In Stone's Clasp

by Christie Golden

  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.
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  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.”

  22

  Jareth stared at the beautiful fire-woman. “What?”

  “I said, we will come with you.”

  “Yes!” cried Altan delightedly. “Yes, of course we will. And when you have brought spring to the land again, then you will be free to accompany Kevla!”

  Guilt sat heavily in Jareth’s chest. It was an old companion, and he had grown used to its weight. He knew what he was supposed to do, and he wanted to do it alone. For one thing, to drag Altan and these two women into what he was now beginning to think was a death quest was unthinkable, and for another, he had a feeling they would slow him down. His gaze flickered over to the enormous red creature that was the fire-woman’s Companion. And I’m sure the gods or the taaskali will see him coming leagues away.

  “No,” he said, firmly. “Altan, you and this young woman will return to safety. It will be a hard enough journey without me having to worry about you. Kevla, you and your friend will have to be about saving the world without my help.”

  The Dragon, a beast unlike anything Jareth had seen or even heard tales of, stiffened. It lifted its head and regarded him balefully.

  “I don’t think you quite understand,” it said in a deep, ominous rumble. “Kevla was not asking your permission to accompany you. She was telling you.”

  Jareth felt his face flush and his breathing quicken. He wanted to yell. He wanted to hurt something, someone. The Dragon continued to regard him, narrowing its golden eyes.

  “I hope you remember our little chat this morning.”

  “Little chat” indeed. Jareth made a sound of contempt. He had woken before dawn and attempted to steal quietly away when the monster’s gigantic claws had closed about him, lifting him high off the earth. The Dragon had said in no uncertain terms that wherever Jareth attempted to go, the Dragon would follow. I’ve got your scent, Dancer, it had rumbled. There is nowhere you can go now that I cannot find you.

  Jareth remained silent, analyzing each of them in turn. The Dragon, a creature that had shocked him to his very core when it manifested above him, yanking trees from the earth with casual ease. Kevla, her dark skin and hair making her look more like a taaskali than a proper Lamali woman…but of course she wasn’t Lamali at all, was she? She hailed from a land far south. For a moment, Jareth thought the word Arukan, and a hint of heat, of dry sand and parched earth and the footfalls of animals completely alien to him brushed his mind. He almost fancied he could feel a warm wind stir his hair, smell spicy, exotic scents. Then it was gone.

  She was beautiful, of course. Anyone with eyes could see that. She reminded him strongly of the woman in his dreams, who had seemed as unmoved by the cold as Kevla and who had transformed into the blue tiger god. He would have admired her capable, calm demeanor at any other time, any other place. Here, now, she was a problem. He had been quite awake when she had broken down at the fire last night; he had thought he would learn more from this odd group if he feigned sleep, and he had been right. She had clearly suffered, though he did not quite understand everything she had said. But Jareth Vasalen had no pity to spare for anyone, not even himself.

  He dragged his gaze from the exotic Kevla to the familiar, eager face of Altan. The boy was so very excited to have found Jareth safe; no less pleased was Jareth to learn that Altan had been found whole and alive after hearing about his brush with death. But still, what was the boy thinking? He was no expert in forest craft; he was a musician, a singer of songs, teller of tales. Those slender fingers could coax forth a melody to make the hardest heart ache or the most sullen lips curve in a smile. That was Altan’s gift—an honored and important one, but one not conducive to the brutal necessities of survival. It was a wonder he had survived long enough to be found and rescued by the Flame Dancer and her Companion.

  And this other girl—for girl she still was—what was her story? He could read part of it in her face. She was enamored of Altan, as most young women and more than a few young men were at one time or another once they’d heard him sing. Even Annu, who had grown up with Altan, had once confided—

  No!

  He jerked his head, as if he could shake the thought from his mind. His body tensed, twitched. “Jareth?” said Kevla, tentatively.

