“Do you know why you are here?”
And then he did know.
Jareth closed his eyes against the onslaught of comprehension, willing it away, but it had the bitter taste of truth.
When he was thirteen years old, he had felt drawn to the land. He had summoned spring simply by asking for it to come. He was the Spring-Bringer, the Kevat-aanta, whose touch on the land ensured the rhythmic cycles of the seasons. And he had let himself become the Kevat-aanta. He had enjoyed the honors his position brought him and his family, even though he never exploited his gifts and lived with the secret fear that one day, everything would fall apart. This was who he was, and it was why, when his powers had suddenly failed him, he had been so devastated. Part of it, the greatest part, was indeed that he did not desire his people to suffer.
But part of it had also been arrogance and, to an even greater extent, that constant fear. What was he supposed to do if not be the Spring-Bringer?
Who was he?
He had come thinking to reclaim this title he had held for all his adult life. He had come thinking to cow and bully his gods into bringing the dead back to life—both his family and the dead land. And he had come thinking that somehow, in this pilgrimage, he would atone for not being able to do these things himself, for not being able to feed his people, not being able to save his family—
But that was not why he was here. He was here, standing before the blue Tiger, existing in this world, to be not the Spring-Bringer, but the Stone Dancer. He was, as Kevla had tried to tell him, the element of Earth made into human flesh. She had been part of his dreams since his youth, the dark-skinned woman who changed into a god, and now he understood. She wasn’t taking him to the gods—she was leading him to his Companion.
And suddenly, as if making this connection had opened a door, memories flooded him.
The Tiger, the secret friend, found as a cub by a little boy who bonded with her and placed her on his standard. The Legion of the blue Tiger fought well for their king and country, even stood…and fell…against the Shadow when it came for them….
A scholarly girl, terrified of the mighty beast until her father, her Lorekeeper, explained the powerful connection of these three separate beings….
The only time he had preferred to feel a horse between his thighs rather than the warm, supple strength of the Tiger, when he had been part of a tribe that worshipped the animals….
A slender woman of eighteen, with dark skin and hair, gazing out at an ocean that was suddenly, unnaturally still, feeling the trusted hands of her Lorekeeper on her face before they tightened….
Before him stood not a god, but his Companion, also an aspect of Earth. Jareth was much more than an instigator for the changing of the seasons; more than a friend to the trees and grasses and animals and stones. Jareth’s allegiance was to things greater than Lamal, for he was greater than Lamal.
And if the Tiger is my Companion, and not a god…she can’t give Taya and Annu and Parvan back to me.
Jareth closed his eyes as blood seeped from his warm body onto the cold ice, this knowledge more painful than the blows he had endured from the Tiger. He understood now that he was here to set aside his personal wants and needs, however deep and raw they might be. He was to help his people by leaving them, possibly forever; to save them by saving the world they lived in. By accepting that his destiny lay not with the mountains and fields and deep, green forests of the place where he was born, but in places so alien to him that he knew it would make him weep.
By walking with Kevla and the Great Dragon, and searching for the rest of the Dancers.
He did not want this. But it was why he was here.
Taya, my love, you are gone, and I can’t even stay in the land where you lie….
His voice cracked when he spoke.
“I am here to be the Stone Dancer—to save my people by saving all the people,” he whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting another blow. But what happened next startled him more than anything he could have imagined.
With the gentleness of a mother with her cub, the Tiger stretched out a paw and pulled Jareth to her breast. A deep rumble sounded and Jareth felt the rasp of a warm tongue across his face, his chest, his belly. Fur softer even than that of the selva brushed his skin. The Tiger bathed him, and beneath the caress of that slightly rough but loving tongue Jareth felt his wounds close and heal, felt strength slowly seep into a body that had been abused and punished for almost too long.
How long the moment lasted, Jareth could not tell. He surrendered to the tender ministrations of the Tiger, and simply accepted. At last, he sighed deeply and opened his eyes, and when he gazed up at the Tiger, it was with true recognition.
