Return to the Labyrinth

Well folks, I found the time to finish a chapter, with the pestering of my beta Leia. The wedding is only 6 weeks away now, and I can guarantee you won’t see any more story until after the Honeymoon. I think I can confidently say the wait will be worth it. The chapter title comes from a poem of the same name by Jack Prelutsky. Somehow, it just seemed appropriate. Thanks again to my betas Ginny and Leia.

Last Night I Dreamed of Chickens

She dreamed…

The ballroom was familiar in a distant sort of way. It glittered and twinkled, filled with strange, masked revelers dancing to and fro. Ahead she caught a glimpse of Jareth slipping through the crowd like a ghost. She tried to follow, but the room was too thick with people. She was trapped in a circle of dancers, and they laughed slyly and pointed.

Looking down at herself she saw a fine white dress, but her hands were black and gnarled, her arms covered in patchwork fur. Shame swallowed her whole, and she pushed her way through the crowd, desperate to escape. She passed a mirror, and saw a deformed, furry creature playing at being human in a shining starlight dress. She pushed through the door and out, tearing at the delicate fabric of the dress with grasping fingers, and then the fur on her arms and body, until both disguises fell away in pieces and she was naked.

The room she arrived in was dim, barely lit by moonlight through wide windows, with a pale flickering light in the corner. It was filled with dozens of plastic chairs, blessedly empty, all facing one direction. She recognized it almost instantly as the common room at the hospital. The blinking light was the television, bolted into the ceiling corner, pale and silent images flickering across the screen.

She crept forward through the room. It felt so alien to her now, with its stark emptiness, its modern simplicity. There were two chairs at the front of the room, and in one she saw…something…a bundle on the seat. As she drew up beside the chair the bundle moved and stretched. A small blue cat, she was beginning to recognize it now, sat up and looked at her a moment before turning to watch the TV.

She looked too, and saw the images changing one after the other after the other, as if some invisible person with the remote were flipping through the channels. At one point it stopped, and she watched the sun rise over the Labyrinth, and a ragged dirty girl knelt before the Goblin King. She had seen the scene before, but all at once she recognized the girl as Izzy, and wondered why she hadn’t noticed before. It was too bad the sound was off and she could not hear the conversation.

She was reaching to turn up the volume when a voice spoke. “Saaaarrraaaahh…” it whispered behind her.

She turned and squinted against the hazy sunlight shining down. Limestone pathways from some part of the Labyrinth spread out around her. Behind her the TV room had disappeared. The voice whispered her name again and it was this she followed, not quite sure where she was going. Wasn’t she looking for something?

She turned a corner and saw an arched entryway across a rubble-strewn courtyard. The courtyard itself had an air of neglect, an abandonment to time that had left behind a decaying elegance. Chipped and broken carvings adorned the walls and pilasters. The ground, once cobbled and level, was uneven, great stones pushed up by the roots of ancient trees that spread their branches over the high walls. The carvings around the door were so worn away with age and time that their images were indecipherable. Soft clucks and scratches from the corners drew her attention to half a dozen scrawny chickens pecking at the barren ground. The archway itself loomed, like a great, gaping maw over a small form standing before it. She recognized the candy-cane striped footie pajamas.

“Toby,” she whispered to herself. “Toby, wait!” she shouted as the baby disappeared into the dark opening. She followed him, descending down stone steps into shadow. The long and winding stair seemed to go on forever, snaking ever deeper, but never forking, until finally she reached the bottom.

The catacombs stretched into the darkness, arched niches built into the corridor walls, with many new hallways branching off along the way. She could see Toby some distance ahead, just barely in her range of vision. She didn’t think to wonder that she could see without light in this lightless place.

She followed Toby’s elusive form through several twists and turns, until finally the corridor ended with a huge cavern. So vast was the space that she could not perceive its length, breadth or height. Only the walls nearest to her were visible, sparkling slightly. She looked closer and saw that the stone surface was embedded with glittering dust.

Toby continued further into the cavern, a small dark shape nearly lost in an even darker emptiness, and she followed. Finally he stopped and she saw that he stood on the bank of a river that was wide and deep and dark. She could feel the river in her chest, and she recognized the slow, throbbing pulse, although she still did not understand it for what it was.

