In Stone's Clasp

by Christie Golden

  A hand touched her shoulder and she turned to see the woman who had helped her before. The woman gestured, and Kevla saw that someone had started a fire, large and crackling. She followed the woman and sat on a blanket as she was bade.

  Hanru was waiting for her. “There are always a few among my people who keep the knowledge of your people’s language. We do not often have dealings with you, but when we must, we wish to be able to communicate. I know you have been looking for us, and as I told you, we have been looking for you as well.”

  “Took you long enough to find us,” Jareth muttered. Kevla shot him an angry look, but fortunately, Hanru appeared to be unperturbed.

  “We go as fast as the selva and no faster,” the taaskal said mildly.

  “I need to find the gods,” Jareth said bluntly. “I need—”

  “We know what you need,” Hanru said, his voice sharp. “Do you not think we have watched you try and fail?”

  Jareth gaped. “You—you watched me climb the mountains? You did nothing?”

  “We did a great deal,” Hanru replied. “We protected the herd. That is what we always do. We have not moved from here for several weeks—this seems to be where the selva wish to stay, and we always obey the selva.”

  Jareth rubbed at his eyes. “How is it I didn’t see you?”

  “How is it you didn’t see us when you first emerged from the woods?” was Hanru’s answer. “We can shield ourselves if we have need.”

  “You know that the land has not had spring for too long,” Jareth said. Kevla, who was starting to get to know Jareth better than he knew, realized that he was keeping his anger in check with difficulty. “Surely even you, even the selva, suffer when the land is dead. If you can help me find the gods, I can bring the spring back to the land.”

  “How do you know this?” challenged Hanru.

  “I have done so many times before.”

  “Then why do you not do so now?”

  Color flowed and ebbed in Jareth’s face. Altan looked down. Mylikki seemed to be watching everything, focused and alert.

  “I have…lost my powers. But I know that the gods can return them to me, if they so choose.”

  Hanru regarded him impassively. “You want more than spring.”

  “That does not concern you,” Jareth answered harshly.

  “You did not come with love in your heart,” Hanru said. “You came to demand, to force.”

  Jareth didn’t back down. “I did, and do,” he replied. Inwardly, Kevla winced. She knew that this was not what the taaskal wanted to hear, but she also knew that it was not in Jareth’s nature to lie. “So many have died, humans and animals alike. I cannot understand why the gods withhold this from me, when no one benefits and the land and its creatures are suffering!”

  “She has her reasons,” Hanru replied. “She did not wish to see you before. Hence, you were not able to find her. Now, she is willing to appear before you. And here we are, to take you to her.”

  “Her?” Now Jareth did notice it. “Is there only one god willing to meet with me? But what about the others, why are they—?”

  Hanru held up a hand. “You will understand everything soon. In the meantime, you are in our care.”

  Kevla heard a familiar sound and looked up. The Dragon seemed like a small dot in the sky at first, growing larger and larger as he descended. Kevla glanced at Hanru, ready to speak, to let him know that the Dragon was a friend, something not to be feared, but welcomed, as they had welcomed Kevla and her traveling companions.

  She need not have worried. Hanru looked up with an expression of mild curiosity. No one among the taaskali, and indeed not even the selva, seemed distressed as a giant red reptilian creature circled and landed. Kevla felt another wave of astonishment wash over her. Did nothing rattle these people and their herd?

  Kevla rose and ran toward her friend, pleased to see that he clutched two kirvi deer, skinny and sad-looking things, in his foreclaws.

  “We accept your hospitality,” she cried over her shoulder to Hanru, “and we would be honored to contribute to tonight’s meal.”

  The two deer the Dragon had brought to share were tough and stringy, but the meat was complemented by selva milk and cheese, creamy and as white as the beasts themselves. Perhaps it was because she was so hungry and had eaten so little over the last few days, but Kevla thought she had never tasted anything as delicious as the tangy, soft cheese and the rich milk. As night fell and everyone ate before the fire, slicing meat from the spit as he or she chose, Kevla could hear the beautiful creatures moving quietly just beyond the ring of firelight.

  The Dragon had been welcomed in such a casual fashion that Kevla wondered if the taaskali had been told of his coming. She knew that the huge blue Tiger who awaited Jareth in the morning was no god, but Jareth’s Companion. Perhaps the tiger had told the taaskali that the Dragon was a being like herself. Kevla pressed the Dragon with mental questions, all of which he declined to answer.

  “At sunrise, I will take you to the tiger, Jareth,” said Hanru.

  Something about how the words were spoken alerted Kevla. Clearly, Altan had perceived it as well, for he said immediately, “I’m going with him.”

  “He goes before the tiger alone,” Hanru stated.

  “Perhaps,” said Kevla. “But he will not make that journey without his companions.”

  Jareth looked at her. She couldn’t quite decipher his expression. Surprise, certainly; she herself hadn’t planned to speak. Pleasure? Annoyance?

  “I’m coming too,” said Mylikki.

  “I am staying,” said the Dragon.

  Kevla turned to him, shocked. Why?

  I have…a task to complete. You know who awaits Jareth, Kevla. It will be an ordeal for him, but a necessary one. No one, no thing, in this world loves the Stone Dancer as much as the tiger does, although Jareth doesn’t understand that yet.

  You could save us much time and trouble.

  That’s not what I’m here for. I have something else to do.

  There was no swaying him, and Kevla wondered what sort of task was so important to the Dragon that he would let them climb the mountain on their own.

  “There is no need for anyone else to come,” Jareth said.

