A/N: Wow, this one was long, a good 10 pages! I hope this chapter answers
all your questions about what's going on with Ilo, if not, let me know and
I'll try to clarify. Thanks to all my reviewers, once again, it makes it
all worth while *tear*.
Disclaimer: You want me to say something about me not owning Labyrinth or its characters, right? Well bite me! You cant make me! Nyah nyah!
Chapter 21: Burning Bridges Over Thin Ice
The others might have slept a bit longer, but Brexis wasn't thinking as she tore back into camp and practically pounced on Anikara. The poor fae shrieked loud enough to wake the dead. In the Aboveground. Naturally everyone but Gwib (who snored on, oblivious as a rock) started awake in time to hear Brexis begging a confused Anikara to come down to the shallows with her and everyone began questioning and grumbling at once like children woken too early from naptime.
The panicked vampire hissed dangerously, silencing most of the protesting voices. "Please, I am frightened for her this close to the Banshee Wood!" Brexis explained, tugging at Anikara's arm.
Jareth, his brow furrowed sleepily, suddenly paled and even whiter shade than normal, and his eyes went wide as though something terrible had just occurred to him. "I never even thought of that..is she alright?" he demanded, not needing any explanation as to who the flustered vampire meant and not caring who saw his worry at the moment. How could he have overlooked something like that when he'd been spying on a so-called vampire, only to find a wide-open, bleeding wound in the same field of vision?
"Who?" Anikara demanded irritably, shaking off Brexis's arm. She hadn't slept nearly enough for her liking and this was not her idea of a pleasant wake up call.
Brexis huffed in frustration. "Ilo! The centaur! It's a wonder every vampire in those woods isn't on her, and the wounds are still open!"
This explanation was cursory and really explained nothing, but Anikara's groggy mind put together 'Ilo', 'vampires', and 'open wounds', and that did it. With a hasty demand that everyone stay put and giving Ayron a look that told him she meant it, she followed Brexis to where Ilo, as commanded, had not moved. She was now crying unabashedly, her arms clutching her shoulders and her chin tucked against her chest, hiding her face in a curtain of thick dark tresses. Swirls of blood still wisped about in the clear water every so often, but not enough to constitute severe blood loss.
Anikara felt sick when she saw the wounds. They had obviously been carved there deliberately, and they looked deep and painful. She turned to Brexis.
"Who did this?" she demanded.
Brexis blinked at her, then looked over at the mark on Ilo's flank, then back to Anikara. "Don't you see?" she asked. When Anikara gave her a warning look and shook her head, Brexis took it to mean she really had no idea what the mark was. She'd assumed it was commonly known, but obviously she was mistaken.
"It must have been those two males," Brexis explained, "although I don't know why. You see, that mark, my lady, is a mark for death. It is common practice for the centaur folk to carve that mark into those who commit a high crime or who dishonor themselves. They usually leave them, bound or not, at the edge of the Banshee Wood, where my kind usually finish them off quickly enough. Those bastard males, they must have carved her up last night and left her there in the camp so that when my kin and I awoke to the smell of blood, we'd go into a frenzy and kill her without thinking," she sighed heavily, remembering the urgency of the hunger she'd felt and knowing that without the years of practice she'd had in resisting the urge to feed, she would have ripped the poor creature limb from limb before she even realized who she was, "but I can't for the life of me understand why they would do this to her."
The look on Anikara's face was one of incredulity and disgust. "Go fetch Gwib and tell him to make a sealing potion and bring it to the shallows right away," she commanded, "and tell the others what has happened, too, or they'll all be down here wanting to know." Brexis was gone the moment the words left her mistress's mouth and Anikara was left alone with the sobbing centaur, who didn't even seem to realize anyone else was there.
Ignoring the frigidity of the water, Anikara waded into the shallows. At first Ilo bucked back, letting out a little cry of protest and fear, but as Anikara spoke in a calm, authoritative voice to the skittish girl, she slowly calmed enough for Anikara to put her arms around her human shoulders. They stood there, in the rushing icy water, and Ilo cried desperately on Anikara's shoulder. After a while of listening to the girls half sobbed, disconnected words, Anikara pieced together enough to realize what had happened. Pushing her anger aside, she continued to hold the weeping girl as the memories of the previous night asserted themselves in Ilo's mind, carving a far deeper scar in her heart as it all finally sank in.
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She had been cuddled up against King Jareth's stallion, who had no real love for her, but liked her better than the mare did and was better than sleeping alone. Drifting off into that place between awake and asleep, she'd felt something in the air, a charge that lifted her out of that magical place. Her people believed that place between awake and asleep held power, and that dreams from such a place were harbingers of what was to come. She should have taken the sudden uneasiness as an omen and run for it. Instead she'd stayed very still, listening. Two sets of hoof beats vibrated through the earth, slowing to a walk not far from camp.
"Brothers are back," she'd muttered sleepily, keeping her eyes closed and hoping to drift back into that delightful, euphoric half dream state. It was not to be. A sudden, rough hand on her shoulder caused her to start and she'd squealed in surprise and bucked a bit before the grip tightened and she was facing her little brother. Somehow, the others had failed to wake. A cursory glance told her that all were present except for her brother and King Jareth. She wondered if they were off having a word, but quickly dismissed it. After all, that was why she was here, wasn't it?
The look on Synto's face had been enough to quiet her ten times over. He looked solemnly pleading.
"Come, Ilo, we should speak with Aldo now," he'd commanded uncertainly. He was still young and unused to issuing orders to a woman, even his sister. She'd complied quickly, knowing that if Aldo wanted to speak to her in private she best be on her best behavior. As foals, they had played together, but ever since he'd become a man, he rarely regarded her unless it was to relay an order or as part of family necessity. She felt a twang of nervousness. This was surely about her tryst with the 'masters'. She'd hoped he didn't dig too deeply. The idea of lying to anyone, much less her big brother Aldo, made her feel sick with an uneasy dread.
Synto had led her out near the shallows where the women had bathed. Aldo was there, his back to them, his eyes set in the distance. Synto made a low noise, alerting Aldo to their presence.