She picked up her pace, hurrying to him. He toddled into the river, slipping silently under the water, and she cried out a warning. She ran to the edge, desperate to rescue him, but no ripple marred the surface. It seemed still, but she knew there was a current that, while slow, was strong and deep.

She waded in, and was suddenly reminded of her nakedness as the cool water felt both invigorating and soothing against her exposed flesh. She dove, feeling for his tiny shape. She felt hands brush hers, and she grasped them, kicking for the surface. She found her footing and stood, the water reaching her chest, and pulled the hands up with her. They were not the hands of a child.

It was Jareth, his pale hair completely dry, a feathered mane around his head. She dropped his hands and stepped back, feeling vulnerable and unsure although the dark and the water concealed her nudity.

“Give me the child,” she said. The words were familiar, seemed right.

“He is not here Sarah,” he soothed. His voice was strange to her ears, his own and yet not. “You have already saved him, remember?”

She shook her head, frowning, trying to remember. “Through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered, I…I…have fought my way…” She stopped, lips trembling. No, he was right. Toby wasn’t here. She had already saved him, when she gave up her dreams so long ago.

“I’m glad you came back, Sarah” Jareth said softly.

“I had to,” she murmured, half to herself.

He smiled and nodded. “For this.” He turned his hand over and it held a perfect crystal sphere. Her dreams.

“Yes,” she drew the word out in whispered longing. She reached out one hand and touched it, but it changed. It became shiny and metallic, and the surface seemed to swirl with faint clouds in shades of silver and steel. She could see shadows floating within the globe, and every so often one drifted close enough to the surface that she could almost make it out. She was holding it now, and she thrilled to the weight of it in her palm.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s a mirror. Nothing more. But if you turn it certain ways, and look into it, it will show you dreams.”

“My dreams?”

“And so much more,” he purred. A hand rested on her shoulder and her gaze rose to meet his. His eyes blazed with heat. “I have been waiting for so long.”

“For what?” she asked

“For you to be ready to receive what I have given you. Dreams. Magic. Power. All in the palm of your hand.” He replied, smiling.

“Sarah,” he took her empty hand and kissed the palm. “I want to taste you.” His mouth moved to one finger and he nipped it with sharp teeth. She gasped at a small jolt of pain, remembering that she had pricked that finger earlier on Twiggy’s tail. His eyes gleamed as he wrapped his lips around the small injury and laved it with his tongue. She made a soft sound at the back of her throat.

“Stay with me,” he said and kissed her. She waited for the rush of desire that had followed after his kiss in the ballroom, but it didn’t come. He smelled wrong. He tasted wrong. This was not her Jareth.

“NO!” she gasped and pushed away. “Who are you?”

“Shh. Sarah, I need you. And you need me. That is all that matters,” he tried to draw her close again. “Come to me.”

“No…no. Let me go,” she twisted in his arms, but his grip was too strong. She was trapped.

“Dear Sarah. You cannot leave. I made you. You are part of me now,” he tightened his hold on her wrists.

She froze as fear washed over her. “What are you talking about?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

And then she screamed as he disappeared beneath the water and dragged her down by her wrists. She thrashed and struggled, but her arms were trapped in a liquid vise. She opened her mouth to scream again and the water rushed in, but it was not water. It was heat and power and knowledge, filling her mouth and nose, and she was drowning in it. She could feel it invading her lungs as she reflexively tried to breathe, and like fire it spread from her chest and seemed to rush through her body. Her heart and mind seemed to burn, the pain almost consuming her consciousness, and her struggles were weakening. And then suddenly she was free and the heat and pain seemed to be absorbed into her body and fade away. She desperately clawed for the surface and the riverbank. Pulling herself out of the water she lay coughing and shivering, hugging herself tightly. Her entire body felt hot and electric.

She was exhausted, afraid, and although she fought against it, she could feel darkness closing in. She was acutely aware of how exposed she was, naked and vulnerable on the bare ground. A shadow rose to stand above her. “I’m so pleased it was you, Sarah,” the voice that was not a voice murmured as she slipped away.

