ranting, he dug down until he reached the earth and tried desperately to waken it.
It was like touching a corpse. It felt familiar, but there was no hint of life within. Where there had once been voices, even songs, now there was only this ominous silence. Stones were cold to him, the trees quiet. From time to time, he wasn’t sure why or how, he could still summon animals. This pained him; it was as if the only power he had left was to bring death, even though the death of the beasts meant life for the people of Skalka Valley.
There had been near panic right after his first attempt, but Ivo had managed to calm the crowd. And even then, the assumption was that even if the Spring-Bringer brought spring no longer, the thaw would simply come on its own time, as it had before Jareth had begun to call it. But when that did not happen, and the winter continued, there were some that called for Jareth’s exile. Many, Jareth’s boyhood friend Larr chief among them, said loudly that the gods were angry with Jareth for usurping their powers, and were punishing Lamal.
A sort of sullen, simmering truce had evolved between the villagers and Jareth Vasalen, one that tormented him more than an outright attack. That, at least, he could defend himself against.
The only one who routinely made the trek from the cluster of houses to Jareth’s, set much closer to the forests and the hills, was Altan. Jareth welcomed the youth’s arrival, not for himself but for his family. As the wife and children of the Kevat-aanta, they were as shunned as he was.
“Jareth?” Taya’s voice held a note of fear and worry, as it always did now. “You haven’t eaten all day.”
“I’m not hungry.” He didn’t move from the window where he watched the snow continue to fall. He was growing to hate the fat flakes that wafted down to form more drifts, more winter.
A touch on his arm. He jerked away, shame flooding him as he saw Annu cringe as if he might strike her. Jareth had never laid a hand on any member of his family save in a caress, but he sickly admitted to himself that his demeanor over the past few months might make them think he would lash out at any moment.
“I’m sorry, Annu,” he said, softening his voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She smiled bravely. “You didn’t scare me, Father,” she lied, blinking away the tears in her eyes. “Come eat. Please, come eat something.”
So he permitted her to lead him to the center of the small house. He sat on a stool and spooned thin, tasteless soup into his mouth, and forced a smile for his wife, son, and daughter. And as he had every night for the last hundred nights, ever since his connection to the land had forsaken him, he turned his back to his wife and ignored her soft pleas for lovemaking, or even simply to be held.
He couldn’t do it. It was all he could do to be civil to her during the day. At night, to hold her, run his hands over her familiar, beloved hills and valleys—no. He wasn’t worthy of that, not anymore. Jareth had been the Spring-Bringer, the Kevat-aanta, who took care of his people. He had let them all down, and they were suffering badly now.
“Jareth?”
He did not answer. Perhaps if she thought him asleep…
“I know you’re awake.” Her hand reached out, ran tentatively along his shoulder and down his side. He shrank from her touch. “It’s going to be all right.”
He laughed harshly. “My powers have vanished. The gods are angry with me. Winter has lasted twice as long as it ever has before. I don’t think it’s going to be all right, not unless I can somehow stop this.”
Silence. “You know that none of us thinks any less of you—not Annu or Altan or I. We love you, and it doesn’t matter to us if you never get these powers back.”
He couldn’t take it anymore. “You didn’t fall in love with Jareth,” he spat angrily, trying and failing to keep his voice low so as not to disturb the others. “You fell in love with the
It was like touching a corpse. It felt familiar, but there was no hint of life within. Where there had once been voices, even songs, now there was only this ominous silence. Stones were cold to him, the trees quiet. From time to time, he wasn’t sure why or how, he could still summon animals. This pained him; it was as if the only power he had left was to bring death, even though the death of the beasts meant life for the people of Skalka Valley.
There had been near panic right after his first attempt, but Ivo had managed to calm the crowd. And even then, the assumption was that even if the Spring-Bringer brought spring no longer, the thaw would simply come on its own time, as it had before Jareth had begun to call it. But when that did not happen, and the winter continued, there were some that called for Jareth’s exile. Many, Jareth’s boyhood friend Larr chief among them, said loudly that the gods were angry with Jareth for usurping their powers, and were punishing Lamal.
A sort of sullen, simmering truce had evolved between the villagers and Jareth Vasalen, one that tormented him more than an outright attack. That, at least, he could defend himself against.
The only one who routinely made the trek from the cluster of houses to Jareth’s, set much closer to the forests and the hills, was Altan. Jareth welcomed the youth’s arrival, not for himself but for his family. As the wife and children of the Kevat-aanta, they were as shunned as he was.
“Jareth?” Taya’s voice held a note of fear and worry, as it always did now. “You haven’t eaten all day.”
“I’m not hungry.” He didn’t move from the window where he watched the snow continue to fall. He was growing to hate the fat flakes that wafted down to form more drifts, more winter.
A touch on his arm. He jerked away, shame flooding him as he saw Annu cringe as if he might strike her. Jareth had never laid a hand on any member of his family save in a caress, but he sickly admitted to himself that his demeanor over the past few months might make them think he would lash out at any moment.
“I’m sorry, Annu,” he said, softening his voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She smiled bravely. “You didn’t scare me, Father,” she lied, blinking away the tears in her eyes. “Come eat. Please, come eat something.”
So he permitted her to lead him to the center of the small house. He sat on a stool and spooned thin, tasteless soup into his mouth, and forced a smile for his wife, son, and daughter. And as he had every night for the last hundred nights, ever since his connection to the land had forsaken him, he turned his back to his wife and ignored her soft pleas for lovemaking, or even simply to be held.
He couldn’t do it. It was all he could do to be civil to her during the day. At night, to hold her, run his hands over her familiar, beloved hills and valleys—no. He wasn’t worthy of that, not anymore. Jareth had been the Spring-Bringer, the Kevat-aanta, who took care of his people. He had let them all down, and they were suffering badly now.
“Jareth?”
He did not answer. Perhaps if she thought him asleep…
“I know you’re awake.” Her hand reached out, ran tentatively along his shoulder and down his side. He shrank from her touch. “It’s going to be all right.”
He laughed harshly. “My powers have vanished. The gods are angry with me. Winter has lasted twice as long as it ever has before. I don’t think it’s going to be all right, not unless I can somehow stop this.”
Silence. “You know that none of us thinks any less of you—not Annu or Altan or I. We love you, and it doesn’t matter to us if you never get these powers back.”
He couldn’t take it anymore. “You didn’t fall in love with Jareth,” he spat angrily, trying and failing to keep his voice low so as not to disturb the others. “You fell in love with the
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