A/N: Tada! More story! Please, no rotten tomatoes, last time they stained
my hair an interesting shade of orange.anywho, I hope you like this, it
will all fill out in the next chapter or so, and it will come into play
later in the story, just so you know its not totally random. K, I'm done
babbling, go read (
Disclaimer: He he he *grabs characters and plot and hides them under her coat* mine! All mine! *Spotlight freezes on Elven* *sirens* You'll never take me alive!!!
Chapter 20: Marked
The sun was still below the distant line of trees when Jareth landed just outside the little camp near the river, transforming back into is lithe humanoid form before he hit the ground. For a moment he just stood there watching the smoke curling off of the dying fire. He wasn't sure he was ready to go and face reality again just yet.
After running off on Anikara the night before, he'd flown for a good hour to no where in particular, burying his thoughts deep under the sensation of wind rushing through his feathers. After sometime, however, the tiresome pain caught up with him and he'd landed near the Great River and transformed back. There, lounging on the back of a great flat rock near the rushing water, he'd watched the stars through his own blurring tears. He'd fought so hard, and for so long, to keep those traitorous tears at bay, and now, suddenly, he didn't care. He'd always feared that tears were an admission of weakness, but now, he realized, it didn't matter if he was weak or not, because no matter how strong or powerful he was, he would never win her. Especially not now. He wondered just how much Sarah knew of the power she was to receive. If she knew the limitlessness of what she could become.
For a few brief moments, he'd entertained the idea of flying ahead to the court and pulling some strings to keep it all from happening. The very idea that Sarah was now his equal made him feel helpless. Yet at the same time, he knew she deserved this. She had the heart and will, if not the mouth and training, of a high born lady. It wouldn't be long before she fit into the highest circles of the fae courts like she'd been born to it. It would suit her. She really was the most worthy mortal he'd ever met.
This thought sent another wave of pain through him, knowing that someone as amazing as she, who, with her sharp wit and dark beauty, could have her pick of suitors, would never stoop to love the King of the Goblins. Anikara had said it perfectly: his castle was not a place conducive to mental health. What woman would willingly bind herself to the ruler of such a rowdy, filthy, loud and ignoble lot as the goblins? When he was a young man, he'd tried to woo several women, but each, at some point or another, had discovered his station and had politely taken their leave.
He was tired of being alone, one reason he'd allowed Shayan to stay as his personal assistant and servant. But there was only so much a friend could do to ease the ache in ones heart. He wanted someone to hold at night, in his big, empty bed, that he could wrap his arms around, burying his face in her hair and inhaling her soft scent as she ran her smooth skin against his. A shiver ran through him as he imagined his bare hands moving over Sarah's womanly shape, memorizing the curves and valleys, the texture of her undoubtedly heavenly skin.
He was sure that now he would never know it, would never see her bared body framed in the moonlight on satin sheets. He would never have her seated at his side on his throne, never get to watch her grow large with child, never see her nurse their baby or play with their sons and daughters. He supposed it was too much to have asked for something so grand as to have Sarah as his own. Fate wasn't that kind.
A cold morning wind dashed over him and brought him back to the present. The sun had crowned on the horizon, flooding the broad plains below with a golden haze as it burned off the low lying fog in the river valley. The beauty of it almost pulled open the floodgates of his heart again, but he refused to cry where any of his traveling companions could happen upon him. One step at a time. Instead, he turned away from the glorious sunrise and dragged himself back to the camp.
Everyone was still asleep as he entered the cleared ring that was their camp and he took the opportunity to step closer to Sarah than he might have dared if he weren't so tired and emotional. She was sleeping close to another of the vampires, and both were still wearing their veils, as they had been the night before. The rest of the undead lay nearby, and their hoods and veils, which had been discarded in the night, had been replaced before sunrise, probably from years of habit, and they were once more sleeping in their close knit tangle. It must be nice, he realized, to be able to curl up so closely and take comfort in the warmth of friends and lovers alike without fear of propriety.