Baptized in the waters of the Labyrinth…

She awoke with a start and sat straight up, sputtering and shaking, trying to scramble away from an unseen enemy. She could feel the cold water as it dripped over her face and down her back. It took mere moments to focus her eyes in the dim light, but she realized that she was back in her cupboard, awake, if not safe. Nel stood over her pallet, an empty bucket in one hand, and her long-handled spoon in the other. Aisling thought she saw a flicker of concern on the brownie’s face, before it returned to its usual scowling countenance.

“Nel,” she muttered groggily, “what…”

“Are you ill?” the head cook demanded acerbically.

Aisling blinked up at her, struggling to free herself from the clinging tendrils of her dream. “No..that is..I don’t know.” She sat up further and groaned as her head exploded in splitting pain. She slumped back against the wall. “Maybe.” Her mind felt sluggish, bogged down by so many competing thoughts that she could not sort them out. She shuddered with remembered fear. The dream had left her feeling violated. Her stomach turned and she hunched into herself. What was happening to her?

“Laziness, that’s what it is,” the brownie sniffed. “Given ye too much leeway, I have. And for what? So’s ye can take advantage of my gen’rous nature.” The little woman’s eyes narrowed and she brandished her spoon threateningly. “Well, don’t ye be thinkin’ I’m fallin’ for it. Don’t care how sick ye is, ye’ve chores to do. An’ I don’t care if the King hiself come down lookin’ for ye. You’ll finish ‘em ‘fore ye do anythin’ else. You mark me?”

All through Niela’s tirade Aisling could do little more than nod, flinching as every strident word assaulted her ears, and try to look contrite. “Yes, Nel,” she agreed hoarsely, once she could get a word in edgewise. “I’ll start right away.” She would have agreed to anything at that moment if only to get the cook to leave her in peace. There were thoughts and ideas beating at her mind that needed to be examined.

Niela hmphed quietly and gave a sharp nod. “See that ye do,” she snapped, before stomping out. Or at least, it sounded like stomping to Aisling’s sensitive ears. She cringed as the door slammed home.

Aisling forced herself to breathe deeply as the echoes died down into silence again. She could feel herself trembling, ever so slightly. The dream was clear in her memory and although the pain had faded, the knowledge it had left her with was far from coherent. Whatever it was she had encountered, it had left her with more than just a feeling of helpless vulnerability. It had flooded her with so much information that she couldn’t process it all at once.

She closed her eyes, breathing slowly to try and calm her pounding heart. She had a more immediate concern at the moment than worrying about what greater forces might be meddling with her fate --- namely avoiding Nel’s wrath, which meant getting to work. With a groan she pulled herself to her feet and headed for the kitchen. Maybe chores would help her forget the dream, for a little while at least, until she was ready to deal with it.

Sometime later Aisling found herself cleaning the stone countertops with an air of vague abstraction. The problem was that she was thinking too much. She had been thinking from the moment she awoke, going over the massive amount of information roiling in her head, trying to comprehend an event that was far more than some run of the mill nightmare. She was beginning to wonder if getting her dreams back was worth it all.

She understood much better now, or thought she did, but it was all so much to take in. She simply couldn’t concentrate on the mundane daily tasks that were her duties. She stood at the marble counter and polished the same spot over and over while she sifted through the knowledge that had been bestowed upon her. Like the ultimate stream of consciousness exercise, one thought led to another and then another, setting off a cascade reaction of comprehension. It was like pulling back a curtain and finding a door that opened to a window beyond which was a gate that led to an archway and on and on. It was thrilling and exhausting at the same time.

They weren’t all her dreams, that was one fact. The first fact, anyhow, that struck her as important. Oh, some of them were hers, true, but only a fraction. She remembered back at the start of her lessons, after the dreams had found her in the crystal garden, when Jareth had been speculating that she was a magnet for loose dreams. She hadn’t really thought much of it at the time. After all, she was there for her dreams, wasn’t she, so what was the big deal if she was attracting them. Wasn’t that the point? It hadn’t occurred to her that he could be right, that she was attracting so many more dreams than her own.

