Lost in her own vacuum of regret, it was hard for Sarah to determine which she had become aware of first. Was it the sudden halt in the erratic path of the beast beneath her or the sound of something cutting through the black silence that surrounded her? Either way for a brief second she was thankful that things were still. Her easiness was quickly undone when without warning the Pooka rose high onto its back haunches transforming to a more human visage and sent her careening to the ground. Sarah’s head crashed against the stone wall. A few times she was able to blink her eyes, hazily making out the figure of a tall man who wore little more than a loin cloth and bore the head of a beast with enormous horns to either side. His face was gnarled in a grimace of suffering, the source of which Sarah assumed was the arrow which stuck in his side. Blood from the wound ran down the length of him and onto the loin cloth. The Pooka turned on her and began a slow approach. She was too weak to try crawling away. What she really wanted to do was close her eyes. It was the first she’d seen of anything since night fell in the Labyrinth, but she wanted to shut her eyes anyway and dream this terrible nightmare away. The pain in her head grew more intense, but what little medical knowledge she had reminded the mortal that sleeping after a concussion was never a good idea and she struggled to stay alert.
In seconds another form had come to join the looming beast. He wore a black coat that blended him into the night but it was his blonde hair that made him known, lit by the glow of a bobbing crystal. ‘Thank God,’ Sarah said to herself thinking that the orb must have been what was enabling her to see and not the strange golden halo the head injury seemed to surround everything with. Jareth stood sure of himself a crossbow steadied in his left hand. He didn’t need to say a word, his presence was enough to fill the Pooka with fear and make him check over his shoulder.
“Your majesty?” he managed a little shaken.
“Yes Pooka.”
“It was you? You who shot me?”
“So it was.”
“But your majesty, I was just about to take this mortal to the mire. Did you not smell her in your realm? She reeks of the Aboveground.” The beast spoke gruffly, disgust garnishing his words.
“The mortal is mine,” the king spoke with a confidence, an authority which made Sarah feel safe.
“Yes,” the Pooka hissed. “I see. Tell me your highness, what will we do with her? What have you in mind for this retched little human?” The beast came toward her again, slowly and methodically as if she were to be his prey.
“Back away.” Jareth’s words were deep and calm.
The Pooka snarled at him, “Have you gone soft?” Lowering his horns he drew back his head preparing to charge at Sarah.
“Back away!”
Another snarl.
Sarah closed her eyes against her better judgment and tried to brace herself for the goring. She never heard the second arrow fire, not the gentle click of the trigger nor the twang of the string nor the hum as it cut through the illuminated corridor. She did not feel the Pooka fall to his knees and then tip forward landing his head across her shins. Unconsciousness had ended Sarah’s struggle as quickly as Jareth had ended the Pooka’s life.
Folding a gloved hand around one of the beast’s horns, Jareth easily lifted the creature’s weight from Sarah’s legs and tossed him aside. He stooped before her motionless body and for a moment drank her in. Even hurt she was beautiful. Blushed by the rushing wind and stained by her tears, the mortal’s cheeks were red and swollen. Her hair fell wild around her face framing it like a pillow and her lips were closed together in perfect symmetry, but they were very pale and it shook Jareth from his hypnotic gaze. His hand rolled gracefully as he attempted to produce a crystal, but none came. He chanted a transportation spell in his mind, but they remained inside the Labyrinth’s corridors. “Damn,” he cursed remembering that his power over all mortals, especially Sarah was defunct. Quickly Jareth lifted her into his arms with as little effort as he had exerted when he cast the beast aside. Her head came to rest upon his shoulder. Blood stained his coat, a thick tacky gel that had started to clot the wound.
Stride by stride he would walk his mortal back to his castle if that was how it needed to be. Through the corridors of his maze he made his way as he murmured disorganized and random thoughts. “How in the Underground did she even get here? Moron! I’d have been content to leave her rot Aboveground, but that wasn’t good enough was it? Not generous enough? Thought she’d come back here and…and…and do what exactly?” He wished she were awake. She had a lot of explaining to do and the king was not a patient fey. “She already has everything of mine there is to give, does she want my kingdom now too! I’ll be damned if I let that happen!” He looked down at her pale face, some of the skin already starting to bruise. Even with a healer she would feel great physical pain in the morning. “Humph!” Jareth snorted. “That’s nothing compared to what she’s done to me and my kingdom.” He thought awhile about all she had done, denying him – twice, the damage it had inflicted on the kingdom, the great holes left within the Labyrinth and within its king. “So that’s your game is it child?” In comparison to Jareth, Sarah was still very much a child. “You wish to see the Goblin King once more so that you might twist your serpentine blade another time. I’m afraid I cannot allow that.”
They had reached the onyx door, the one Jareth had smashed himself when he last returned from the Aboveground. The king met the mismatched eyes of his reflection in the polished finish. “Why are you doing this?” he asked the mirror image. He thought about the Shadow King, his evil side, the one he was made to face when he was trying to escape the Labyrinth. Perhaps he had taken over a little more of Jareth than the Goblin King cared to admit. As his gloved fingers fed through the golden handle of the door he admitted to himself that he was not the same fey who would have carried her off to heal and seduce her, not the same fey whose heart jumped to see her back in the Labyrinth. That fey was locked deep inside him now. It had to be. Everyone was right, he needed to move on and that was the only way. “She needs to answer for what she’s done.” Jareth’s voice was low and husky, the bitterness of it stunk in the air that held his words. More than the Labyrinth had changed.
***** ***** *****
Goblins plagued him as the king made his way through their city. Jareth shouted at them and they cowered in the shadows where the orb could not light. The heal of a leather boot kicked against the castle door, flinging it open. He marched inside. Sarah’s body had yet to stir in the time it had taken them to reach Jareth’s domicile. Her arms and legs shook a bit as he ran up the stairs, but it was involuntary on her part. Halfway up the semicircular stairwell the king began to call for Arulan.
