Free Moon Called by Andre Norton Page B

blazed. She dropped the spear and clutched at the girl, striving to drag her down closer.
    “Drrinnkkk—” That was a command.
    Reluctantly, Thora inclined her head as Malkin thrust the bleeding wrist higher. She had to fight revulsion as she allowed her lips to open, to touch the other’s fur-covered flesh. She sucked and the moisture she so drew in burnt her lips and her mouth like fire, but she swallowed, because at this moment Malkin’s will subdued her own. Then she stepped forward. There was no wall holding her back now.
    The path of the wood led steadily upward into broken country. For three days they followed it into sharp ridges and higher hills until it ended at last at the base of a rise Thora could see no way of climbing. Kort trotted eastward along the base of that cliff, nosing among the debris of earth and rocks, half embedding here and there the trunk of some long-dead tree, evidences of a mighty landslip. But Malkin stayed, looking up, her bushy headfar back on her shoulders—not measuring the cliff Thora thought, rather searching the sky beyond.
    Since the furred one had brought her past that invisible barrier, the girl had been uneasy. All the tests she herself knew confirmed that Malkin was not a follower of Set. Still, her powers were of a type unheard of among Thora’s own people. And the unknown was always suspect—caution was the first weapon for those in unknown lands.
    Now Malkin was singing again, but the sound was so low it was like a whisper. Though the singer still held her head at what must be a most uncomfortable angle, searching the sky. It was mid-morning and that spread of blue was cloudless, the heat of the sun reflected from the stones about them.
    Out into that blue arch of sky came what was at first only a black mote, which could have been covered with a fingertip. The flyer grew larger, moving from side to side in long gliding sweeps, descending lower with each.
    A bird? Thora was sure that outline against the sky was that of far outstretched wings. Only, even among the winged ones who rode the air currents thus, there must come a beat of wings now and then, and never did these change position. There was something wrong about the outline of the body those still wings supported—it looked far too slender—too small in proportion to the wings.

    The creature of the air dipped closer and closer. Thora moved up beside Malkin, her arm touched the furred one, and she felt the rhythm pulsing through that smaller body, though her song was so muted.
    Then the winged creature gave a sudden dip, sailing across where they stood, to vanish beyond the lip of the cliff before them. But it did not pass so soon from sight that Thora had not seen plainly what she would never have accepted for the truth had another reported it. The body stretched horizontally beneath those beat less wings was that of a man! By some art or power he was as free of the air above as if he had been born feathered!
    Malkin now watched the top of the cliff over which the flyer had vanished. Kort sat on his haunches, his nose pointing in the same direction.
    “Who—?” Thora found her voice and pointed, determined to catch Malkin's attention, learn what manner of man dared so use the sky.
    The furred one without looking away from the cliff twisted her tongue to answer:
    “Winnnd Ridder—Waiittt noooww—”
    Before Thora could ask for further enlightenment, something fell from the cliff top. She saw that straighten out into a dangle of thick ropes which swung back and forth.
    There was a loop knotted at the end which had fallen almost directly before Malkin.Without showing any surprise, the furred one picked that up, set the loop about her waist and pulled it snug. She made sure of the fastening of the rolled cloak, thrust her spear through the thongs securing that, and then gave a vigorous tug to the rope.
    It was being pulled up, Malkin kicked out now and then against the wall, as if she had done this many times