Of course, they’d told her that, the dreams, or tried to. In her sleep she’d spoken to them, but she hadn’t listened. Who really listens to their dreams after all? She understood now that she needed to start, because they were aware, some more than others. The oldest ones were the most…conscious and strong willed, having kept themselves more or less together for decades, perhaps centuries. They had wandered the Labyrinth, purposeless as they were, but still watching, listening…remembering. So they could think, or reason, in a very alien way. That was where the apple trees, and other random acts of magic, came from. In their own way the dreams had been trying to please her, give her what she wanted, if only subconsciously, in exchange for her being the vessel through which they could fulfill their purpose. After all, a dream without a dreamer is a sorry thing.

That strange blue cat, the one that had led her to the crystal garden, was one of her own dreams though. It had been alone for so long after she had abandoned it. (Its thought, not hers) How long was anyone’s guess, it having no real concept of the passage of time. But now she was back, and it was so pleased that it had bound itself closer to her mind than the others. She thought she might be able to touch that dream easier, and it in turn could guide her through things she still did not understand.

Like the mirrors. She still didn’t understand the mirrors. “It’s a mirror, nothing more…You’re mind is our mirror…” The dream voices seemed to whisper through her memory. She couldn’t sort it. She knew the mirror was important, somehow, but she didn’t know why or how or… It was too much, too much. The bits of knowledge in her head were fighting for prominence, each trying to push its way to the forefront of her thoughts, and her headache was getting worse.

A spoon cracked against the countertop, and she jumped. Niela stood on the other side of the table, her glower looking particularly fierce despite her small stature. “Get out,” she growled, pointing her spoon toward the courtyard door.

“W-what?” Aisling stuttered, her eyes wide.

“Ye heard me, beastie. Get out o’ me kitchen.” She stomped one booted foot for emphasis. “Useless is what you is today. Takin’ up space and gettin’ in the way, an’ nothin’ gettin’ done to show for it. I don’t know what the matter be, an’ I don’t care. Get out and get it taken care of. I expect you to work when you get back, else you can find somewheres else to laze about from now on.”

“Nel...I…I’m sorry…” Aisling started, backing away from the ferocious brownie and her makeshift weapon.

“Just get!” she shrieked. Aisling went.

:O_O:

Jareth was brooding. It was an activity he had perfected over the centuries. Less charitable minds might have called it sulking, for like a spoilt child he only fell into these moods when things were not going his way. Last night, things had most certainly not gone his way. This was not a state of affairs he was used to, and it made his disposition even more prickly than usual.

He scowled as a knock sounded at the door. Was he to have no peace this day? His sleep had been plagued by strange dreams, visions of the Lady Moon, her amber eyes full of sultry promises, disappearing into crowded ballrooms, around stone corridors, always just one step out of reach. He was roused from sleep in the wee morning hours by furious guests who had not been able to leave. His lips twitched in a momentary smile as he recalled one particular Duke’s face flushed beet red in anger.

When he had ordered the Goblin City locked down the night before, he had not only been relying on his incompetent guard troops. He had also directed the pathways to rewind themselves for any who tried to leave the city. As such, many unfortunate guests who had attempted to leave kept ending up right back in front of the castle gates. Aillil had had a few choice words for him on the subject.

He had reluctantly been persuaded to restore the routes out of the Labyrinth. Even he could not risk offending so many nobles at one time, despite the pleasure he might get by doing so. However, the great maze had been sluggish to respond, although the change was a simple one that he made frequently, and it had taken twice as long as usual for the roads to clear, much to his frustration.

And the irritations hadn’t stopped there. Every time he turned around someone else was vying for his attention. A string of Goblins had bombarded him in the halls with any number of requests or bits of information they thought would please him. As he was sitting down to break his fast, Niela had stomped up from the kitchens with some new complaint about the wildling, then bustled away again in a huff when he brusquely told her to deal with it. Roarke had barged in shortly thereafter with a thoroughly irritating grin on his face, looking like the cat who ate the canary. Which appeared to be nothing short of the truth as he proceeded to expound, loudly and excessively, on how much lovelier the Lady Cassandra was than he had remembered, how fascinating her conversation, how ravishing her habits and would Jareth mind if she and her chaperone stayed for an extended visit?

