“Uta! Dwed!” And finally—“Marbon!”
Then she listened, hoping against all hope that there would be an answer to guide her. A second time she shouted, this time more loudly—only to hear nothing when her own voice died away.
Names—as all knew names had a power of their own—they were a part of one—as much as skin, hair, or teeth. They were given to one at the birth hour and were thereafter something which could be threatened by evil, used to strengthen good. Now all she had to aid her were names. Still two of those she called upon had no ties with her, nor perhaps held any wish to aid, and the third was an animal, alien to her own kind. Perhaps she had no ties to draw her back at all.
Brixia lifted her cupped hands, stared at the stone. This was truly a thing of Power. It had been wrought to bring evil, even as Eldor (or the part of him who had existed here) had claimed and Zarsthor in turn had agreed. But its evil had somehow been discharged by the flower. Could it serve her, she who had no command over any force, no training as a Wise Woman? “Uta”—this time she did not shout that name aloud into the mist, rather spoke it softly to the stone. “Uta, if you have any fair feeling for me now—if I am granted any desire of yours for my salvation—Uta—where are you?”
The light glow began to pulse in ripples from the stone. A deeper green sparked in its heart—grew and spread. Brixia strove to keep her thoughts fixed on Uta.
That dark spot put out pricked ears, opened slits of eyes, became a head. The head in turn pushed out of the surface of the stone. Brixia, almost beyond wonder now, crouched down, held her hand closer to the earth. The tiny image of the cat was three dimensional as it arose from the stone. When it was fully clear it leaped to the ground.
Mist which had been encroaching ever since Eldor and Zarsthor had gone, curled back from where the cat stood. Uta’s image turned its head up to the girl, its tiny mouth opened. But if it mewed she caught no sound. Then it began to trot away and Brixia scrambled to follow it.
The fog swirled in, covering her own body to knee level. But it did not hide the cat, a clear space continued to encircle and move with it. She hurried to catch up as the illusion—if that was what it was—moved faster.
How far they had come across the hidden land Brixia could not tell. Then her guide slowed, and, to her despair, began to fade.
“Uta!” She screamed. She could see through the small body now—it was fast becoming a part of the mist.
Brixia went to her knees. Without Uta she was lost—and now Uta was nearly gone. Only an outline in the fog remained. If she could only bring it back! Now—Uta had come when she called her name and concentrated on the stone—but perhaps the cat’s powers were not strong enough to hold her here until her mission could be accomplished.
What of Marbon—Dwed? The man might be counted her enemy—at least he had seemed so before she had been caught into this place. While the boy then had been entrapped in enchantment. Even if she could reach them—dared she hope for any help?
Dwed—Marbon—which should she try?
The man had been free when last she saw him—except for the obsession which had ridden him. Brixia raised the stone to eye level.
“Marbon!” she summoned.
There was no darkening of the stone heart, nor any sign that her call had reached him, whether or not he would answer her plea.
“Marbon!” Because she thought it now her only hope she called again.
A rippling in the stone, yes, but faint and with nothing centered in it. However, as she dropped her hand in despair, she saw Uta a little beyond her again!
From and clear, larger—seemingly substantial, Uta was watching her impatiently, her mouth opening and closing in soundless mews. Brixia jumped to her feet, ready to follow. Had Marbon in some way strengthened the cat? She did not know—but that Uta was here again gave her a lighter heart.
Uta began to run and Brixia after her. The sense of urgency spread from cat to girl. On—
Then a huge, dark pillar loomed out of the mist, rising so suddenly that Brixia felt it had not been there long, but rather risen abruptly to front her. Uta stood on hind legs, pawed with her forefeet at its surface, plainly urging on the girl the need to climb.
She tucked the stone within her shirt once more for safe keeping, then she sought on the pillar some holds for fingers and toes. Uta—vanished. She had not faded slowly as before, but simply winked out.
Brixia found by touch irregularities in the pillar her eyes could not detect. With effort she began to climb. The holds were small and the higher she went the slower her progress became. Yet she was winning upward, if it were only a matter of a few fingers length at a time.
Up and up, she knew better than to look down. Her fingers ached and then grew numb. Her whole body was tense as it pressed against the pillars. Fear was a heavy burden resting on her. Up and still up—
How long had she climbed? There was no counting of time in this place—moments might have spun out into days—perhaps months. Always above her the pillar reached higher still and there were hanging drapes of mist to hide its crest—if it had a crest!
Brixia felt as if she could not seek another hand hold, the pain in her shoulders was intense. Up—ever up! She could not lift her hand again, the effort was too great. Soon her grip would break and she would fall—back—to be swallowed up in the mist and forever lost.
“Uta!” her voice was a croaked whisper which she had no hope would be answered.
12
Out of the mist cloaking what lay above her there reached—A giant paw! The claws were unsheathed, extended in threatening curves just above her as that paw swung down in menace. Brixia clung despairingly to the pillar. But her hold was not tight enough. The claws hooked into her shirt over the shoulders and she was torn loose from her precarious grasp on the shaft, brought up through the mist ceiling. Up—and down—for she was released and fell, scraping her arm against stone, a wild yowl ringing in her ears.
The pillar was still by her. But this was not the pillar she had climbed—this was small—she could span it with her outflung arm. It formed a pedestal on the crown of which crouched Uta—a normal sized Uta—The cat stared down and Brixia realized she was back in her own time and space.
This was the same chamber in the once drowned building of the lake. But there was no mist-vine choking walls and ceiling now. Those walls, blue-green and gloaming, were as bright as if newly scoured. On the floor, just a little beyond where she was crouched, lay Dwed, his head and shoulders supported by Lord Marbon!
There was no slackness in Marbon’s face as he gazed distractedly at her over the boy’s body. Nor was he under the hold of any power now. She sensed he was truly human, with his own mind unlocked to free him from the shadow as well as the obsession which had imprisoned him.
“Dwed—dies—” He gave her no other greeting, nor did he act as if he had been a part of what had happened to her. His eyes were haunted by fear, not for himself she knew, but for the boy.
What he said might be true—but she was not willing to accept such a despairing judgment. Brixia did not get to her feet, rather she crept closer on her hands and knees. That vast fatigue which had settled on her during her climb out of that other place still weighed her body. Reaching the two she fumbled in her shirt and brought out the stone.
“This is a thing of power,” she said slowly. “I do not know how to use it—but when I called with it—Uta answered. I called upon you also—did you then hear?”
He frowned. “I had—it was a dream—I think.”
“No dream.” Her hands shook as she cupped the stone. “Perhaps—perhaps—if Dwed has not gone too far, him also we can call. Look upon this, lord, and call your fosterling!” Her words had the sharpness of an order as she thrust the stone into his full view, holding it directly above Dwed’s body.