Rather than dwell on it, he took a moment to roam Sarah's body with his eyes, trying to memorize it, absorb it into himself. It was certainly no longer the body of an awkward fifteen year old, observed appreciatively. She was still on her side, both arms curled under the side of her head and her knees bent at an angle. He could have watched her there forever in the early morning light, which accentuated her natural form, but it was not to be, for suddenly she moaned and stirred a bit. Poor Jareth nearly fell over as he stumbled backwards, sure she'd seen him and feeling like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But she didn't wake, just shifted a bit, then settled back into and easy breathing rhythm.
Letting out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding, he suddenly realized that there were eyes on him. Turning his head, he locked eyes with the young centaur female. For a moment they just stared and he wondered just how long she'd been watching him. Had she seen him examining Sarah? Ilo looked as though she were about to say something, but she suddenly turned away from him and cast her eyes at the ground, as though in shame. It was then that he noticed something glinting off her flanks in the early sunlight. What in the world..?
"What happened, girl?" he demanded, indicating the deep gashes in her sides and flanks that still oozed blood, in spite of the mud that had been packed against them. He dismissed the twinge of worry in his words as exhaustion, though he couldn't help but wonder just the same, even if she was only a centaur. He couldn't fathom that she'd actually become so important to all of them after such a short time. Had she been attacked? And where were her companions, he wondered, as he realized that neither Aldo nor Synto were present.
Her eyes widened, but she did not meet his gaze as she spoke.
"My brothers have gone to speak with the elders. They may or may not return," she bit out, her normally rich baritone voice flat and tight.
Jareth felt his brow furrow. Just what was going on?
"I didn't know they were your brothers," he confessed, trying to lighten her mood a bit. Unfortunately it seemed to have the opposite affect, as she squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard.
"They were."
Jareth didn't miss the past tense of her words. He wondered if it was simply an error in speech or something more. After all, this was not her original language. Perhaps she had simply slipped?
"Were?" Jareth tried.
He was rewarded when her eyes shot open and she stared at him, eyes wide. He was shocked to see how flatly dull they'd become. With those eyes and the bloody gashes in her body, she looked for all the world like a wounded mouse staring into the eyes of a swooping hawk.
"My brothers have gone to speak with the elders," she repeated insistently, her voice actually going up a notch, as though she were trying not to cry, "They may or may not return." Then she looked away again, her body drawing closer into itself, as though she feared he would strike her.
Jareth watched her for a moment more, his mind racing, dulled only by the lack of sleep. He could feel the tension in his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw as he worked against demanding that she tell him her trouble. He hated being left in the dark, it made him feel helpless, but he could plainly see that he would get nothing out of her. Anikara would have to try her hand with the frightened centaur a bit later.
He was actually almost grateful to the centauress for taking his mind off his own worries as he meandered over to his saddlebag, careful not to disturb the one in which Gwib still snored. It wouldn't do to have the little goblin squealing and squawking at this hour. After chewing on a piece of travel bread and carrying some water over to where his stallion and the other horses had been tied to graze the night before, he laid back against a large rock near where he'd been sitting the prior evening. He knew he'd get an hour of sleep at best, and he also knew that one hour was better than none when he had a whole day of riding ahead of him. Taking one last glance at the rigid centaur girl, he closed his eyes and, after a long, emotional night, was asleep before he even realized it.
Ilo remained awake. In the fine dirt under her hooves, two little puffs of dust rose and settled as twin tears fell from her glassy eyes and struck the earth beneath her.
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Something other than the morning rays roused Brexis from her dreamless sleep, though at first she didn't recognize it. She cracked one eye open, spying Sarah's still sleeping form directly in front of her from where she lay on her side. Furrowing her brow, she sniffed the air, and her crimson eyes dilated.
There was the smell of the dying fire, of course, and the mounts. The fainter scents of the others was there as well. But above all, she smelled something that forced her to quell a surge of hunger with years of conditioning and training. Blood-soaked earth and salt, mixed with the metallic tang of fear. It was the smell of prey that knew it was going to die. But it also smelled like centaur.
Resisting the urge to feed was one matter when the blood was still safely surging through the veins. But when blood spilled, its scent no longer masked by the flesh, it was another matter entirely. Under her struggle for control, she wondered how it was that her companions had not yet been roused by the heavy odor that was washing over her in waves. They should be in a feeding frenzy right now! She wrote it off as a miracle and pulled herself to her feet, scanning the area for the source. She found it easily enough.
