Chapter 1

In the soft morning light a young man sat up from his small bed. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his work-roughened hands. Yawning the young man opened his eyes to look upon his small cottage. It was a basic one-room house. He lived there alone. Both of his parents had died to save him from becoming the sacrifice to the Dragon up on the Dark Mountain.
“I hate living alone” he grumbled. Reaching over to a small pile of wood he threw a stick into the dieing fire.

He remembered his mothers last moments as he looked into the red embers of the fire. Fire had consumed her screaming form. She had only yelled at him to run. To this day he regretted his cowardice.

Flash back: The fifth of March was the day of the lottery. On this day a man was chosen from the village to go to the dragons den and fight for the lives of everyone in the village. The dragon claimed five sacrifices every time that he claimed the life of the years “winner” of the lottery.

Jareth had been eligible for three years now and was worried that this could be his year. The girls stood by the edge of the town center while all the men fifteen to twenty-one came to the center to be counted and be put into the lottery. No one could cheat the lottery. There was magic put on the container that would burn up the cheating pieces and identify the culprit who tried to cheat.

Jareth brushed back his long black hair from his coal black eyes. The piece of pottery that held his name felt like it burned the inside of his hand as he stepped into line. The soldiers, who had “escorted” him there, stood on either side of the line of young men. He recognized a couple. Those men inside the ring o f magic drawn on the ground looked as worried as he felt.

He dropped his name into the pot on the right side of the entrance and took his place inside the ring. He was silently contemplating the out come of what could happen if he was chosen.

He looked to his left at the man who had just entered. This man was newly eligible this year. He had beads of sweat dripping down his forehead so fast that some fell into his eyes, where he rubbed vigorously trying to make the stinging stop. The newcomer’s eyes were a bright blue. This new comer was his younger brother.

They looked nothing alike, his young brother had light blond hair and a thick muscular torso that was tanned to a color similar to copper, their parents had named him Attis, meaning Handsome. He was the favored one.

Jareth moved so he would not have to see his brother and so that his brother would not see him.

Rubbing his pale hands together Jareth went back into his reverie. He knew his parents were somewhere in the crowd. He knew whose their concern was directed at. His brother Attis was the perfect son. Jareth almost wished he would be picked.

The town clock struck two. The sound awakened Jareth from the trance he was in. The square was silent. The clock was a heard as a sound of death today. The Council stood at the platform in front of the circle of waiting men. There were nine council members; they were all wearing the regulation clothing of black robes and hoods so no one could see their faces. The one on the far right carried the pot of names to the center and set it down with an ominous hollow thunk.

The middle robed figure of the group stepped forward to take the carriers place and with a white gloved hand reached into the pot. The silence intensified as he drew his hand out of the pot.

Looking at the piece of pottery in his hand he stepped forward to the edge of the platform. Jareth mentally cursed this man for taking so long and worrying his parents with the suspense.

“Today is the Fifth of March,” The man recited, “The Dragon must have trial by combat. The outcome will tell us of the Gods will concerning our fates this year and all the years following”

Jareth recalled this same speech from the previous years. He knew that the name would not be read until the end of the speech. Tuning out the speech he went back to staring at his clammy hands. A couple of minutes passed in this fashion. Upon hearing the speech start to wrap up Jareth returned his attention to the black robbed figure.

“And with these last words I shall seal the towns fate in the hands of one of these men. “ a collective breath was drawn. The town seemed to be leaning forward, afraid to relax. With a gulp of air the robbed figure held up the pottery containing the unlucky persons name.

“Attis of Garrett.”

Chapter 2

Jareth’s head snapped up to look at his brother in shock. Attis was not skilled in any kind of fighting. He was supposed to bring in the money with his looks. Jareth was the one with working and weaponry skills. This could not happen! He glanced back once at his parents to see his mother sobbing into his fathers shoulder.

Attis was taken underneath the platform to be cleansed for the fight. His mother and father forgot about Jareth completely. Jareth knew this. He had to do something. He ran to the church in hope of finding the rules of the lottery.

Once at the Church he ran to the room that held his only interest and held the answer to his want for hope. Time he knew was short. He opened one of the dusty books that peeled as he brushed the dust off the pages. He thrust it back onto the shelf disgusted. The next one was in just as bad of shape. None of the books he found were fit to be read, or opened.

Cursing his bad luck he dashed back to the house, fighting his way through the crowded streets of the celebrating towns folk. Nothing mattered except his family. He made it to his front door as the town clock struck twice. His brother would be half way up the mountain by now.

Jareth used words he had forgotten that he knew. He shoved the door open angrily. The room was empty of all hope. He ran over to the closet and threw open the old wooden door, earning him slivers in the palm of his hands.

Inside the closet he saw his fathers weapons hanging on the wall next to the shined bronze breastplate and shield that had the family crest on the front. The weapons in the closet were an ax, a spear, and a short sword. They were polished daily.

Jareth took down the ax and short sword, and tied them to his belt. The spear he held firmly in his hand. The cold wood would help him change the fate of his family forever.

He gripped the wood firmly in his hand as he dashed out of the house and dashed across the fields that lay between him and that traitorous mountain.

In a matter of 15 minutes his legs had covered the distance, and he was now pushing himself up the steep incline of the mountain. His family’s faces torn in sorrow pushed him on. The incline tired him out, calling on his long reserved energy from working on the land for years he pushed forward.

Jareth’s thoughts wandered to his brother. He must have made the same climb earlier, but without the same motivation. Looking ahead he saw the path leveling out. The top was now within sight.

There was a faint noise up ahead. The noise sounded more and more fierce as he got closer. A spurt of flame shot into the sky a little ways ahead of the bend in the path. Screaming accompanied this spurt of flame.