Deciding to forgo breakfast, Jareth had walked out on the still prattling prince and headed for the hopeful privacy of his study. Even this was an adventure in frustration as he was once again stopped by one creature after another with some complaint or problem for him to attend to. Finally, he stopped trying to walk to his destination and instead just flashed himself into the cluttered room.

Now he sat in the quiet, booted feet resting on the top of his desk, and watched the silver charm sparkle in the sunlight from the window as he twirled it between his gloved fingers. He was big enough to admit what the true cause was of his short temper today. The mysterious lady from the night before had stirred his senses and challenged his pride. He was still baffled by the strange woman’s disappearance. It made no sense. If not for the fact that she had been seen by more than a dozen of his guests, he would think she was a figment of his imagination. What else but a hallucination could have vanished so completely, without a trace?

The knock came again, more insistent this time. Jareth growled beneath his breath and palmed the jewel. His booted feet hit the floor with a thump as he turned to face the door.

“Go away!” he snarled. There was silence for a moment before the soft scraping of a key in the lock reached his ears. His face incredulous, he jerked out of his chair and stalked to the door.

He yanked it open just as it began to swing inward and glared down into Izzy’s startled eyes. A delicate blush stained her cheek and she shrugged. The keys he had given to her to allow her access to the study for her duties were in one hand and in the other was a small battered box.

He narrowed his eyes, prepared to flay her right there in the hall when he glanced beyond her and froze. A small crowd of creatures took up most of the hall, and the moment he appeared they all broke out into loud, jumbled shouts for attention. All excepting Izzy, of course, who seemed to shrink into herself at the expression coming over his face.

As the crowd of goblins, pixies, dwarves and others clamored for his attention, Jareth could feel his temper rising to a dangerous level. What the bloody blue blazes was going on this morning? The entire castle was on his case, and all he wanted was a moment of damned peace and quiet so he could think! Only Izzy seemed aware of his precarious mood, clutching her box close and looking around frantically for escape.

Jareth stood stiff and silent in the open door. His eyes slowly dilated until there was nothing but a thin rim of color showing, which seemed to glow like flame, one green, the other gold. He could feel the rising hum of power battering at the back of his mind. His increasing agitation weakened his hold, and the magic quickened, eager to be unleashed. It had been centuries since his control had been so sorely tested, a thought which only served to fuel his anger. The discordant shouts compounded an already emerging headache, and he clenched his jaw as he tried to harness his emotions. His angular features grew sharper, the seething magic seeming to peel away the façade of humanity he wore to reveal something harsh and alien beneath. His skin became almost translucent as his feather-light hair floated about his face in a non-existent wind. When he finally broke his stillness it was with a suddenness that shocked those gathered into silence.

“Enough,” the Goblin King roared, one hand slamming into the door jamb. His voice was so laced with power that it crashed against the walls and rolled away. Beneath his hand the heavy wood cracked, and somewhere in the distance the now silent crowd heard what sounded like a small explosion and a cut off scream.

Several dozen pairs of eyes rose to look at their King and froze, finally realizing the danger they were in. But before he could give in to his temper and do something rash, Jareth drew himself up and flashed away, leaving behind a vibrating sense of barely leashed power. With a collective sigh the crowd glanced at each other before quickly dispersing, suddenly afraid what would happen when His Majesty returned and deciding it wise to be elsewhere.

:O_O:

Aisling was still disturbed and lost in thought as she wandered through the castle gardens a short while after fleeing the kitchens. She meandered without a destination, keeping to the manicured gardens that branched off from the castle to avoid losing her way. Periodically she would stop, and reach out with that other sense, to feel the bright, fluttering light that was the magic inside of her. It was much easier to touch now, and she would hold it in her mind, trying to figure it out. Where did it come from? What could she do with it? Why did she have it? Why did she even deserve to have it? That last question brought a sinking feeling to her stomach and she sighed.

She knew that the bigger question should be, why wasn’t she more afraid? She had been here, living in the underground, for half a year now, and it had changed her drastically. Most of the time she felt a sense of security, of belonging, but then there were times, like now, that she would remember the life she came from, the reason she was here, and the girl she was. Or was she? Were there deeper changes? Was she becoming a different person? Would it bother her if she was?

