Read Online In Stone's Clasp by Christie Golden - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christie Golden
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look kindly upon us again.”
Jareth thought about a group of blue tigers, chasing one another back and forth like kittens, and hoped the headman was right. Perhaps this was a sign that things would improve. Perhaps the winter would begin to retreat.
Let me know what you want me to do, he thought silently. I have always striven to honor this gift. Why have you taken it from me?
Well before full light, aching and exhausted, the hunting party trudged back in silence. Their tracks had been obliterated by the storm, but they knew in which direction home lay.
It was heading toward dawn when they saw the torches that marked the path toward the village, warm and golden against the purple-blue of the retreating night. Jareth’s heart gladdened slightly at the sight. The rabbits they had caught were not much, but even a little meat would help to thicken a stew. He need not feel quite so helpless when he returned to his family this morning.
A figure moved in the dim light, moving quickly toward them on snow walkers.
“Jareth!”
Words of greeting died in Jareth’s throat at the stricken look on Altan’s face.
“Taya—” Jareth’s hand shot out and seized the boy’s arm, fingers digging in tightly. He pleaded silently with Altan to say she’s fine, they’re all fine, don’t worry.
Altan’s mouth trembled and his eyes filled with tears. “The storm—it was so violent, I went to check on them this morning—oh, gods, Jareth, I’m so sorry—”
A moment before, Jareth had been quivering with exhaustion, cold, and lack of food. Now raw, panicked energy surged through him and he began to move as quickly as the snow walkers would let him, dropping his weapons, the food sack, anything that might hinder his speed as he raced out of town and up the twining path toward his house.
He bargained with the gods as he went. Let them be all right, and I will give you everything I have. Let them be all right, and you can take my powers away forever, all of them. Let them be all right, and I will cut open my own wrists and feed my blood to the forest.
Let them be all right—please let them be—
The door was open. Snow had poured into the house. Someone had dug through the drift, had left tracks all around—Altan, seeing what Jareth saw, forcing his way inside—
“Taya!” screamed Jareth, his arms digging wildly at the entrance Altan had made, tunneling through the snow that had come in so quickly and so deeply—
Altan had uncovered her face.
Jareth stared as if mesmerized by the pale features that floated up through the coating of snow as if Taya were surfacing from the lake. She was almost as pale as the snow that had been her death, save for her lips which were a dark blue. He reached and touched her, found her cheek hard and cold as if she had been sculpted from stone.
Or from ice.
Her expression was oddly peaceful. How had she not woken as the storm screamed around her? Had it covered her like a lethal blanket, chilling her so slowly she never realized what had happened? How could she not have heard the wind slamming the door open, the howl as the snow rushed inside?
And then, bizarrely, all Jareth could think about for several stunned, long moments was the trembling doe rabbit and her squealing kits.
He had to see if somehow the offspring had been heartier than the mother; if perhaps Parvan had been so well swaddled in his crib he still breathed, if Annu might be coaxed back into the realm of the living. So he dug through the snow yet again, and again the reality that someone he loved was dead slammed his spirit so hard he sank down into the white stuff himself and begged the snow to take him too.
Soon Jareth lay next to his wife, holding the tiny, frozen body of his infant son to his breast. On the other side of the room, Annu lay, as still and white as if she had been carved from stone. He watched his breath curl upward as his lungs continued to function, aware he was dancing on the edge of madness and
Jareth thought about a group of blue tigers, chasing one another back and forth like kittens, and hoped the headman was right. Perhaps this was a sign that things would improve. Perhaps the winter would begin to retreat.
Let me know what you want me to do, he thought silently. I have always striven to honor this gift. Why have you taken it from me?
Well before full light, aching and exhausted, the hunting party trudged back in silence. Their tracks had been obliterated by the storm, but they knew in which direction home lay.
It was heading toward dawn when they saw the torches that marked the path toward the village, warm and golden against the purple-blue of the retreating night. Jareth’s heart gladdened slightly at the sight. The rabbits they had caught were not much, but even a little meat would help to thicken a stew. He need not feel quite so helpless when he returned to his family this morning.
A figure moved in the dim light, moving quickly toward them on snow walkers.
“Jareth!”
Words of greeting died in Jareth’s throat at the stricken look on Altan’s face.
“Taya—” Jareth’s hand shot out and seized the boy’s arm, fingers digging in tightly. He pleaded silently with Altan to say she’s fine, they’re all fine, don’t worry.
Altan’s mouth trembled and his eyes filled with tears. “The storm—it was so violent, I went to check on them this morning—oh, gods, Jareth, I’m so sorry—”
A moment before, Jareth had been quivering with exhaustion, cold, and lack of food. Now raw, panicked energy surged through him and he began to move as quickly as the snow walkers would let him, dropping his weapons, the food sack, anything that might hinder his speed as he raced out of town and up the twining path toward his house.
He bargained with the gods as he went. Let them be all right, and I will give you everything I have. Let them be all right, and you can take my powers away forever, all of them. Let them be all right, and I will cut open my own wrists and feed my blood to the forest.
Let them be all right—please let them be—
The door was open. Snow had poured into the house. Someone had dug through the drift, had left tracks all around—Altan, seeing what Jareth saw, forcing his way inside—
“Taya!” screamed Jareth, his arms digging wildly at the entrance Altan had made, tunneling through the snow that had come in so quickly and so deeply—
Altan had uncovered her face.
Jareth stared as if mesmerized by the pale features that floated up through the coating of snow as if Taya were surfacing from the lake. She was almost as pale as the snow that had been her death, save for her lips which were a dark blue. He reached and touched her, found her cheek hard and cold as if she had been sculpted from stone.
Or from ice.
Her expression was oddly peaceful. How had she not woken as the storm screamed around her? Had it covered her like a lethal blanket, chilling her so slowly she never realized what had happened? How could she not have heard the wind slamming the door open, the howl as the snow rushed inside?
And then, bizarrely, all Jareth could think about for several stunned, long moments was the trembling doe rabbit and her squealing kits.
He had to see if somehow the offspring had been heartier than the mother; if perhaps Parvan had been so well swaddled in his crib he still breathed, if Annu might be coaxed back into the realm of the living. So he dug through the snow yet again, and again the reality that someone he loved was dead slammed his spirit so hard he sank down into the white stuff himself and begged the snow to take him too.
Soon Jareth lay next to his wife, holding the tiny, frozen body of his infant son to his breast. On the other side of the room, Annu lay, as still and white as if she had been carved from stone. He watched his breath curl upward as his lungs continued to function, aware he was dancing on the edge of madness and
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