  Pale and cold, like the Ice Maiden was believed to be, they lay where they had somehow fallen asleep. Waiting for him to soften the hearts of the gods, to talk the great blue cats into bringing life to the land, life to those he loved so much—

  Hands on either side of his face, trusted hands that yet caused a shiver of fear—

  Kevla, it was Kevla, walking in the snow in that revealing red garment that showed every curve, smiling, transforming into the god, flowers blooming beneath her feet—

  He found and held her gaze. He saw her swallow, but he did not look away. Maybe she was part of this. Maybe he had seen her in these dreams because she had been supposed to lead him to the gods. To bringing spring again.

  To bringing back those he loved.

  “All right,” he said, surprising them all. He took a deep breath. He realized he was shaking and had spilled some of his tea. It was as if all the energy had rushed from him. “I could use some food,” he said.

  “Of course,” Altan said quickly. He fished in one of the packs and gave Jareth a hunk of dried meat. The smell made Jareth’s mouth water and he gnawed at the chewy, tough flesh.

  “We will have some hot grains here in a moment,” Kevla said. “Jareth, you must tell us what has happened to you over the last few months.”

  “To what end?”

  “We need to know how much strength you have left,” Kevla said quietly. “And what kind of challenges await us if we return to the mountain ranges.”

  Images flashed through his mind. Snow. Ice that cut the hands until they bled. Storms. Attacks from madmen lurking, spying upon him. Kevla’s face in the fire and his subsequent determination not to light fires again. The coppery smell of bloody, raw animal flesh that had been his only source of food since then. The dreams that he banished from his waking moments but that always made him awaken screaming.

  “I’d rather not talk about it,” he said.

  A look passed between Kevla and Altan. Jareth caught another look, one that no one else saw, from Mylikki. The girl’s heart was on her face as she regarded Altan. He felt a faint twinge of sympathy, and the lyrics of one of the Ice Maiden songs returned to him: Remember what drove me to be what I am; all that I wanted was love from one man.

  The grains were soon ready and Jareth ate hungrily. It had been weeks since his body had ingested anything hot, liquid or solid, and even as the nourishment
hit his stomach he felt warmth start to creep through his body. Perhaps it was not all bad, traveling with this little group; there would be warmth, shelter and food, three things he had been able to find only sparingly. Still, he knew that if he had the chance to elude them, he’d take it.

  “Our purpose until now has been to find you,” Kevla told him as she gave him another ladleful of the hot, filling grains. “Now, we will go where you dictate. Altan and Mylikki say the gods live on a mountain range at the end of the world, as far north as one can go. But Altan tells me you couldn’t find them. How shall we proceed?”

  His respect for her went up another notch. She had accepted the situation and was asking logical questions about what to do next. He realized with some embarrassment that his own thoughts were not nearly as well formed.

  Swallowing, Jareth said, “I climbed the mountains and they were not there.” That had been some time ago, and the rage and bitterness still made him feel sick. Why did they deliberately elude him so? “I think the next thing to do is to find the taaskali. Our myths and tales have always linked them with magical powers and the ability to go between the worlds; to visit the realm of both gods and mortals.”

  “But the taaskali follow the selva,” said Mylikki. “You never find one without the other. And the selva do not stay in any place for very long. How do you think you’ll find them?”

  For answer, Jareth reached into one of the sacks and withdrew a handful of grain. Cupping the food gently, he closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. The sky was clear today; he always seemed to have better luck when it wasn’t snowing. This was something he had thought about doing for some time, but had never before had any food with which to tempt them.

  Little brothers and sisters, he thought, I will share this with you in exchange for your aid.

  For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, he heard a soft gasp and opened his eyes.

  Perched on his knee was a small songbird barely the size of his palm, so tiny he had not even felt it land. Its feathers, normally bright gold in hue, were dingy. It had fluffed them against the cold and peered at him with bright black eyes. Jareth extended his hand and the bird hopped on his fingers and began to peck eagerly at the proffered grain.