Return to the Labyrinth

Chapter 19
Well folks, I finally finished the latest chapter. think I can confidently say the wait has been worth it. I hope you can all forgive me for the long wait. The chapter title comes from a poem by Sara Teasdale. Thanks again to my betas Ginny and Leia.

Where Quiet Sits and Dreams

It was peaceful in the Crystal Garden, and for once Aisling was alone, in a manner of speaking. A small blue kitten was perched contentedly on her lap, purring at each stroke of her wondering fingers. In turn, each glide of her hand sent a warm tingle of energy sparking across her skin. It was an extremely soothing activity, and had helped, a little, to calm the riot of her mind.

The creature gazed up at her through slit eyes and seemed to smile. She smiled back, marveling once again at its existence. An hour ago it had been no more than a fragment of an idea. She had been pondering her dream of the night before when the memory of the blue cat tiptoed across her mind on silent paws, and this time she reached out to touch it with her waking thoughts. To her delight it responded.

She hadn’t expended much more effort than a thought, and a small exhalation of will, to manifest the dream onto the bench beside her. She did not know why she did it, or why she thought it would work, except that it seemed the thing to do at the time. It was not a comfortable process. It felt rather like a band-aid being slowly peeled away from tender skin, only from the inside. However, as soon as the animal appeared, with a small pop, the sensation eased. A child-like sense of wonder infused her as the little dream looked up at her with a Cheshire grin and mewed.

In the time since, they sat in the quiet of the garden, wedged into a hollow made by the roots of a crystal willow. Periodically she would create a fairy light, and the kitten would oblige her by batting at it with one paw. When he made contact, the magical light would flare up brightly, wavering, before easing back down to a steady golden glow. Aisling laughed delightedly each time.

She had laid her head back against the trunk of the tree behind her, sunk into a pleasant lassitude, enjoying the beautiful afternoon weather, when the light suddenly dimmed around her, as a cloud passing across the sun. A breeze began to blow. She and her dream both sat up, looking to the blue sky curiously. It was empty of clouds.

The breeze became gusts, growing stronger moment by moment until the trees were whipping back and forth violently and the garden swing spun madly. She had never thought the delicate tinkling of wind through the trees could become a sound so sinister. Spooked, Aisling backed closer against the tree trunk, away from the crystalline branches as they sliced the air above her. The cat clung to her shoulders, wide eyed, as shadows gathered. Darkness descended on the garden despite the clear sky above. Aisling thought she could hear a hissing, angry voice carried on the wind.

Suddenly there was a searing burst of light in the center of the garden and an ear-splitting crack. Aisling ducked, but she wasn’t quite quick enough to avoid being blinded by the flash. As her eyes tried to readjust she could see the dark outline of a tall figure standing where the lightning had hit, muttering to itself. The figure uttered something she couldn’t understand and threw out his arm. On the other side of the garden a burst of blue-white fire hit the sandstone wall in a small explosion. When it cleared she could just make out a large portion of the wall half melted into glass slag, and she shuddered.

The figure threw another flame, another, and another, all the while spitting out words in a language that sounded a great deal like Goblin, guttural and sharp. Her eyes were clearing their light blindness when the figure, person, man, slumped, one hand clenched, and the other running through his hair. Aisling blinked, and her jaw dropped as she recognized the Goblin King.

To say she was shocked did not cover it. She was awed, confused, and terrified, at the sight before her. His power seemed to possess him, and altered his familiar features into something of such harsh and terrible beauty that she wanted to weep. His eyes blazed with green and gold fire, and his hair floated in the unnatural wind around a thin, ascetic face, revealing glimpses of long, pointed ears. If ever she had any doubt as to the Otherness of the Fae, it was gone now. It was as if he were pure energy, crackling with power, and anger. “Jareth,” she whispered, but not softly enough.

Quicker than a thought he whirled to face her voice, hand outstretched. His eyes burned with power blindness that did not recognize her. By the time he realized who was standing before him it was too late. The deadly flame was blazing straight for her. She had no time to do more than shout “Jareth, wait…” and then scream, crossing her arms in front of her face in a useless gesture of defense.

