In Stone's Clasp (23 page)

Her eyes roamed over him and she felt desire rise inside her, felt her physical body respond, as it had that moment that seemed so long ago to her now. Heat flowed through her. Every place on her body ached to be touched. Trembling, she took his hands and placed them on either side of her face. Jashemi’s long fingers slid across her cheeks, her throat, to gently cup her breasts and caress the hardening peaks. She closed her eyes at the emotions that rushed through her at the contact, the loving
touch she had thought never to feel again. Moving closer, he lowered his lips to hers. His arms pulled her tight against his strong, lean warrior’s body, and she tangled her fingers in his hair. She loved him so very much; had loved him almost since they had first met as children.

“At its heart, we knew this love was true and good,” he whispered in her ear, and she shivered as he flicked the lobe with his tongue. She inhaled deeply, savoring his familiar, beloved scent of spicy oils and warm skin. “Born of a need to be close, of turning to one another because we were all we had. I do not regret anything that happened.”

Then the memory, the scalding, brutal, devastating memory returned. Kevla pulled back and stared at Jashemi, agony stabbing her.
“I
regret it!” she sobbed. “I killed you!”

“I died in your arms, yes.” He ran a finger over her cheek, then her lips, and she tasted the saltiness of her tears. “And we violated a great taboo. But the memory—you will always have this.” She trembled as his hands trailed lightly down over her suddenly naked back and buttocks. “Stay on this path, make this your only truth, and the memory of our coupling will never fade. It will always fill your heart with love and desire.”

How could she not cherish the memory? Eyes closed, Kevla savored the touch of the only man she had ever loved. Even now, when she did not have the excuse of ignorance of their blood bond, she wanted him. To abandon that feeling would mean Jashemi had been nothing to her; that he had died to no purpose.

“That’s not quite true,” he replied, reading her thoughts.

Her eyes snapped open. She was again sitting on the earth, fully clothed, her passion quelled.

“I am Jashemi, your brother and Lorekeeper,” said the Jashemi on her right. He was dressed in the traditional men’s
rhia,
a kerchief on his head. As Kevla looked upon him, she remembered the games of
Shamizan,
the stolen moments of laughter in the caverns, of holding him when he wept and the moment when he came to her in her room after the dreams had come and she had realized that she loved him; could not love him more if he were her own blood.

He grinned, and there was an ease and comfort between them that Kevla remembered from years past, before they became adults and the confusions of repressed memories of long-ago lives and physical desires had swept over them like a storm from the desert’s heart.

She gazed deeply into the brown eyes that had always
seen
her, seen who and what she was, even when the rest of the world spat upon the Bai-sha girl. And in those eyes, she saw the other Lorekeepers Jashemi had once been: a boy in tattered clothes; a woman with golden hair; an old man with a grizzled beard, a woman with short brown hair and green eyes.

“Take my hand,” he said. “Come walk with me, Flame Dancer.”

Slowly, Kevla closed her hand around Jashemi’s, feeling the strong, reassuring warmth. He helped her to her feet and with dizzying speed, the world around her changed.

Memories that were not real suddenly flooded her. Her first meeting with Yeshi, Tahmu’s wife, Jashemi’s mother, who welcomed her coolly as Tahmu’s blood daughter, but whose affection gradually blossomed. Her growing friendship with Jashemi, arguing with him at the table, studying with him, riding
sa’abahs
together. Bonding in the way sisters and brothers did, with teasing, spats, and a deep, abiding devotion. The dreams of the Great Dragon and strange other lives that she and her brother felt comfortable sharing with their father.

Knowledge flooded her. “This is what our lives could have been like had all unfolded as it should,” she whispered to the Jashemi who still held her hand.

He nodded. “Raised as true sister and brother. Our visions respected. Listened to.” He squeezed her hand. “Our love stronger than ever, my sister, all the richer for the knowing that we shared a bond that extended over five lifetimes.”

She turned to face him, puzzled as to why she felt no desire for him when a few moments before she had been shaking with passion. He caressed her face, and the touch was infinitely dear, but no more.

“This is how we felt toward one another,” he said gently, pulling her into an embrace. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, clasped his strong, straight body to her, and felt completely and utterly safe.

Tears stung her eyes. He folded her closer. “No weeping, Kevla. There is no need for tears.”

