Chapter Nine
"… a small magic shop stood in Alentio’s main road,
kept by two Menilan women named Samandia and Ebonite.
The farmers were suspicious of them, and the shop never really ‘took off’.
However, the two witches knew quite a bit more than anyone else ever did.
The only difference between them and the gossips was this—they never discussed it …"
--The Pasegean Scrolls
"We’d best be careful around here," Jareth whispered loudly. "Spies could alert the army. Then we’d be sunk!"
"Then you’d best keep it down, loudmouth!" Syrah said sharply.
Embarrassed, Jareth turned away. "Sorry," he mumbled apologetically.
Alena touched his shoulder softly, and Jareth jumped. "Syrah didn’t mean anything by it," she said diplomatically. "It’s just … well, if this mission means anything to anyone, it should mean the most to you. Just practice what you preach."
"Thanks—you kissed it all better, princess," Jareth replied sarcastically.
Alena blushed, and moved further back. Catrin may not be a friend or an ally, but at least she could take her vicious comments.
Catrin’s eyes narrowed as Alena fell into step beside her. "Whatsa matter?" she asked babyishly. "Widdle Ally make a boo-boo?"
Rolling her eyes, Alena ignored the remark and looked at the forest surrounding her. She could feel a headache coming on, and she hoped the foliage would calm her somewhat. "Sometimes I wish Jareth had just left me on that scaffold … at least I’d be somewhere better than this crazy world!" Alena sighed and placed her fingertips on her temples, trying to relieve the ache emanating from her brain.
But nothing could relieve the ache in her heart.
Jareth looked around himself, marvelling at how the woods he had known as a child hadn’t changed at all. The oaks still towered over the firs, yet the redwood trees still were winning the race to the moon.
He sighed. Everything had seemed so simple then, in his glorious childhood. Or, at least, what he assumed was a glorious childhood. Maybe a drunken, abusive, slave-driven father wasn’t the greatest asset in the world. And an obsessive mother who backed up ‘Pap’ in every way possible didn’t achieve much in the self-esteem categories.
His brothers and sisters hadn’t been much help either. He had always felt like he was the family outcast, no matter how much he had tried to fit in. Jareth had always been the one who read the books in the twilight, whilst his brothers Benje, Marcus and Gregor would kick a ball through the fields as Mama yelled at them to stop or she’d, "Git ther Pap home fro’ the tavern, an he’d be hoppin’ mad ‘bout it too."
Or his sisters, Cherise, Rosalie and Serena. He looked nothing like anyone in Caverton family. Most of them had red hair, except for Marcus, whose hair was black like Pap’s.
Jareth was brought from his reverie by a tap on his shoulder. Alena stood there, eyes to the ground. He shifted uncomfortably, and she looked back up at his face. "We heard a sound … just about a hundred spans that way." She pointed to the right, her voice shaking with terror.
Jareth nodded to her, then to Lokath, who followed him towards the small clearing in the distance. Staring at the other mans set jaw, Jareth realised that they knew barely nothing of his past. He made a note to ask him about his childhood—and what had inspired him (if you could call it that) to become a thief.
Keeping close the ground, they both inched their way through the undergrowth. As they closed the gap between themselves and the clearing, Lokath’s face contorted in fear.
Jareth gave him a sideways look. "What’s wrong?" he whispered. Lokath glanced at him, jerking his head urgently to a spot several metres away from them.
She was obviously a guard of some sort—her golden braid proved she was an officer. "Not again," Lokath muttered underneath his breath, and ran his long fingers through his ebony coloured hair. He moved rushed forward slightly, forgetting Jareth’s presence. His head turned at the gasp.
"Oh. Almost forgot. I hold, you punch." Grinning, Jareth followed Lokath’s hand gestures and went around to the left. Breathing heavily, he leant against a tall tree-trunk, trying to blend with the foliage.
He counted beneath his breath; the numbers seemed like a countdown to his death. Maybe, if they were lucky, the girls would get away. If Alena died because of his rampant desire to ‘check up on’ his hometown … He groaned, then realised he could have just signed his own death warrant.
Then, the scream came. Jareth dashed out from behind his tree—his haven—and straight into the fire.
Lokath had grasped the woman from behind, and she had screamed loudly enough for the whole forest to hear. "The camp …" But, right now, that was not the problem. The girl had obviously fought back, and now held Lokath in a headlock.
"Ha! You won’t free yourself this time!" Speaking triumphantly, she gestured to her left. "North, maybe?" Jareth thought. "Soon you’ll be locked up again, Mr. Carrel. And this time you won’t have any bishops to save you! You hear me!"
The woman, disgusted with Lokath’s feebleness, spat in his face. "Thief scum. You steal from people—how would you like it? You’ve got no shame, you bastards! Selfish! That’s what you are! Selfish!!" Spitting again, on the ground this time, like her words left a bitter taste in her mouth, she pushed Lokath to the ground.
She still hadn’t noticed Jareth standing there.
He felt absolutely helpless. How did this woman know Lokath? Jareth was stunned at the events of the day, and was frozen in place.
Suddenly, from behind Jareth there came a war-cry. "Sweet Elanora, no! Not Chailan soldiers!" He tried to send a telepathic message to Alena so to warn her away. But it was no use. He was unskilled in such things, and it would not help anyway. The girls were behind him.
But the soldiers were too far away. Skin brushed against Jareth’s leather jerkin, startling him. The skin was attached to an arm which held … a dagger! Hope dawned on Jareth’s seeming impossible predicament.
