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dined at Afreyt's the previous evening and been pressed to attend by her and
Cif. Those two were there, of course, being ringleaders of the outlaw rite,
snug in their winter-priestess garb of white fur-hooded robes, mittens,
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and wool-lined ramskin boots. The five girls came as obedient novices, though
it would have been hard to keep them away from what they considered a prize
adventure. They wore like gear, only with shorter capes, so that from time to
time their rosy knees showed, and the weird weather made Fingers's lamb's hide
yashmack and gloves highly appropriate. Fafhrd and Mouser came as their
ladies' lovers, although they'd spent a hard day working, first at Afreyt's,
then at their barracks. Both looked a little distant-minded, as though each
had begun to remember the nightmares that had accompanied their strange
nightcrawlings. Skullick and Pshawri turned up with them. Presumably their
captains had reinforced with commands the entreaties of their captains'
mistresses, though Pshawri had an oddly intent look, and even the carefree
Skullick a concerned one.
Ourph had not been pressed by anyone to attend, in view of his great age, but
he was there nevertheless, close-wrapped in dark Mingol furs, with conical
black-fur cap and sealskin boots to which small Mingol snowshoes were affixed.
Harbormaster Groniger too, whose atheism might have been expected to keep him
away. He said in explanation, "Witchery is always my business. Though arrant
superstition, three out of four times it's associated with crime-piracy and
mutiny at sea, all manner of ill-workings on land. And don't tell me about you
moon priestesses being white witches, not black. I know what I know."
And in the end Mother Grum showed up herself, fur-bundled to the ears and
waddling on snowshoes larger than Ourph's. "It's my duty as coven mistress,"
she grumbled, "to get you out of any scrapes your wild behavior gets you into
and to see that in any case no one tries to stop you." She glared amiably at
Groniger.
With her came Rill the Harlot, also a moon priestess, whose maimed left hand
gave her a curious sympathy (unmixed with lechery, or so 'twas thought)
with Fafhrd, who'd lost his entirely.
These fifteen, irregularly grouped, stood looking east across the
sharp-serrated snow-shedding gables of the small, low, close-set houses of
Salthaven, awaiting moonrise. They rapidly shuffled their feet from time to
time to warm them. And whenever they did, the massy gray slabs of the sacred
wind chime chain-hung from the lofty single-bone leviathan-jaw arch seemed to
vibrate faintly yet profoundly in sympathy, or in memory of their earlier
hollow clanking when the gale had blown, or perhaps in anticipation of the
Goddess's near apparition.
When the low glow of that approach intensified toward a central area above the
toothed roofs, the nine females drew somewhat apart from the six males,
turning their backs on them and crowding together closely, so that the
invocatory words Afreyt whispered might not be overheard by the men, nor the
holy objects Cif drew from under her wide cloak and showed around be glimpsed
by them.
Then, when a dazzlingly white fingernail clipping of the orb's self, serrated
by the teeth of the central-most roof, showed, there was a general sigh of
recognition and fulfillment which was echoed inanimately by an intensification
of the chimes' real or imagined low vibrations, and the groups broke up and
intermingled and joined hands in one long line, the girls leading with May at
their head, the rest linked at random, and the whole company began a slow
rhythmic circling of the Temple, twice all the way around, then
interweaving the carven stone moon pillars -- that of the Snow, the Wolf, the
Seed, the Witch, the Ghost, the Murderer, the Thunder, the Satyr, the Harvest,
the Second Witch, the Frost, and the Lovers -- by sixes, by fours, by threes,
by two, and individually.
The girls wove their way one after the other, linked hand to hand, gracefully
as in a dream. Old Ourph footed it agilely, stamping out the time, while
Mother Grum moved briskly for all her fat and with a surprisingly sure rhythm.
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Rill brought up the rear, swinging a leviathan-oil lamp, unlit, from her
maimed hand.
As the moonlight slowly strengthened, Fingers marveled somewhat fearfully at
the strange Rimish runes and savage scenes carved in the thick moon pillars.
Gale squeezed her hand reassuringly and told her in whispered snatches how
they represented the adventures of the legendary witch queen
Skeldir when she descended into the Underworld to get the help that enabled
her to turn back the three dire Simorgyan invasions in the Isle's olden days.
When the seven slow mystic circlings had been completed and the glaringly
white orb of Skama (the Goddess's holiest name) fully arisen, so that
sky-black hugged her all around, May led the weaving line out across the great
meadow to the west, moving forward confidently in the full moonshine.
For a short way the shadows of the twelve pillars and the jaw-hung chime
accompanied them, then they launched out one by one across the trackless
moonlit expanse, the frozen and snow-dusted grass crackling under their feet.
May followed a serpentine course, veering now left, now right, that copied
their last pillar-weaving, but went straight west, their shadows preceding
them.
And then Afreyt called out in vibrant tones the sacred name, "Skama!"
and they all began to chant, in time to their dancing advance, the first song
to the Goddess:
_"Twelve faces has our Lady of the Dark_
_As she walks nightly 'cross her starry park:_
_Snow, Wolf, and Seed Moon, Witches, Ghosts, and Knife,_
_The Murderer's badge; six more of dark and light:_
_Thunder, Lust, Harvest, Witches second life;_
_Then end the year with Frost and Lovers bright;_
_Queen of the Night and Mistress of the Dark_
_In your black veils and clinging silver sark."_
Their voices fell silent for five beats, Afreyt again called, "Skama!"
and they began Her second song, their steps becoming longer and more gliding
to suit the changed rhythm:
_"These be your signets, dread Mistress of Mystery:_
_Rain bow and bubble, the flame and the star,_
_Night bee and glow wasp, volcano, cool history,_
_Things that are hintings of wonders afar;_
_Comet and hailstone and strange turns of history,_
_Queen of the Darkness and Lamp of the Night,_
_Lover of Terror, cruel and sisterly -- _
_Crone, Girl, and Mother, arise in your white!"_
A four-beat pause, once more "Skama!" from Afreyt, and now their dance became
a rapid and stamping one, as though they advanced to the pounding of a drum: [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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