"Ilo is here, brother," he had rumbled out loudly, causing the pebbles near his hooves to agitate back and forth in the bass, "Shall I stay or go?"
Aldo had continued to stare into the distance for a moment before responding.
"Stay and keep quiet," he commanded. Synto had bobbed his head and backed up as Aldo turned to face his little sister, who suddenly felt very small and exposed under her brothers appraising eye. "What do you mean by going off with those filthy masters?" he'd demanded of her, his anger rising in his voice.
She'd never seen his eyes like that before. He looked at her like she were an animal. "Brother?" she had responded, half a question, half a plea.
To her horror, he'd struck her then, back handed her across the face. Never had her dear big brother struck her, not ever. For a stupid moment, she couldn't figure out what was happening. It hadn't taken long to figure out.
"I can smell them all here, all around you! You bathed with them! Did you let them touch you? I've heard that their women take other women! What did you do? Answer me! You shame yourself! What kind of filth have you been involved in?"
Each accusation had been punctuated with his fist, mostly on her flanks, and a stifled cry from the abused centaur woman. Synto watched from several feet away, biting down on his lower lip to keep his tears at bay. Aldo had said he would train him to be a man, and that this, protecting the honor of the tribe, was part of being a man. Women didn't understand the necessity of honor among tribes, and to consort with masters was a disgusting transgression that could not be tolerated. Every such transgressor had to be punished accordingly and quickly.
Finally, his rage spent, Aldo had let Ilo speak for herself. She'd told herself that a cursory lie would be enough, even just a half truth. She'd always been taught that when you gave your word, it should be as solid as if it were carved into the very stone of the earth, and she'd given Anikara her word. She had been so sure he'd understand.
"I gave my word that I wouldn't tell!" she'd blurted, not thinking about how her words sounded. This had had the opposite effect than she'd hoped for and got her another cuff across the mouth. She was crying by then and he'd demanded that she tell him what had happened once more.
In her confusion and pain, she'd tried to come up with something to tell them that was the truth, but which wouldn't have her breaking her promise. She'd only promised not to speak of the mortal Sarah. But she'd recalled their discussion on the fae mating practices. Surely she could explain that they had been comparing their customs and he would see that there was no need for worry!
"We.we spoke of differences among our peoples, about how they choose their own mates, and--" she'd gotten no farther as Aldo had suddenly stooped, grabbed her left foreleg and yanked, effectively taking her to the ground with a heavy thud. She'd cried, begging him to tell her why, why was he doing this. He'd only shook his head, and for the first time that night, she'd seen something akin to sadness in those big brown eyes she'd always adored so much.
"You ask why? My poor baby sister. You've shamed yourself, and I can't allow you to return to our tribe and poison the minds of others with the filth these masters have fed you. You brought this on yourself, little one," he'd explained matter-of-factly, closing his heart to the keening cry of horror that erupted from the flailing centauress as he unsheathed his iron-edged bone blade, "I'll pray to the Brights to guide you to the sky.after." he'd stopped there, setting his jaw against the lump in his throat and the pain in his heart. He was a man and it was his place to draw her blood for her transgression. "Synto!" he'd barked, "You too are a man now! Come and hold her!"
Synto was crying at this point, but did as his older brother told him, lowering himself to the ground behind his sister and firmly bracing her to the ground. He hadn't once looked Ilo in the eye as Aldo knelt also. Neither had dared look her in the eye or listen to her sobbed pleas. She'd begged shamefully in those moments, swearing she'd never tell a soul, that she'd repent and offer herself to the Brights as a priestess, have her tongue cut out and her hair cut off. She'd known none of it would matter. She'd seen loving husbands, fathers, brothers and sons, so caring and fond one day, close their hearts the next as they cut into a female for her wicked acts.
Aldo carved the mark into her right flank, throwing the excess skin and bits of muscle into the river. Then, with Synto's help, he'd flipped her over and carved it into the other. A long line, symbolizing the plains where their kind ran free, and two paths, one leading to the sky and one leading to the earth, so that when the Brights had judged her, her soul would be able to find its way either to the sky or to be reborn on the earth.
After he'd begun to cut, she'd gone very still, not really feeling the blade as it carved the flesh from her sides and only occasionally hiccupping or releasing a pent up sob. Even the pain in her heart was a dull ache behind a filmy wall of disbelief. The whole thing seemed unduly drawn out, each moment an eternity. She was no fool, in spite of her youth. She'd known what they were doing to her, it was just that she was having trouble believing it.
Her memory had drifted unbidden back to that strange night, when the Bright had come together, just as the oracle had prophesied. Her brothers had come to her and told her that the oracle had spoken her name and of the elders decree. She remembered first meeting the King and his Young friend, battling the vampires and later befriending them, and seeing the Lightlessness, the sacred antithesis running amok and spreading like leprosy over the light. She'd seen it with her own eyes, just as the oracle had foretold, but what could be done about it as a spirit in the sky? Was this really what she had come here for? It was wrong to question the will of the Bright, but she couldn't believe that the oracle had named, just so that she could come all this way to die. But, whether she believed it or not didn't make the gaping gashes, or what they meant for her, any less real.
When they'd finished, Aldo had made her stand on shaking legs. Her right flank was caked with bloody mud. He'd spoken to her then as though it were any other time, told her that he and Synto would return to the tribe and speak with the elders. He did not neglect to proclaim that she was now commended to the will of the Brights, that she had no kin among the tribe any longer. If the elders saw fit to retrieve her, dead or alive, the two would return in two days time. If she lived, it would be a sign from the Brights and she would return to her home, where she would live the rest of her days in derision, bearing the mark of dishonor which could never be lifted. He'd also told her to bear her sentence like a centaur woman should, without cowardice or fear, and to die with honor if nothing else.
Ilo had barely listened to this ritual proclamation. She knew how it went. She knew better than to pray for deliverance, for she'd seen the life of one who bore a mark, shunned by family and friends, made to act as beasts of burden for the tribe, used as the others saw fit. Synto was still crying as he'd followed his elder brother into the distance. Aldo put a hand on his little brother's shoulder and Synto swallowed the rest of his tears. He was a man now.
