Chapter Twelve
"Separated from the main land in such a way
caused them to be ‘free’ of all corruption.
They themselves were ruled by a dictator,
the eldest child of the previous dictator, boy or girl.
"There is no sexual prejudice in our society!"
they would comment proudly.
"We’re too high above that kind of thing!"
—The Pasegean Scrolls
Jareth’s eyelids flickered.
Alena gripped his hand tighter. She whispered, "Jareth?"
His body stirred slightly and his mouth half opened. His hand grasped hers intensely, holding on for dear life. He managed to breathe out one word—"love"—before exhausting himself.
Alena jumped from her seat and ran out into the hallway, calling for Ebonite. Receiving no reply, she stumbled down the stairs to find her. The noise woke Catrin, asleep in another seat near Jareth’s bed. Noticing Alena was gone, and Jareth waking, she took up his hand.
Jareth’s eyes opened. "Catrin?" he murmured, surprised. "I thought … never mind. How-how long—"
"Shh," she whispered, "you’re weak and I mightn’t be able to save you this time. It was only a lucky fluke that I rescued you before."
A bewildered, yet thankful look overtook his face. "You saved me? Why … But … How can I ever repay you?"
Catrin looked to the floor. "The only thing I could ever want from you is your love, but …"
"But what?"
"… but you don’t love me, do you?" she finished, wiping a solitary tear from her eye.
Jareth smiled at Catrin warmly, then, nervously placed his hand upon her cheek, pulling her closer towards him. He knew what he had to do. Like it or not, it was his duty and his honour.
"Marry me."
It was not a question, but Catrin nodded and Jareth kissed her softly. Her mind played over the events of the last months, from when her village was destroyed, the beginning of her journey, her meeting with Jareth, Conner’s dying words, Alena’s insensitivity to her sorrow and mourning. "But I won, princess. All your charms wouldn’t deny me of my future and my fortune. Jareth is mine!"
A gasp came from the doorway. Catrin and Jareth parted, both turning towards Alena. "What …?" she trailed off, the devastation drowning her words.
Catrin smirked at Alena, then spoke. "I guess you were just a few moments too late, right Alena?" Then, noticing Ebonite behind the princess, "Jareth’s fine now. We’d like to be alone … we need to discuss something of great import—like marriage!" The latter was said viciously, and it stabbed through Alena like a flaming blade. Her jaw dropped and a look of pure agony overtook her features. She gasped and pushed past Ebonite, struggling to get as far away from Catrin as possible.
Jareth called after her. "Wait, Alena! I—"
He was cut off by an agonised scream that came from outside the house. Jareth rushed to the window, not caring about his injuries. Pulling back the curtain, he saw her standing outside, arms outstretched, wailing, "Destiny, why must you mock me?" over and over. Jareth felt a strange feeling overcome his body, as if he was in some way being fooled by a person he trusted greatly. As Alena wept, a cold sweat crept over his body. "Why am I doing this?" he wondered, "why did I say those words …?"
However, Jareth’s question went unfinished—and unanswered—as Catrin brought him from his reverie. "Never mind about her," she said, remarking, "it’s all a big act for her. She doesn’t really love you—never could love you the way I do. We were meant to be, Jarrad."
Jareth was startled. "What did you call me?"
Catrin was alarmed. "Uh, well, um," she stuttered. Then, regaining her composure, asked: "Whatever do you mean?"
His eyes narrowed. "Jarrad. You called me Jarrad. Who is Jarrad?"
Ebonite jumped forward, complete with explanation. "Well, as you probably already realise, the Caverton’s weren’t your real parents."
Jareth gasped. Catrin directed a pointed look towards Ebonite. A nervous laugh erupted from the latter’s mouth. "Well, there’s more. Much more. Your real mother was named Llyne, and your father—"
She was interrupted by an indignant Syrah bursting into the rooms, eyes flashing. Spotting Catrin, she descended upon her like an eagle on its prey. "How dare you!" she screamed, her face trembling with anger. "Not only do you have to destroy your own life, but you must kill another’s chance of happiness too? You’re an evil temptress, and anyone who falls under your spell is a fool!" This last part was directed at Jareth who was thoroughly dazed by the occurrences of the day. "Do you truly believe anything she says? I mean, to think anyone would want to marry a manipulative, patronising bitch like you!"