It had been no more than half an hour since Jareth had returned to camp, and all the while, two trails of moisture had forged steady trails down Ilo's cheeks as she silently cried, the only weakness she would allow herself, and only while none could see her. She had to be brave now, crying was for foals, and she was no longer that.
Now, as Brexis rose from her place next to Sarah, eyes fixed on the sticky mud pack of dirt and blood in her flanks, she sniffled once and forcibly stopped her tears. She would not cry in the face of death. She could die with honor, if nothing else. She'd seen the bodies others ravaged by vampires, who, in their maddened state, didn't see friend or foe, only blood. She felt her stomach turn, but she tilted her chin upwards defiantly, swallowing hard. She did not look towards the undead woman, simply steeled herself and waited for the feeling of her flesh ripping once again.
Imagine her surprise when instead she felt the sting of a flattened palm connecting with her face. Brexis was far stronger than her delicate frame indicated, and Ilo felt her head jerk aside with the force of the slap.
"Are you completely mad?" Brexis demanded, her words coming in a hiss between clenched teeth. Ilo turned her head back to gawk at the trembling vampire before her, whose muscles were now so tightly rigid over her frame from maintaining her restraint, her bones might have broken. All she managed was a blink of surprise. This did not satisfy Brexis in the least. "Damnit, girl! Go down to the river, get the hell in the water and stay there until I send for Lady Anikara to close your wounds!"
It was then that, through the tension in her mind that threatened to snap her control like a brittle twig, she managed to wonder how she'd come to be wounded. Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes, breathed deeply. There would be cause for questions later, but right now, time was of the essence. When Ilo still didn't move, she reached out slowly, so as not to scare the centaur, and firmly grasped her arm. The two were fairly matched in strength, but Brexis, with a force born of necessity, half pulled, half dragged poor, confused Ilo down to the shallows and practically threw her in.
The relief was almost immediate as packed earth and blood were carried away by the eddying current. Finally able to think clearly, Brexis looked down at Ilo, who was submerged half way up the flank in the water. The poor centauress was shivering, but not from the cold morning bath. She'd drawn her arms around herself and her eyes had gone steely.
As the dirt was washed from the wounds, Brexis felt herself go tense at the sight of the wound which had been hidden under the makeshift earthen bandage. She couldn't see the girl's other side, but knew from past experience that it also bore the gashes: a horizontal line, and an inwardly inclined line coming off each end, the frontal upwards and the lateral down. She'd seen that mark carved into the flesh of others. Mostly carcasses, drained of blood.
"Those bastards," she growled. She was trembling again, but this time, it was not hunger but rage that plagued her. Indeed, she had to fight the urge to go kill something. Violently. How dare they mark her? She'd done nothing wrong! "Stay there, Ilo," Brexis commanded as gently as she could manage, "Don't move. I will fetch Lady Anikara, she will know what to do."
Ilo's eyes were completely forlorn as the vampire ran back to camp to fetch her mistress. Relief had suddenly flooded her senses, followed by an intense disgust with her own weakness. And yet, she had been so overwhelmed with such a mix of emotions when she'd felt that stinging slap across her cheek, rather than the sharp pain of teeth in her flesh, she might have hugged the undead beast. She was alive. She should be a bloodless corpse by now, but she was still alive. Even if she had no home, no family, no tribe, she was alive. A new tear traced down her face to drop soundlessly into the river and she hated herself for it.
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A/N: *Tear*.poor Ilo, what happened to her? We shall see very soon, I am almost done with the next chapter.I'm on a roll!!! *happy dance* thanks again to all my reviewers, you all get gold stars! That's right, free gold star stickers to anyone who reviews.and heres the cool thing, they are invisible! That's right, all of you who reviewed have invisible gold stars all over your computer screens right now.he he he, you'll never know, will you, it will keep you up at night wondering if there just might be little invisible stickers plastered all over you pc....mwahahahaha, my evil master plan is nearly complete!...*slap* thanks, I needed that.okay, now that every one is sufficiently afraid of me, go review, then run screaming from the area (but don't forget to check back :P)!