“You would be with me even now, had we walked this path,” she said, her voice thick. “I killed you. I killed
this.
”

Suddenly, she was atop the Dragon. She was again in the battle against the Emperor’s forces, except this time Jashemi was alive, was down there fighting with her. And when the arrow pierced his throat, she felt the agony of it in her own heart.

“No!” she screamed. No…

“Had we walked this path,” Jashemi said gently, as if he had never left her side in this strange, confusing vision, “I would not have died in the cave, that much is true. We would never have been in that cave; would never have become lovers. But who can say if I would have lived? Many died in that battle, Kevla. I could very well have been among them, and this is one path.” He smiled mischievously. “I could have taken a tumble from a
sa’abah,
or choked on an olive pit, or met some other entirely ordinary end. Or I could have lived to old age surrounded by grandchildren. There’s no way for us to know.”

Her legs buckled and he eased her to the ground.

“But this is the path that unfolded,” she cried, “the path that led to your death. Whether I hold you in my heart as a lover or a brother, you are still lost to me!”

“But the Lorekeeper won’t be,” Jashemi said. “Do you remember what I said to you, when I first left for battle?”

The memory of this boy holding her hands, palms moist, gazing into her eyes and whispering fiercely, “We are not done with each other yet,” returned to Kevla. They had been alone in the night, with no one to witness this urgent pledge but the stars. It had been a rare, poignant, precious moment in her life, one that she cherished. One in which she and Jashemi connected as children, not as adults.

“Of course I remember,” she said.

“Then know this—those words are as true as when I first spoke them,” he told her, holding her face between his hands. “We are not done with each other yet. But you must choose, Kevla. You must choose how you will hold me. Keep me in your heart as Jashemi, the man you love, whose touch you crave and for whose arms you hunger, and I will stay there. The memory of the bliss we shared will not fade. This, I swear to you. But you will have lost Jashemi the brother, the Lorekeeper, and you will keep your own sense of guilt as close to your heart as my memory.”

He stepped back, and split into two images. “Choose,” they said as one.

Kevla collapsed in a heap. How could she possibly choose between the lover she had adored with every fiber of her being
and the man who was brother and Lorekeeper? How could they ask such a thing of her? Either way, she would lose something precious. If she chose to remember her lover, she would lose a life she ought to have lived, but never had. She would lose a source of wisdom, comfort, and strength.

But if she chose to remember her Lorekeeper, she would be turning her back on the single experience in her short life that had brought her the most joy and pain she had ever known.

“I can’t,” she cried, her voice raw. “Do not make me do this, if ever you loved me. Do not make me choose!”

“It is because we love you that we are asking this of you,” said the Lorekeeper.

“We cannot bear to see you in such torment,” her lover replied. “Choose, and there will be peace.”

For a long time, Kevla huddled on the earth, wishing that she would awaken from this vision that she knew to be a vision, longing for a way to escape the impossible choice they had foisted upon her. But there was no merciful awakening to be had, only a pain that grew more and more unbearable.

Finally, Kevla stumbled to her feet, looking at each version of Jashemi-kha-Tahmu in turn. Tears poured unheeded down her face.

She made her choice.

Stepping forward, she placed her head on the bare chest of the man she had loved more than life itself. She listened to his heartbeat, strong and fast against her ear, then kissed him there, feeling the skin smooth and supple against her lips, tasting the saltiness of his sweat. He cupped her face in his hands, tilted back his head, and kissed her. Kevla opened fully to the joy rushing through her, and when Jashemi broke the kiss, she gazed into his eyes and said, “I love you with all my heart, Jashemi-kha-Tahmu. Please forgive me.”

She stepped back. It was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life.

He forced a smile. “I did and do, beloved.”

And then he was gone.

The pain was devastating. Dizziness washed over her and she would have fallen had not a pair of strong arms caught her. She looked up into the face of her brother—a perfect replica of the man she had loved, but so different-seeming to her now.

“He said I was his soul,” Kevla said brokenly to this man who was both strange and profoundly familiar to her.