Or not so useless as it turned out. Just before reaching her the fireball hit something and sizzled, like grease in a pan. The blue flames flickered and bled around her, slipping off to either side, as if she were a stone in the middle of a raging river, and then suddenly went out. A crystal fell to the ground at her feet with a thunk.

It took her fully a minute to realize she wasn’t dead or writhing in pain. The blue cat was mewling at her feet, rubbing against her shins reassuringly. Slowly she lowered her arms and looked up. Jareth stood frozen, a shocked expression on his face. The mantle of power was dimming, almost gone, and he looked practically normal, relatively speaking. The stunned look lasted but a moment before a wall slammed down behind his eyes and his usual sardonic smirk appeared.

“Well, well now,” he mused, “that was interesting.” He walked a circle around her, head cocked to the side thoughtfully.

“Interesting?” she croaked. “I don’t think that’s the word I’d use.” She licked her lips, trying to restart saliva in a mouth gone dry with fear. She was trembling with a combination of adrenaline and burgeoning anger. “You just tried to kill me!”

“And yet you still live, little dream,” he said with a dismissive shrug, his lazy circuit bringing him back around to stand before her.

She gaped at him. “I..what..that’s not the point. You tried to kill me!” She could feel the adrenaline wearing off. It was either collapse in a boneless heap or take refuge in fury. Of the two, fury seemed the better idea.

“I did not try to kill you,” he scoffed, “ I did not even realize it was you. Besides, as you defended yourself, quite successfully, I fail to see the problem.” He scowled down at his shirt sleeve where an errant spark had dared to char a small black hole in the pristine white silk. He flicked at the spot testily and it mended itself.

“The problem,” she gritted out, “is that you lobbed a lethal ball of faerie fire at me…”

“Lob…what a vulgar word. Where ever did you pick it up?” he muttered as she continued speaking. He hardly seemed to be paying attention as he checked the rest of his outfit for burns.

She continued as if he had not spoken. “The fact that you missed doesn’t justify committing the act in the first place.”

“I did not miss,” he said, in an affronted tone of voice. “I always hit what I aim at. If you had not deflected it…” he seemed to realize what he was saying and closed his mouth with a snap.

“So you were trying to kill me.”

He scowled, and Aisling could see he was getting irritated again. She wondered why she wasn’t more cautious of that, after what she’d just seen. “My intent was not to kill anyone. I simply wished to be left alone.”

“As a smoking crater in the ground I doubt your intentions would have mattered much to me, Your Majesty.”

“What ridiculous nonsense. You aren’t a…smoking crater,” he waved one hand dismissively. “If you hadn’t been invading my privacy it would not have happened.”

“Invading your…I was here first!” she snapped, her voice rising to a shriek.

“And it is my private garden!” he shot back, nearing a shout.

“In which I thought I was allowed!” Any vestige of fear she might have felt was washed away in an exhilarating flood of anger.

“Not when I want to be left alone. Perhaps you should learn the difference!” He roared. He was towering over her now, his eyes sparking as he glared down at her.

“Well perhaps you should learn to control your temper!” By now her face was but a breath from his, and she panted as if she had just finished a race. His eyes mesmerized her, and she felt as though she was falling into sparkling clouds of gold and green. She paused, feeling off balance. She stepped back, trying to shake it off as he started to speak again.

“Well you…” he stopped abruptly, one gloved hand raised mid-point. He looked down, puzzled, and Aisling’s eyes followed.

The small blue cat was rubbing against the Goblin King’s ankles, weaving figure eights around his feet, a look of pleased self-absorption on its face. Aisling was mortified, a tingling that started at the bottom of her feet and began creeping up her legs. She was ever so glad her dark skin didn’t show a blush. She glanced back up at Jareth from beneath her lashes, but his attention was held by the creature at his feet. Time froze for long moments as he watched the cat, and Aisling watched him.

“What is that?” he finally asked, voice puzzled. “Is that a cat?”

“Um…well…actually…I think it’s a dream.” She blurted out, discovering a sudden interest in her hands.

“A dream,” he said, arching one brow as he glanced up at her.

“Well, my dream, I think. That is, one of my dreams…maybe.” Her voice was husky soft, and she took a step back, suddenly realizing how very close she was standing to him.

“One of your dreams…” he mused, examining it with what seemed a critical eye. She wondered what he was thinking.