Early morning hours were not the elf’s best. “Yes, your majesty,” she called through a yawn.
“Get the healer,” he shouted to her as he burst through his chamber door.
“What’s happened?” Arulan tied her robe close around her body and wiped at her tired eyes. From her vantage point she couldn’t exactly tell if it was his highness who was hurt or if he yelled out to acquire assistance for another.
Jareth stood beside his bed, bending to lay Sarah’s body gently in the softness of the velvet duvet. Good glory, he had dreamt about this, envisioned her lying in his bed the way she did now, only with less blood and more consciousness. Now was no time for letting those old emotions run away with him. “A Pooka. She took a ride from a Pooka. I shot the damned thing, it bucked up on two legs and sent her for quite a tumble,” he explained to his servant, brushing away some of the hairs that had matted themselves to Sarah’s face.
“Jareth? Is that?” Her question was open ended as it was meant be. Arulan was hoping that her king would deny it. Tell her this was some new mortal. A fey’s eye could never hide the truth from another mythical. The dark hair, the way he looked at her unable to hide all of his longing completely, the gentle way he set her down. This was his mortal. Jareth met Arulan’s questioning gaze with his own raised eyebrows. “That’s Sarah isn’t it?”
“Get the healer. She’s been hurt?”
“Jareth, even if I were to summon the healer, what good would it do her?” Arulan was at his side her hands resting gently on his arm in an attempt to be comforting as she continued to implore him. “She’s mortal sire. Nothing here can save her.”
The king shook loose of the elf’s hold and removed his coat. Blood covered a large patch of the right lapel and shoulder, his mortal’s blood. Her scent permeated the entire garment. Blonde locks parted at the mercy of the king’s fingers, his mind torn between wanting rid of her and wanting her to be his once more. A memory stirred within him of another child, one he inadvertently let die years ago. Jareth couldn’t do that, not again, not to her. Arulan was right though. Not even the most talented healer could save a mortal. There were boundaries that could not be crossed. Lines that in millennia no one could figure out how to erase. ‘Christ,’ he thought, ‘there has to be something, anything I can do.’ Sarah was repairing the Labyrinth, she possessed mortal magic, that had to count for something.
Arulan reached out to Sarah, her palm resting lightly on her forehead. The mortal’s flesh was hot to the touch, around her mouth blisters were beginning to form. “Water Jareth, get her a glass of water.”
Tossing the jacket aside he went into the bathroom and filled a glass with cold water. His hand jutted out toward the elf offering her the glass. Focused on doing what she could to dress the mortal’s wounds, Arulan was unaware of is gesture. “Here,” he said his tone short.
“For pity’s sake Jareth, I’m busy. Help her drink the water.”
Sarah’s chin was already tilted upward so that Arulan could tend to her head injury. He looked from the glass to her face and back again as if he was somehow unable to figure out how to get her the water. “Why are you bothering to dress the wound?”
“We can’t just let her die. We’ve got to try, right? I mean that is what you want isn’t it? You want her to live because you still love her.”
“I want her to live so that I can take her to the Triumvirate and so they can send her home.” His long fingers cradled her chin as the glass met with her lips and Jareth emptied he water into her mouth.
“Say what you will, but I know better. Know you better, always have, probably better than you know yourself,” Arulan told him.
It was condescending the way she dared to speak to him, full of presumption. Mesmerized by the way Sarah’s lips rocked against the glass thirsty for the liquid inside, Jareth’s mind drifted. He sighed audibly and closed his eyes. For a moment he wished he were made of glass, if for no other reason then to have those lips rock against him that way, but that was a moment that seemed centuries ago now. Realization drove his voice as he spoke softly to Arulan, “The mortal holds a piece of my soul.”
Stopping her crude patch job the elf searched his majesty’s face. “Were you intimate with this mortal?”
He did not reply. Jareth drew the glass from her lips unable to tolerate the agony any longer. Shaking hands made it obvious he was less than focused as he set the glass on the bedside table. I said, the mortal holds a piece of my soul, now,” his words slid between the spaces of his jagged teeth, “call for the healer.”
“Mercy on the mythicals,” Arulan muttered as she skittered off to get the healer.
“Still causing me grief after all these years, love,” the king whispered when his servant was across the threshold and out of earshot. “We’ll soon put an end to that, won’t we?”
***** ***** *****
Moments later, Arulan returned, Jareth’s personal healer in tow. The healer wore a purple hooded robe tied about the waist by a black braided rope from which several pouches hung. It was nearly impossible to see his face, but even if it had been easily visible, it would not have been impressive. His magic was in his hands which were currently resting on Sarah’s forehead. “Ah,” he began in a voice that deceived his persona for it was small and weak and too high for someone who had captured such great power, “I see you bring me to a mortal your highness.”
Refusing to defend himself to someone who essentially worked for him, Jareth leaned against a far wall, coolly balanced on one leg, the other bent back so that the sole of his boot met the wall. “Do whatever it is you do healer and be on your way.”
Seemingly undaunted by the king’s apparent displeasure, the cloaked fey continued reciting his analysis of Sarah’s condition, “My but what a strong will she has and rightly so for this is no ordinary mortal. I sense magic in this one, magic and the soul of a fey.” He was too old to play games and his yellow eyes shone in the black cover of his cloak as he narrowed them at Jareth.
The Goblin King’s patience had been tested enough for one day and he conveyed that when his eyes met the healer’s, remaining locked with them as he crossed the room to stand beside the fey in the purple cloak. “It is my soul you sense, but you seem to be ignoring my anger. You have seen me many times over the years my friend, in health, in pain and near death, please do not tell me that you forget what it is like to see me angry.”