Ilo, in shock, had stumbled back to the camp and stood there, waiting. Here were vampires. She didn't want to die, but neither did she want to live bearing the mark. She was numb as she'd taken up her silent vigil, the urge to run crying after her big brothers smothered by the reality of what they had just done to her. For the first time in all her young life, she was truly alone.
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Shayan looked over at Jareth, noticing the weary, troubled look on his king's face.
"Are you alright?" he inquired, pulling himself upright from where he had been lying when he'd been startled awake.
Jareth looked over at the young elf, his shoulders drooping and his face haggard. "To be quite honest, no," he replied groggily, scrubbing a hand over his face in an attempt to rub the cloudy sleep from his eyes, "I'm damned tired and I've got too much on my mind."
Shayan nodded, then quietly added, "So when are you going to tell me what happened last night? What was all that with the crystal and the Lady Anikara? You can't leave me in the dark forever, you know!" He was teasing a bit, of course, but he was still determined to find out, one way or another.
Jareth glanced over at the swarm of vampires, all seemingly identical in their black robes, going about the business of watering their horses and packing. He could easily pick Sarah out of the group, but did his best not to look at her. Best not to arouse her suspicions until they were someplace where he could level the playing field a bit. Like the High Court.
He sighed heavily. "All in good time, my boy, I promise, all in good time."
Shayan looked about ready to argue, but just then, Brexis was back, silent and swift as the wind. Before anyone could voice their questions, she was digging in one of the saddle bags and came away with an irate little goblin, swatting at her as she gripped him by the scruff of his neck.
"Release Gwib at once! Gwib sleeps, Gwib sleeps nice. Release Gwib!"
"Silence, you nuisance!" Brexis hissed, "Lady Anikara needs you to brew a sealing potion, and make it a good one!"
"Release Gwib! Gwib sleeps nice!" the beady eyed goblin yawned, trying to scratch at the offending hand that held him fast.
Irritated with all the noise, Jareth rose and was towering over Gwib in an instant. Even tired, worn and wound up, the Goblin King looked a formidable foe.
"Let's put it this way, shall we, Gwib?" he offered in a deadly tone, "If you displease Lady Anikara, she'll dismiss you, and then it'll be just you and me." He couldn't help but smirk at the look of abject terror that Gwib gave as a response. The poor little goblin looked as though it had swallowed its tongue.
"Sealing for beast, plant or stone?" he finally managed to squeak, his eyes bugging out of his head.
"Beast," Anikara bit out, "Centaur to be exact and as I said, make it good. I don't want anything left after the sealing is done, not the slightest scar, do you hear?"
Gwib nodded frantically, then squirmed out of her vice grip and got to work, grinding various herbs together.
"Well, Brexis," Ayron chimed in from where he was unobtrusively lounging against a boulder, "How long will you keep us in suspense?" He stretched lazily, feeling strangely contented, in spite of the sudden awakening. Perhaps because he'd dreamt of Anikara. In any case, he was feeling bold and empowered, a pleasing state indeed. His mood was about to be ruined.
Brexis turned her head towards her mistress's.ahem.friend.and took a moment to decide how to tell them. Even among the vampires, it was a taboo subject. After a short mental debate, she shrugged and took the direct approach. "The centaur woman was marked last night." This meant exactly nothing to Jareth, Ayron and Sarah. Shayan's brow furrowed in thought. He recognized the term from somewhere in his childhood, but he couldn't place it. The vampires, however, stopped dead (no pun intended) in their tracks, and one even dropped the bundle he'd been holding.
"Impossible!" hissed one of the females, Akiris, "We would have sensed it! She should be dead!" That was one thing that Ayron both admired and feared about vampires: they had no illusions and they didn't beat around the bush. He did not, however, like the way this sounded.
Sarah glanced over at the pack of vampires, still standing stock still and gaping at Brexis. She tried to mimic their actions, but it was hard to feign shock when you had no idea what you were shocked about. Curiosity gnawed at her, and she was silently grateful when Shayan spoke up.
"Marked.I've heard that used before, but I can't place it. I overheard it somewhere when I was a boy. I remember having a feeling that it meant something grave."
"Indeed," Brexis concurred, "it is a custom among the centaur tribes in this region. When they perceive one of their own to have brought shame upon themselves, they carve a mark into their flanks and leave them at the border of the Banshee Woods."
"A barbaric practice," one of the males chimed in, "Every vampire in the area is drawn to the scent of spilled blood. There is usually very little left afterwards."
"Why not just ignore their offerings?" Shayan wondered aloud, mirroring Sarah's own thoughts. The vampires turned to him as one, and he had an eerie sense of dejavu from before in the forest clearing.
"You seem to believe there's a choice in the matter," replied another male (I can't tell the difference with all the hoods, can you?), his voice edged with anger, "The cowards leave their marked kin, usually defenseless girls or women, at our borders because they are to cowardly to kill them themselves. They understand too well what blood lust does to us. We become animals. It's degrading!" The others bobbed their heads in agreement.
"Yes, there is honor in the hunt," Brexis affirmed, "and in marking your own prey," she added, her head turning towards Shayan, who felt a sudden, irrational--or perhaps not so irrational-urge to run like hell. "It is only because I live in the castle of the High King of the Maegis that I have been able to train myself to resist blood lust. If any other had discovered her, she might not have been so lucky."
"Besides," one of the females rejoined, breaking the tension a bit, "even when the marked come out unscathed, you should see how they are treated among their kind. They become objects, a beast of burden, an object of barter, and, though most will deny it furiously, a sex toy. And worse, as long as they bear that mark, they can never be redeemed" she added, shaking her head, "That poor girl, she seemed so nice. I can't understand why they would want her dead."