“I think so,” she said, practically whispering now. She was a little nonplussed at his sudden change in demeanor, and she wondered what had happened to all that courage boosting anger she had been experiencing only moments before. She gnawed her lip nervously.

“You manifested a dream. From your own self, your own magic?” He paused delicately, “On purpose?” He looked her straight in the eye at this, piercing her with his curious gaze.

“I suppose…I mean, I guess,” she took a deep breath, “Yes.” He peered into her, as if looking for some better answer, before looking back down at the small cat. It looked back up at him and mewed in that heart-melting way that kittens and strays have.

He chuckled and reached one hand down, but paused to look up at her before touching it. “May I?”

Aisling shrugged her agreement, and wished she hadn’t when she experienced a strange feeling of pressure on her midriff as he scooped the cat up. Of course, that was nothing compared to the sensation as he began to stroke the kitten’s soft fur. The feel of his hands seemed to translate across the distance, from the cat to her. It was a fuzzy sensitivity, as if there were three layers of cotton between his hand and her skin. Except it wasn’t her skin. It was as if he was stroking her mind, and it, in turn, interpreted the impulses the best it could, as muffled, skin-tightening caresses. It was enough to send shivers down her spine, and other places, and she bit her lip to keep from making any sort of embarrassing sounds.

“Oh you are clever, my girl. Cleverer and cleverer every day, it seems. I knew you could do it,” he sounded satisfied, but the smile on his face was not a pleasant one.

The cat, traitorous little hedonist that it was, sat comfortably in the crook of his arm and purred. Aisling thought she might melt into a puddle right there. And then the King took off one glove. With one bare hand he ever so gently touched the fur, and scratched behind the kitten’s ears.

For half a moment Aisling lost all perspective as the sensations overwhelmed her. Her memories flew back to the ballroom again, trapped against the wall as he plundered her mouth. A small whimper left her lips. If his hands felt this good now, without even touching her, how would she ever find the strength to walk away the next time they danced? The thought was like a shot of ice in her blood, and she took a deep, gasping breath as she came back to herself. What was wrong with her? She had to get a grip on herself.

The Goblin King looked at her sharply. “Are you well?” She was silent for many more moments as she pulled her thoughts back together.

“Give it back..please, your majesty,” she croaked, reaching out for her dream. With one eyebrow raised he acquiesced, holding the purring bundle out to her. When she touched it, her hand brushed up against his bare fingers, and a current of energy jumped between them with a shock. She clutched her hands reflexively and stepped back. Jareth hissed, opening and closing his hand a few times, and looking at her strangely. The cat only blinked.

She tried to remember what they had been talking about. Oh yes. “What…what did you think I could do?”

He was silent for long moments, just looking at her. When he spoke it was not to answer her question. “Can you reabsorb it?” he asked, nodding to the creature still cradled in his arms.

“I…I think so.” She mumbled. He held the creature out and it jumped lightly from him to her.

The cat did not leap into her arms so much as beyond them, disappearing into her chest. She didn’t even have to think about it. She sighed at the feeling of the dream returning to her, back where it belonged, and ran her hands over her fur curiously. Jareth was watching her with calculating eyes.

“It seems to have worked,” she muttered. His silence was so pronounced she couldn’t stop from looking up.

“You have been holding out on me…again,” he said softly, carefully. “You did not say you could do such things. Manipulating the magic on such a complex level…” His eyes were hard and narrow, his mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile.

Her instinctual reaction was to respond with sarcasm, but she stopped. A thought had occurred to her. He was so touchy. It was almost as if he were itching for a fight.

“Your Pardon, Jareth,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully. “I only just discovered this ability myself.” She paused to watch him a moment, gauge his reaction. “And even so, I have had little opportunity to speak with you in the last days…”

He interrupted her. “I care not for your excuses, wildling. I would have thought I made myself clear the other night that you are not to keep things from me. I will not tolerate deception or disobedience, not from you, not from anyone. Do I make myself clear?”

She blinked up at him, her mouth open in shock, but did not speak. “Well?” he asked. “Do you understand me, wildling? Have you nothing to say? Or should I simply get on with punishing you for your disobedience?”