Catrin’s eyes were blazing with fury as Syrah finished, and she was breathing heavily. She stood, arms outstretched, reaching as if to try and strangle the other woman. Ebonite, shocked, cast a calm spell on Catrin, but that was futile. Jareth also tried to hold her back, but he was weak and she overcame him easily. Syrah stood in the doorway, terror in her eyes. She had seen Vela, and knew Catrin was incredibly dangerous. She harboured evil and used it like a drug, egging her into aggressive behaviour.
In the split second before Catrin lunged, Ebonite sent a thought to Syrah. Realisation struck, and Syrah cast her spell. The other girl only got one strike out, slicing her fingernails down Syrah’s arm. Syrah screamed, and Catrin fell to the floor. Jareth was horrified at his fiancee’s actions. "Catrin!" he yelled. "What are you doing?!"
Lokath and Vela appeared, both who had been trying to comfort Alena. Lokath saw Syrah’s arm. "Who did this?" he questioned, eyes narrowed. Jareth, Ebonite and Syrah stared at Catrin. "You? Again?!" Lokath face was purple with anger. "First you attack Vela, now Syrah? Get out." Catrin, unmoving, looked towards Jareth. He was again sitting at the window, staring out at Alena’s crumpled body. He wasn’t defending her, and the other four stared at her accusingly.
Lokath uttered his words again. "GET OUT!"
Catrin pouted, and walked from the room. In the hallway, she turned back, and spoke her last to these people who, for a brief period, were once her friends. "Don’t worry," she said. "I’ll be fine. But you won’t, none of you. I won’t rest until the names Lokath Carrel, Syrah Alanu, Vela Pernath and Princess Alena are carved into tombstones." Then, with a last smirk at Jareth, "and until Jareth Caverton learns his true identity. Oh, and, by the way—we’re still engaged." With that, Catrin walked into the sunset, ready to fulfil at least one of her threats.
Alena sat in her room, still shaking from the afternoon’s occurrences. "Why did he do that?" she wondered out loud, mystified. "I mean, of all the people to propose to, he chose her?! I simply cannot understand men!"
She heard a knock on her door. "Come in."
Jareth pushed the door open, parchment in his hand. At the sight of him, Alena turned away. He walked towards her, placing his hand on her shoulder. She squirmed away from him. "Look, I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but I had to give you this." He pressed the note into her hands. "Maybe this’ll calm you down somewhat." He walked from the room, pulling the door softly to.
Alena stared at the paper in her hand, as if she had forgotten what it was and what to do with it. She unfolded it, tracing the imperfections with her finger, scared to read Jareth’s words. She calmed herself, and read:
A cloudy dream on an earthly night
Hangs upon the crescent moon
A voiceless song in ageless light
Sings at the coming dawn
Birds in flight are calling there
Where the heart moves the stones
It’s there that my heart is longing
All for the love of you.
A painting hangs on an ivy wall
Nestled in the emerald moss
The eyes declare a truce of trust
And then it draws me far away
Where deep in the desert twilight
Sand melts in pools of sky
When darkness lays her crimson cloak
Your lamps will call me home.
And now I feel you move
Every breath is full
So it’s there my homage’s due
Clutched by the still of night
Even the distance feels so near
All for the love of you.
Alena’s heart beat fast. "Could it be? Truly?" She jumped from the bed, and ran to the door, pulling it open. Just as she turned to run down the hallway, a hand grasped her arm, pulling her around, towards the wall. It was Jareth. Alena gasped for breath, and Jareth placed his hand behind her neck, underneath her hair. Alena reached out, tracing his jawline with her index finger. Slowly the distance between them shortened, and they kissed. The embrace took them away from their world, their universe.
