The Coming Storm by Valerie Douglas Read Free Book Online Page A

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just a little tired for some reason. We’ll talk at dinner, all right?”
    “Fine,” she said, as he gave her a quick kiss.
    As she left she looked back, to find her normally energetic father staring off  into space.
    Her mother would figure it out. She also had to remember to ask if it would be all right if she took some time to visit her grandmother. It had been a while since she’d visited.
     
    The sky above Jareth was a clear vault of blue, untouched by clouds. Warm, the sun beat down on his shoulders but the cool breeze chased away the sweat. A nearly perfect day, without a doubt. Except, of course, for the river. The winter had been mild and the spring even milder. There had been snow in the mountains which had begun melting in great quantities. The river was high and wild.
    Jareth looked down at the little ferry bouncing on its lines at the mooring. He didn’t mind water. He didn’t mind swimming. He did mind if it was cold and this water was quite likely to be frigid, coming as it did from melting ice and snow. With the way the ferry bounced around, it was quite likely he might find out for certain just how cold the water was. Once more, he was likely to make Avila unhappy if she learned of his actions. Perhaps she wouldn’t hear of it but his luck never seemed to run like that.
    In some odd way it seemed as if every time he broke one of her myriad rules, she would learn of it. A thousand things he could do right and hear no word. One oddness, one bending of her limitless protocols and regulations and he was in for another lecture.
    What was the use of magic if you couldn’t use it? Except for official reasons, under official auspices, under official rules. He chafed beneath those restrictions. Like this one, not to use magic for personal motives. While he might argue he wasn’t, he was doing so at the request of the Elves – one in particular – Elon hadn’t ‘officially’ asked. So, he wasn’t acting under proper protocols. Elon would’ve backed him on it but he didn’t want to put Elon in that position.
    He sighed resignedly as he approached the bouncing boat and the ferryman’s little cottage.
    That man sat before his door, smoking a pipe.
    “No passage today, milord,” he said, taking a long pull on the pipe and letting the smoke curl from his nose. The thought of that made Jareth’s eyes water. He liked a pipe himself now and then but that would’ve made him cough and sneeze. “River’s too high.”
    Since he wasn’t dressed in ‘official’ robes, Jareth couldn’t fault the man for not knowing him for what he was. No, he was only wearing basic trews, a common shirt and vest and his everyday cloak.
    He sighed again and fished a coin from his pocket. “This for the effort and a touch of magic will get me across.”
    If he was to make any time, he had to cross here. The next ford or ferry was leagues out of his way for where he needed to go. A bridge was even farther.
    The ferryman scoffed, “Wizard, eh? You’re no wizard. Where’s them fancy robes those folk wear these days? Eh?”
    Those robes were stifling, a new affliction from Avila, that mandatory garment.
    Provoking Avila even more, Jareth avoided wearing them as much as possible.
    Wearing them, though, actually seemed to cause her more distress. For some reason he couldn’t discern, he could never keep them looking proper. Or any of his other clothes for that matter. His foster mother had despaired of him on the same point. No matter what he wore, within a short time it looked badly in need of washing and pressing. He cared little but it had mattered to her who had taken him in and it mattered to Avila. Not for the first time he wished his people were more like Elves. Those folk didn’t care how you were dressed, it was who you were and what you did that mattered. Sadly, though, he’d never met a badly dressed Elf. They always looked immaculate.
    “I don’t like them,” Jareth said, honestly.