Her brother smiled through his own tears of sympathy. Pressing a comforting kiss on her forehead, he said, “He was almost right.
I
am
your
soul, Flame Dancer. And by embracing this aspect of me, you will have me with you always.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending, shaking, heartsick, overwhelmed by what she had just done. Gently he lowered her to the earth and pulled her close to him. She snuggled into his embrace, and then the wonder happened.

Kevla felt the guilt and shame detach themselves from her and float away, as if they were something physical. The arms that held her were strong and comforting, even though she knew none of this could be real. Her heart was suddenly full of love for Jashemi again, but this time, it was a love that she knew to be pure and sacred; a love that she could fully embrace. The terrible, ripping ache inside her was gone. Only warmth and acceptance lingered there now. She let out her breath in a long, quavering sigh, and surrendered to this sensation.

“Do you remember what I said to you, the first time we met in this world that is not the world?” he whispered in her ear.

“You told me that I needed to let go of the form you took when you were flesh,” Kevla said. “I understand that now. I didn’t—I couldn’t—then.”

“Our love is beyond the physical, Flame Dancer,” Jashemi whispered, as he had done before. “Death cannot stop it. It hasn’t before and it won’t now. I ever existed to love and serve you. And even though I am no longer flesh…I still do.”

The Flame Dancer held her Lorekeeper, her soul, and wept with joy.

“Kevla?”

The voice was familiar, but Kevla somehow didn’t want to hear it. She frowned and snuggled back down against the warm, soft blanket that cradled her body.

“Kevla, wake up. We need to get going soon.”

She blinked sleepily and looked up. Standing against the sky and sun was the shape of a man. His position prevented her from seeing his features, but she saw that he was tall, with broad shoulders. The sun caught his hair and made it glow in a circlet of gold about his shadowed face.

“Come, now, you’ll sleep the day away. Perhaps I should have gone on without you.”

Kevla became fully awake. The mysterious man wreathed in shadow ceased to be a mystery; it was only Jareth, come to waken her so that they could climb a mountain and he could confront his god. She sighed, missing the comfort of her Lorekeeper, who would now come only to her in dreams and visions.

Jareth extended a hand to help her up. She was a little unsteady; she had slept quite deeply and one foot was slightly numb from lack of blood. Quickly, Jareth caught her, slipping a hand around her waist.

“Thank you,” she said, gently disengaging herself.

He smothered a smile as his eyes took in her face. “Looks like you had a very restful night.” He tapped his right cheek, and for a moment Kevla didn’t understand what he meant. Then her hand went to her face and she found the deep creases there. She had slept so soundly, a blanket fold had left its mark on her face. She laughed, surprised and amused and embarrassed all at once. Jareth let his own face ease into a smile.

Kevla didn’t miss it. He looked well rested also, as if some of the burden that had been laid upon him had lifted, ever so slightly.

“How about you?” asked Kevla. “The Dragon told me to pay attention to my dreams. Did you dream anything interesting?”

She couldn’t decipher his look. “Let’s get going.”

He strode off, his body tall and straight and defiant, daring the world to take a swing at him. Kevla sighed and followed him back to the encampment.

The
taaskali,
the Dragon, Mylikki and Altan were all sitting around a crackling fire. A pleasant aroma rose from the cauldron. She watched with amusement as Altan ran a finger around the bowl, making sure he got every last bite.

The cauldron contained cooked, sweetened milk, and there was something else in it as well. Kevla took a taste and could not suppress a soft sound of delight. Rich with spices that teased the nostrils, it slipped down the throat easily. Best of all, there appeared to be plenty of it.

“It’s some sort of concoction of eggs and milk and dried fruit,” Mylikki said.

“It’s certainly better than grains,” said Altan.

Kevla ate every bite, and handed out her bowl for more when Jareth went to get seconds.

I haven’t seen you eat like that since I held you in the heart of the mountain,
came the Dragon’s affectionate thoughts.

Kevla smiled as she spooned up another mouthful of the creamy concoction.
I remember. You wanted to know if I wanted an entire sandcow for dinner.

Eat your fill of anything the
taaskali
give you. It is wholesome and nourishing.

Magical?
She turned to look at him.

He hesitated.
Say rather…blessed.
Kevla nodded her understanding.
Kevla…

Yes?

I know what you dreamed last night. I am proud of you.