She paused beside a hedge and looked back at the castle. It glimmered in the clear autumn air, and she felt a tug at her heart. Her time here was limited, she had known that from the start. Would she remember any of it when she returned home? Would it be like a dream, or would it be a clear, sharp regret for all she would leave behind?

Would he hate her, in the end?

Her stomach sour, she turned at the sound of rustling leaves. The figure of Leila came quickly, furtively, from around a hedge and froze when she saw Aisling. The girl was disheveled and pale. Her fine dress from the night before was crumpled and smudged with grass stains. Her hair was a tangled mess, her face wan with dark circles under her eyes, and Aisling was fairly sure there was a substantial hickey on her neck. Her eyebrows rose in speculation.

Leila quickly regained her composure, her normal sense of superiority over the wildling kitchen drudge reasserting itself. Gathering herself she notched her chin up and smirked at Aisling. “The ball was wonderful. It’s too bad you can’t attend them,” she snickered, “Jareth and I had an amazing time…all night long.” With another brittle laugh the girl swept past her and toward the castle.

Aisling just gaped after her. She was fairly sure now of why Leila looked such a disaster, but whoever she had been doing it with, it hadn’t been Jareth. And Leila desperately wanted her to believe it had been. Aisling knew Leila was feeling neglected. The whole castle was gossiping about his declining interest in her. Aisling would almost feel sorry for her, if she wasn’t such a vicious bitch. Shaking her head she continued on her way. Sneaking around behind the Goblin King’s back...well, she hadn’t pegged Leila as quite that stupid. Apparently she’d been wrong.

She walked on a few minutes more in silence and the feeling of being watched assailed her. She looked up. A pale and statuesque figure, draped in white and grey, had paused in the courtyard arch. When Aisling glanced up, her gaze met Amaranth’s star-spangled one for only an instant before the lady glided out of sight again. A glance was all it took, however. Looking around to be sure no one was watching, she followed.

When she rounded the corner, Amaranth was nowhere in sight, but the garden gate at the end of the wall stood ajar by a hair. Aisling slipped inside, closing the gate firmly behind her. She spotted Amaranth almost immediately, seated beside a small pond, watching brightly bedecked fish in the crystal water. The lovely fae did not look up as she approached.

“Hello Sarah,” she said in a soft, throaty voice. Aisling blinked, thinking how strange that name sounded now. No one had called her by her real name in all the months she had been here, except in her dreams. She felt as if that girl, Sarah, was someone else entirely. Amaranth turned a pale face to study her with fathomless eyes of the night. “You look tired. How goes it?”

“I don’t know. You tell me,” Aisling said, a mutinous look on her face.

Amaranth raised one icy brow. “Whatever do you mean, child?”

“I mean...things are happening to me here, and I’m damn scared. All of it…” she held out one hand, and stared as it shook. She struggled to find the words for what she wanted to say, but could not. Instead she flicked one wrist and an orb of golden light flared to life above her palm. “All of this…It wasn’t part of the bargain,” she finished.

“I see,” and for the first time Aisling could hear the resemblance to her brother in the frosty arrogance of Amaranth’s voice. “You are questioning my word. Have I not fulfilled my part of our agreement? Have you not found your dreams again?” Her voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the cold danger lingering behind her words. Aisling eyed her warily, remembering at last who and what she was dealing with. The light wavered and blinked out.

“No,” she said steadily, “That is, yes I do seem to have my dreams back, but…” She paused, not sure if it was wise to continue.

“But?” Amaranth asked softly, her tone biting.

“I’m collecting other dreams too, not just mine,” she began, blurting it out before she lost her nerve, “and…and they talk to me, send me visions. A stray thought from me and they make a tree grow out of cobblestones. I don’t understand what is happening to me, or why. I thought…I thought you might know.” Her eyes flicked away nervously, and then back again. She softened her tone even more, but there was a note of accusation nonetheless. “You sent me here, with your bargain and your rules, and your secrets…And I want to know why…why I’m here…why you chose to help me…why it must be done this way for me to get my dreams back.”