  “I am Fire, Jareth,” Kevla said. “You cannot argue that I can be of use if you run into trouble.”

  She had him there and he glared. Altan said, “And unless you want Mylikki and I to go to our deaths following you, you had best agree to let us come.”

  Jareth swore under his breath. “You are fools, to leave the comfort of the camp when you don’t need to,” he said. “But it appears I cannot escape any of you. Hanru, it seems as though you will take Kevla, Altan, Mylikki and me to the god.”

  “And you will go before her alone,” Hanru repeated.

  “I agree,” Jareth replied, and Kevla thought that this would be how he would have wanted it to unfold anyway. She could not know, of course, what he would face when he encountered the tiger. But she did know that once he had undergone this meeting, he would emerge the better for it.

  After night had fallen and the meal was eaten, Kevla snuggled against her friend and regarded the lights in the sky. What were they, then, if not the gods playing? She supposed she would never know.

  “Will you be our shelter again, Dragon?” she asked.

  “Not tonight. The taaskali have prepared a place for each of you to sleep. Pay attention to your dreams.”

  The Lorekeeper stared up at the sky. He was speaking to her again.

  Time is growing short, the Emperor urged her. The interference of the taaskali has complicated things. You must act quickly. Tomorrow. If you do not act, then it will be too late, and he will never be yours. And you know what will happen if he chooses to leave Lamal, to stay a part of this group.

  Licking dry lips, her eyes open and unblinking, the Lorekeeper nodded ever so slightly. She didn’t want anyone to notice the gesture and ask about it.

  It will be diffi
cult, but I know you can do it. I have faith in you. Will you do it? Tomorrow?

  And again, she nodded. For love of one man, she would betray all the others who trusted her.

  Kevla felt odd about not sleeping next to the Dragon. This entire part of the journey felt odd to her. She knew things were transpiring that she was not privy to, and the taaskali, despite their hospitality and apparent willingness to help, still unsettled her. Hanru beckoned them forward to stand in the center of the gathering. Kevla found herself wanting to clasp hands with the other three, but knew that Jareth would reject the gesture. So she stood, straight and tall, trying not to be nervous as the taaskali regarded her with dark, expressionless faces.

  After a moment, she saw movement just beyond the ring of firelight. A graceful head rose; golden antlers gleamed, catching the fire’s orange light. Three selvas stepped forward.

  One moved to stand beside Altan. It lowered its head, and the boy reached to pet its soft neck. Altan followed the creature as it moved gracefully into the darkness. Another claimed Jareth, who, after glancing at Kevla and Mylikki, accompanied it. The third moved to Kevla, and she was fairly certain it was the same one who had let her weep on its soft white coat earlier.

  As she stepped out into the snow, her hand on the creature’s neck, she looked back. Her heart sank as she saw Mylikki standing alone by the fire. She had never seen a more stricken, unhappy look on anyone’s face, and she knew that the rejection of the selva must feel like a physical blow to the girl. Why hadn’t they come for her? Only they, and perhaps the taaskali, knew. They must have their reasons, but she couldn’t imagine what they would be. She wondered if it were a bad omen and suddenly, irrationally, feared for Mylikki.

  She forced herself to look away. She felt a quick pang of comfort as she heard the Dragon say, “Kevla is not sleeping with me tonight, and I need some company. I have some wonderful tales to tell, if you would like to listen, Mylikki.”

  She did not hear Mylikki’s reply, but hoped the girl would accept the offer. Better to sleep next to a Dragon than alone, rejected by the selva.

  Kevla walked with the creature for a ways, until she came to an area that had been cleared of snow. Someone had gathered pine boughs and had draped several blankets over them, creating what was a fairly comfortable space. As she settled down, the selva gracefully folded its long legs and lay beside her. She snuggled up to its furry warmth and inhaled the fresh, clean scent. Within moments, she was fast asleep.

  For the second time, Kevla found herself standing on a mountainside that was now familiar to her. This was where her visions originated; this was where she had learned what it meant to be a Dancer, where so much had been revealed before.

  Once again, the wide expanse of still water spread before her. The wind blew gently, running invisible fingers through long, thick black hair and making her red rhia cling to her body. She stepped forward, bare feet on soft green grass, and gazed at her reflection in the mirrorlike surface, both wondering and fearing what she would see this time.

  An image seemed to float up from the dark depths, and as it came into focus, Kevla gasped. Her knees buckled and she fell to the grass.

  “Jashemi,” she whispered, her heart aching.

  Something else floated up through the water, and she realized, confused, that it, too, was Jashemi.

  “We are here,” came two voices in perfect unison. “And you must choose between us.”

  What? How—

  Suddenly, the images in the water disappeared. Kevla felt a presence on either side of her and she looked to her right and left, seeing Jashemi standing on each side of her. As one, they reached down to her and helped her to her feet. She drew her hands back quickly.

  “What’s happening?” she cried, wanting to embrace each of them and terrified of what would happen if she did.

  “It is time to make a decision, Kevla,” said the Jashemi on her left.

  “It is slowly killing you, to hold us both in your heart,” put in the Jashemi on her right.

  “I don’t understand,” Kevla said. She put a hand to her temple as dizziness began to descend.

  “I am Jashemi, the khashimu, the secret friend of your youth and the man who loved you with every beat of his heart and every drop of blood in his veins,” said the Jashemi on her left. His voice trembled and his brown eyes fairly glowed with desire. He wore only a damp pair of breeches, his hair wet and curly; he looked exactly as she remembered him when they had made love for the first and only time.

  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.”