“You,” he whispered. “It’s you!”
Healed by the powers of this being that he suddenly remembered was a part of him, Jareth reached up and threw his arms around the creature’s powerful neck and buried his face in the warm fur. He felt one paw—the paw that had moments before been slicing his flesh with apparent mercilessness—go around him to pull him even closer.
Jareth closed his eyes. His fingers gripped the striped blue fur tightly, as if he clung to a lifeline. In a very real sense, he did.
“Where were you? The last time, where were you?”
“You had not found me before the Shadow came,” was the loving reply. “You had found your Lorekeeper, but not me. I was a continent away.”
Yes, he had found his Lorekeeper…and his Lorekeeper had murdered him.
Jareth shuddered at the memory, then let it go. He heaved a deep sigh, feeling the last strains of fear and resentment escape with the cleansing breath, and sat up. He did not pull away from this being that he now knew was a part of him, but leaned, still weary, against his newly discovered old friend and drew strength from the furry warmth.
“Where is the last of our three?” he asked. “Kevla spoke of the Lorekeepers, but I have not met anyone like them. I have certainly not met mine.”
“And I have not been able to sense him or her,” said the Tiger. She rolled over onto her back, lazily pulling Jareth, no small man, with her. “It is unlikely that your Lorekeeper would be in another land, but such a thing is not impossible. We might have difficulty finding this part of ourselves, considering what happened last time. To murder one’s Dancer, even out of a misplaced sense of love—such a thing cannot help but do harm.”
The Tiger knew what had happened, even though she had not been there. Such was the power of their bond. Jareth sat back, taking a hold of one of the forepaws and examining it absently. It was large and soft, the claws retracted so that the Tiger could hold Jareth gently. Jareth squeezed the paw, and the Tiger obligingly extended her claws. They were as long as his fingers; the paw itself, bigger than his head. The Tiger made a deep sound of amused affection, sheathed her claws, and patted Jareth’s face. Jareth felt only comfort and trust. Never again would those claws be turned against him.
“So we find my Lorekeeper, and Kevla and I must travel to far distant realms to gather the other three Dancers.” And my family stays here, their bodies hard and cold…. Jareth refused to follow that train of thought. He could not bear to let them go, not yet.
“Tiger…you have not told me…why did you remove my powers? How is it that I could even lose them, if I am truly the element of Earth?”
“Your powers were never gone,” the Tiger said quietly. “Were you not able to speak to the birds and animals?”
“Yes,” Jareth said. “But I couldn’t call spring. I couldn’t sense the stones, or the trees, or the soil anymore. I couldn’t influence them, make things grow.” The pain of that stabbed him anew and he swallowed.
“Your powers were not taken,” the Tiger said. “They were blocked.”
“How? Who could have done this?”
“The snow that has fallen since the first day you tried to call Spring is nothing natural,” the Tiger said. “It has awareness. Consciousness. And it has a mistress.”
> “Who?”
Looking deeply into Jareth’s eyes, the Tiger replied, “The Ice Maiden.”
Jareth laughed. “Now you’re teasing me.”
The Tiger shook her head. “I would not toy with you about such a thing.”
Sobering, Jareth said, “But she’s just a story, a character in a collection of songs.”
“That might have been true once, but no longer. She is very real, and very powerful. She controls the snow and she is able to block your powers when it is present.”
“And it’s ever-present,” Jareth finished, thinking. “This makes sense. I could only call the beasts when the sky was clear—when there was no snow falling between me and them.”
She controls the snow. The snow that had somehow come in so quickly and so deeply that it had killed his family. He had known all along that they had not died natural deaths, and what the Tiger had just said proved it. He might not be able to bring them back, but at least he could avenge them.
Another thought came to him. “The men who got lost when they left to go hunting. The men who sometimes returned insane…they saw her, didn’t they?”
The Tiger nodded her massive head. “They did.”