Without question or comment, the healer returned to his work on Sarah. Jareth stepped back to give him room. Arulan stood back in the shadows still aghast over all that had transpired. “She’s has quite the bump on her head, but I believe with the treatment I’ve given her, a few days rest and some medication,” he dared once more to catch the eye of his king, “your mortal should make a full recovery.”
Licking his parched lips Jareth sneered at him in a way that indicated his services were appreciated and yet no longer needed. It was Arulan who stepped up to his side and began to guide him out of the king’s chambers. “Ah, not so fast, I must first mix the medicine.”
“You may use my bath,” waving his hand he opened the door wide.
“Thank you your grace.”
Arulan accompanied the healer in case he would require any assistance. Jareth was alone with his mortal. Already the color was returning to her face. That was a positive sign, one that made him almost feel bad about getting her well before unleashing the Triumvirate on her. ‘This is precious,’ he thought. ‘They’ll berate her for entering our world, most probably punish her, send her home and forbid her to return and I won’t have to soil so much as a glove in any of it.’ “You’ve made it so easy for me,” he hissed into her ear, “for a change.”
And yet it wasn’t easy at all, for all that he had done she was reaching the parts of him he had locked away and tried to deny. There was no way for him to completely destroy the part of his heart she held, no way for him to rip back the part of his soul he had shared with her. Soon she would recover, a couple of days the healer had told them and then it would end. Once the Triumvirate had their say he would never see Sarah Williams again and then maybe, in time, enough of it, he would forget. Even if forgetting the sweet smell of her, the intoxication of her touch and the melody of her kiss seemed impossible to him now he had to believe it would eventually fade. Although in fifteen years it had only managed to grow. Jareth caught himself wondering how long ignorance took to come when longing seemed to arrive so quickly.
Arulan and the healer emerged from the king’s bath to disrupt his reverie with instructions on how to administer the medication. The healer handed Jareth three pills. “Give her the white tab in one hour, when first she stirs she must take the green tab and lastly when she awakens the blue. Do you understand?”
The Goblin King shook his head and set the pills next to the glass of water on the night stand. ‘White, green, blue,’ he repeated to himself. The elf again led the healer to the door.
Ever the antagonist he queried the king before his departure, “You must feel very strongly for the girl to risk bringing her to the Underground?”
“I didn’t bring her here.”
“Then you must be very afraid.”
Jareth turned to face the man who insisted on salting his wounds, “How do you suppose?”
“A mortal with powers enough to come Underground and here you are a king with no power over her. Once she’s well again, should you need my services Jareth, you know where to find me.” Despite being in the servitude of the Goblin King the healer laughed, a vengeful chuckle that echoed in the room even after he had left.
On a better day, one in which he hadn’t been suffering from such an extreme amount of mental exhaustion he would have taught the insubordinate rat a lesson. Perhaps even seen to it that the mighty healer would soon require his own services, but today had been a long one and in truth, there was nothing he had said that was not fact. Perceptive as she had always been, Arulan rejoined her master’s side. “There’s nothing more you can do for her. Go and take a bath, wash her blood from your hair. I’ll stay here to watch her.”
Until she said something, he hadn’t noticed the ends of his blond locks which had been stained orange with his mortal’s life force. He closed his eyes and tried to suppress the nausea that rose in his stomach before meeting Arulan’s stare. “You don’t mind?” She shook her head side to side still wanting to ask him if he had slept with the girl, if that was how she had taken a part of his soul but knowing that this was not the time. Jareth made his way to the bathroom door, his boots sliding across the marble floor, his legs too weary to make them step. From inside the door frame the king looked back at his servant and then to this bed where the sleeping mortal lie, finally once more at Arulan and closed the door behind him.
Magic came in handy when one was overwhelmed with exhaustion. A mere flick of the wrist, a wave of the hand and clothes were shed without having to undo any of their bothersome fastenings. Water ran without bending to turn the faucet. Jareth slipped himself into the tub and sunk down to his chin. Sarah’s blood, made liquid by the heat, pooled through his bath. It fascinated him as it wove crimson streams into the clear water, dancing before his eyes like wind blew desert sands or winter snows. Mortality had never much concerned him. The Triumvirate had eased him of that burden long ago when they took the only son of the Leanan Sidhe and christened him, turned him immortal, gave him his jagged teeth and lack of emotion, baptized him fey. ‘What a chore it must be to be mortal,’ he thought. It made him regret never knowing his father. Perhaps if he had known Ian, he could have been the generation that led the revolution towards accepting mortals. He could have been truly noble and not just Goblin King, nobility by title alone. Fantasies lulled him to dream.
Jareth’s head swam with images of ones he had never met. Fey, goblins, mythicals of all sorts and in the center of the grove these breeds gathered around a high back wicker chair in which his mother sat, her arms filled with a well bundled child. The child smiled up at his mother, his mismatched eyes starring into her soul conveying all the love he could not yet speak of, all the appreciation for giving him live, all the admiration of beauty he did not understand. She gazed back at him, tears in her eyes, a smile on her lips as they moved forming words he could hear, not that the child understood them, but Jareth wished he could hear. Her long thin fingers stroked the child’s velvet scalp and there was a feeling of warmth that filled them all. Jareth too. The crowd was humming with whispers. ‘Isn’t he stunning.’ ‘She’s positively glowing.’ From way in the back a man began to separate the gatherers. ‘Excuse me. Pardon me. I’m very sorry,’ he could be heard shouting. At last he broke through the inner circle and fell to his knees before his wife and child. In his hand a bouquet of wild flowers. He gave them to his wife and lifted the child from her arms. ‘In my world we have a great book written about a little boy who never grew up and learned to live and love among the mythicals. It was written that, ‘when the first baby laughed for the first time, the laugh broke into a thousand pieces and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies.’ The child in his arms laughed and the air about them began to fill with small fairies and sprites. The more he laughed, the more appeared and some of them broke into giggles too. Suddenly it grew dark all around them and everyone grew silent. The man who held the child fell to his knees. The baby tumbled into his terrified mother’s arms. Ian’s face twisted in pain as he drew his last breath before tumbling forward to the ground. Leanan Sidhe handed the child to an elf, ‘Take the child from me,’ she instructed.
