“There was little to be seen, though,” she said and he was as quick to seize upon that:
“Rider?”
She told of him who had besieged her in the circle and Tregarth’s hand went to the hilt of the sword he wore, his lips drawn tight in a grimace which was far from a smile.
“Sarn! Sarn riders—and so close—” his words changed to the chirping speech of the Valley people and she caught one now and then which she understood—such as “near.”
“stone,” and “gate.”
Dahaun suddenly reached out and took Kelsie’s hands before the girl could move or draw back. She nodded abruptly to one of her own people, who produced a dagger in the hilt of which was set a piece of glittering blue metal, akin in color to the stones behind which the girl had sheltered. He passed it across Kelsie’s upturned palms, not touching her flesh but close enough so that she felt warmth as the metal seemed to blaze up for an instant. Then, with her eyes still on Kelsie, Dahaun’s face became a mask of concentration.
Some of the old pain awoke in the girl’s head. But there was more too—not words but thoughts—thoughts not of her own.
“You are—summoned one. Foretold—”
She was not getting the whole message, she knew, but those words made her blink. Summoned—she had been brought here, yes, but not called—unless their quick bearing of her away from the circle could be termed that. Foretold—more of this witchcraft business, that was what that seemed to mean. She spoke to Tregarth:
“I was not summoned—and how—”
Now she was sure there was a note of sympathy in his voice as he answered her.
“The gates open by powers we do not understand. That you came through one unused for generations is enough to single you out as one of importance. This is a land torn by war—Light against the Dark. It is easy to believe for those of us who have faced much which is outside ordinary experience to say that you were summoned. And it was foretold in the last scrying that one would come—”
“I don’t know what you mean! I don’t care! If there IS a gate let me go back—” she cried out then.
He shook his head. “The gates open but once, except when an adept lays a geas upon them. There is no going hack.”
Kelsie stared at him and within her a chill spread outward from the very center of who and what she was.
4
There had passed two nights and this was the third day. Kelsie climbed from the green bowl of the Valley into its guardian heights and crouched in a huddle between two rocks facing that stretch of the unknown. She had to force herself to accept what Simon Tregarth had told her, that she and the wildcat had come through some mysterious gate in time and space to another world—and, as far as Simon knew, there was no going back. She was not ready to accept the rest of it—that she had been somehow summoned or kidnapped and brought by the Gate to answer some need here. It was far easier to accept that chance had entrapped her.
If there was no going back then it was best that she prepare herself for this country. She worked hard at the lilting tongue of the Green Silences people, even picked up words from the other race who shared this outpost of safety, for such Tregarth assured her that the Valley was. It was only because she had been able to pass by certain symbols when they brought her here that she was judged to be worthy of the refuge at all. Even then she had been closely questioned concerning both the black rider and the dying witch several times over.
That other witch—the cold gray pillar frightened her more than anyone she had met—even the Rider and his hound. Mainly, Kelsie thought, it was because the woman v. as here on equal terms and could influence minds against her if she so chose. That was a chance she would be likely to take on the first sign of any weakening on the part of Dahaun and her people. Kelsie avoided her with determination though she believed that twice at least that other had made an effort to approach her.
Thoughts—or were they threats in the form of thought?—had crawled along the edges of her mind and she had fought them fiercely. She had discovered that fixing her attention full upon some object and concentrating intently seemed to baffle that crawling, creeping invasion of her mind. Twice she had been driven to inner battle to defend herself, both times when Dahaun and Tregarth were not there, nor even the gray woman so far as she could tell—only that pressure in her mind. Both times she had been able to banish such a ravishment of her inner self by thinking of the dying witch, by saying the name which had passed between them as a kind of talisman of protection.
Each time she had detected that pressure she sensed that the impotent anger grew colder and more menacing. At least the other had not obtained the jewel which seemed her great desire. For the wildcat had taken it to the small lair Dahaun had caused to be made for her and her kittens, and she had not brought the gem into the light again.
Resolutely now Kelsie began again to turn over and examine the facts she had learned. Not all within this place of safety were even of human form—yet they all appeared to share intelligence and a common purpose.
There were those who went armed like Tregarth and others of his kind, both men and women. There were the people of Dahaun whose ever-changing color seemed to draw strength from the belts and arm bands they wore. These were made of bright blue-green gems which might have life—of a kind.
There were the lizard folk, golden-green with crested heads and eyes as hard as gems, who skittered in and out among the rest or sat at ease playing games with small brilliantly colored pebbles. With them were the Renthans—those tireless beasts, one of whom she had ridden hither. And there were airborne creatures even more strange.
Those she had learned to call the flannen—tiny humanoid bodies supported by dazzling iridescent wings. To watch them dance in the air brought more astonishment than many of the other wonders. Then there were giant birds, or creatures which had the appearance of birds, who cruised the air in regular flights as if they would keep off some danger aimed from the heights. For, for all its assured safety, this Valley and those it held were under siege.
Twice she had seen parties of sentries depart from or go up into the heights and once there had been a wounded man among those returning. Each night there was a great fire in the open space beside the river which was a loose coil of silver ribbon in the land. And into that Dahaun’s people tossed in solemn ritual certain bundles of leaves and faggots of sticks so that the light smoke which arose was scented with spicy odors.
“Kel-say—”
She started. Under one of the soft boots she wore a stone loosened and rolled.
Not Dahaun, nor Tregarth, but she whom Kelsie had taken the greatest pains to avoid—the gray woman. Now she seated herself composedly on a well-chosen rock where Kelsie could not get away without actually brushing past her.
“You are very brave—or very foolish—” The woman might have been as at home in speaking the language as Tregarth—or else by some power she had opened knowledge for the girl she faced, “to give your name so openly. Do you not believe then in your own place that a name is the proper label of a being? Or are you so well protected that you need have no fears? What craft do you practice there, Kel-Say?”
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?”