Her own eyes flashed and narrowed. She took a breath to speak, seemed to think better of it and then tried again. “Jareth,” she began, struggling to keep her voice level. She glanced at his stormy expression. “My Liege,” she corrected carefully. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you today?” Although her voice was steady, she did not try to keep the accusing tone out.

He seemed startled by her question. “I don’t know what you mean,” he replied stiffly.

“Sure you do,” Aisling scolded, “You’re like an ogre with a sore paw. Something’s nettling you and you can’t get rid of it, so you’re taking it out on me. And not just me, I’d wager.” She glanced at the half-melted garden wall.

He had the grace to look, if not chagrined, then at least thoughtful. But the moment passed and he was back to scowling within seconds.

“So,” she continued, “instead of picking a fight with me, why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Do not think you can avoid my wrath by distracting me, beast,” he snarled. “I have tolerated a great deal from you…”

“Tolerated?!? You…!” she took a deep breath, “From where I stand, Jareth, I am not the one doing the avoiding.”

“You dare…”

“Yes, Jareth, yes, I dare,” she shot back. “Somebody has to. Just, tell me what has you so upset. What’s the worst that could happen?” She was taking a terrible risk, and she knew it. If she was wrong, if all she was to him was another subject, an object of curiosity, then at best he would laugh in her face. At worst, well, he might do something unpleasant to her.

Aisling’s words reached him as if from far away, but he listened. Jareth felt something sapping the strength from his anger. On closer inspection, he thought it might be guilt, or perhaps regret, emotions he rarely had occasion to bother with. He tried to hold on to the flame of irritation, but it was slipping away.

He managed to keep the cold expression on his face, but just barely. A habit no doubt cultivated from centuries of disguising any sign of weakness. He realized that he wanted to talk to Aisling. How strange that he had not noticed this connection between them before. How odd that it would be her he wanted to trust. The realization left him momentarily speechless.

He supposed it made sense that he should desire a confidant. He was accustomed to keeping his own counsel. He had been doing it for centuries. But it was a lonely business, confiding in no one. Perhaps the strain after all this time was more trying than he had previously imagined.

But why Aisling? Why this common, ugly creature, a relative stranger to his realm and an enigma he dearly wanted to solve? He watched her in silence, trying to figure it out. She challenged him at every turn, confounded him. She defied explanation, understanding or control. Her very existence was a contradiction of all he knew of magic. Yet even though he terrified her at times, and he did terrify her, he could tell, she never cowered for long. She matched him, word for word, breath for breath, and challenge for challenge.

He supposed it might be that she seemed to have no hidden agenda. She displayed no desire for power or material wealth, just a constant, avid curiosity and zest for life that was never sated. Above all, she did not treat him like the Goblin King, bowing, scraping, and cowering, or trying to manipulate him to her own ends. She treated him like just another person, and perhaps it was that which had him so off balance. She seemed to have no concept of what a rare creature she was in his world.

Jareth covered his discomfort by focusing on putting his glove back on, pulling it up with small, precise tugs. He didn't speak right away, but folded his hands behind his back and contemplated the melted wall of his garden. Aisling kept her peace as well, and he found himself wondering what she was thinking.

“Give us your hand if we be friends, and Robin will restore amends...” he mused to himself, a slight smile upturning one corner of his lips.

Aisling did not respond. He turned to study her again. She watched him, head cocked to the side, brow puckered between her deeply expressive eyes.

He did not respond to the question in her gaze. “So, you would play Puck to my Oberon, little dream?” Silence, and her face was carefully blank. No doubt she had no idea what he was talking about. The Bard was not precisely a common topic in their lessons together.

“A dangerous proposition, playing the king's secret keeper. I'm not sure you have the temperament for it, let alone the qualifications, a wild creature like you.”

He whirled and stalked swiftly toward her. He leaned over her, and his warlock eyes locked with her amber ones, only inches away. His mouth widened into a wicked smile, sharp teeth gleaming. He was inordinately pleased that she did not back away. “The things I could tell you little dream,” he mused, and reached one hand up to grasp a lock of her hair. “And when you tire of playing at being part of my Labyrinth, what then am I to do? Let you wander away, head full of ideas and tales?” He gave a short laugh. “No, for your own good I will keep my own counsel, little one.”

