In Stone's Clasp Read Online Free PDF Page A

snow. Grass am I, and I shall speak.
    The long-eared one was not afraid, for the child could not hope to catch one as fleet as he. Across me they came, both laughing and free. Their path took them to the forest, where the trees and the moss and the stone stand guardians over things more ancient than the season’s grass. More, I know not.
    Hope surged in Jareth. Despite his initial uncertainty, every time he asked, he received an answer. Once at the forest’s edge, Jareth placed his hands on the gnarled roots of a tree and again asked for its wisdom.
    Farther he went into the forest, listening to the trees and the stones and the soil tell him of the carefree flight of the little girl. Hushed and reverent, the small crowd followed him. Vikka had been gone only a few hours, but her sense of adventure was great and it took some time before he found her, curled up sleeping in a hollow area beneath an overhanging pine bough. If he had not known where to look, he would have walked right past her.
    Thank you, he thought, tears of gratitude stinging his eyes. Thank you for keeping her safe.
    He moved aside the sheltering bough and she blinked sleepily. She was clad in a white underdress with a red over-tunic, stained now from grass and dirt. Her eyes were large and trusting and her hair was such a pale shade of yellow it was almost white.
    “Hello,” she said, smiling and unafraid.
    Charmed, Jareth smiled back at her. She was the cutest little girl he’d ever seen. If I am ever a father, I want a daughter just like her.
    “Looks like the warm day lulled you to sleep,” he said gently, kneeling and extending his arms. Vikka crawled into them, her smooth brow furrowing as she realized the import of what had happened from the faces of her family and village standing behind Jareth.
    “Oh,” she said as he picked her up. “They will be angry with me—the rabbit was so funny I had to follow him….”
    “Shh, shh, sweetheart,” soothed her father, taking the precious burden from Jareth’s arms. “We’re not angry. We were worried about you, that’s all. You’re lucky the Spring-Bringer found you or you might have slept away the night in the woods.”
    Still drowsy, Vikka looked at Jareth. “Thank you, Spring-Bringer,” she said, yawned, and slipped her hands around her father’s neck.
    “Yes,” said Taya, her eyes shining. “Thank you, Spring-Bringer.”
    He knew that everyone thought he had magic, but he could have sworn that it was Taya who was magical. His heart sped up and his tongue cleaved to his throat. Unable to speak, he offered her what to others might seem a paltry gift.
    At his feet, blooming in a patch of sunlight, was a single flower. He bent, his fingers closing on the green stem, and whispered softly, “I would give you to this lady, as a token of my feelings for her.”
    Wildflower am I, petals red as blood, heart blue as sky, I follow the sun on its path from dawn to dusk. Wildflower am I, and I shall speak.
    I sense what you feel for this woman, and know this, that I offer myself freely, gladly, as a token of your love.
    He winced as he plucked it, hearing the stem break with a snap, feeling it die between his fingers. Almost overcome with the sensation, he turned and handed it to Taya.
    “This is for you,” he said, his voice trembling. She took it between her own slender fingers and trailed it over her cheek. And at that gesture, Jareth envied the flower.

3
     
     
    Jareth gazed at the autumn sky reflected in the lake, at the trees who now wore garments of gold and russet and brown instead of green. The breeze, not yet the biting wind of winter, tousled his golden hair. Autumn was a melancholy season, but still sweet and tender; the last haunting note sounded before winter, like the final chord of a kyndela’s song.
    The sun ducked briefly behind one of the puffy white clouds that ambled across the sky and Jareth felt the chill. The harvests were fast approaching: grain, fruit and vegetable,