"It doesn't matter," Brexis smirked, a haughty edge to her voice, "With Lady Anikara's magic and the sealing potion that the runt is making, those bastards will return to find her mark completely gone." She laughed, a menacing sound, "They'll probably think their gods have delivered them a new oracle or some such nonsense. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces!" The other vampires nodded their grim approval and returned to their various tasks.
Sarah got awkwardly to her feet, still trying to keep up her act, but her mind was riddled with questions. She let her gaze travel across the camp to where the three men sat contemplating the situation. While Shayan and Ayron seemed troubled, Jareth looked down right pissed. She wondered what was going through his mind. She'd noticed him watching her and the vampires as they went about feeding and watering the mounts and packing things up. Again she reminded herself that he didn't know it was her, but just the same, it was unnerving. She felt horrible at the wave of relief that washed over her now that there was a diversion for everyone's thoughts. She resolved that she would go with Brexis to deliver the potion that Gwib was making. Perhaps Anikara would even show her how to use magic to heal wounds.
Jareth, for his part, really was irate. In spite of his efforts to disregard the centaurs as nothing more than an annoyance that was following them around, he had somehow come to feel a companionship with them in the short time since they'd come claiming they were bodyguards. Now an irrational feeling of betrayal was seeping out of his heart like a poison, making his limbs tingle with an angry fire. That such offensive practices were still allowed by anyone within a hundred leagues of his kingdom was purely outrageous. When this business with the High Court was through, he was going to see something done about it. For the moment, however, he would be content to see Ilo safe and sound. Perhaps he would accompany Anikara's vampire maid back to the riverside to deliver the sealing potion. Yes, that would ease his mind a bit and he could apologize for not thinking better of her condition.
(Heh heh heh..does anyone else see a pattern here?)
Sighing, he looked back over to the cluster of vampires and felt his whole body ignite as Sarah's veiled face jerked quickly away. Had she been looking at him?!? Swallowing hard, he clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. Even if she had, it meant nothing and it changed nothing. He wouldn't let his heart drown in hope again, not with this woman. That was asking for heartbreak.
Gwib carried on obliviously, grinding the ingredients to a fine powder and mumbling to himself. "Yes, yes, Gwib make good strong potion. Essence of dragon scale, yes, pixie blood, crocodile bone, daffodil petals, yes. Gwib make good strong potion. Mean old blood biters so mean to Gwib!" In spite of his complaints, it didn't take the little goblin long to complete is concoction, transferring it into a little vial that he produced from his robes and holding it up over his head with a triumphant little cackle. His victory was short lived as Brexis plucked the vial from his stubby fingers and started off towards the shallows just over the rise.
Jareth and Sarah saw her leaving at the same time and both went after her. Since they had been so intent on not looking at one another, they didn't notice each other until it was too late. Sarah noticed at the last second, but it was too late, as Jareth, who was moving faster to catch up with Brexis collided with her. They both fell backwards, hitting the ground hard.
"Forgive me," Jareth muttered, pulling himself off the ground and extending a hand before he even looked at who he was addressing, "I wasn't paying attention." Extending a hand, he finally looked down at who it was he'd collided with and almost fell over again. There on the ground, past his waiting hand, head upturned and all features masked to obscurity in black, clinging fabric, was Sarah.
Sarah nearly fainted as she saw Jareth extend his hand. The world was spinning as she reached out and took it. As he pulled her to her feet, she remembered her act and dipped her head in respect.
"Nonsense, you majesty," she replied, her voice quavering, and she realized she didn't sound at all like herself, which was a good thing..right? "I should have been more attentive." It was then that she realized he had not yet released her hand.
Jareth was dying inside. She was so close, her hand in his, it would be so easy just to take her in his arms, tear away that damned veil and claim her lips. He thought he could see the faintest outline of them under the silky fabric, enticing him further. Her words brought him back to reality.
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of a formal introduction." He bowed his head and flashed her a winning smile. "I am Jareth, King of the Goblins."
Sarah felt her knees go weak as he smiled at her. *He's not smiling at you, he's smiling at some random vampire he just met!* she told herself. Her knees were still liquid as she replied, barely catching herself as she spoke.
"I'm Sar-my name is Saris," she blurted, thinking quickly. Wasn't that how all the others were named? Silently pleading that the pattern she had recognized was correct, she continued, "A pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty." Was it her imagination, or did he tense a bit as she faltered with her name?
Jareth had felt himself tense, but quickly recovered and decided that while he was playing with fire, he might as well burn a bridge or two. "Saris, what an unususal name," he commented, nearly laughing as she went rigid (so much for that pattern!), "Yet quite lovely just the same. It's strange, you remind me of someone I once knew. Someone that has been on my mind a great deal lately," he smirked as she tensed even more, if that were possible. He rather liked this situation at the moment. He was, after all, the one in control, even if she didn't know it, and she was playing her roll so adorably well.
Sarah just stood there for a moment that stretched into eternity, totally entranced by his words before she registered just how dangerous the situation was. Her face flushed under her veil and she could feel the heat of his hand, even through both of their gloves. She was treading on thin ice indeed. *He couldn't mean me, could he?* She mentally slapped herself. *Run now, ask questions later*
"Please excuse me, Your Majesty," she mumbled hurriedly, freeing her hand from his and dropping a little curtsy as she brushed past him after Brexis.
Jareth just stood there for a moment after she was gone looking down at his hand where he'd held hers. It felt cold now, in spite of the pounding of his heart against the walls of his chest. He felt a bitter smile set itself on his lips. He knew better than to toy with her like this, but for a moment there, she'd seemed about to melt to him, to give just a bit. Was it his imagination or something more? It was encouraging. Still, false hope was dangerous, and he wasn't about to saw off the limb he'd just run out on. Shaking his head, he trailed after her down to the shallows.
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A/N: Okay, maybe the pressure isn't really off our two lovebirds, but sexual tension is so fun! I hope it wasn't horrible and I'm so sorry if this is moving to slowly, hopefully it will pick up a bit in the next chapter or so and we'll hear more from our old friend, the nameless evil dude and his hordes of black living ink stuff, the Lightlessness *dat dat dahhhh!*.yeah, I sound like I know what I'm doing :P ..anywho, review my dears, and I'll see you asap. Much love! :D
Disclaimer: You want me to say something about me not owning Labyrinth or its characters, right? Well bite me! You cant make me! Nyah nyah!