A mutinous expression crept over her face as he spoke. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him with narrowed eyes. She made to speak, but seemed to think better of it. He could almost hear the demand in her look, as if she were saying out loud, “I think you should tell me.”

“I think I will not,” he replied to the unvoiced urging.

She did not argue or protest. She did not say a word, but simply stared at him, chin thrust out stubbornly. Her wide, liquid eyes were full of something that might have been expectation, disappointment, or pity, he could hardly tell. He scowled down at her, disliking the feeling of being judged and, perhaps, found wanting.

“I will not,” he repeated, although it came out sounding mildly petulant. And still she did not speak.

Jareth's scowl deepened. He wasn’t sure what reaction he had expected, but it wasn’t this patient silence. The guilt came rushing back, doing little to improve his mood. He whipped around with a hiss and stalked away, and then back again. He stood over her with the most arrogant, intimidating look he could, and still she was mute.

“What makes you think you would be of any help?” he shot at her, exasperated. “You’re nothing. Nothing but an idea. Perhaps more concrete than most but ultimately just someone’s dream made real. It would be less than useless, a complete waste of time, to explain it all. You could do nothing.” He was pacing now, and he knew he should stop, should concentrate on finding that still place inside that allowed him to remain aloof, but his frustration was keen.

“It’s ridiculous, besides,” he muttered to himself, “What good will talking do? She’s just another female, just another pretty face.” He paused, head cocked in thought and shrugged, “Although I must admit I am only assuming on that part. She was wearing a mask, after all.” He whirled to face Aisling, “And now she has simply vanished? Who the bloody hell is she? And how, by all the Spirits, did she evade me so easily? I am consumed with curiosity.”

Aisling just blinked. Her brows had climbed up in a sort of astonished arch. He pointed one elegant finger in her face, “It is not amusing,” he bit out. Her burgeoning smile disappeared behind one gnarled hand and Aisling nodded vigorously, but he could still see a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

He scoffed, and paced away again. “And then the body. What help will you be there? Something is happening in my Labyrinth, a shift, so subtle, yet damaging. The damned nightmares are leaking out again, and I cannot fathom why. I cannot waste the time explaining all of it, for what good would it do me? The Labyrinth, the barriers, the Wild Hunt. It would take longer to explain it all to you than to simply figure it out for myself and fix it.”

Aisling still was not responding as he stalked back and forth. The silence stretched on. He growled beneath his breath, wondering when it was exactly that his life had started becoming so unpredictable and frustrating. He practically threw himself into the garden swing. He propped his chin on one fist and gazed off into the distance. “On your head be it, then,” he muttered “But I’ll not be to blame if you come to regret it.”

He looked up and met Aisling’s eyes. She simply smiled softly and nodded. Then she bent over and scooped up the crystal at her feet and walked over to him. She held out one hand to him with her offering. He studied her face. There was no trace of triumph in her eyes, nor satisfaction, just a shy, pleased smile. “Maybe I can’t help,” she said softly, “But I’d like to try.”

He shook his head in bemusement. She was constantly confounding his expectations. “You are a puzzle, little one,” he murmured.

“That’s good,” she said, her expression serious. “I think that you like puzzles, Your Majesty.”

A brief smile ghosted across his lips. “That I do, dreamling, that I do.”

Before he could speak further he felt a faint vibration on the air. Of all the times, he groaned inwardly. The summons was faint, but distinctive. Someone had wished away a child and it was time to give them their choice. He glanced over at Aisling who was staring down at the ground, brows puckered in a frown, lips pursed. She looked up at him.

“What was that?” she asked. He arched one brow.

“What was what?” he asked, pleased to note his voice was back to its usual indifferent purr.

She frowned harder, looking around the garden and into the sky. “That…sound. Like a bell ringing, only not.”

He raised one brow. “Another mystery,” he murmured.

“You don’t know?” she asked.

“I do. It is a summons, from one who has wished away a child. The mystery lies in how you heard it.” He stood and carefully inspected his clothes, neatening and adjusting. With a flourish of his wrist a dark cloak wrapped around his shoulders. The very fabric seemed to draw in the light around him, making the faint glitter of his skin that much more prominent. “Questions will have to wait, however. I have a runner to attend to.”

“Wait,” she said as he turned away. She held out her hand. “You forgot this.”