Jareth bolted up in the tub, the water now like ice around him. He reminded himself that it was but a dream. His father had never held him. None of them had ever shared a warm moment like the one he was envisioning in all of his life although part of him wished they had. What reward did mortality offer? It was difficult being left with the idea that love would only lead to pain and death, loss and grief, but such was the lot of the Goblin King. He reheated the water and summoned a scrub brush and some lye. Vigorously the king rubbed the bristles across his pale chest leaving behind wide red streaks. His skin welcomed the relief when he finished his bathing and sunk beneath the water so that he might wash his hair. Jareth looked out of place when his mane was low and close to his scalp. Sitting in the tub, slumped over, his face long with exhaustion and that hair matted over his ears, he looked like a sorrowful wet kitten who hadn’t a home. Rising from the tub, he motioned his wrist, commanding his magic to dry and dress him.
Back in the bed chamber, dressed in his silk black pajamas he looked at the two woman he’d left almost an hour ago. Sarah was still under the spell of her very deep sleep. The healer had folded the duvet over her so that she was sandwiched inside it’s velvety softness. Her fever had broken when he laid his hands on her and there was no sense allowing her to catch a chill that might impede the healing process. Arulan was bent awkwardly in a chair facing Sarah. She had intended to watch over her, but sleep had claimed her too, only she didn’t have that same easy peacefulness about her that the mortal did, not in that position for sure. Jareth approached Arulan with great caution, not wanting to frighten her into a fall that would land him with two feeble women in his bed. The thought of which made his lips curl up slightly in a devilish way before the thought fled as quickly as it had taken root.
“Arulan,” he whispered as a gloved hand shook her shoulder gently. Jareth’s bed gloves were as black as his pajamas and likewise made of silk with a wool lining that made them seem a bit more substantial and less like the gloves a bride or a prom queen might wear.
The elf’s eyes fluttered open. Immediately she began to profess, “I swear your highness, I was watching her.”
“I know,” he replied flatly. “Come now, my bath has given me renewed energy,” he lied. “I shall watch the mortal until morning, in case she stirs and requires more of the tabs left by the healer. You go rest. Tomorrow I will very much need your assistance as I will need to tend to the regular business of the Labyrinth. No one else must know of the mortal’s arrival.” If only the king had known just how many were already well aware.
Arulan rose to her feet and moved to leave the room her legs shaky as any rag doll’s and she didn’t acknowledge Jareth at all. She would wait until she was more coherent to confront his majesty.
When Arulan had left them, the king went to the bedside table and picked up the white tablet the healer had left behind. He placed it delicately between her pink lips, like replacing a pearl inside a tender clam, and then poured the water as he massaged her throat to make certain that she had ingested the medication. It seemed a shame just then that she couldn’t have done as he had asked her all that time ago. Fear him, love him, do as he said and circumstances would be so very different now. Jareth walked to the fireplace and ignited it. With a long sweep of his arm, he snatched a blanket from the back of the couch and settled into the chair Arulan had occupied earlier. He slid the throw around his shoulders and folded it over knees. There was no comfort to be had from the chair, but the king couldn’t keep an eye on her, couldn’t watch for those first stirrings from the couch. For a minute he thought about sliding into the bed beside Sarah where it was soft and inviting. Better judgment took over and he accepted that things were as they were.
Watching his mortal proved to be quite the obstacle. He couldn’t help but notice her undeniable attractiveness, her hair, her lips, her hands, everything about her that made him fill with desire. He reminded himself of her insatiable cruelty, her denial, her mockery, her selfishness. Jareth stayed the course nonetheless as hour after hour he searched the mortal for even the slightest twitch.
***** ***** *****
Just before dawn, when the Goblin King’s eyes were growing heavy to the point of sometimes falling shut for an instant, Sarah’s body arched, her head tipping back and a tiny moan came from deep in her throat. Jareth rose from his chair, every joint of his body stiff from his long night. Casting the blanket aside, he once more stood at the bedside table. For a moment he debated which pill he was to give her next, but with his blood recirculating the answer came easily. Black silk gloves circled the green tablet and brought it to Sarah’s lips, once more tucking it inside. This time her mouth responded to what she felt, moving to accept the pill. Jareth quickly followed with the water for fear that her dryness might cause her to choke or her haze make her think to try chewing the tablet.
Thirst made Sarah gulp at the drink she was being offered until the glass was empty. It concerned the king a little as he wasn’t sure how exactly a patient with such an injury should behave. For a series of long moments she continued to fidget. Jareth slid into the bed next to her tossing a protective arm over her thrashing body in an attempt to ensure her some sort of safety. Soon she grew still but for her arms which pushed back the velvet duvet until it covered the king. Sarah curled on her side, her closed eyes even with Jareth’s, nothing between them but the thick, rich fabric. One arm stretched out between the bent arm that was supporting his head, her fingers absently attempting to stroke his golden hair. Her waist was still weighted by his protective arm. Sarah’s eyes opened little more than a slit as her lips parted and she whispered, “Jareth.”
It stunned him at first, to hear her call to him in such a desperate way. He couldn’t help but to drink her in, the beautifully still perfection of her. The Goblin King slid from the bed the same way he’d slid in, tossing the duvet back over Sarah and tucking it in around her the way it had been earlier. With one last long look, Jareth made his way to the sunken sitting area. Fatigue and stiffness had left him entirely. Taking a seat on one of the large couches, he stared into the fire in eager anticipation of the sunrise for the first time in quite a long while.