Syrah leapt at the woman, flattening her to the ground. Positioning the dagger above her neck, Syrah shook with adrenaline. "N-now, you’ve g-got two ch-choices." Syrah stuttered through the words, her face set but her eyes terrified. Breathing deeply, Syrah relaxed, realising she now had the upper hand. "Either you can stay with us as a hostage, or I can kill you right now."
By now, Alena and Catrin had wandered up to the group. Catrin stood there, rolling her eyes, while Alena looked concerned.
The guard looked defiant at first, and struggled. Then, realising how little she really wanted to die, spoke dejectedly: "All right. I surrender."
Syrah motioned for Lokath to bind the woman, and didn’t get off her chest or move the poised dagger until her hands were tied. Heaving both herself and the guard to their feet, Syrah breathed deeply and spoke resolutely, "I think we’d better get back on task."
Nodding, Jareth waved everyone back to their path, and grasped the guards arm. Syrah gave him a strange look. "I’ve got it covered," she said questioningly.
"No … you walk with Lokath. I’ll look after her."
Smiling at Jareth, Syrah fell into step beside Lokath and he placed his arm around her shoulder for support. "Not just physical, either," Jareth thought, grinning. He turned his attention back to the girl next to him.
"So …" Jareth started. "What’s your name?"
Glowering fiercely at Jareth she asked: "Why do you want to know?"
"Sorry!" he said. "No need to get so defensive!"
She stared at him warily. "If you must know, it’s Vela. Vela Pernath."
He raised his eyebrows. "Vela Pernath? As in Pernath of Capurna?"
Sighing, Vela continued. "Yes, Pernath Shipping. Now everyone knows my secret."
"Secret?"
"Yeah. You see, my father—Juno Pernath—had six boys. Then I came along. He nearly wanted to kill me and my mother. Or, should I say, me and concubine five. Basically, I’m ashamed of my father—and my heritage. And, then, he wants to marry me off to some Tusheban idiot! Some Baronet named Conner, for Elanora’s sake!" Jareth’s look of shock changed to a slight smile at the last comment. "What’s so funny?"
Jareth burst out laughing. "Nothing. Just don’t say much about the Tusheban ‘idiot’ to the girl over there with the red hair."
"She doesn’t look Tusheban … did she have a soft spot for the guy?"
Grinning, Jareth looked straight in the girls almond shaped eyes. "Something like that."
After setting up camp for the night, everyone gathered around a small fire (which had to be kept that way at Lokath’s orders). "It’s funny, that," Syrah thought. "Funny how, in the firelight, everyone looks different. You can see the hatred in Catrin’s eyes properly; the mournful glances Alena gives Jareth every few minutes; Jareth’s concern for the group; Lokath’s … Lokath." Sighing, Syrah shuffled closer to the fire, wondering what the next day would bring.
Suddenly, she heard a venomous voice whisper in her ear. "Seems Jareth’s getting along well with the enemy," she said maliciously. "Alena’s taking it well. But then, Alena is extremely jealous." Then, noticing the look of dislike in Syrah’s eye, murmured: "Lokath sure is handsome, isn’t he, Syrah? I never noticed it before, but, somehow, in the dim light of the fire …" she trailed off, letting Syrah’s imagination finish the sentence for her.
Syrah stood and walked to the sleeping area, aware of Catrin’s taunts, trying not to let them get the better of her. Wiping a silent tear from her eye, she looked back. Lokath sat there, so absorbed in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed her absence.
Laying out a sheet on the ground, she sat again and pulled a blanket around her. She saw Catrin move over towards Alena, and, a few moments later, a slap rang out. Alena followed Syrah angrily to the sleeping area, and slumped beside the other girl.
"Won’t she give up?" Alena wept through her tears. "Or, more fitting, won’t she grow up?"
Syrah enveloped her in the blanket, and comforted the girl. She shushed her to sleep, whispering words of solace. Jareth gazed over at the sleeping quarters until Alena slept, then rushed over. "Is she okay?" he asked worriedly.
Syrah raised her eyebrows. "Why should you care? She could have done with a bit of consolation from you, but you were too busy exchanging words with the enemy."
Puzzled, he stared at Syrah. "Vela? What has she done to Alena?"
Shaking her head, Syrah glared at him. "No! Apart from the fact that she is one of Chunia’s henchmen, she hasn’t specifically tried to hurt Alena. Catrin, you dolt!"
Realisation spreading across Jareth’s worried face, he muttered, "Oh."
"Oh! That’s all you can say? Go back to Catrin—don’t hurt Alena anymore! Everyone knows how you’re leading her on, and I won’t stand for it any more!"
Jareth spoke wildly. "You don’t understand! No one understands! I’m—I’m …"
"You’re a tyrant, that’s what! A womanising fool! Get away!" Syrah warded Jareth away from her, threatening him with her eyes. He shook his head and walked away into the darkness.
Alena stirred. "Was … Did Jareth …" she mumbled drowsily. Syrah quieted her, and she soon was asleep herself.
It was around midday that they dawdled up the crest of the mountain, nearly stumbling into the valley beyond. Before they could see over it, though, Jareth stopped them.
"My friends," he said, receiving a fierce glare from Syrah. "And Syrah." This made Lokath look at Syrah questioningly. "Anyway, soon we will be reaching my hometown. I’d like for you to expect rolling hills, beautiful fields, and the smell of hay. Unfortunately, this may not be the case. However, think of it this way: All those things are underneath. The only difference is that someone has painted black, grey and brown over the green, blue and orange. Remember this, and stay low."
With this, they resumed walking. Jareth rushed forward and turned around so his friends would be first to behold the land. "And this," he said happily. "This, my friends, is Alentio."
Copyright 2000 M. Lees
