In Stone's Clasp (18 page)

When the two men approached the fire, the bigger one leaning heavily on the smaller, Kevla felt again a jolt of shock. Jareth kept his eyes on the ground as Altan gently directed him to a blanket next to the fire. Altan placed a hand on Jareth’s back, touching his friend with a tenderness similar to what Kevla had seen him display toward Mylikki. She wondered if the reason for Altan’s ambivalent attitude toward Mylikki was because Altan preferred men to women.

The Stone Dancer gazed at the fire for a long moment. He reached his hands out to the blaze at first tentatively, then eagerly. Kevla again noted that the fingers on his right hand, which had held the knife to her throat, were bare; the rags with which he had wrapped them had been burned off. His hand seemed to be unharmed. His fingers were filthy. Dirt was caked under the nails, embedded in the creases. Kevla thought of how meticulously groomed the people of the House of Four Waters were, down to the lowest servant—herself. Jareth looked—and smelled—worse than the basest beggar on the streets of Arukan.

She tried to soften her initial revulsion by rationalization. He had left his village to wander in the woods for months—she didn’t know how long, exactly. There were no stonesteaming huts in the forests to sweat out the dirt, and to try to bathe with the snow or water from the icy lakes would be to court death. Of course he was dirty.

But she sensed it was more than that. If such things had mattered to Jareth, he would have found a way to stay at least somewhat clean. She was looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and at that moment, he sensed her gaze and gave her stare for stare.

Kevla could not hold that blue gaze and quickly turned her attention to ladling out stew. It was a meal she had grown weary of days ago, but it was easy to prepare, nourishing, hot, and made good use of their rations. She handed a bowl to Jareth, who took it wordlessly with his grimy fingers.

He sniffed it and something in him seemed to come to life. He ate ravenously, spilling on his beard and the front of his shirt. Kevla felt her lip curl in involuntary disgust. She and the others were only halfway through when he stuck out the bowl and demanded, “More.”

Silently she refilled the bowl and once again Jareth swiftly downed the stew. Kevla wondered how long it had been since he had eaten. When he extended the bowl for a third helping, she said, “No.”

Jareth’s eyes widened in anger. Altan said quickly, “Kevla, he probably hasn’t eaten for days.”

“We don’t have that much food left, Altan. Besides, if he eats too much too quickly it will come back up again, doing none of us any good. If everyone else has had their fill, you may have some more in a while, Jareth.”

“You speak to me like I’m a child,” he growled.

You’re behaving like one,
Kevla thought, but did not say it. She wondered how she would begin the conversation she needed to have with him; how she would manage to convey to this dirty, half-mad man that he had a destiny that would demand more of him than she suspected he was willing to give.

One thing was certain—it would not happen tonight. A few minutes after he had eaten the second bowl of soup, Jareth’s eyes started to close. He struggled against sleep, but after a while Altan urged him to lie down. The mighty Stone Dancer, the Spring-Bringer, nodded in agreement, sighed deeply, and stretched out on the blanket. Gently, as if he were tucking a child in for a nap, Altan wrapped Jareth in the furs. Within a few moments, Jareth’s breathing became deep and regular.

“He’s asleep,” Altan said quietly. “Thank the gods.” He rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder for a moment.

“I can’t believe this,” said Mylikki. “I thought…” She seemed unable to even complete the sentence. Her
kyndela
rested on her lap, but she didn’t touch the strings.

“He wasn’t always like this,” Altan said softly. He reached for his own
kyndela
and began to play quietly. “He was powerful…amazing…strong. I can’t imagine what he’s been through.” He looked at Kevla. “You were right. He did leave to find the gods. He was trying to get them to bring his family back to life.”

Kevla looked at the Dragon, knowing he sensed her feelings.
I am disappointed too, Flame Dancer. But at least he is alive. At least he has not become one of the raving madmen in the woods.

That’s a matter of opinion, if he really did try to do what Altan said. You told me he was ready,
she accused.

The Dragon shrugged.
You sensed him as well as I. As did Jashemi. He was the one we were supposed to find first. Perhaps it was not because he was ready, but because he needs our help to
become
ready.

I am not a nursemaid!

Nor is he an infant. He is a man grown, Kevla, who has had terrible things happen to him.

“I’ve had terrible things happen to me too, and I am here!” Kevla cried aloud. Altan and Mylikki stared at her, startled at her outburst, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks. Jareth, however, continued to sleep, for which Kevla was grateful.