It was so much to take in all at once. Jareth rubbed his temples, thinking. “We have to stop her. We have to find her and stop her.” He was suddenly cold and he shivered, rubbing his arms as the chill shuddered through him. “‘He has seen the Ice Maiden, and she’s perilous fair….’ The lyrics…can we trust what the song tells us about her?”
“I do not know, but it stands to reason,” the Tiger said. “At least it is a starting point.”
For the first time, Jareth was glad that Altan had decided to accompany him. They would need the input of a huskaa if they were to learn how to defeat a creature born of legend.
Suddenly he laughed. “Altan has always maintained that she was just an abandoned girl with a broken heart, that the term Ice Maiden was never literal. He’ll be quite annoyed to hear this.”
He got to his feet. Inside, he was warm. He felt strong and capable, no longer beaten and despairing. He had discovered his true purpose, had remembered who he had been, and had found, again, his dearest friend.
“Let’s find them. Let’s find them and tell them everything.”
30
Altan had been terrified when it appeared as though Mylikki had been about to plunge to her death over the cliff face. He had moved faster than he had thought himself capable, heedless of the danger, to come to her aid. When they were finally pulled to safety and he felt her body pressed against his, shaking with sobs, the relief that she was safe, was safe, was overwhelming.
He had lingered in Arrun Woods for over a week, claiming the poor weather as an excuse. But the real reason he had stayed, despite his desire to find Jareth, was to spend time with Mylikki, to instruct her on the intricacies of the kyndela and watch with glee as her sharp mind picked them up at once. If she had been a man, he’d have claimed her as his huskaa-lal after hearing her perform a single song. But she was female, and the Law did not permit such a thing.
When they sat and performed together, he would look at her, and feel a stirring in his heart and loins. Her golden head bent over the instrument, catching the gleam of the firelight; her smile that broadened whenever she looked at him; the soft swell beneath many layers of clothing of breasts that he now knew were even softer and fuller than he had imagined.
When Mylikki had taken that tumble today, for a moment, he thought her gone forever. He was surprised at how much he cared. So when she clung to him, he held her tightly, and made no move to disengage himself.
I love her, he realized, and said a short, heartfelt prayer to the gods that they would guard his tongue and keep the darkness that sometimes consumed him at bay, so that he would never, ever say anything hurtful to her again.
There were no branches to use as fuel for a fire, so Kevla merely heated some stones. The effect was the same—welcome warmth pouring out to the shivering travelers. She herself sat back, having no need of the heat, and took pleasure in seeing the taut, exhausted faces of Altan and Mylikki relax as the warmth began to penetrate.
Since Mylikki’s accident, she had literally not let go of Altan, and the young huskaa seemed more than happy to hold her. Kevla hoped that Altan’s days of alternately casting affectionate glances at the girl and making cutting remarks were over.
Hanru had shared cheese made from selva milk. Mindful of the Dragon’s words, Kevla ate everything she was offered. Sharp and yet mellow on the tongue, the cheese quieted hunger and provided energy. Kevla was grateful that they had happened upon the taaskali and their herds. Not for the first time, she wondered at these people who had appeared so conveniently and had to be more than what they seemed. And she wondered just how safe she, Altan, and Mylikki really were with them, but decided that if the Dragon trusted them, that was enough for her.
At one point, Hanru looked at the sky and shook his head. “Night will be coming soon,” he said.
“We’re not leaving without Jareth,” Altan said.
“Do not worry about Jareth,” Kevla said. “He is safer than we are, I assure you.”
Mylikki, one bare pink hand still clutching Altan’s, was munching a bite of cheese. Swallowing, she said, “You know something we don’t, Kevla. What is it?”
Kevla was surprised. She had not expected Mylikki, focused on Altan and exhausted as she was, to be quite so astute. “I will tell you when he returns,” she said. “But yes, I do know something. And what I know tells me that Jareth could not be in better hands.”