Disclaimer: He he he *grabs characters and plot and hides them under her coat* mine! All mine! *Spotlight freezes on Elven* *sirens* You'll never take me alive!!!
Chapter 20: Marked
The sun was still below the distant line of trees when Jareth landed just outside the little camp near the river, transforming back into is lithe humanoid form before he hit the ground. For a moment he just stood there watching the smoke curling off of the dying fire. He wasn't sure he was ready to go and face reality again just yet.
After running off on Anikara the night before, he'd flown for a good hour to no where in particular, burying his thoughts deep under the sensation of wind rushing through his feathers. After sometime, however, the tiresome pain caught up with him and he'd landed near the Great River and transformed back. There, lounging on the back of a great flat rock near the rushing water, he'd watched the stars through his own blurring tears. He'd fought so hard, and for so long, to keep those traitorous tears at bay, and now, suddenly, he didn't care. He'd always feared that tears were an admission of weakness, but now, he realized, it didn't matter if he was weak or not, because no matter how strong or powerful he was, he would never win her. Especially not now. He wondered just how much Sarah knew of the power she was to receive. If she knew the limitlessness of what she could become.
For a few brief moments, he'd entertained the idea of flying ahead to the court and pulling some strings to keep it all from happening. The very idea that Sarah was now his equal made him feel helpless. Yet at the same time, he knew she deserved this. She had the heart and will, if not the mouth and training, of a high born lady. It wouldn't be long before she fit into the highest circles of the fae courts like she'd been born to it. It would suit her. She really was the most worthy mortal he'd ever met.
This thought sent another wave of pain through him, knowing that someone as amazing as she, who, with her sharp wit and dark beauty, could have her pick of suitors, would never stoop to love the King of the Goblins. Anikara had said it perfectly: his castle was not a place conducive to mental health. What woman would willingly bind herself to the ruler of such a rowdy, filthy, loud and ignoble lot as the goblins? When he was a young man, he'd tried to woo several women, but each, at some point or another, had discovered his station and had politely taken their leave.
He was tired of being alone, one reason he'd allowed Shayan to stay as his personal assistant and servant. But there was only so much a friend could do to ease the ache in ones heart. He wanted someone to hold at night, in his big, empty bed, that he could wrap his arms around, burying his face in her hair and inhaling her soft scent as she ran her smooth skin against his. A shiver ran through him as he imagined his bare hands moving over Sarah's womanly shape, memorizing the curves and valleys, the texture of her undoubtedly heavenly skin.
He was sure that now he would never know it, would never see her bared body framed in the moonlight on satin sheets. He would never have her seated at his side on his throne, never get to watch her grow large with child, never see her nurse their baby or play with their sons and daughters. He supposed it was too much to have asked for something so grand as to have Sarah as his own. Fate wasn't that kind.
A cold morning wind dashed over him and brought him back to the present. The sun had crowned on the horizon, flooding the broad plains below with a golden haze as it burned off the low lying fog in the river valley. The beauty of it almost pulled open the floodgates of his heart again, but he refused to cry where any of his traveling companions could happen upon him. One step at a time. Instead, he turned away from the glorious sunrise and dragged himself back to the camp.
Everyone was still asleep as he entered the cleared ring that was their camp and he took the opportunity to step closer to Sarah than he might have dared if he weren't so tired and emotional. She was sleeping close to another of the vampires, and both were still wearing their veils, as they had been the night before. The rest of the undead lay nearby, and their hoods and veils, which had been discarded in the night, had been replaced before sunrise, probably from years of habit, and they were once more sleeping in their close knit tangle. It must be nice, he realized, to be able to curl up so closely and take comfort in the warmth of friends and lovers alike without fear of propriety.
Rather than dwell on it, he took a moment to roam Sarah's body with his eyes, trying to memorize it, absorb it into himself. It was certainly no longer the body of an awkward fifteen year old, observed appreciatively. She was still on her side, both arms curled under the side of her head and her knees bent at an angle. He could have watched her there forever in the early morning light, which accentuated her natural form, but it was not to be, for suddenly she moaned and stirred a bit. Poor Jareth nearly fell over as he stumbled backwards, sure she'd seen him and feeling like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But she didn't wake, just shifted a bit, then settled back into and easy breathing rhythm.