Chapter 21: Burning Bridges Over Thin Ice
The others might have slept a bit longer, but Brexis wasn't thinking as she tore back into camp and practically pounced on Anikara. The poor fae shrieked loud enough to wake the dead. In the Aboveground. Naturally everyone but Gwib (who snored on, oblivious as a rock) started awake in time to hear Brexis begging a confused Anikara to come down to the shallows with her and everyone began questioning and grumbling at once like children woken too early from naptime.
The panicked vampire hissed dangerously, silencing most of the protesting voices. "Please, I am frightened for her this close to the Banshee Wood!" Brexis explained, tugging at Anikara's arm.
Jareth, his brow furrowed sleepily, suddenly paled and even whiter shade than normal, and his eyes went wide as though something terrible had just occurred to him. "I never even thought of that..is she alright?" he demanded, not needing any explanation as to who the flustered vampire meant and not caring who saw his worry at the moment. How could he have overlooked something like that when he'd been spying on a so-called vampire, only to find a wide-open, bleeding wound in the same field of vision?
"Who?" Anikara demanded irritably, shaking off Brexis's arm. She hadn't slept nearly enough for her liking and this was not her idea of a pleasant wake up call.
Brexis huffed in frustration. "Ilo! The centaur! It's a wonder every vampire in those woods isn't on her, and the wounds are still open!"
This explanation was cursory and really explained nothing, but Anikara's groggy mind put together 'Ilo', 'vampires', and 'open wounds', and that did it. With a hasty demand that everyone stay put and giving Ayron a look that told him she meant it, she followed Brexis to where Ilo, as commanded, had not moved. She was now crying unabashedly, her arms clutching her shoulders and her chin tucked against her chest, hiding her face in a curtain of thick dark tresses. Swirls of blood still wisped about in the clear water every so often, but not enough to constitute severe blood loss.
Anikara felt sick when she saw the wounds. They had obviously been carved there deliberately, and they looked deep and painful. She turned to Brexis.
"Who did this?" she demanded.
Brexis blinked at her, then looked over at the mark on Ilo's flank, then back to Anikara. "Don't you see?" she asked. When Anikara gave her a warning look and shook her head, Brexis took it to mean she really had no idea what the mark was. She'd assumed it was commonly known, but obviously she was mistaken.
"It must have been those two males," Brexis explained, "although I don't know why. You see, that mark, my lady, is a mark for death. It is common practice for the centaur folk to carve that mark into those who commit a high crime or who dishonor themselves. They usually leave them, bound or not, at the edge of the Banshee Wood, where my kind usually finish them off quickly enough. Those bastard males, they must have carved her up last night and left her there in the camp so that when my kin and I awoke to the smell of blood, we'd go into a frenzy and kill her without thinking," she sighed heavily, remembering the urgency of the hunger she'd felt and knowing that without the years of practice she'd had in resisting the urge to feed, she would have ripped the poor creature limb from limb before she even realized who she was, "but I can't for the life of me understand why they would do this to her."
The look on Anikara's face was one of incredulity and disgust. "Go fetch Gwib and tell him to make a sealing potion and bring it to the shallows right away," she commanded, "and tell the others what has happened, too, or they'll all be down here wanting to know." Brexis was gone the moment the words left her mistress's mouth and Anikara was left alone with the sobbing centaur, who didn't even seem to realize anyone else was there.
Ignoring the frigidity of the water, Anikara waded into the shallows. At first Ilo bucked back, letting out a little cry of protest and fear, but as Anikara spoke in a calm, authoritative voice to the skittish girl, she slowly calmed enough for Anikara to put her arms around her human shoulders. They stood there, in the rushing icy water, and Ilo cried desperately on Anikara's shoulder. After a while of listening to the girls half sobbed, disconnected words, Anikara pieced together enough to realize what had happened. Pushing her anger aside, she continued to hold the weeping girl as the memories of the previous night asserted themselves in Ilo's mind, carving a far deeper scar in her heart as it all finally sank in.
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She had been cuddled up against King Jareth's stallion, who had no real love for her, but liked her better than the mare did and was better than sleeping alone. Drifting off into that place between awake and asleep, she'd felt something in the air, a charge that lifted her out of that magical place. Her people believed that place between awake and asleep held power, and that dreams from such a place were harbingers of what was to come. She should have taken the sudden uneasiness as an omen and run for it. Instead she'd stayed very still, listening. Two sets of hoof beats vibrated through the earth, slowing to a walk not far from camp.
"Brothers are back," she'd muttered sleepily, keeping her eyes closed and hoping to drift back into that delightful, euphoric half dream state. It was not to be. A sudden, rough hand on her shoulder caused her to start and she'd squealed in surprise and bucked a bit before the grip tightened and she was facing her little brother. Somehow, the others had failed to wake. A cursory glance told her that all were present except for her brother and King Jareth. She wondered if they were off having a word, but quickly dismissed it. After all, that was why she was here, wasn't it?
The look on Synto's face had been enough to quiet her ten times over. He looked solemnly pleading.
"Come, Ilo, we should speak with Aldo now," he'd commanded uncertainly. He was still young and unused to issuing orders to a woman, even his sister. She'd complied quickly, knowing that if Aldo wanted to speak to her in private she best be on her best behavior. As foals, they had played together, but ever since he'd become a man, he rarely regarded her unless it was to relay an order or as part of family necessity. She felt a twang of nervousness. This was surely about her tryst with the 'masters'. She'd hoped he didn't dig too deeply. The idea of lying to anyone, much less her big brother Aldo, made her feel sick with an uneasy dread.
Synto had led her out near the shallows where the women had bathed. Aldo was there, his back to them, his eyes set in the distance. Synto made a low noise, alerting Aldo to their presence.