It was a perfect kiss.
"Here, sit down." Lokath motioned towards his bed, turning towards the basin in the corner. Syrah complied and tried not to hurt her arm any more than was necessary. Lokath turned back to the bed, a wet cloth in his hand. He sat next to Syrah, placing the cloth near the deep cut on her arm. "Now, this will probably sting a little …" he was cut off by a half-scream, half-sob which came from Syrah’s mouth. Tears gathered at the edges of her eyes, and Lokath started to apologise. "Oh! I didn’t realise … I’m so sorry, Syrah!"
Syrah wiped her eyes, and gave him a watery smile. "It’s okay, really. Just stings a little." As he tenderly wrapped the bandage around her arm, she winced. As he fastened the cloth, she asked him a question. "Lokath, who are you?"
He was taken aback. "Whatever do you mean? I’m Lokath." He gave her a lopsided grin, but she sighed.
"No, who are you? What are you like? I really know absolutely nothing about you, even though I’ve been around you for the past two-and-a-half months."
Lokath tried to avoid the subject. "I could ask you the same thing, Syrah."
Giving him an exasperated look, she replied, "But I asked you first!"
He looked away, at the ground. When he looked back his eyes were moist. "I’m Lokath Carrel, and I’m a … a thief."
Syrah gasped. "A thief?"
He nodded. "I knew you’d react that way—I’d be shocked too. But I think I can explain myself." She nodded at him to continue, her eyes concerned at what had caused him to steal to survive. "Well, when I was eight, my mother became pregnant. She died during childbirth, as did my sister, Corrine. Even though my father was a harsh and brutal man he provided food and clothes for me. But," Lokath added bitterly, "he never provided love. I lost that when I lost my mother.
"Once, because the bakers was closed for the solstice, and I couldn’t buy any bread, he punished me. Oh, not with a beating—he was far too creative for that. He took me out onto the moors near Granion—not far from Capurna—and drove off in the cart, leaving me to find my own way home. Thought it’d ‘toughen me up’. Syrah, I nearly died that night! You see, it began to rain, but still I trudged on.
"Eventually I reached the village, after hours of walking down muddy rabbit trails and gullies half-filled with water. I collapsed on my own doorstep at dawn. My father woke and took me to the healers house, and I recovered. Pretty much, anyway. But, ten years on, it still affects me. Hearing is difficult, and if I get too nervous, I tend to fall to the ground and shudder until it passes.
"So, the Mayor of Granion was informed of my ‘situation’, and I was sent to live with a family in Capurna. I never saw my father again. The people I lived with were kind, but they had children of their own and I tended to get pushed out of the picture. They never loved me, and I never loved them. Eventually, at sixteen, I was apprenticed to a locksmith friend of my ‘father’. After learning how to make and fit the locks, I decided to try picking some. Soon it became a kind of drug; it took me away from my life and made me forget about everything but the exhilarating experience of thievery.
"But, pride always comes before the fall. I was caught one night, and my ‘family’ kicked me out onto the streets. Now, with the knowledge I had, I joined the local guild and made a living out of crime. Without it I would have died in the streets. Still, maybe that would have been the best answer to my life—death."
Lokath looked back at Syrah, who gazed at him with a new understanding in her eyes. "To think … Oh, Lokath! You have suffered so much, with death, cruelty and humiliation. But how did you come to be in the Tusheban army?"
Lokath completed his story, leaving out the information about the woman who had captured him. He knew who she was, but he would not give away her secret—yet. He felt that she had some other reason for being with them, but he would not confront her with it before he knew the entire story.
"Now," he said, turning to Syrah. "Who are you?"
Syrah looked at him shyly. "I know who I want to be."
Smiling, he asked: "Who’s that?"
"Someone close to you, Lokath Carrel." And, with that, she kissed him.
The door closed, and night fell on Arsinuae. Who knew what the morning might bring?
Copyright 2000 M. Lees