***** ***** *****
Half past nine in the morning, Arulan reentered her majesty’s chamber to find him admiring the flames. “Did you sleep with her?”
Jareth’s head scanned the room on a slow pan before meeting his servant’s eye, “What did you just ask me?”
“You heard me, did you sleep with her?”
“In her condition I think that would have been less than honorable, don’t you?”
“Quit trying to quash the topic. You admit she holds a piece of your soul, Jareth. How did it happen?”
The king beckoned her closer. She sat facing him leaning in on her knees allowing her face to be basked by the fire light. “First I found her Aboveground. I followed her at a fair distance doing my best to remain undiscovered. Eventually she led me back to her to her apartment. Until I joined her on the elevator she wasn’t the least bit suspicious. Cunning fey that I am I had disguised my appearance. I stalked her down the hall. As you might imagine she was beginning to get a bit nervous and so rather than walk she ran and when she did, that the scarf she was wearing fell to the ground. I snatched it up.” Jareth made a snatching motion with his hands. Arulan let out a gasp. The king smiled wickedly before continuing, “When she got to her door, she fumbled for her keys and that’s when I really saw my chance. I looped the scarf around her neck,” the Goblin King leaned into Arulan, his eyes wide and his teeth bared, “forced her inside her apartment. A mortal could never match my strength Arulan, it was all rather easy in hindsight. I didn’t even bother with learning where her chambers were. Instead I had my way with her right there on the floor, just inside the entrance.”
The elf closed her eyes and turned her head away a delicate hand raised to her mouth in shock.
“Do you really think me capable of such things?” He looked at her with a grave disappointment on his face.
She met his expression with a regretful one of her own. For a moment she had thought exactly that. More and more so these days she thought him capable of anything, still his tone made her feel ashamed for thinking it.
“You do.”
“If you and she have never slept with one another, than how?”
“Since you insist on forcing me into proving my innocence, I will admit to nothing more than a kiss.”
“Must have been some kiss then.”
“Indeed it was,” he confided. The pace of his heart quickened at the recollection of there lips joined together, hands moving in a fevered passion, listening to her speak his name and the way that she confessed to him she ‘was no longer young’.
Arulan watched him, his heart’s truth curling the corners of his lips, “You do still love the girl.”
“I once loved the girl. Now it will bring me as much pleasure to see her leave as it once had to anticipate her arrival.” Regardless of whether he believed that, it had to be true for he refused to open his heart again only to find Sarah would continue to refuse him.
“I apologize for what I thought before,” the elf said weakly as she moved to sit beside her king. Her small hands embracing one of his. “It must be awful denying yourself true love.”
Jareth tore his glove from her embrace, “I think we both know I don’t much deny myself the company of women.”
“Their company yes, but you’ve never exchanged souls with any other creature Jareth, not as long as I’ve known you. Not until this mortal.” Her eyes looked at him with doubt and suspicion.
“We’ve not shared souls. There is nothing of her in me. Perhaps as I have gotten older, I have gotten careless Arulan. This is not a topic which I particularly wish to continue discussing.” Irritation was not an emotion which remained well hidden in the king.
Slowly his servant moved to brush a few stray hairs behind her master’s ear, “You poor thing. You look as though you haven’t slept all night.”
“I’ve gone days without sleep before, one night won’t matter, but soon I must begin the regular business of this kingdom and I would very much appreciate your remaining behind to see that Sarah gets the last of her medication.”
“Done.” Arulan threw her arms around Jareth in a compassionate embrace, an exchange not normally engaged in. Yet even in all the awkwardness of it, the king did find comfort. Only with his servant was he finally able to admit to what he felt without having to utter one word. For a quick second he allowed the silk of his gloves to pat on her shoulders as he returned her affection.
“I don’t mean to keep the two of you from whatever it is that you’re doing or needs doing,” the small voice barely louder than a whisper came from the enormous bed. Sarah had awakened and was struggling to sit up so she could lean against the massive headboard.
Once more Jareth thanked the Supreme One he had his magic, even if it had been reduced by the Triumvirate. A gentle rolling motion of the wrist and he was wearing his daily attire, his hair suddenly full and styled rather than limp and close to his scalp. He indicated to Arulan that she should go and care for her. “Perhaps his majesty would like to speak to the girl?”
“No, I believe I will let the two of you be.”
“Please,” Sarah spoke, but the dryness of being asleep so long had stolen her words.
Arulan rushed to her bedside, handing her the glass from the stand, but it was empty. “Pardon miss,” she said rushing to the bath to refill the glass. Sarah just stared at Jareth unable to say a word. He returned her gaze as sullenly, only without the benefit of an alibi for his silence. “Here you are then. Drink up.”
The weary mortal tried to sip the water, each drop provided more relief in her tightened throat. Sips gave way to gulps and those were giving her a terrible seasick feeling in her stomach. Sarah grimaced and handed the glass back to Arulan. Noticing the face she made Jareth moved closer, but only by a few steps before he wiped the concerned look from his eyes and mouth to replace it with one of indifference. “See that she gets the last pill.” Once more he turned to leave.
“Don’t go,” Sarah asked of him. “I don’t even remember how I got here. I was riding a horse and the next thing I knew...” Her voiced trailed off, “I don’t know what happened, but I heard your voices and woke up here.”
“You weren’t riding a horse, you were riding a Pooka.” Jareth revealed to her what he thought should have been rather obvious.
“A what?”
“Sarah, I haven’t time to play explanatory games with you. I have a kingdom to run. This is my servant Arulan,” the king indicated the elf at her bedside. “She will tend to whatever it is you need.” He wrapped a gloved hand around the handle to the door and swung it open.
