Read Online In Stone's Clasp by Christie Golden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christie Golden
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praying to the blue tiger gods who supposedly took care of his people that he would slip over that edge. He didn’t want to see his breath anymore, didn’t want to be reminded of the enormous gulf that separated him from his family. So he closed his eyes and drifted.
When Altan shook him some time later, frantically rubbing his icy hands and calling his name, Jareth exploded with rage. He had been about to join them, he sensed; had been about to bridge the chasm that kept the dead from the living. But he was so cold he could not move quickly, and his fingers were too numb to choke Altan as he wanted to. He let Altan wrap him in a thick blanket, let the boy he had brought into this world walk him away from the frozen bodies of two women and a baby, sipped the hot drink Altan pressed into his hand.
And began to think.
Jareth paid little heed as the men from the village came in to take the bodies away. He knew where Taya and Annu and Parvan would rest until spring came…if it ever did. The ground was too hard for the earth to take the bodies of his wife and children; they would join the others who had died this winter in a specially built building until such time as they could be buried. And from their corpses would spring new life, he knew; flowers and trees and grasses would transform dead bodies into living things. It was sacred, it was holy, it was the natural, inevitable way of things.
He frowned and started to shiver, knowing that with that uncontrollable movement life was starting to return to his body.
But was it the natural way of things? Jareth had been the Spring-Bringer for several years now. No one knew the power of the earth and living things better than he; no one respected those powers more. But something was…wrong about how his family had died. The winter was unnatural to begin with; it was impossible for it to have lasted so long, yet it had. No natural storm could have swept so thoroughly through the cabin to overcome two strong women so quickly, and yet it had.
And if the way they had died was not natural, perhaps Jareth need not obey the natural laws.
He thought of blue tigers, and their powers, and that the one thing he knew for certain was that life always came after death.
Jareth heard the crunching of snow and looked up. The men were bringing out Taya now. They had tried to cover her, but the body was clearly that of a woman, and too short to be Annu’s.
“Wait,” he said, getting clumsily to his feet. The blanket and cup of hot tea fell to the snow.
“Jareth,” said Altan in a worried voice.
Jareth ignored him, moving toward the body of his wife. He touched her cold face, and reached around her slender neck to remove the pouch she always wore. He slipped it around his own neck, tucking it carefully inside his many layers of clothing with hands that did not tremble.
Don’t leave me, he had cried the night they had first loved.
Never, she had answered with a kiss.
“Now you may take her,” he said. The men looked surprised at how steady his voice was. Jareth turned and went back into his house. He pawed through the piled white matter like a fox, searching single-mindedly for what he wanted.
“Jareth, please, come away from there. Come stay with me, let me take care of you.”
Altan’s voice was like the buzzing of a fly to Jareth; noisy, irritating, and ignorable. He grunted with satisfaction when he found it: a handful of frozen dirt, which he dropped into another, larger pouch tied to his belt. Now, he turned to Altan.
“I will come,” he said. Let the boy think him agreeable, accepting, ready to mourn and then begin the tortuous process of recovering.
For a moment, he regarded Altan, blazing the image into his brain. He remembered when the boy had been born, slipping into life next to his stillborn sister Ilta, whom his parents had buried, had mourned. He had watched Altan grow from an appealing little boy to a gawky youth to a handsome young man with an extraordinary
When Altan shook him some time later, frantically rubbing his icy hands and calling his name, Jareth exploded with rage. He had been about to join them, he sensed; had been about to bridge the chasm that kept the dead from the living. But he was so cold he could not move quickly, and his fingers were too numb to choke Altan as he wanted to. He let Altan wrap him in a thick blanket, let the boy he had brought into this world walk him away from the frozen bodies of two women and a baby, sipped the hot drink Altan pressed into his hand.
And began to think.
Jareth paid little heed as the men from the village came in to take the bodies away. He knew where Taya and Annu and Parvan would rest until spring came…if it ever did. The ground was too hard for the earth to take the bodies of his wife and children; they would join the others who had died this winter in a specially built building until such time as they could be buried. And from their corpses would spring new life, he knew; flowers and trees and grasses would transform dead bodies into living things. It was sacred, it was holy, it was the natural, inevitable way of things.
He frowned and started to shiver, knowing that with that uncontrollable movement life was starting to return to his body.
But was it the natural way of things? Jareth had been the Spring-Bringer for several years now. No one knew the power of the earth and living things better than he; no one respected those powers more. But something was…wrong about how his family had died. The winter was unnatural to begin with; it was impossible for it to have lasted so long, yet it had. No natural storm could have swept so thoroughly through the cabin to overcome two strong women so quickly, and yet it had.
And if the way they had died was not natural, perhaps Jareth need not obey the natural laws.
He thought of blue tigers, and their powers, and that the one thing he knew for certain was that life always came after death.
Jareth heard the crunching of snow and looked up. The men were bringing out Taya now. They had tried to cover her, but the body was clearly that of a woman, and too short to be Annu’s.
“Wait,” he said, getting clumsily to his feet. The blanket and cup of hot tea fell to the snow.
“Jareth,” said Altan in a worried voice.
Jareth ignored him, moving toward the body of his wife. He touched her cold face, and reached around her slender neck to remove the pouch she always wore. He slipped it around his own neck, tucking it carefully inside his many layers of clothing with hands that did not tremble.
Don’t leave me, he had cried the night they had first loved.
Never, she had answered with a kiss.
“Now you may take her,” he said. The men looked surprised at how steady his voice was. Jareth turned and went back into his house. He pawed through the piled white matter like a fox, searching single-mindedly for what he wanted.
“Jareth, please, come away from there. Come stay with me, let me take care of you.”
Altan’s voice was like the buzzing of a fly to Jareth; noisy, irritating, and ignorable. He grunted with satisfaction when he found it: a handful of frozen dirt, which he dropped into another, larger pouch tied to his belt. Now, he turned to Altan.
“I will come,” he said. Let the boy think him agreeable, accepting, ready to mourn and then begin the tortuous process of recovering.
For a moment, he regarded Altan, blazing the image into his brain. He remembered when the boy had been born, slipping into life next to his stillborn sister Ilta, whom his parents had buried, had mourned. He had watched Altan grow from an appealing little boy to a gawky youth to a handsome young man with an extraordinary
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