In Stone's Clasp Read Online Free PDF Page B

soil.
     
     
     
    When Taya and her family disembarked from the wagon and her eyes fell on Jareth, he felt himself blush and ducked behind a nearby tree. What kind of hold did this girl have over him? He was behaving like an infatuated boy, and he was a man grown at twenty! He forced himself to step out from the shelter of the tree, but Taya had moved on. Jareth contented himself with greeting her parents, accepting their thanks yet again for his rescue of Vikka, and calmed his nervousness by picking up the giggling child and carrying her around on his shoulders for the next little while.
    His anxiety did not diminish as the day slipped past, the golden sunlight waning to twilight as the three villages bartered and haggled over various goods. He noticed that there was a beautiful woolen blanket, in shades of blue and gold and green, that Taya had brought which never left the wagon. Idly he wondered why she had bothered to bring it if she hadn’t planned to barter it, then turned his attention to the feast that was being brought out.
    With three villages providing food, it was a lavish spread indeed: bread of all varieties, soups, roasted fish, fowl and meats, mustards and jellies and nuts, and bowl and after bowl of raw, roasted, and stewed vegetables every color of the rainbow. Skalka Valley’s most famous contribution was also the most popular. The valley was known for the quality and quantity of the honeywine it produced. Jareth was able to calm the bees that made the golden fluid that was the heart of the drink, rendering the honey itself uncommonly delicious and enabling the beekeepers to painlessly extract more combs, though Jareth insisted that the bees must always have plenty for themselves. “It’s their food,” he maintained. “They share it with us, not the other way around.”
    At twilight, old Paiva stepped in front of the huge bonfire, a burning branch in her hand. Ivo, the headman, had presided over most of the events thus far, but now they were headed into ritual space, and that was Paiva’s realm.
    “We have been blessed by the gods,” she said in a voice that carried. Not for the first time, Jareth marveled at the strength that still dwelt in the increasingly feeble body. He felt a surge of affection for her. Of all the residents of Skalka Valley, she alone had continued to treat him as she always had.
    “We have plenty of food for the winter. We have good friends in nearby villages. And tonight, we have the warmth of the sun contained in the fire. Burn!”
    She thrust the brand forward. The bonfire had been well-made and doused liberally with oil, and all gasped and clapped as the yellow licking flames chased away the darkness. Paiva was now a black figure outlined by the crackling glow.
    “Come forward and free yourselves from the burdens you have carried this year. Let the fire take and transform your suffering.”
    This was an old, old tradition, and everyone knew how to proceed. They formed an orderly line, accepting small bundles of dried wheat stalks from which the precious grain had been extracted, and stepped forward. One by one, some weaving a little thanks to the drink they had imbibed earlier, they whispered what they wished to be free of, and tossed the sheaf onto the flame. When Jareth reached the fire and felt the heat bathe his face, he realized he knew exactly what his longing was. He was honored and envied, but no one knew the pain he suffered.
    Speaking aloud, but softly so that this private moment would not be overheard, he said firmly, “I wish to be free of my doubt.”
    He hurled the sheaf forward, watched as it twisted and blackened in the fire, and took a deep breath. No calm certainty rushed to bathe him yet, but Paiva often reminded those who participated in this ancient rite that sometimes it took a while for the wish to be answered. But the gods always heard their petitioners.
    He stepped aside, his heart speeding up when Taya moved toward the fire a few moments