Chapter Eleven
"The rest of Arsinuae tried not to isolate the land,
as it was home to many of the famed writers,
artists and musicians who
studied in the marvellous schools
that the town provided …"
—The Pasegean Scrolls
Alena winced. Syrah flinched. Lokath’s eyes widened. Vela was horrified. Catrin laughed. Jareth’s smile faded from his face slowly. "What is it?" he asked questioningly.
Everyone was frozen in their places. Except Catrin. Her face twisted maliciously, sneering at Jareth’s perplexed look. She pushed his shoulder so he faced his burnt homeland. "Rare, medium or well done?"
Jareth felt tears spring to his eyes as he saw the destruction in the valley below him. His knees felt weak, and he slowly crumpled to the ground. "My life, my home, my—" urgent horror crossing his tear-blurred face "—my parents!" Stumbling to his feet, Jareth bolted towards the village, tripping over the rocky hillside every few steps.
"Jareth! It’s too dangerous!" Alena shouted down the hill. Jareth ignored her. Angrily, she yelled down at him, "Fine! As far as I care, you can die too!
Peering behind him, Jareth bellowed, "As you wish!" Then, tripping over a large boulder, began to roll down the bluff.
"Jareth! No!" All but Catrin and Vela raced down, scared at what they might find at the bottom. Arriving, breathless, they crouched beside Jareth’s motionless body. Alena’s tears stained the rock-hard ground, and she curled into a ball beside Jareth.
Syrah checked all over the body, searching for signs of life. Sadly, she raised her eyes to Lokath’s. "He isn’t breathing," she said, looking away again. Alena began to sob.
Lokath pulled her arm gently, then more sharply until she was standing. "Get yourself together! He’s not dead yet—he just isn’t breathing. We need to find a way for us to breathe for him."
Syrah went searching amongst the undergrowth for some hollow object while Lokath trudged back up the hill to Catrin and Vela. "They aren’t helping him! They don’t care! They don’t feel for him the same way I do—they would never understand. But how can I get air to him easily?"
Inspiration came. Alena settled herself beside the body, and, placing her mouth over his, exhaled air into his body. She looked sideways at his chest. No response. Sighing heavily, Alena pulled away. "Why in the world didn’t that work? Surely there’s nowhere …" Staring at the body, she noticed his nostrils. "Damn!" she said aloud, and pinched them whilst she went back down for another go. This time, it worked. Jareth breathed.
By the time Syrah and Lokath returned, Catrin and Vela in tow, Jareth was still unconscious, but he was alive. When she saw his chest heave, Syrah squealed with relief. Lokath grinned worriedly, Catrin scowled and Vela gave Alena a watery smile of friendship. She truly was the hero of that day.
However, Lokath quickly got back to business. He knew that, even though Jareth was breathing, he needed a healer, fast. Knowing how far they were from the nearest village (more than a sevendays journey if it hadn’t been attacked yet); the simplicity and lack of healing supplies inside their packs; and the state of shock Jareth was in before his fall didn’t give them much hope to rely on.
A small orange glow sparkled in the distance. Syrah saw a glint in the corner of her eye, but put it out of her mind. Vela saw it and was puzzled. "What in the world is that?" Focusing on it with her mind, Vela’s eyes narrowed and she formed a mental picture. "A magic shop?" she murmured, and Catrin nudged her.
"Silence!"
Biting back a sharp remark, Vela tried to attract Syrah, the closest one to her other than Catrin, whom she detested vehemently. "Psst! Syrah!" she whispered loudly, resulting in a kick from Catrin.
"I thought I told you …"
Catrin was interrupted by an indignant Vela. "Fine, Catrin!" she spat, "let him die. But then, you are incapable of feeling for anyone other than yourself!"
Alena gave Vela a thankful look while Syrah smothered a laugh. She knew what was coming next—Catrin wouldn’t deny her non-existent honor that much! Lokath stared into the distance. He was tired of the continually bickering. Catrin lashed back with passion. "How dare you!" Then, turning towards the others, spitefully said, "don’t listen to her … she’s probably trying to lead us back to Chunia’s army!"
Vela choked. "What?! I detest Chail and all its inhabitants! Sonaro as well! The only reason I joined them was to escape my murderous father and an arranged marriage with your beloved Conner!"
Catrin’s face twisted through shock, denial and sadness until it finally settled onto anger. She screamed out a war-cry and lunged at Vela. She was caught by surprise and gasped as Catrin knocked her to the ground. Winded, Vela panted for air as her assailant scratched at her face, unable to scream with no air inside her lungs.
Noticing the squabble behind him, Lokath sprung to action. Grasping Catrin’s arms, he yanked her backwards, away from Vela. She dug her fingernails into his wrists in an attempt to free herself from his grip. Lokath grunted an "Ugh!", but eventually got Catrin under control.
"Let me go!" she growled, struggling to break free. Syrah managed to tie her hands together while Lokath held them. He shot her a grin which she ignored.
Catrin lay on the ground, snarling. Lokath held his face in his hands, groaning loudly. "Why, why, why?" he mumbled, wandering in circles. Alena continued to weep and Syrah comforted her. Vela stared at her feet. Jareth lay still, his only movement the heaving of his chest.