Even though the food still tasted wonderful, Kevla suddenly found it hard to swallow.
It was the most difficult decision I have ever had to make. I know I made the right choice. I can sense him in my being now, somehow. And that is a sweet thing. But to lose one aspect of him in order to keep another…Oh, Dragon, I don’t even remember what his touch felt like. And I will never know that kind of touch from anyone ever again.

A very definitive statement from one so young,
thought the Dragon.

She looked at him, angry and hurt.
You know what happened when we—I can’t be with anyone like that, ever. My pleasure is lethal to others. I am condemned to a life without that, and now even my memory of what that felt like has been changed so that it seems like it happened to someone else.

The world is wide and you are young, dear heart.

Has…has the Flame Dancer ever before taken a lover without…

She sensed his sorrow as he sent,
You were the first incarnation of the Flame Dancer who was intimate with another.

Kevla resisted the urge to surrender to self-pity. She had a task ahead of her. What did it matter if she never felt the tender touch of a lover again? At least she had reached peace with Jashemi, whom she would hold forever as a brother, Lorekeeper, and friend. In the end, she knew she had gained more than she had lost.

“Are you all right?” It was Jareth, looking at her with concern in his blue eyes. She nodded quickly and finished eating her meal.

The
selva
seemed to ignore them today, ambling about like ordinary creatures and digging in the snow with their large hooves.

“What are they finding to eat?” Kevla asked Hanru as she watched them. He was busy assembling sacks for them to take on their journey.

“A type of plant grows on the stones,” Hanru told her. “The
selva
feed on this during the winter, even this strange winter. They are very determined to locate it on their own. If you were to scrape some into your hand and offer it to them, they would not eat it.” He looked up from his now-completed task. “Is everyone finished?”

Jareth looked down at his fourth bowl of food. “Almost,” he said, devouring what was left. When he was done, he, Mylikki, Altan and Kevla went over to Hanru’s side.

He looked at them keenly. “You have the least experience with snow and ice,” he said to Kevla. She nodded. “This will not be an easy undertaking. I again say to you, Jareth will confront the tiger alone. If any of you wish to stay behind, we will make you welcome.”

No one moved. Altan folded his arms across his chest, and Mylikki looked down at her feet. Hanru sighed.

“Very well. Let me give you a few lessons in how to use these tools. They could save your life.”

Kevla paid close attention as Hanru described how to strap small metal hooks to their boots, to get a better grip on the ice. She hefted the small pick, and practiced with it to get a feel for how to use it. Thus far, the day was clear, but if bad weather were to strike, they would tie themselves together with rope and huddle close. The more she learned, the more apprehensive she grew. At one point, she stole a glance at Jareth. He had already climbed this path once before, alone, with no tools such as these. She wasn’t sure if she should admire him or think him a fool.
Probably a bit of both.

At last they were ready to depart. Hanru assured them it would not be far, at least not as the
selva
traveled. Even as he spoke, two
selva,
pulling a strange cart behind them, approached.

“It has
skeltha
on it!” Kevla said, then wondered why she should be so surprised. It made perfect sense. With two animals to pull the cart, it should speed along the snow.

The five of them got in. Kevla looked back at the Dragon, who sat up on his haunches and inclined his head in farewell.

The sun made its feeble ascent into the sky, hugging the horizon. The
skeltha
-cart moved with amazing speed, almost flying over the snow, and the world moved past swiftly. Part of Jareth wanted to be amazed at the
selva,
at the
taaskali,
at the dream which had come to him last night like a healing draft. But already the dream’s soft tendrils had disengaged themselves from his thoughts. He was close to the goal now, and he would focus on this and this alone.

He had made this trek before, alone, struggling through storms that seemed calculated to thwart his progress. But now the sun was shining, such as it was, and by the time it set, he would have confronted the god.

He wondered why only one had consented to see him, but reasoned that one was sufficient. Unobtrusively, he slid his hand beneath his cloak to touch the large, freshly sharpened knife secure in its hilt. If the god refused him, he would attack. Jareth knew that if it came to this, it would be a foolish gesture; he would die in the attempt.