“Will I see you later?” ‘Christ that sounded desperate,’ Sarah thought as she slunk back down inside the folds of the duvet.
“I suppose we’ll have to discuss a few things with one another at some point.” Jareth never turned around to offer the reply, never even glanced back, just kept going on through the door as he intended until he was in the hall and had shut the large wooden partition behind him.
***** ***** *****
Behind the huge mahogany desk the king should have looked small; however, he didn’t. Even surrounded by a ring of giants, Jareth would stand out, emitting confidence that supplemented his size. The quill in his hand tapped against the ledger, creating an ink blot in the margin as he stared off into space. His office was dim, the curtains closed, the furniture all dark. Occasionally he’d light the torches, if necessary, otherwise the dark suited him. Unable to keep his mind from wandering back to the mortal, the ordinary business of the Labyrinth fell to the wayside.
Every morning he made a journal entry for the previous day. There was a time when Jareth kept up with his entries, writing the same day events occurred, sometimes making multiple entries in the same day. Often he regretted that the diligence with which he once wrote had been broken. Yesterday, for example, a mythical had died by his own hand inside his Labyrinth, his realm had been invaded by a mortal and he had been kept waiting by all but one of the sixteen goblins he’d sent on the fact finding mission to the Underground’s four sectors. It was a busy day indeed, yet his pen did not write. Other than to continue the rhythmic tapping, he did not stir at all.
The clock on the wall began o chime eleven. Having been practically catatonic since he entered the room, this was the first thing to shake Jareth from his trance. His day was wasting away, he decided as he looked at the filigree hands grazing the cream face of the slender grandfather clock. Suddenly visible to his blind eye, was a huge spot which had soaked through several pages of the king’s open journal. A wave of his finger and the smudge disappeared. He hated when things were messy. Re-wetting the quill he began the entry for yesterday:
November 5, 2001
This night in the Labyrinth has been unlike any other. The day had begun ordinarily enough. No complaints from the Representatives, no orders from the Triumvirate. One of the goblins I sent out to spy on the sectors for me returned with some news. Mind you, he never made it to the Northeastern sector where he had been assigned with the rest of his troop, but instead fell asleep and became lost in the Labyrinth. At least he didn’t come back empty handed. It would seem Mason is doing a fabulous job repairing the maze. Nearly all of the outer most layers have been restored. I find it remarkable that he has been able to work so quickly and take full credit for having the foresight to hire him to complete the job. One thing about Mason’s work vexes me. It would seem he’s taken to not only repairing the Labyrinth walls, but also trimming back the overgrowth and I suspect he may even be planting new vegetation. These were not on my list of commands. If he continues to waste resources this way, I will need to speak with him.
Along those lines, the onyx doorway leading to the Goblin City has been repaired. Much as I wish I could blame him, there is no conceivable way Mason could be responsible. The door was fey forged and only a fey could repair it. The minion who returned to me with news today swears that he knows nothing of the door or the thing responsible for reconstructing it. I can hope only that my other goblins return with news of the who and how, so that they may be dealt with appropriately.
This evening I took supper in the courtyard. It too is showing signs of growth, color and vitality. How odd? After all, it is now well into the sunny season and vegetation should begin to wane in anticipation of the cloudy season’s arrival in just under one moon. While I did think in somewhat strange, I did not trouble myself with it.
Just before I was to retire, my goblin informant returned to my chambers. It would seem as though the mortal of some years ago, the one my kingdom has labeled the Legend, was somehow able to reenter this realm. It was extremely inconvenient having my powers usurped, not being able to transport to her location, having to walk like a common mortal. When at last I was able to locate her, the idiotic child had taken a ride from a Pooka. Thank the Supreme One I had the foresight to bring along a crossbow for defense. I fired a shot into his rib, attempting to halt him; however, he had no intention of departing until the mortal was dead. I then fired a second, iron tipped bolt into his heart. The result, death (such death to have occurred at 9:37 pm this day).
I was most sorrowful to have killed a creature of the Underground, but it is my duty as king to bring all mortals to the Triumvirate to be dealt with in order to protect this land from the savagery of the raids which plagued us long ago. Far be it for me to go against them for fear that they will deny me more than they already have. The mortal returned to my castle and my healer was called upon to treat her injuries, which were extensive. She remained unconscious most of the night. (Note: the mortal had awakened on the morning of which I transcribe this day’s events, November 6th, prior to my leaving for the office.) I must now, in compliance with the wishes of the Triumvirate, call upon them and request a meeting concerning the mortal, Sarah Williams, and her prompt return Aboveground.
So it is written in the history of the Labyrinth for this day,
King Jareth
He reread his entry to be sure that he had included all the day’s events. Sure he had left out a few things, personal things, but historically it was accurate – enough. He closed the journal and shoved it aside, then returned the quill to its well. Leaning back in his chair, Jareth rested his head in the interlaced fingers of his hands and studied the ceiling. Fifteen years had past and yet it seemed like so much longer while she was gone. Now that she had returned, it seemed like only yesterday. Time was quite a tricky thing the king decided. From one of his book cases he summoned an old journal. It lay itself open on his desk, the ink had begun to fade, but it was still very legible as he skimmed what he had written:
...This night I have been summoned to the Aboveground by another mortal who is all too tired of some child. My crystal tells me that she is very beautiful with long hair and eyes of green. Can you imagine? I have consulted with a seer about the mortal and am told that I am destined for this one. I must agree. From the moment I was made aware of her, my heart has been weakened. I could not resist giving her a touch of magic, nothing very powerful, just the ability to have wishes granted. The seer tells me that she will both complete and completely unravel me. Sometimes I think she speaks in riddles for the effect. She tells me that I shall not have the child, as if I have ever been bested, but that I shall have the girl. I cannot understand how this could be and so I chalk it up to more of her doublespeak.