Amaranth studied her for one long gut-wrenching moment, her face blank, eyes fathomless. When she spoke her voice was icy-smooth and just as chilly. “Are you still such an ungrateful child, Sarah Williams? There was a time you longed to wield the power you have now, was there not?”

“That was a long time ago. I was young, a dreamy, naïve child. Things are a lot more complicated now.” She thought of the rush she got when she felt the power, resisting the urge touch it again, as if it was some sort of security blanket. She thought also of the sense that she was losing herself to something that she couldn’t fight, and didn’t want to. She wrapped her arms tight around herself, and looked away from Amaranth’s too knowing eyes.

“They don’t have to be,” she said lightly. Aisling just shook her shaggy head.

“How can you say that? I may have my dreams back, but...” Her voice hovered at a husky whisper. “What happens when this is all over? What happens when he finds out who I really am? What happens when I go back above?”

“So this comes down to my brother after all.”

“Doesn’t it always?” the girl muttered. She looked out over the garden without really seeing.

“I cannot answer your questions, Sarah,” the fae woman said, a note of regret in her voice.

“Can’t or won’t?” she asked bitterly.

“As you like,” was Amaranth’s cold reply. “The fact remains that we have a deal, and you will honor it.”

“I never said I wouldn’t,” Aisling grumbled, drawing back, knowing the conversation was at an end. “It’s just that, I know I’m being used, and I’d just like to know what for. I don’t want a broken heart in exchange.”

Amaranth shrugged and sighed. “There are some things that are bigger than our petty woes, Sarah. This journey you are on may be one of them. How you handle the consequences is up to you.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid you’d say,” she whispered, eyes on her hands. There was no response, and when she looked up it was to discover that the garden was empty, but for a shimmer in the air. She was alone again.

:O_O:

The Goblin King stalked the crumbled stone-bound paths deep in the heart of the labyrinth, letting his mood burn its way down to a few smoldering embers. He had resumed his previous train of thought, rolling the events of the night before over in his mind, and over again. He paid no attention to the direction he traveled, and it hardly mattered in any case. He wasn’t exactly concerned about becoming lost.

Given his frame of mind, and the intensity with which his thoughts were occupied, the encounter with the Sage should have come as no surprise to Jareth. The Labyrinth was a reactionary construct in many ways, and it was more attuned to the King than any other creature within its walls. So it could happen, when he was not paying attention, and his emotions were riding high, that the great maze would respond to his subconscious wishes, anticipate his desires. At the moment he was looking for answers, so he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. He was lost in thought and so consumed with an amber-eyed enigma that he was more than a little taken aback when he turned into the dead end courtyard and saw the old man waiting for him.

The ancient figure was ensconced, asleep, on a large stone throne, surrounded by intricately carved stone sculptures of haphazardly piled books. His dirty, tattered robes concealed everything but his hands, which hung limply over the arms of his chair. It was impossible to know exactly what sort of creature the Sage really was. His sunken eyes, and ancient, craggy face so wrinkled they concealed any clues as to what he might be. Most likely he was a goblin, and indeed Jareth had always assumed so, but there was no way to tell.

As the old one’s head sagged in sleep, a duet of snores could be heard, one rough and low from the Sage himself, and the other high and whistling, which emerged from his hat. Perhaps the most interesting of all headpieces in the kingdom, the Wise Man’s hat was in fact the slender neck and head of a bedraggled phoenix. The bird’s eyes cracked open now at the sound of the King’s approach and it shook itself sleepily. The Sage himself was undisturbed.

The bird hat looked up to notice Jareth and began to rock back and forth with excitement. It craned its neck to peck at the old man’s ear. The Sage snorted sat up with a jerk.

“What’s this? A young man?” he rasped, blinking rheumy eyes up at the King’s towering form.

“It’s the king, you senile old goat,” the bird muttered waspishly, glaring down at what little he could see of the Wise Man’s face.

“Be quiet!” the old man snapped, as the bird continued its muttering.“Hmmm, the King, eh? What can I help you with, young majesty?”