Or paws, she thought with a slight smile.
She was looking forward to seeing him with his Companion, and wondered how changed he would be. She had been profoundly affected by her own meeting with this aspect of herself. Would it be the same for him? She hoped that at least by the time he and the Tiger descended the mountain, Jareth would be ready to join her and embark for…where? Who was the next Dancer they needed to find?
No doubt you’ll determine that once Jareth joins you, came a familiar, beloved voice in her head.
“The Dragon is coming,” she said to her companions. She saw relief wash over their faces. If the Dragon came for them, they would not have to make the long, cold, dangerous descent in the growing shadows of nightfall.
A few moments later, her rhia was stirred by the powerful wind of his wing beats. He hovered in front of them. He was too large to land anywhere near them, and Kevla realized he would have to carry them down in his foreclaws.
“Is your task complete, Dragon?” she called to him.
“My part of it, yes,” he replied. Then, turning his head on his long serpentine neck, he looked up toward the peak. As one, they all turned to follow his gaze. In the gathering darkness, it was hard to see at first, but soon they realized that they were seeing movement. Kevla squinted, and then inhaled swiftly as she understood what she beheld.
The moving blur against the snow and stone of the mountainside was Jareth, and he sat proudly astride the blue Tiger.
The big cat leaped from precipice to precipice, stone to stone, with a power and an abandon that made Kevla’s heart leap into her throat. At any moment she expected her to slip, to hurtle off the face of the cliff with Jareth clinging to her.
Hardly, thought the Dragon. This is her place. I would as soon fall out of the sky as the Tiger find false purchase.
And Jareth must have known it, for he rode the Tiger like a burr on a horse, moving as if he were a part of the mighty beast. The speed of the great cat as it came toward them was such that the hood of Jareth’s cloak was ripped back and the white garment flowed behind him.
At last, the Tiger leaped onto a nearby boulder, landing squarely and settling itself as Jareth jumped off its back. Altan and Mylikki stared in shock. They looked at one another, then both knelt in the presence of the being they thought was their god.
Jareth went to them. “She’s not a god,” Jareth said gent
ly, helping the huskaa get to his feet. “She’s my Companion, as the Dragon is to Kevla.”
For the first time since his arrival, Jareth looked directly at Kevla. “I am, as you tried to tell me, the Stone Dancer.”
She felt a smile spread across her face, and Jareth went to her and clasped her hands. It was the first time he had willingly touched her, save for the night so many weeks ago when he had pressed a knife to her throat. His hands were warm and strong.
“I am glad that you finally believe me. And that you have found your Companion.”
“She is…” Jareth turned to look back at the blue Tiger, who half-closed her eyes in what Kevla knew to be a gesture of affection.
“I know,” she said. “I know.”
He squeezed her hands and let her go. “There is much that I have to tell all of you. But I would prefer the telling be done over a hot meal by a warm fire.”
“Such can be arranged,” said the Dragon. “But Jareth—we must make haste. Time grows short, and a task awaits you when you return to the encampment.”
“Our chance is gone!” cried the advisor. He stood next to the Emperor, staring into the glowing Tenacru. “She did not do as you instructed. Now he’s found the Tiger and knows about the Ice Maiden. It’s all unraveling!”
The Emperor chuckled and the hairs on the back of the advisor’s neck stood on end. He hated hearing the Emperor rage; but he disliked his lord’s laughter even more. The ki-lyn too was on its cloven feet, staring into the images on the orb with fear and hope mixed on its lovely face. Behind the Emperor, silent and seemingly obedient, stood the Mage. The advisor glared at the black-clad figure. This had been his idea.
“The Lorekeeper girl did not have a chance to execute the plan,” the Emperor said amiably. “Everyone was watching her. I will speak to her tonight, and we will make fresh plans. It is indeed a pity that the Dancer and the Companion have come together, though. They are stronger now, and they have a target in the Ice Maiden.”
In Stone's Clasp Page 26