The child’s name is Toby. He will make a particularly wise mythical. I think I’ll suggest the Triumvirate christen him Jareth, after all, he has my eyes, well, one of them anyway. He seems quite contented here in my world, happy to sit on my lap or dance with the goblins. I think they amuse him. Toby whiles the hours away plying with crystals as though they were ordinary balls, meant for children’s amusements. Yes, he will make a fine addition to the Underground...
...I have watched the mortal in her struggles through my maze. She is remarkably resilient, surviving the oubliette, continuing to hunt for me despite the warnings she has been given and the distractions I have made for her. It makes me respect her, for she is a formidable opponent, the best I have had in a while. As the seer warned, I do find myself growing smitten with the girl, I will have my chemist draw up a potion which I shall use to reveal her truest wishes. How will I get it to her? Of course! I will use the half wit dwarf who she seems to have taken a liking too...
...Glory to the Supreme One. She took the present I sent her. I am pleased to find her true wishes are somewhat deviant and far more mature than I would have guessed it to be for a mortal girl her age. As you might expect, I was able to satisfy her desires. I merely arranged for a masquerade. It was nothing really, just something I threw together. I had my fun eluding her at first, but when at last I was able to capture her in my arms, I must admit to a certain leaping in my chest. I feel things I have never felt before, suddenly I am generous, suddenly I am weak. I fear I am in love...
...My elation was not to last very long. She tore herself from my grip when the clock began to strike. I begged her with my eyes to stay, but she was erratic and wild, showing much more of her real age. Now her surroundings seemed to shock her. She tried to deny that it was what she had wanted. She shattered the illusion before I could so much as kiss her hand.
I trembled when we were alone together with the child in the unreality room. I tried to profess my love for her, but I fear she does not understand my words. I offered her everything, all her wants, her dreams, forever. My foolish heart sung to her with all its naive promises and yet, she chose the child. “Fear me,” I begged. “Love me,” I pleaded. “And I will be your slave,” I promised. Then I watched in torment as the perfect lips I thirsted for spat out the hateful words, “You have no power over me.” And so my kingdom sits in great disarray, its king fallen victim to the disease of love. Not even the most powerful healer is capable of curing this ache inside me. I curse myself as much as I curse her. She was but a child, I should have known better and yet, I had no choice...
..I’ve fired the seer. Whatever gift she had is obviously ruined now. I think I shall remain in this room forever or at least until I am able to forget this girl. I am no king worthy of being seen or heard. I shall never love. I shall never have an heir. If I did, I’d rescind the throne immediately, for without this girl, this beauty who has captured by heart, I am nothing. I wonder if a fey is capable of being entrapped one piece at a time. If so, I fear this mortal has begun collecting me.
So it is written in the history of the Labyrinth this day,
King Jareth
Jareth slammed the book closed and flung it across his office. Had he really written such things, in ink, where anyone with access to the logs could see? ‘Love was a disease,’ he thought, ‘One from which he would never be cured, but one from which he refused to admit he suffered.’
Rather than spend anymore time getting in touch with his feelings, the Goblin King began to sort through his mail. There was a letter from Gandor requesting that Jareth intervene and work out some arrangement between he and Elbereth, the Representative of the Northwest sector, so that Gandor would be able to have fresh water for his people. The king released an exasperated sigh just as the fifteen missing spies burst into his office. “Can I help you?” he asked irritated at the interruption.
“Your majesty, we bring you the information which you seek,” one of the group leaders said.
“Well then, by all means, come in.” Jareth’s tone had changed. From a corner of his desk he grabbed a notepad and drew his quill once more. Across the top page he drew two lines dividing the sheet into four fairly equal squares. “Who has traveled to the Northwest?”
The goblin stepped forward. “These lands are in a great drought, a heat wave ravages all who live there.”
Jareth ripped Gandor’s letter in two before discarding it. This was starting to be fun. “And Elebereth?”
“Elbereth is indifferent to you, your majesty, although he does not believe you’re doing enough to help the sectors in your kingdom.”
“Hmpf!” Jareth made a few notes on the pad. When he was through, he looked up and asked, “Which of you visited the Northeast?” Another goblin stepped forward. “Speak,” the king commanded.
“This land is frigid. Waves break against the shore with enough force to break rocks and yet, Ranofyr remains unphased. He and his people thrive as much now as they ever have.”
“Yes well, that always was a sector filled with a rather cheerful bunch of masochists.” Again the king made a few notes. “Tiberon. Whom among you surveyed Tiberon’s sector?”
A third goblin separated himself from the crowd. “‘T’was I king.”
“What news do you bring me?”
“These lands have been overgrown for some time your majesty. Word comes straight from the dwarf, Hoggle, who is also a resident in this sector. Yet, your majesty, when I visited, in great stealth, I saw clear cut paths jutting in every direction through the wood, the trees filled with singing birds, even a meadow of wild flowers. Rumor has it that Tiberon plans to court a woman, my liege, perhaps his carefree heart has broken the spell over his land.”
Jareth leaned over his desk grabbing the goblin, “Do you think me mad?” The goblin stood petrified within the king’s grasp shaking his head methodically from side to side. “Then what makes you think I would ever,” his hand came crashing down upon the desk, “ever give a Representative that kind of power? You moron!” The king shoved him backward and the minion tumbled head over heals, until the wall broke his momentum.
“Of course your highness. Why would a most glorious king, such as you are, allow that to happen? I don’t know what I was thinking. Forgive me sire?” he stammered holding his head.
“Kiss ass!” Jareth turned to face the last of the goblins who had an expedition, “I don’t give a damn who Tiberon’s courting, so unless you have something significant to tell me, leave!”
“Your majesty, Gandor’s Southwestern sector was frozen over when I first arrived there; however, within two days, he temperature had increased enough to melt the ice which prevented water from flowing.