A sly grin spread over his face. He did not look down at her hand. “And what should I do with that?” he asked softly. “It is no magic of mine.” She blinked at him and looked down. He was pleased to see her fluster as her eyes lit on the once clear crystal, now shimmering silver. Before their eyes images began to speed across the reflective surface. She squeaked in shock and dropped the silvered globe. It fell straight to the ground at her feet and winked at her as the sun hit its surface. The images stopped.

“What…what is it?” she whispered.

“I haven’t a clue,” he replied, chuckling, pleased to see her so confounded. Let her feel off balance for once. He waved his hand and a doorway appeared behind him, swirling with the energy of the veil between worlds. “But you are ever the clever little creature. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. We will speak of it when I return, my Aisling.” With that he stepped through to the Aboveground.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

Aisling sat on her straw tick mattress and contemplated the mirror above her dresser. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a tarnished thing she had found in an empty room. The surface reflected back nothing but the wall, like any ordinary mirror should. No swirling silver mist roiled within it, no images from her dreams danced across it, as they had across the silver globe in the crystal garden. The ball sat beside her on the bed now, inert and dull. Try as she might, she had not been able to get the thing to show those images again, but it had sparked an idea. Your mind is our mirror, her dreams had once told her.

She took a deep breath. “Show me Jareth,” she said, but it came out at barely a squeak. Nothing happened. She tried again, this time with more authority in her voice. “Show me the Goblin King.” The mirror remained as innocuous as it had always been. She was sure she had figured it out, but it wasn’t working. She tried again, and again, changing the words, waving her hands, even closing her eyes first, but the glass stayed distressingly blank. She bit her lip, thinking back to what might have been different in the garden. She hadn’t said a word to trigger the images. She looked down at the globe at her side. They had just appeared when she picked up the globe and looked into it. Why couldn’t she duplicate it with the mirror. Did it have to be a globe? Or perhaps…

Tentatively she reached out with one hand and touched the cool glass with her fingertips. There it was, a frission of awareness like a hum in the back of her mind. It was the same feeling she’d had earlier in the garden. Suddenly the mirror blazed to life, like a movie screen and the projector had just been turned on. The images flashed across the surface too fast for her to comprehend. Her breathing sped up as she tried to catch something, anything, from the riot of pictures, until her eyes could take no more. “Stop,” she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. She forced herself to breathe slowly before opening her eyes again. The flood of images had paused, just as if it had heard her command, and she dropped her hand in shock. The mirror immediately reverted to a simple reflective surface, although her fingertips tingled. Well then, it looked like she might have been right after all. She licked her lips and reached out her hand once more. Now that she knew it worked, she needed to see what she could do.

“Show me the Goblin King,” The mirror began to cycle through image after image. Some she recognized from their encounters in the garden and elsewhere. There was even one from her original run through the labyrinth years before, and another showing Jareth dandling baby Toby on his knee. “Wait, stop,” she said, panting, the images a tumbled confusion in her mind. The mirror paused on an image of the King standing at his study window. “Show me him now. Show me the Goblin King right now, in the present.” The mirror flickered and went dark.

She frowned in irritation. Perhaps he was still aboveground and couldn’t be found. She thought about it. Or perhaps there was a certain limitation to the mirror’s power. She decided to try a different tack. “Show me what is going on in the kitchen,” an image of the cavernous castle kitchen began to form, “at this moment.” The mirror sparked and went blank again. Well, that answered that question. It seemed that the mirror was limited to showing her only things that one of her dreams had already seen. No up to the minute live broadcast’s for her. There must be some use for such a power, if she could only figure out what.

A sudden thought occurred to her. She knew what she wanted to see, what had been haunting almost every dream she’d had since her arrival. “Show me Izzy,” she said breathlessly. The mirror flickered to life and a barrage of images flashed over it. “No, wait…show me Izzy, um, with the Goblin King…on the hill outside the Labyrinth.” The mirror flickered in the way that Aisling had begun to associate with it thinking about her request.

The mirror flared brightly, and she had the distinct impression that it was pleased she had asked. An image formed within the dark glass.

A barren red hill rose outside the maze, with a single stunted tree. A nimbus of golden-red light, a herald of the dawn, surrounded the hill and the two figures atop it, leaving them shadowed.