Jareth contemplated the ragged goblin before him, musing at the irony that he should encounter the Sage in his own labyrinth. “Greetings, Old One. Have I stumbled upon you for a reason, I wonder? Perhaps you can shed some light.” Jareth leaned back against the wall that had appeared behind him, where the doorway used to be, and cocked his head inquiringly. “Things have been happening in the Labyrinth lately that are quite mysterious, and I find myself at a loss as to what the blazes is going on.” There was still an edge of tension in his voice, the remnants of earlier anger still glowing softly.

The figure coughed, rattled, and groaned before clearing his throat. “You, hmmm…do not wish to know…hmmm…what is happening to the Labyrinth,” the old man intoned, pausing and staring into space for a moment.

Jareth frowned, looking scornfully at the scruffy bird who simply shrugged as best he could, not having any actual shoulders. “Actually, I do,” the King corrected in a soft, dangerous voice.

The old man started as if pinched, “or you would already see,” he finished, frowning at the King for his interruption. He paused again and then continued. “Hmmm, and, the mighty oak cannot stand against the River in flood, but the supple reed will flourish.”

“Oh, yes, as if that makes sense,” said the bird, rolling its eyes..

“Will you please be quiet,” the old man grumped.

“Sorry,” said his hat.

“Now, you were saying, you’re looking for something, eh boy?” The old man squinted up at Jareth.

“I don’t believe I said that, no,” the King replied dryly

“Hmmm. Well, the harder you look, the less...”

“…You will find,” finished the bird. “Clear as mud, eh?” it chirped cheerfully.

Jareth was not amused. “I tire of your riddles old man,” he growled, pushing away from the wall. He could feel his temper building once more.

“Change is the best medicine for fatigue,” the old man said serenely. The Goblin King hissed in irritation and turned to leave.

“I should have known better than to ask,” he rubbed gloved fingers over the tight skin at his temple. “This was a waste of time,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. He heard a soft rattling behind him.

“Please, leave a contribution in the little box,” the bird piped up hopefully. Jareth turned very slowly to face the pair, eyes narrowed.

“A contribution?” he repeated, voice deadly soft.

“Ah, it is expected…that is, traditionally,” the bird stammered, staring at Jareth like a mouse facing a cobra.

“…that I compensate you for not answering my questions?” He began walking back toward the seated pair, “That I pay you for wasting my time with pithy sayings and obtuse wordplay?” His sorcerer’s eyes were dilated fully once again as he towered over them, and his nostrils flared as if scenting their fear. “How, indeed, do you suggest I reward you for your…assistance?”

“Uhhh…” the old man gurgled, becoming aware, for the moment, of the tension around him.

The Goblin King gave a predatory smile. “My gift to you then. I leave you to your garden, alive and unscathed.” he prompted softly.

“That, uh, that sounds very generous, Your Majesty,” the bird said with a shaky gulp. Both heads nodded vigorously.

“Yes, I thought so,” he agreed. He stepped back. With a flourish of his cloak he disappeared. A moment later a large white owl soared away over the Labyrinth with an angry screech.

“Well, well then,” the bird muttered peevishly into the silence, “what got his petticoats in a knot?”

The Sage grunted and stared after the departing King as if contemplating the meaning of the universe. Finally he spoke. “ The fates lead him who will; him who won’t they drag.”

The bird looked down at his companion, eyes wide in shock. “That bad off is he? Well…well then. Poor bastard.”

“I think I could do with a little nap now,” the old goblin sighed.

“That’s the wisest thing I’ve heard you say all day,” the bird grumbled in agreement.

“At least you listen to me,” the Wise Man mused, “They never listen to me.”

“It’s not as if I have a choice,” replied his hat.

The old man heaved a long suffering sigh. “Oh, do shut up,” he said, before settling down into his throne with a snore.


Last night I dreamed of chickens

Last night I dreamed of chickens,
there were chickens everywhere,
they were standing on my stomach,
they were nesting in my hair,
they were pecking at my pillow,
they were hopping on my head,
they were ruffling up their feathers
as they raced about my bed.

They were on the chairs and tables,
they were on the chandeliers,
they were roosting in the corners,
they were clucking in my ears,
there were chickens, chickens, chickens
for as far as I could see...
when I woke today, I noticed
there were eggs on top of me.