the grave Thora brought out her gem. She moved it from head to foot,on the breast level from right to left. From Malkin came a very low hissing as one who crooned a lullaby.
    But Thora spoke aloud:
“Blessed be, Oh, Mother, for this one was Thy child—
    Blessed his eyes that he saw Thy path and walked therein.
    Blessed his mouth that he praised Thee in the day and the night.
    Blessed his heart that it beat with the life which Thou gavest him.
    Blessed his loins which were fashioned to bring forth life in Thy honor and to Thy service.
    Blessed his feet which walked in Thy pathways.
    Reach forth Thy loving hand to draw him into Thy own fair
    place where he may rejoice in Thy beauty and wait until it is
    Thy wish that his essence embody again.
    Blessed be—in Thy name.”
    As it had when she had danced beneath the waning moon so did it now seem to Thora that the singing of her companion fed and strengthened something deep within her. In those moments she was sure that she had broken through a barrier and her plea had indeed risen to the proper place.

    Why she did not know, save that the gesture seemed a fitting one—but she reached forth the hand in which the moon gem rested and held it once more over the grave. Out came Malkin’s right hand to cover hers so they were palm to palm, the jewel between them.
    Then the furred one drew back and Thora also arose. Malkin headed to where the stained cloak still draggled down the bank of the river. She caught it up on the point of her spear and dragged it after her, heading downstream.
    Not returning it to the water it had befouled, no. Rather she brought it to a tree which stood stark and dead, no hint of spring-renewing life about it. To the lowest branch of that she endeavored to raise the heavy, sodden folds. Seeing what she attempted Thora hastened to help, together they draped the tattered rag across a dead branch from which it hung in filthy tatters.
    Thora desired no camp by the river. She once more shouldered her pack and looking inquiringly to Malkin, sure that the furred one would wish to go on also. Kort who had been ranging the meadowland returned, to face upstream.
    Upstream, whence the corpse had come? Thora hesitated—even though she had learned long since to trust the hound. But Malkin also took a step or two in that direction, adjusting the roll of her own cloak about her.
    To go into what was not just the ordinarydanger from beast—or of wandering traders— but close to something carrying the rottenness of Set—? That was a decision to be well considered. Thora’s hand sought her jewel, feeling it beneath her clothing where she had replaced it. If one had the Leaves of the Shrine to be tossed and their message read—only—perhaps in the end those would have told her the same thing. If there was any purpose to her wandering then it lay in that direction.
    Thus they went upstream, winding in and out among the patches of willow, tangles of bush and tree. There were game trails in plenty but nowhere any road. Oddly enough the farther they drew from the grave the lighter became Thora’s heart, the less her uneasiness of spirit.
    She longed for the ability to communicate freely with Malkin. If she could only learn more of these “familiars” and of those with whom they paired! In the old stories of her people it had been said that so dependent were the familiars upon