”What’s said is said.”

The voice was a far away buzz, fuzzy and difficult to make out. She tried to get closer, but she was not in control of her own actions. She was drifting in the wind.

The image drew in closer and the scene began to resolve itself out of misty darkness. The red sun rising in the east shimmered on the horizon as light bled over the land. She wondered why the light did not hurt her eyes.

Beneath the stunted tree were two figures. She recognized the Goblin King, having seen him thus before in her dream. He was the ancient warrior, harsher, harder somehow. His face, although still handsome, was blunter, wider, with a strong jaw and square forehead. And his figure was different, shorter and more muscular. His eyes were the same, though, powerful, cold, and brilliant.

He wore simple clothes, an embroidered white tunic beneath tooled leather armor and grey trews. An elaborate brooch, reminiscent of his horned amulet, clasped a dark blue cloak at one shoulder. A heavy silver torq circled his neck. Even his hair was different, thick and free flowing, with braids scattered here and there. He stood like a man used to many battles, there on the hill above the Labyrinth, feet spread, gloved hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

At his booted feet a woman knelt dressed in a dark torn kirtle. Izzy’s voice came soft on the air. “He is my brother. I am all he has, O’ King of the Daoine Sidhe, Lord of the World Beneath. I cannot abandon him. ”

“And the price to be paid?” His voice throbbed with power and menace. It was definitely his voice, but less refined. Aisling shivered at the feel of that voice over her nerve endings..

Izzy turned her face away from the King, so that Aisling had a clear view of her weary face. Her dark hair was limp and tangled and her pale skin was smudged with dirt and something darker that looked like blood. There were tracks down her cheeks from tears . “I will pay it,” her voice came, low and husky, but firm.

“Foolish child,” Jareth said softly, “you’ve no ken of what you risk. Tis nothing against you if you leave him to my care. ” He reached one gloved hand down and cupped her chin, forcing her to look into his eye. “Turn back, before it is too late.”

“I can’t,” she said in a choked, hushed voice. “I must see him safe.”

“Look what I’m offering you, child.” He turned his other hand over and presented her with a glittering crystal. “Your dreams. Dreams fit for a Princess of Erin. Don’t you want them?” He moved the offering back and forth before her, and her eyes followed it with a desperate longing, her lips parted faintly. “You have but to forget him, and they are yours.”

The crystal stopped and she stared at it for long moments. She squeezed her eyes tight and reached out with her hand and struck the crystal away. The triumphant smile that had been on the Goblin King’s face suddenly transformed into a snarl. He raised is fist as if to strike, and she dared him to do it with defiant eyes. “I will not leave him. I will see your bargain fulfilled.”

“Very well, you foolish, ungrateful girl,” he spat. “Let it be so. Isolde, daughter of Aiden, Son of Nuada, you shall remain to watch over the son of your father and see my bargain with him abided by in full measure. You shall be as the rain, seen, but never known, felt but never touched. Your voice shall be as the wind dying, for none shall hear it. You shall exist as nothing but a shadow of a memory of a dream. Forever shall you be chained to his fate, unable to tell, until your brother knows you as his sister. Only once this is revealed will you regain your voice, and your life.” He lifted her with hands on each arm and stared into her face. “Will you pay this price?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

His mouth swooped down to capture her lips. She did not struggle at first. Then she clawed at his chest and fell to the ground, clutching her throat in agony. Her eyes were filled with horror as she tried to scream but no sound emerged. “On your head be it,” he rasped. He raised both arms and they disappeared.

Aisling was breathing hard as the intense scene ended, and she snatched her hand away from the mirror. The blank glass reflected nothing but her own horror filled face. She could feel hot tears tracing down her cheeks and her chest ached with fiery pain for Izzy’s plight. She remembered the look of wounded pride in the Goblin King’s face as he pronounced his cruel curse and she shuddered. She knew now what she needed to do.

A Fantasy

Her voice is like clear water
That drips upon a stone
In forests far and silent
Where Quiet plays alone.

Her thoughts are like the lotus
Abloom by sacred streams
Beneath the temple arches
Where Quiet sits and dreams.

Her kisses are the roses
That glow while dusk is deep
In Persian garden closes
Where Quiet falls asleep.

By: Sara Teasdale