After a long, awkward moment, Altan said haltingly, “Kevla…he’s been wandering alone for many months. He’s climbed the mountain range by himself, in the depths of this awful winter. He’s lost so much weight, who knows what he’s been eating or even
if
he’s been eating. Give him a little time to recover before you judge him.”

Kevla’s embarrassment was suddenly replaced by a wave of grief and rage.

“You have no idea what I have been through,” she said, her voice thick. “You have no idea what my life was like. I feel for Jareth, but from everything you told me he has led a charmed life until the last year. I was born the lowest of the low among my people. I have been beaten, locked up, and had my death ordered by my own father who thought me a demon. I was tied to a stake and fire was lit at my feet. If I hadn’t been the Flame Dancer I’d have been burned alive. I have been loved by and loved only one person in my life—
one person,
Altan!—and I killed him when I tried to express that love. And here I am, ready to do what I must do, and I have no time to coddle this Spring-Bringer. You know what is at stake here. He doesn’t have the luxury of indulging his grief right now. None of us does.”

Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to give the lie to her angry words. Kevla did not want them to see her cry. She rose and stalked off, sitting at the edge of the clearing. The Dragon followed, lowering his head all the way to the snow as he spoke, so that the words would be for her alone.

“Dear heart, I grieve with you,” he said, his deep voice gentle. “I am part of this trinity as well, and I too long for Jashemi. But not as keenly as you do.”

Kevla buried her face in her hands, her slim shoulders shaking with violent paroxysms of grief. She couldn’t speak.

I miss him so much, Dragon! It rips at my heart every single day. I try to force this awful sense of loss down, but it comes back up, sometimes at the worst possible moment. Like tonight. I feel as though my insides have been torn out. He was my Lorekeeper, he was my great love. There was no one who knew me better than he. And I killed him! He would be alive today if not for me and my selfish desires!

You don’t know that for certain, Flame Dancer. We all have our destinies. Perhaps this was Jashemi’s.

That’s not true and you know it, Dragon. Jashemi said as much to me in the vision. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was not born to be my lover, he was born to be something else entirely. And we corrupted that.

Your culture rendered that relationship impossible, if you were to truly fulfill your destiny, Kevla. Try to be more compassionate with yourself and with Jareth.

I don’t know that I have any compassion left, Dragon. I don’t know that I have anything left at all.

After a long time, Kevla returned to the fire. She sat back down in silence. Above them, the sky was clear and crowded with stars.

“I apologize,” Kevla said formally. “My outburst was inappropriate and served no purpose.”

Altan glared at her, his arm around the sleeping Jareth. “You’re right about that. You almost woke him up and he needs sleep.” Altan turned to his friend and stroked his shoulder.

“Yes it did,” Mylikki said quickly, to take the sting out of Altan’s harsh words. “It let us know a little bit more about you, Kevla. It made you seem a lot more human to us. I’m sure Jareth will be better by tomorrow. He just needs some food and rest. You’ll see.”

Kevla did not answer. Altan’s outburst had surprised her, though it shouldn’t have. Jareth was important to him—perhaps as more than a friend. And certainly they were all exhausted and hungry.

She looked up at the stars. A faint pulse of color told her that once again, the gods would be playing in the skies tonight.

The Lorekeeper gazed upward, her eyes transfixed on the dancing lights. He spoke to her through them, and she wondered what she would learn tonight.

“You have done well, Lorekeeper,”
the Emperor said, his language a pulsing pattern in the sky.
“I am very pleased. Soon, he will be yours. You do not need to fear losing him to this Flame Dancer.”

The Lorekeeper dragged her eyes from the dancing lights to look at Kevla. She lay on the blanket, looking at the sky, seeing nothing more than pretty lights. The Lorekeeper struggled between liking Kevla and hating what the Flame Dancer symbolized. The Lorekeeper permitted herself to look at the man she loved, and her heart swelled. He couldn’t truly see her yet, couldn’t appreciate the depth of her love for him. But soon. The Emperor promised, soon.

“They trust you. They can’t see who you really are. Listen, and I will tell you what you must do next.”

The Lorekeeper listened, her face turned up to the sky, her fingers absently caressing her
kyndela
and her eyes wide with rapture.

Kevla awoke feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all. For a moment she wondered why she was so tired, then recalled her outburst. The horrible emptiness of loss stabbed her again, and she rubbed her face and sighed as she sat up. Jareth would—

He was gone.