Several miles away, in a small cottage, a woman surveyed the devastation surrounding her. A younger one, an apprentice, nudged her. Samandia stared at her, causing Ebonite to squirm beneath her piercing gaze. "Yes?" asked the former.
"Um … mistress, might I look too?"
Samandia wordlessly shook her head and turned back to the window. "It’s crowded enough as it is, child. I mean, do you expect me to tell Banudi to move? Or Kessah?"
"No, mistress. I just thought—don’t worry." Ebonite meekly studied her feet whilst Samandia peered out at the burnt countryside surrounding them. Then, a strange feeling overcame her body. She reached out and touched the tendrils of magical hope—hope for the empire. "Mistress … the prophecy … will not be …" she murmured weakly.
Samandia turned, her voice angry. "What now?!" Banudi screeched. Then her voice quietened as she saw Ebonite flailing from the magical onslaught. "My dear …?" Kessah questioned, before returning to Samandia. "Ebonite … What is wrong?"
Ebonite squeaked out, "The Prophecy must be fulfilled" before projecting herself away.
A small ball of light formed in the centre of Jareth’s body. Syrah noticed it first and pointed. "Look!"
The golden sphere grew larger before exploding into a blinding flash of colour. The group shielded their eyes and the light dimmed, and a vague shape could be seen. Is it … is it human? Syrah wondered, and noticed that it was a woman. Or, a faery, as she had pointed ears. "But … Januli … what in Elanora’s name is going on?!"
"Do not fear me, mage, as, even though I am more powerful than thee, I am descended from Elene, Elanora’s half-faery daughter. I could have chosen the way of honour or the way of magic, but the fire of a flameball and the icicles of a frostbite are blueprinted in my blood. Do not fear me, mage."
Lokath and Vela focussed their eyes on the shadowy figure. "It-it’s a woman!" Lokath loudly whispered, amazed at her beauty.
"Greetings, travellers. I am called Ebonite." Her thick ebony coloured hair suggested the source of the name. Eyes flashing turquoise surveyed those standing before her, resting on Jareth’s calm body below her. She gasped, noticing the similarities between he and his parents—his true parents. "It is he! It is the prophesied one of lore! It is the descendant of a peasant and a king! And he will live both lives! He is Jarrad!"
Alena suddenly noticed the woman and gazed upon her face. "His name is not Jarrad. His name is Jareth. Obviously you are mistaken." She formed her words slowly, articulating each one as if precision was a matter of life or death.
Ebonite began to laugh. "But you do not understand! Llyne herself named him Jarrad!"
Catrin came to life, her initial fury pacified. However, her patronising tone was still present. "Llyne? Who on earth would that be? Such a common name."
The faery narrowed her eyes. She could sense the evil soul dwelling inside Catrin’s body. "She is far more important than you, dairy maid! She is a noble, but … I must say no more. I have already said too much. Come—we must revive the prophesied one!" With that, a small ball of twine appeared at Syrah’s feet, and Jareth disappeared.
Alena screamed. "Where’s he gone? Where’s that witch taken him?!" Syrah placed an arm across her shoulder, comforting her friend, but was pushed away. With this, she kicked the silver ball with her foot, causing it to unravel and rush away into the undergrowth.
"Damn!" Syrah yelled, and began to chase after it.
"Where’re you going?" Lokath asked.
"Well, I figure, the mage put the ball of string there, so maybe it’s for some magical purpose."
Lokath nodded and began to chase the twine, motioning for the others to follow him. Catrin tried to convince Alena to free her from her bonds but the princess was unmerciful when it came to Catrin.
Vela, urgently seeking companionship, asked Alena, "You look familiar somehow … I know! You look like that dead princess!"
Alena was shocked. "Dead princess?"
Vela chattered away, a true gossip in her own right. "You know, that princess Queen Chunia executed a few months back, but I can’t remember her name … she was King Isiona’s daughter, I think."
Narrowing her eyes, Alena responded coolly. "I believe you’re mistaken," she said, her voice like a frosty icicle. "I know you’re mistaken, as I am Princess Alena of Syriana!" At this, she stormed away after Syrah, tugging Catrin along behind her.
Vela, happy to have received the information so wanted so quickly turned to leave, but then, realising just how easily these people might confide in her if she became their friend … trudged after Alena, trying to hide the utter joy of her discovery deep inside of her.
"Who’s that?!" Samandia inquired as Ebonite reappeared.
Triumphantly grinning, Ebonite thrust her chin in the air and said, "Jareth Caverton. Or, if you would prefer … Jarrad."
Her jaw dropped. "The prophecy?! This farm boy is Jarrad? Jarrad of—"
"Shh! His friends are nearby, and if they were to realise … it could kill them all. Even he must not discover his birthright until his quest is done!"
Kessah blushed. "Of course … forgive me, Ebonite," then she returned to Samandia. "Oh. Yes, well … yes. What about his friends?"
Ebonite looked at the ground. "Well, mistress, I offered them a place to stay before I realised, but they looked so cold and—"
Banudi jumped to life. "You did what?! Allowing mere peasants to stay in our home? Of all the rude, inconsiderate …" he trailed off, forgetting what he was saying as his owner returned.
A knock was heard upon the door. Ebonite turned towards it. "That—that’s them. Should I …?" Samandia walked from the room without a word so Ebonite shrugged and reached for the iron handle, ready to greet her guests.
Copyright 2000 M. Lees