"Ilo is here, brother," he had rumbled out loudly, causing the pebbles near his hooves to agitate back and forth in the bass, "Shall I stay or go?"
Aldo had continued to stare into the distance for a moment before responding.
"Stay and keep quiet," he commanded. Synto had bobbed his head and backed up as Aldo turned to face his little sister, who suddenly felt very small and exposed under her brothers appraising eye. "What do you mean by going off with those filthy masters?" he'd demanded of her, his anger rising in his voice.
She'd never seen his eyes like that before. He looked at her like she were an animal. "Brother?" she had responded, half a question, half a plea.
To her horror, he'd struck her then, back handed her across the face. Never had her dear big brother struck her, not ever. For a stupid moment, she couldn't figure out what was happening. It hadn't taken long to figure out.
"I can smell them all here, all around you! You bathed with them! Did you let them touch you? I've heard that their women take other women! What did you do? Answer me! You shame yourself! What kind of filth have you been involved in?"
Each accusation had been punctuated with his fist, mostly on her flanks, and a stifled cry from the abused centaur woman. Synto watched from several feet away, biting down on his lower lip to keep his tears at bay. Aldo had said he would train him to be a man, and that this, protecting the honor of the tribe, was part of being a man. Women didn't understand the necessity of honor among tribes, and to consort with masters was a disgusting transgression that could not be tolerated. Every such transgressor had to be punished accordingly and quickly.
Finally, his rage spent, Aldo had let Ilo speak for herself. She'd told herself that a cursory lie would be enough, even just a half truth. She'd always been taught that when you gave your word, it should be as solid as if it were carved into the very stone of the earth, and she'd given Anikara her word. She had been so sure he'd understand.
"I gave my word that I wouldn't tell!" she'd blurted, not thinking about how her words sounded. This had had the opposite effect than she'd hoped for and got her another cuff across the mouth. She was crying by then and he'd demanded that she tell him what had happened once more.
In her confusion and pain, she'd tried to come up with something to tell them that was the truth, but which wouldn't have her breaking her promise. She'd only promised not to speak of the mortal Sarah. But she'd recalled their discussion on the fae mating practices. Surely she could explain that they had been comparing their customs and he would see that there was no need for worry!
"We.we spoke of differences among our peoples, about how they choose their own mates, and--" she'd gotten no farther as Aldo had suddenly stooped, grabbed her left foreleg and yanked, effectively taking her to the ground with a heavy thud. She'd cried, begging him to tell her why, why was he doing this. He'd only shook his head, and for the first time that night, she'd seen something akin to sadness in those big brown eyes she'd always adored so much.
"You ask why? My poor baby sister. You've shamed yourself, and I can't allow you to return to our tribe and poison the minds of others with the filth these masters have fed you. You brought this on yourself, little one," he'd explained matter-of-factly, closing his heart to the keening cry of horror that erupted from the flailing centauress as he unsheathed his iron-edged bone blade, "I'll pray to the Brights to guide you to the sky.after." he'd stopped there, setting his jaw against the lump in his throat and the pain in his heart. He was a man and it was his place to draw her blood for her transgression. "Synto!" he'd barked, "You too are a man now! Come and hold her!"
Synto was crying at this point, but did as his older brother told him, lowering himself to the ground behind his sister and firmly bracing her to the ground. He hadn't once looked Ilo in the eye as Aldo knelt also. Neither had dared look her in the eye or listen to her sobbed pleas. She'd begged shamefully in those moments, swearing she'd never tell a soul, that she'd repent and offer herself to the Brights as a priestess, have her tongue cut out and her hair cut off. She'd known none of it would matter. She'd seen loving husbands, fathers, brothers and sons, so caring and fond one day, close their hearts the next as they cut into a female for her wicked acts.
Aldo carved the mark into her right flank, throwing the excess skin and bits of muscle into the river. Then, with Synto's help, he'd flipped her over and carved it into the other. A long line, symbolizing the plains where their kind ran free, and two paths, one leading to the sky and one leading to the earth, so that when the Brights had judged her, her soul would be able to find its way either to the sky or to be reborn on the earth.
After he'd begun to cut, she'd gone very still, not really feeling the blade as it carved the flesh from her sides and only occasionally hiccupping or releasing a pent up sob. Even the pain in her heart was a dull ache behind a filmy wall of disbelief. The whole thing seemed unduly drawn out, each moment an eternity. She was no fool, in spite of her youth. She'd known what they were doing to her, it was just that she was having trouble believing it.
Her memory had drifted unbidden back to that strange night, when the Bright had come together, just as the oracle had prophesied. Her brothers had come to her and told her that the oracle had spoken her name and of the elders decree. She remembered first meeting the King and his Young friend, battling the vampires and later befriending them, and seeing the Lightlessness, the sacred antithesis running amok and spreading like leprosy over the light. She'd seen it with her own eyes, just as the oracle had foretold, but what could be done about it as a spirit in the sky? Was this really what she had come here for? It was wrong to question the will of the Bright, but she couldn't believe that the oracle had named, just so that she could come all this way to die. But, whether she believed it or not didn't make the gaping gashes, or what they meant for her, any less real.
When they'd finished, Aldo had made her stand on shaking legs. Her right flank was caked with bloody mud. He'd spoken to her then as though it were any other time, told her that he and Synto would return to the tribe and speak with the elders. He did not neglect to proclaim that she was now commended to the will of the Brights, that she had no kin among the tribe any longer. If the elders saw fit to retrieve her, dead or alive, the two would return in two days time. If she lived, it would be a sign from the Brights and she would return to her home, where she would live the rest of her days in derision, bearing the mark of dishonor which could never be lifted. He'd also told her to bear her sentence like a centaur woman should, without cowardice or fear, and to die with honor if nothing else.
Ilo had barely listened to this ritual proclamation. She knew how it went. She knew better than to pray for deliverance, for she'd seen the life of one who bore a mark, shunned by family and friends, made to act as beasts of burden for the tribe, used as the others saw fit. Synto was still crying as he'd followed his elder brother into the distance. Aldo put a hand on his little brother's shoulder and Synto swallowed the rest of his tears. He was a man now.