“Jareth!” she cried, waking the others. They had all fallen asleep beside the fire, and the Dragon had settled over them to provide shelter, as he had most nights during this arduous journey. Now there was an empty hollow in the snow where Jareth had lain.

“Do not distress yourself,” came the Dragon’s familiar rumbling voice. “The Stone Dancer and I are having an interesting conversation.” He sat back, rearing above them, and Kevla saw Jareth securely held in one massive forepaw. He didn’t look at all afraid of being clutched by a giant monster; he looked angry. The Dragon lowered him to the ground and released him.

Kevla didn’t need to be told what had happened; Jareth had tried to slip away in the night, and the ever-watchful Dragon, who enjoyed sleep but did not require it, had prevented him from doing so. Smothering a smile, Kevla quickly lit the fire while Mylikki rummaged in a sack to prepare something hot to eat. Altan scrambled to his feet and went to his friend.

“Jareth, Kevla has lit a fire for us and Mylikki is making us some hot tea,” he said, reaching for Jareth’s elbow to guide him back to the fireside.

Jareth glared up at the Dragon. The Dragon glared down at Jareth. Kevla wondered what they had been discussing. When Altan touched him, Jareth jerked away.

“You should not have followed me,” Jareth said in a low voice as he walked back to the fire.

“So you have said,” Altan said, still stubbornly cheerful. “But if I had not, we would not be together at the fire.”

Mylikki threw some herbs into the heating pot of water. Kevla felt for the girl. She was brave, cheerful, and clever, but Jareth’s appearance on the scene had utterly distracted Altan from whatever Mylikki might have hoped would happen.

“Last night,” Kevla said to Jareth, “you held a knife to my throat and demanded to know who we are.”

Jareth frowned and wouldn’t look at her. She thought he seemed slightly more in control than he had last night, but wanted to be certain.

“We do owe you an explanation. But you owe us the same, Spring-Bringer.”

She used the term only as a way to convey to Jareth that she knew about his abilities, but he reacted as if she had struck him. What she could see of his face above the beard went first white, then flushed red. His nostrils flared and Kevla actually quailed from the expression in his eyes.

“Do not call me that,” he said in a low, warning voice.

Mylikki flinched as she ladled tea into ceramic mugs and passed them around.

Kevla continued. “We have had a difficult time with three of us and the Dragon, trying to stay alive in this winter. How is it you have managed to survive alone?”

Jareth sipped at the hot tea, taking his time before replying. “The gods don’t want me dead yet, I suppose,” he said. He turned to Altan and asked quietly, “Skalka Valley?”

“I have no news. I left right after you did,” Altan said. “I tried to follow you. But I had no idea where you had gone.”

Jareth made a face and poked at the fire with a stick.

Kevla had had enough of the man’s surliness. “You wanted to know who we are, Jareth,” she said, turning squarely to face him. He didn’t look at her. “You saw my face in the fire, and you stamped it out. I’ve been looking for you for some time now.”

“What do you want? In case you haven’t heard, my legendary ability to bring spring appears to have deserted me,” Jareth said, his voice bitter and angry.

“I have abilities with fire,” Kevla said. “You’ve seen them. I can create fire from anything, I can extinguish it at will. I can scry in the flames and step through them to any other fire I wish. I am the Flame Dancer, and I’m not alone. There are four others like me, scattered throughout this world. Jareth—you are one of them. You are the very element of earth made into human flesh. You, I, and the three others I’ve yet to find were born with a very important purpose. We have to save this world from being wiped out by the coming Shadow.”

Jareth listened in silence, and then a corner of his mouth curled up. He took another sip of tea.

“Well told,” he said mockingly. “Altan, what’s the song version of this story? Surely you’ve made something up about it by now. Five Dancers, the elements incarnate, born to save the world. Much more interesting than an Ice Maiden or—”

“Stop it!” Mylikki’s sweet voice was dark with fury. “We’ve risked our lives to find you, all of us! We’ve slogged through snow, and storms, and Altan nearly
died
and I don’t know what Kevla’s been through, but I have a feeling it was horrible, and…and…”

Altan’s eyes were downcast, but he reached out an arm and pulled Mylikki into a half embrace, letting her weep angrily on his chest.

“Altan, is this true?” Jareth asked quietly. “Were you almost killed?”

Altan didn’t look at him. “I fell into a hidden cave beneath some boulders while seeking shelter from one of the storms,” he said as quietly as Jareth. “Somehow Kevla and the Dragon knew where to look. They saved my life, Jareth. And I think we’ve probably saved yours.”

