CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jareth~
Now that he stood before Hel, his fear seemed unimportant. This was probably a good thing, because Iliana was as cold as ice. She was incapable of speech and if her trembling was indicative, her throat was immobilized by dread.
He held her hand more tightly. It was a relief that as the countess’ soul revolved silently on the goddess’ distaff, Iliana’s fingers warmed in his. The wight was spun off onto the spindle as mottled dark gray and black thread, wholly unlike the white thread Hel had spun before.
Iliana turned her face to Jareth’s. She shuddered all over. He squeezed her hand again and smiled as reassuringly as he could. But their fates were in the goddess’ implacable hands. It was too late to regret their decision to bring the countess to Hel. They had accepted their destiny and now must face it.
He pointed with his chin to an enormous basket the size of an Olympic swimming pool by the goddess’ immaculate skirts. Souls were piled up like so much dirty cotton wool. At least he thought those writhing clumps were souls. None were as black as the countess’.
The goddess smiled savagely. “There lie the evildoers who await my judgment,” she informed them. Her voice was as deep as Hel itself. Her distaff revolved once more and was empty. Hel set it down and removed the countess’ soul from her spindle.
It was Jareth’s turn to shudder. “May we leave this place, madam?” he asked courteously.
“I welcome only the dead,” the goddess replied obscurely. “But you still have one more task to perform before you go back above, Son of Lind.”
His heart sank, but he bowed. “I will do my best, Goddess.”
She handed him the thread she had spun. “Svetlana, Countess of Montenegro, is too evil even for my spindle to purify. She must join the assassins and double-dealers in the pit.”
The thread was light as air. And he could no longer feel the familiar taint of the specter’s spiteful malevolence. Despite the terrifying presence of the goddess, his heart lightened. “Where is the pit, madam?”
The goddess twitched her glowing skirts aside. There at her feet was a vast rift in the earth. Jareth could see a bright red glow, as if he peered into a living volcano. Here was the source of the fumes in this cavern. He grasped the thread tightly, half expecting the countess to resume her attempts to seduce him.
“Drop her in, Jareth, to join her son, Vadim of Montenegro*. It is fitting that you should see to her end who so long has pursued you.”
He let go of the thread. It vanished into the hot glare, unmarked by even a flash. The pit consumed her entirely. Snuffed her out in an instant. Not a lot of payback after a long life filled with iniquity of every sort.
“Do not believe,” said Hel calmly, “That her punishment is now over. For you, Son of Lind, ‘twas but an instant, but for her ‘twas only the first instant of an unchanging eternity.”
Jareth shivered at the goddess’ words. This was vengeance indeed. The long years of terror by day and by night had left a mark on his spirit, but it seemed to him that the ever-present heaviness was now entirely lifted. Even though he did not know what his fate would be, he faced it with a new calmness.
The goddess had said this was no place for the living. This could mean that they would be allowed to leave, or more likely that they would join the dead in their endless twilight. He hoped that he and Iliana would be allowed to remain together.
Hel plucked more of the woolly stuff from her vast basket and placed it on her raised distaff. She set her spindle twirling once more, like a countrywoman whose work is never finished. She turned her attention to Iliana, who trembled beneath the goddess’ bright gaze.
“I had expected you long before this, Nixie,” Hel remarked casually.
“Am I then dead?” Iliana’s voice shook.
“You are soulless, Iliana. But not yet dead. Have you never wondered where your soul went when Rán made you a nixie?”
“Often, Goddess. And longed for it. Is it yet to be found?” Jareth strained to hear Iliana’s murmured words.
“I have it here. In this casket,” said Hel. Her spindle disappeared and on her huge palm lay a small white box. “Come, child, take it. It won’t bite.”
Iliana took it with both hands. She bowed. “I thank you, Goddess,” she said. “May I have a further boon?”
“Another?” Grimness rode on Hel’s stern face and her voice echoed with anger.
“Yes, if you please.” Iliana’s voice and body wobbled like a pebble teetering on the edge of a cliff, but she continued. “Does my sister Myst dwell here?”
Hel smiled. Her anger melted. “Myst is yet among the living. She remains where Rán cast her.”
“Do you know where that might be, great Goddess?” Iliana asked softly. Her hope was a living thing between them. Jareth gripped her hand more tightly.
“She lies where the volcanoes grow from the North Sea,” Hel said. She waved an imperious hand. “It is now time for you both to leave. Hel’s domain is no place for the living.” Her words were both permission to leave, and a warning.
They bowed deeply. Iliana thanked the goddess in a voice thick with tears. They backed toward the tunnel they had entered by, afraid to show the smallest disrespect to a being so powerful. Hel’s deep command easily found their ears.
“Do not open your box, Nixie, until you are assured of this dragon’s love.”
Iliana tucked her little casket into her pocket and fastened the toggle. Jareth gripped her hand when she was done, even though they were still bound by their magic cord. The nixie sobbed once or twice and her fingers repeatedly checked the catch on her pocket.
He supposed a soul was an important thing. He wanted to ask why nixies didn’t have them, but despite the goddess’ gift, Iliana’s grief was evident. He could wait until she was less distraught. Right now job one was to get them both back to the surface alive.
The way back was uphill, but it seemed to take much less time to return. Time had no meaning down here, but it did not seem long before they saw the glimmer of light that indicated the opening onto the tundra.
The Cerberus was asleep, paws tucked up as if he were a giant loaf of bread. All three great heads rested on the ground. Six red eyes opened and shut again as Jareth and Iliana went past. Apparently the job of this hound of Hel was to repel intruders, not to keep them inside. Interesting.
They were permitted to climb out unmolested into a world in which the sun hovered on the horizon, although this far north Jareth could not tell if it was in the west or the east. Was it dawn or dusk, or something in between? How long had they been on this journey? How long had they spent in Hel? It scarcely mattered. They were both alive!
Jareth picked Iliana up by the waist and spun her in a circle. “We did it!” He kissed her for the first time.
*Dragon’s Successor