Letting out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding, he suddenly realized that there were eyes on him. Turning his head, he locked eyes with the young centaur female. For a moment they just stared and he wondered just how long she'd been watching him. Had she seen him examining Sarah? Ilo looked as though she were about to say something, but she suddenly turned away from him and cast her eyes at the ground, as though in shame. It was then that he noticed something glinting off her flanks in the early sunlight. What in the world..?
"What happened, girl?" he demanded, indicating the deep gashes in her sides and flanks that still oozed blood, in spite of the mud that had been packed against them. He dismissed the twinge of worry in his words as exhaustion, though he couldn't help but wonder just the same, even if she was only a centaur. He couldn't fathom that she'd actually become so important to all of them after such a short time. Had she been attacked? And where were her companions, he wondered, as he realized that neither Aldo nor Synto were present.
Her eyes widened, but she did not meet his gaze as she spoke.
"My brothers have gone to speak with the elders. They may or may not return," she bit out, her normally rich baritone voice flat and tight.
Jareth felt his brow furrow. Just what was going on?
"I didn't know they were your brothers," he confessed, trying to lighten her mood a bit. Unfortunately it seemed to have the opposite affect, as she squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard.
"They were."
Jareth didn't miss the past tense of her words. He wondered if it was simply an error in speech or something more. After all, this was not her original language. Perhaps she had simply slipped?
"Were?" Jareth tried.
He was rewarded when her eyes shot open and she stared at him, eyes wide. He was shocked to see how flatly dull they'd become. With those eyes and the bloody gashes in her body, she looked for all the world like a wounded mouse staring into the eyes of a swooping hawk.
"My brothers have gone to speak with the elders," she repeated insistently, her voice actually going up a notch, as though she were trying not to cry, "They may or may not return." Then she looked away again, her body drawing closer into itself, as though she feared he would strike her.
Jareth watched her for a moment more, his mind racing, dulled only by the lack of sleep. He could feel the tension in his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw as he worked against demanding that she tell him her trouble. He hated being left in the dark, it made him feel helpless, but he could plainly see that he would get nothing out of her. Anikara would have to try her hand with the frightened centaur a bit later.
He was actually almost grateful to the centauress for taking his mind off his own worries as he meandered over to his saddlebag, careful not to disturb the one in which Gwib still snored. It wouldn't do to have the little goblin squealing and squawking at this hour. After chewing on a piece of travel bread and carrying some water over to where his stallion and the other horses had been tied to graze the night before, he laid back against a large rock near where he'd been sitting the prior evening. He knew he'd get an hour of sleep at best, and he also knew that one hour was better than none when he had a whole day of riding ahead of him. Taking one last glance at the rigid centaur girl, he closed his eyes and, after a long, emotional night, was asleep before he even realized it.
Ilo remained awake. In the fine dirt under her hooves, two little puffs of dust rose and settled as twin tears fell from her glassy eyes and struck the earth beneath her.
******************************
Something other than the morning rays roused Brexis from her dreamless sleep, though at first she didn't recognize it. She cracked one eye open, spying Sarah's still sleeping form directly in front of her from where she lay on her side. Furrowing her brow, she sniffed the air, and her crimson eyes dilated.
There was the smell of the dying fire, of course, and the mounts. The fainter scents of the others was there as well. But above all, she smelled something that forced her to quell a surge of hunger with years of conditioning and training. Blood-soaked earth and salt, mixed with the metallic tang of fear. It was the smell of prey that knew it was going to die. But it also smelled like centaur.
Resisting the urge to feed was one matter when the blood was still safely surging through the veins. But when blood spilled, its scent no longer masked by the flesh, it was another matter entirely. Under her struggle for control, she wondered how it was that her companions had not yet been roused by the heavy odor that was washing over her in waves. They should be in a feeding frenzy right now! She wrote it off as a miracle and pulled herself to her feet, scanning the area for the source. She found it easily enough.