Jareth sighed and leaned forward, running dirty fingers through dirty hair. The hood of his forest-green cloak fell back at the gesture.

“Altan, you know I never meant—”

“It’s all right. I just think you owe it to Kevla and the Dragon to hear them out. I’ve seen so much in the last few weeks, Jareth. I believe them, and I think you should too.”

Jareth lifted his head and turned a surprisingly calm, steady gaze to Kevla. “I have seen a great deal myself. For the love I bear this boy, Kevla-sha-Tahmu, I will listen to what you have to say.”

Altan had spoken glowingly of his friend Jareth, who had helped the
huskaa
come into the world and had been like a brother to him ever since. And Kevla had sensed the power and deep feeling of responsibility that Jareth had once possessed. She desperately hoped she would reach him.

So she spoke quietly, the Dragon chiming in from time to time, of the destiny of the Dancers. How they had twice won, twice failed, and how the fate of this world and others hinged upon what they did here and now. She told him about the Lorekeepers and their animal Companions, how these three aspects formed one harmonious whole, though the Dancer could and did sometimes have to move forward without one or the other of the precious trio.

“I lost my own Lorekeeper,” she said, blushing to remember how she had revealed this at the fire last night. At least Jareth had been asleep. “It has been—”
Agonizing. Unbearable, unthinkable, excruciating…

“—difficult to go on without him.” She swallowed hard, trying to keep her expression neutral, seeing by Mylikki’s and Altan’s sympathetic expressions that she failed. “But I have found my dear Companion the Dragon, and having him with me has enabled me to find you. You must come with us, Jareth. You are the Stone Dancer. We need you, or all will be lost.”

Jareth didn’t answer. Finally, he said, “I said I would listen to you. Listen I have. I can do nothing to help you.”

His flat refusal surprised Kevla. She had thought when she finally explained it—he was a Dancer, he
had
to know this was the truth,
had
to come with her—

“You would so carelessly doom a world?” The Dragon’s voice was deceptively calm.

Jareth looked at the great creature. “What Kevla has said means nothing to me. I’ve never heard of Lorekeepers, nor have I found some magical animal to cleave to me. I’ve had no strange, troubling dreams of lives I’ve lived in the past. I have no reason to believe that what she says is true.”

“So the Flame Dancer is a liar?” Smooth as polished glass was his deep voice, but Kevla tensed. The Dragon was one step away from outrage.

Jareth sighed. “I don’t know any of you, except for Altan. And forgive me, my friend, but one thing I do know is how well you love a good tale. I know what I’m here for, and it’s not to fight some Shadow. It’s to take care of my people by changing the seasons in a way they can count on. To make sure that the trees give fruit. To make sure the harvest is good, the animals are fat and healthy, and the winter is as mild as it can be.”

He laughed harshly, and Kevla winced at the sound. “And you can see how well I am doing on that task. I can’t help you with yours.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” challenged Kevla.

Jareth threw up his hands in exasperation. “It doesn’t matter! I left to find the gods and force them to bring spring again. Nothing you can say will dissuade me from that quest.”

Altan began talking, his voice tense and earnest. Jareth continued to argue with him. But Kevla suddenly paid no attention to their words.

In her mind’s eye, she saw again Jareth standing with the blue tiger. It was so simple, so obvious…how could she not have realized it before?

Dragon—you are not a Lorekeeper, but you have knowledge of what has gone before. These gods Jareth seeks—you know Jashemi and I had visions of one of them standing with Jareth. They’re not gods at all, are they? No more than you were to my people. There’s only one tiger, and it’s Jareth’s Companion. Isn’t it?

I knew you’d figure that out sooner or later,
came the Dragon’s pleased reply in her mind.

Suddenly angry, Kevla thought,
Why didn’t you tell me?

The Dragon shrugged his massive shoulders in a very human gesture.
It would have served no purpose. And lest you be too angry with me, know this—I will not keep anything from you that might put you in danger, but it is always,
always
best if you learn things in their own time. Like the seasons, there is a rhythm and ripeness to such things. Trust that, and trust me.

Her anger abated quickly.
I do trust you, Dragon. I know you would never put me in harm’s way.

“Kevla?” Jareth, sounding irritated.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, I am not going with you to find the other Dancers. I am going to find the gods.”

Kevla caught the Dragon’s eye, and he nodded subtly. “I understand. And we will come with you.”