“Is that all?”
“No your majesty. Gandor also had dinner guests.”
“You’re jesting?” the king asked in mock enthusiasm. “Did they put their elbows on the table?” The goblin just stared, completely unaware that such a gesture was considered a social faux pas. “Get out!” cried the king after a moment, “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
The entourage fled the room as hastily as they had entered, each grumbling about Jareth as they left.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s the one who asked us to go.”
“He’s upset because your mentioned Tiberon courting a woman.”
“So?”
“So, I heard his mortal has returned.”
“You think he’d be happy.”
“She rejected him again.”
“Again?”
“Again.”
Their feet moved double time when they head the Goblin King shout, “ I can still hear you!”
***** ****** *****
“Don’t you mind him any miss,” Arulan said as she handed the blue tablet to Sarah. “Drink this down.”
She looked suspiciously at the pill in the elf’s pale finger tips. “What is it?”
“Just the last of the medication the healer ordered for you.”
“The healer?”
“Yes, the Underground’s version of what you mortals call doctors.” Arulan’s explanation was met with a vacant stare. “Perhaps it’s best if you just continue resting.” She moved to wrap the blankets back around the girl.
Sarah rose her hands in protest, “Why would you need to call a doctor? Was I sick?”
“No miss, not exactly.” Arulan was stuttering as she often did when her nerves got the better of her. “You see the Pooka you were riding, well miss, they are not kind creatures. His highness killed the beast and you took a nasty fall. The healer said it was a concussion, but you had a raging fever and we couldn’t wake you.”
“What are these Pooka creatures? One of Jareth’s tricks?”
“No miss. They are a mythical with an agenda all their own. They whisk off unsuspecting travelers, usually very weary ones, and run them madly through the land ready to drop them off in a mire and leave them for dead. His highness saved you miss.”
“How did I get here?”
“Miss?” Had Arulan not just described to her the situation.
“Please call me Sarah,” she rose a hand to her head as she tried to comprehend what she had been through. “I was in the Labyrinth when I was with this creature. How did I get to the castle? I am in the castle aren’t I?”
“Indeed. His majesty carried you here late last night after your accident.”
“Carried me?”
“Yes miss. Sarah.”
A new kind of confusion wrinkled her brow. “Odd that he would go through so much trouble to see to my safety and then not even speak to me this morning.”
“His majesty had a very long night,” Arulan was about to tell her that Jareth spent the entire night without sleep, watching over her. Instead, she came out with something that she was sure would have better pleased the king, “Not sleeping in his own bed was extremely uncomfortable for him.”
“Oh,” Sarah said suddenly feeling like a terrible bother. “Well I won’t keep him from his bed another night.” She swung her feet over the edge of the mattress and attempted to struggle to her feet. What forced her back into the bed was hard to say for the churning stomach and the spinning head were equally off balancing. Closing her eyes she waited for the nausea to pass and the room around her to come to a stand still.
Arulan rushed to her side, eager to serve the woman who held the heart and soul of her king. “You’ll be going nowhere.” She tucked Sarah back beneath the duvet.
Sighing she accepted the elf’s mothering and in truth was content to be back in bed. “Is there some other place we could put me up then? I don’t think I should be staying in Jareth’s bed.”
“His majesty wouldn’t have it any other way. He wants for you to make a full recovery.”
“Why, so he can ask me for his magic back?”
Somewhat shocked by her outburst Arulan couldn’t help asking, “So you are aware you hold his highness’ soul?”
Sarah nodded twice before the spinning sensation came rushing back to her temples, “Yes,” she confirmed. “He tried to seduce me into giving back the magic he gave me years ago when I...” she grew sorrowful as she continued, “wished my brother away to him.” Her eyes averted Arulan’s look.
“You are not the first to call upon his majesty and I’m certain that you shall not be the last.”
“Regardless, that is how I came to acquire this piece of his soul. I’m sure he’ll want that back too and he can have it. I’ve had these awful visions ever since I got the damned thing.”
Arulan knew the visions weren’t from Jareth’s magic. He was no seer. His parents were not seers. His magic, his soul were igniting the magic Jareth spoke to the healer off. Sarah had the power of sight. The Triumvirate would most definitely look more favorably upon the mortal because of it, for this Arulan was glad. “Poor dear.”
Sarah smiled up at the blue eyes shining down on her. Arulan was a very beautiful elf. Her blonde hair was like spun gold. Her figure was slim. Sarah couldn’t help remembering the embrace that she had watched Arulan share with Jareth. A nagging feeling tugged at her heart. Was that jealousy? ‘Impossible,’ she rationalized.
“You look as if you’re growing pale again,” Arulan noted. “Why don’t I go and make some broth for you and then you can rest some more. Perhaps we’ll get you bathed later this afternoon, before his highness returns.” The elf couldn’t resist nudging fate if it were possible. She didn’t care what Jareth said, the right combination would unlock his stony heart and free the feeling he had for this woman.
“Thank you,” Sarah replied. Once Arulan had left the room, she began sliding back down into the bed. She couldn’t help but notice the ornate headboard. Her fingers traced the Celtic knots whose patterns were as random and chaotic as the Labyrinth. Plucking at the strings of the dream catcher, she recalled the similar item she found in the tomb of the Leanan Sidhe. Trailing down to the leather cords, Sarah spun the painted beads and stroked the soft white feathers that dangled from their edges. “Owl feathers,” it dawned on her. Indeed, they were two snow white barn owl feathers. Sarah fell asleep with them laid softly in the palm of one hand while the fingers of her free hand gently ran over them, much like those same fingers had worked their way through Jareth’s blonde locks when they were Aboveground. The sweet rhythm of her action lulled her into another sleep, this one filled with dreams.
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