Ilo, in shock, had stumbled back to the camp and stood there, waiting. Here were vampires. She didn't want to die, but neither did she want to live bearing the mark. She was numb as she'd taken up her silent vigil, the urge to run crying after her big brothers smothered by the reality of what they had just done to her. For the first time in all her young life, she was truly alone.
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Shayan looked over at Jareth, noticing the weary, troubled look on his king's face.
"Are you alright?" he inquired, pulling himself upright from where he had been lying when he'd been startled awake.
Jareth looked over at the young elf, his shoulders drooping and his face haggard. "To be quite honest, no," he replied groggily, scrubbing a hand over his face in an attempt to rub the cloudy sleep from his eyes, "I'm damned tired and I've got too much on my mind."
Shayan nodded, then quietly added, "So when are you going to tell me what happened last night? What was all that with the crystal and the Lady Anikara? You can't leave me in the dark forever, you know!" He was teasing a bit, of course, but he was still determined to find out, one way or another.
Jareth glanced over at the swarm of vampires, all seemingly identical in their black robes, going about the business of watering their horses and packing. He could easily pick Sarah out of the group, but did his best not to look at her. Best not to arouse her suspicions until they were someplace where he could level the playing field a bit. Like the High Court.
He sighed heavily. "All in good time, my boy, I promise, all in good time."
Shayan looked about ready to argue, but just then, Brexis was back, silent and swift as the wind. Before anyone could voice their questions, she was digging in one of the saddle bags and came away with an irate little goblin, swatting at her as she gripped him by the scruff of his neck.
"Release Gwib at once! Gwib sleeps, Gwib sleeps nice. Release Gwib!"
"Silence, you nuisance!" Brexis hissed, "Lady Anikara needs you to brew a sealing potion, and make it a good one!"
"Release Gwib! Gwib sleeps nice!" the beady eyed goblin yawned, trying to scratch at the offending hand that held him fast.
Irritated with all the noise, Jareth rose and was towering over Gwib in an instant. Even tired, worn and wound up, the Goblin King looked a formidable foe.
"Let's put it this way, shall we, Gwib?" he offered in a deadly tone, "If you displease Lady Anikara, she'll dismiss you, and then it'll be just you and me." He couldn't help but smirk at the look of abject terror that Gwib gave as a response. The poor little goblin looked as though it had swallowed its tongue.
"Sealing for beast, plant or stone?" he finally managed to squeak, his eyes bugging out of his head.
"Beast," Anikara bit out, "Centaur to be exact and as I said, make it good. I don't want anything left after the sealing is done, not the slightest scar, do you hear?"
Gwib nodded frantically, then squirmed out of her vice grip and got to work, grinding various herbs together.
"Well, Brexis," Ayron chimed in from where he was unobtrusively lounging against a boulder, "How long will you keep us in suspense?" He stretched lazily, feeling strangely contented, in spite of the sudden awakening. Perhaps because he'd dreamt of Anikara. In any case, he was feeling bold and empowered, a pleasing state indeed. His mood was about to be ruined.
Brexis turned her head towards her mistress's.ahem.friend.and took a moment to decide how to tell them. Even among the vampires, it was a taboo subject. After a short mental debate, she shrugged and took the direct approach. "The centaur woman was marked last night." This meant exactly nothing to Jareth, Ayron and Sarah. Shayan's brow furrowed in thought. He recognized the term from somewhere in his childhood, but he couldn't place it. The vampires, however, stopped dead (no pun intended) in their tracks, and one even dropped the bundle he'd been holding.
"Impossible!" hissed one of the females, Akiris, "We would have sensed it! She should be dead!" That was one thing that Ayron both admired and feared about vampires: they had no illusions and they didn't beat around the bush. He did not, however, like the way this sounded.
Sarah glanced over at the pack of vampires, still standing stock still and gaping at Brexis. She tried to mimic their actions, but it was hard to feign shock when you had no idea what you were shocked about. Curiosity gnawed at her, and she was silently grateful when Shayan spoke up.
"Marked.I've heard that used before, but I can't place it. I overheard it somewhere when I was a boy. I remember having a feeling that it meant something grave."
"Indeed," Brexis concurred, "it is a custom among the centaur tribes in this region. When they perceive one of their own to have brought shame upon themselves, they carve a mark into their flanks and leave them at the border of the Banshee Woods."
"A barbaric practice," one of the males chimed in, "Every vampire in the area is drawn to the scent of spilled blood. There is usually very little left afterwards."
"Why not just ignore their offerings?" Shayan wondered aloud, mirroring Sarah's own thoughts. The vampires turned to him as one, and he had an eerie sense of dejavu from before in the forest clearing.
"You seem to believe there's a choice in the matter," replied another male (I can't tell the difference with all the hoods, can you?), his voice edged with anger, "The cowards leave their marked kin, usually defenseless girls or women, at our borders because they are to cowardly to kill them themselves. They understand too well what blood lust does to us. We become animals. It's degrading!" The others bobbed their heads in agreement.
"Yes, there is honor in the hunt," Brexis affirmed, "and in marking your own prey," she added, her head turning towards Shayan, who felt a sudden, irrational--or perhaps not so irrational-urge to run like hell. "It is only because I live in the castle of the High King of the Maegis that I have been able to train myself to resist blood lust. If any other had discovered her, she might not have been so lucky."
"Besides," one of the females rejoined, breaking the tension a bit, "even when the marked come out unscathed, you should see how they are treated among their kind. They become objects, a beast of burden, an object of barter, and, though most will deny it furiously, a sex toy. And worse, as long as they bear that mark, they can never be redeemed" she added, shaking her head, "That poor girl, she seemed so nice. I can't understand why they would want her dead."
"It doesn't matter," Brexis smirked, a haughty edge to her voice, "With Lady Anikara's magic and the sealing potion that the runt is making, those bastards will return to find her mark completely gone." She laughed, a menacing sound, "They'll probably think their gods have delivered them a new oracle or some such nonsense. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces!" The other vampires nodded their grim approval and returned to their various tasks.