It had been no more than half an hour since Jareth had returned to camp, and all the while, two trails of moisture had forged steady trails down Ilo's cheeks as she silently cried, the only weakness she would allow herself, and only while none could see her. She had to be brave now, crying was for foals, and she was no longer that.
Now, as Brexis rose from her place next to Sarah, eyes fixed on the sticky mud pack of dirt and blood in her flanks, she sniffled once and forcibly stopped her tears. She would not cry in the face of death. She could die with honor, if nothing else. She'd seen the bodies others ravaged by vampires, who, in their maddened state, didn't see friend or foe, only blood. She felt her stomach turn, but she tilted her chin upwards defiantly, swallowing hard. She did not look towards the undead woman, simply steeled herself and waited for the feeling of her flesh ripping once again.
Imagine her surprise when instead she felt the sting of a flattened palm connecting with her face. Brexis was far stronger than her delicate frame indicated, and Ilo felt her head jerk aside with the force of the slap.
"Are you completely mad?" Brexis demanded, her words coming in a hiss between clenched teeth. Ilo turned her head back to gawk at the trembling vampire before her, whose muscles were now so tightly rigid over her frame from maintaining her restraint, her bones might have broken. All she managed was a blink of surprise. This did not satisfy Brexis in the least. "Damnit, girl! Go down to the river, get the hell in the water and stay there until I send for Lady Anikara to close your wounds!"
It was then that, through the tension in her mind that threatened to snap her control like a brittle twig, she managed to wonder how she'd come to be wounded. Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes, breathed deeply. There would be cause for questions later, but right now, time was of the essence. When Ilo still didn't move, she reached out slowly, so as not to scare the centaur, and firmly grasped her arm. The two were fairly matched in strength, but Brexis, with a force born of necessity, half pulled, half dragged poor, confused Ilo down to the shallows and practically threw her in.
The relief was almost immediate as packed earth and blood were carried away by the eddying current. Finally able to think clearly, Brexis looked down at Ilo, who was submerged half way up the flank in the water. The poor centauress was shivering, but not from the cold morning bath. She'd drawn her arms around herself and her eyes had gone steely.
As the dirt was washed from the wounds, Brexis felt herself go tense at the sight of the wound which had been hidden under the makeshift earthen bandage. She couldn't see the girl's other side, but knew from past experience that it also bore the gashes: a horizontal line, and an inwardly inclined line coming off each end, the frontal upwards and the lateral down. She'd seen that mark carved into the flesh of others. Mostly carcasses, drained of blood.
"Those bastards," she growled. She was trembling again, but this time, it was not hunger but rage that plagued her. Indeed, she had to fight the urge to go kill something. Violently. How dare they mark her? She'd done nothing wrong! "Stay there, Ilo," Brexis commanded as gently as she could manage, "Don't move. I will fetch Lady Anikara, she will know what to do."
Ilo's eyes were completely forlorn as the vampire ran back to camp to fetch her mistress. Relief had suddenly flooded her senses, followed by an intense disgust with her own weakness. And yet, she had been so overwhelmed with such a mix of emotions when she'd felt that stinging slap across her cheek, rather than the sharp pain of teeth in her flesh, she might have hugged the undead beast. She was alive. She should be a bloodless corpse by now, but she was still alive. Even if she had no home, no family, no tribe, she was alive. A new tear traced down her face to drop soundlessly into the river and she hated herself for it.
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A/N: *Tear*.poor Ilo, what happened to her? We shall see very soon, I am almost done with the next chapter.I'm on a roll!!! *happy dance* thanks again to all my reviewers, you all get gold stars! That's right, free gold star stickers to anyone who reviews.and heres the cool thing, they are invisible! That's right, all of you who reviewed have invisible gold stars all over your computer screens right now.he he he, you'll never know, will you, it will keep you up at night wondering if there just might be little invisible stickers plastered all over you pc....mwahahahaha, my evil master plan is nearly complete!...*slap* thanks, I needed that.okay, now that every one is sufficiently afraid of me, go review, then run screaming from the area (but don't forget to check back :P)!