But at least he would have made that attempt. He had clung fast to the hope the remembrances of his family, whispered to him at night by flower and soil and stone, had kept alive. Something was very wrong with this world, something so out of harmony with the natural order of things that his land would soon die if things were not put right. And if he could not restore the natural cycles to the land—could not undo what the strange storm had done and bring back the people he loved most in the world—what point
was
there in living? Without that…

He shuddered involuntarily. Altan was seated next to him and looked at his friend with concern. “Cold?” he asked.

Jareth shook his head, but made no further reply. Altan sighed and sank back further into the seat, his face troubled. In front of him sat Kevla and Mylikki. Jareth had not gotten to know the female
kyndela
player well at all; he had no interest in getting to know anyone. But even he noticed how she huddled in the seat, silent and miserable. And he’d noticed too that the
selva
had not chosen her last night to offer their warmth and, apparently, dreams. He’d known Altan all the boy’s life, and was used to the strange, sudden mood shifts that came upon him. Apparently, Mylikki wasn’t, and was hurting from them.

Kevla often wore her hair long and loose, but today, she had braided it and it fell in a long rope down the back of the seat. It looked soft and silky, and gleamed with red highlights. For some reason, the shiny black-red length fascinated Jareth and he wanted to touch it. He reached forward, grasped the thick braid, and tossed it back over Kevla’s shoulder. He didn’t want the distraction. She glanced back and smiled, and suddenly heat surged through him.
By the gods, she is beautiful.
He nodded briefly, then turned his attention again to the mountains and away from the unexpected brush of physical desire.

Sooner than even Jareth had dared hope, they arrived at the foot of the mountains. He looked up at the chain as it stretched as far he could see, and realized that there was a trail that he had not noticed before. It made sense. The
taaskali
were closer to the gods than mere humans. They would know the hidden paths to reach the divine beings that played among the stars.

Jareth helped Hanru unload the equipment. The
taaskal
unfastened the two gleaming
selva,
stroked their necks affectionately, and whispered in their ears. Snorting, they trotted away and began to forage for the moss.

“They will not stray, and will come when I ask them to,” Hanru assured them. “Now. Let us be about this.” He turned around and pointed upward. “
That
is where we need to be.”

Everyone craned their necks to see a tall peak, far in the distance, jagged and white against the sky. It seemed to be a thousand leagues distant, and Jareth felt a pang of panic.

“If we move at a good pace,” Hanru continued, “we should be able to reach the peak and descend before nightfall. I am certain none of you wishes to be climbing in the dark.”

“Couldn’t we make camp if we don’t get back in time?” It was Kevla, looking with concern at Mylikki. “I can create sufficient heat to keep us warm through the night.”

“Perhaps. But even the brightest blaze cannot protect us from wind and snow and lack of food.”

“We’ll get there and back in time,” Altan said firmly. Mylikki looked nervous. Jareth gazed at the peak a moment longer, envisioning a blue Tiger standing atop it.

Hanru handed them their equipment, showed them how to strap the packs to their backs, and demonstrated how to maneuver themselves in the boots, kicking them firmly into the snow and ice for better purchase. Jareth gave the lesson his full attention. He did not want to be slowed or stopped for a lack of education in how to maneuver up the icy path. He had to curb his impatience with the others, especially Kevla, to whom all this was completely alien, as they practiced and Hanru pronounced them ready to ascend. He wished again that he had gone only with Hanru. But Kevla was somehow part of this; more and more, he was convinced she was the woman in his dreams, who had changed into a tiger. Altan was stubborn enough to make good his promise of following by himself, and Mylikki went where Altan went. It was unfortunate, but he could see no way around it.

“I will lead,” Hanru announced. “Mylikki, you follow me, then Altan and Kevla. Jareth, you bring up the rear. Is everyone ready?”

Jareth knew why Hanru wanted him last—so that he could not move ahead faster than the group. He looked up at the top of the peak. Even as he regarded it, he saw the wind catch and lazily swirl snow.

You had better be waiting for me,
he thought.

Gelsan sat silently by the fire. These days she ate little, said less, and when another had quietly assumed the duties of headwoman, she had been glad.

Her husband had been lost to the winter months ago. Then Mylikki had departed atop a dragon’s back, in the company of a Fire Woman. Gelsan didn’t know if she’d ever return. Olar had been all she had left, and now he, too, was gone. Gelsan was not overfond of this life anymore, and if she moved closer to escaping it by the day, well, that was not altogether a bad thing.