Sarah got awkwardly to her feet, still trying to keep up her act, but her mind was riddled with questions. She let her gaze travel across the camp to where the three men sat contemplating the situation. While Shayan and Ayron seemed troubled, Jareth looked down right pissed. She wondered what was going through his mind. She'd noticed him watching her and the vampires as they went about feeding and watering the mounts and packing things up. Again she reminded herself that he didn't know it was her, but just the same, it was unnerving. She felt horrible at the wave of relief that washed over her now that there was a diversion for everyone's thoughts. She resolved that she would go with Brexis to deliver the potion that Gwib was making. Perhaps Anikara would even show her how to use magic to heal wounds.
Jareth, for his part, really was irate. In spite of his efforts to disregard the centaurs as nothing more than an annoyance that was following them around, he had somehow come to feel a companionship with them in the short time since they'd come claiming they were bodyguards. Now an irrational feeling of betrayal was seeping out of his heart like a poison, making his limbs tingle with an angry fire. That such offensive practices were still allowed by anyone within a hundred leagues of his kingdom was purely outrageous. When this business with the High Court was through, he was going to see something done about it. For the moment, however, he would be content to see Ilo safe and sound. Perhaps he would accompany Anikara's vampire maid back to the riverside to deliver the sealing potion. Yes, that would ease his mind a bit and he could apologize for not thinking better of her condition.
(Heh heh heh..does anyone else see a pattern here?)
Sighing, he looked back over to the cluster of vampires and felt his whole body ignite as Sarah's veiled face jerked quickly away. Had she been looking at him?!? Swallowing hard, he clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. Even if she had, it meant nothing and it changed nothing. He wouldn't let his heart drown in hope again, not with this woman. That was asking for heartbreak.
Gwib carried on obliviously, grinding the ingredients to a fine powder and mumbling to himself. "Yes, yes, Gwib make good strong potion. Essence of dragon scale, yes, pixie blood, crocodile bone, daffodil petals, yes. Gwib make good strong potion. Mean old blood biters so mean to Gwib!" In spite of his complaints, it didn't take the little goblin long to complete is concoction, transferring it into a little vial that he produced from his robes and holding it up over his head with a triumphant little cackle. His victory was short lived as Brexis plucked the vial from his stubby fingers and started off towards the shallows just over the rise.
Jareth and Sarah saw her leaving at the same time and both went after her. Since they had been so intent on not looking at one another, they didn't notice each other until it was too late. Sarah noticed at the last second, but it was too late, as Jareth, who was moving faster to catch up with Brexis collided with her. They both fell backwards, hitting the ground hard.
"Forgive me," Jareth muttered, pulling himself off the ground and extending a hand before he even looked at who he was addressing, "I wasn't paying attention." Extending a hand, he finally looked down at who it was he'd collided with and almost fell over again. There on the ground, past his waiting hand, head upturned and all features masked to obscurity in black, clinging fabric, was Sarah.
Sarah nearly fainted as she saw Jareth extend his hand. The world was spinning as she reached out and took it. As he pulled her to her feet, she remembered her act and dipped her head in respect.
"Nonsense, you majesty," she replied, her voice quavering, and she realized she didn't sound at all like herself, which was a good thing..right? "I should have been more attentive." It was then that she realized he had not yet released her hand.
Jareth was dying inside. She was so close, her hand in his, it would be so easy just to take her in his arms, tear away that damned veil and claim her lips. He thought he could see the faintest outline of them under the silky fabric, enticing him further. Her words brought him back to reality.
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of a formal introduction." He bowed his head and flashed her a winning smile. "I am Jareth, King of the Goblins."
Sarah felt her knees go weak as he smiled at her. *He's not smiling at you, he's smiling at some random vampire he just met!* she told herself. Her knees were still liquid as she replied, barely catching herself as she spoke.
"I'm Sar-my name is Saris," she blurted, thinking quickly. Wasn't that how all the others were named? Silently pleading that the pattern she had recognized was correct, she continued, "A pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty." Was it her imagination, or did he tense a bit as she faltered with her name?
Jareth had felt himself tense, but quickly recovered and decided that while he was playing with fire, he might as well burn a bridge or two. "Saris, what an unususal name," he commented, nearly laughing as she went rigid (so much for that pattern!), "Yet quite lovely just the same. It's strange, you remind me of someone I once knew. Someone that has been on my mind a great deal lately," he smirked as she tensed even more, if that were possible. He rather liked this situation at the moment. He was, after all, the one in control, even if she didn't know it, and she was playing her roll so adorably well.
Sarah just stood there for a moment that stretched into eternity, totally entranced by his words before she registered just how dangerous the situation was. Her face flushed under her veil and she could feel the heat of his hand, even through both of their gloves. She was treading on thin ice indeed. *He couldn't mean me, could he?* She mentally slapped herself. *Run now, ask questions later*
"Please excuse me, Your Majesty," she mumbled hurriedly, freeing her hand from his and dropping a little curtsy as she brushed past him after Brexis.
Jareth just stood there for a moment after she was gone looking down at his hand where he'd held hers. It felt cold now, in spite of the pounding of his heart against the walls of his chest. He felt a bitter smile set itself on his lips. He knew better than to toy with her like this, but for a moment there, she'd seemed about to melt to him, to give just a bit. Was it his imagination or something more? It was encouraging. Still, false hope was dangerous, and he wasn't about to saw off the limb he'd just run out on. Shaking his head, he trailed after her down to the shallows.
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A/N: Okay, maybe the pressure isn't really off our two lovebirds, but sexual tension is so fun! I hope it wasn't horrible and I'm so sorry if this is moving to slowly, hopefully it will pick up a bit in the next chapter or so and we'll hear more from our old friend, the nameless evil dude and his hordes of black living ink stuff, the Lightlessness *dat dat dahhhh!*.yeah, I sound like I know what I'm doing :P ..anywho, review my dears, and I'll see you asap. Much love! :D