Return to the Labyrinth

This chapter title is taken from the title of a Shel Sylverstein poem. I chose it because in this chapter Sarah rediscovers a few forgotten things about herself, like belief in magic and a love of acting (next chapter), oh, and of course dreaming. The full poem is at the end of the chapter.

As usual, I don’t own the characters (except the OCs). I thought of offering my first born child to Hensen if he’d give me Jareth, but why should I do that when I can borrow him any time I want if I write some silly disclaimer?

Forgotten Language

Sarah dreamed….

The stone corridors seemed to stretch on endlessly into darkness in every direction. At the opening of one of the corridors Sarah could see herself, beckoning her dream self forward. She turned to look at the next hall, and there she was again, waving, gesturing. She stood at the opening of every doorway, urging herself down every path. What should she do? She felt so confused. They all looked much the same, except…was that a light down one of the tunnels?

She walked down the hall, running her hands over the cool stones. The light grew brighter, larger, closer. Soon enough she stopped. It was a small window, too small to fit through, overlooking a magnificent twisting landscape. She knew this place…why did she know it?

Her eye was caught by something sparkling. There in the window was the perfect spider’s web, glistening with diamond dewdrops, spun from crystal thread. In the center of the web lay a jewel of surpassing beauty. The sun shone through it, making it seem to burn with green and gold fire. She wanted that jewel. She reached out and touched it.

Sarah fell into the crystal, like falling through sparkling clouds of green and gold. But then she wasn’t falling, she was floating, and ahead there was a light. She wanted to reach that light and, with that goal in mind, she started swimming. Strong, sure strokes brought her ever closer, until she broke through the water’s surface into the bright daylight.

A cool, gentle hand cupped her cheek and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. Sarah’s eyes fluttered open, blinking at the bright sun coming in from a high window. She felt so rested and content, better than she had in years. Perhaps the new medication really was working. Still, something didn’t feel…right. Then she realized the difference. She was awake, but she hadn’t woken up screaming and sweating in the night. Brief fragments of her dream brushed her mind and her heart fluttered with shock and hope. Gasping, she sat up in bed and the soft hand fell away. Sarah turned, smiling, tears gathering in her eyes, and froze.

The sight of a familiar woman stopped her gaze, with waves of red hair and twinkling eyes…who was not her usual nurse. “Good, you’re awake,” the woman said. Sarah’s brows knit in momentary confusion before it all came rushing back. The yellow VW bug, the cliff, the agonizing decision, and…She looked at the smooth skinned woman at her bedside.

“Amaranth,” she muttered, remembering. A single tear traced its way down Sarah’s cheek and she smiled. “I was dreaming,” she said, her voice awed, “It was…beautiful.” Amaranth smiled back and nodded, reaching out to hold the girl’s hand. Sarah drew her knees up to her chest and laid her head on them. She breathed in deeply and the air tasted fresh and clear. It tasted…magical. She glanced at the window above her. “We’re there, aren’t we? In the Labyrinth.”

“We are in the underground,” Amaranth corrected with a smile. “But not the Labyrinth. My magic cannot reach that place.”

“Oh!” Sarah sighed, feeling strangely disappointed. Eager to see the world outside the window she threw back the covers. She rolled out of bed only to feel her legs collapse beneath her, Amaranth’s strong arms catching her before she fell. Shivering a wave of weakness passed through her body.

“Not so fast, Sarah,” Amaranth cautioned, helping her back onto the bed. “You need more rest.”

Sarah looked at Amaranth questioningly worry shadowing her eyes. “I don’t understand. Why am I so weak?” Amaranth grimaced and sat back in her chair.

“I’m sorry, Sarah. A miscalculation on my part,” she brushed more loose tendrils of hair from Sarah’s face. “Without the inherent magic of your dreams your body used a great deal of your own energy to make the trip. I knew it would, but not to such a degree.” She smiled. “You’ll be fine though. Just a little more rest, and some food, and you’ll be right as rain. In fact, I’ll be right back with some soup.”

Amaranth stood and glided out of the room on bare feet. Sarah took the opportunity to glance around her sick room. It was a small, stonewalled chamber with tapestries softening the barren walls. They depicted forest scenes full of animals both imaginary and real, although Sarah knew that those concepts were very different things down here than aboveground. The bed was softer than a cloud and heaped high with quilts in the colors of the autumn forest. A single window looked into the room, just above the head of the bed. Off in a corner was a small stool with a patchwork fur blanket draped over it. Her small bag from the hospital sat beside it.

Sarah was examining the tapestry of a prancing unicorn when Amaranth returned. In her hands was a small tray with a cup and bowl. Steam was rising from both vessels. She arranged the tray on Sarah’s lap and sat back in the chair. Sarah inhaled deeply the savory scent coming from the bowl before picking up the spoon. Her mouth was suddenly watering. She didn’t know the last time she’d felt so hungry. She was just about to dig in, when a thought occurred to her. She paused to look at Amaranth. “You said your magic doesn’t reach the Labyrinth. Why not, if you’re magic, like him, whatever he is?” She wondered if the question was even coherent enough to understand.

Amaranth smiled. “We are both Fey,” she said, “But the Labyrinth is wholly his and none can enter without his permission. Now eat.” Sarah blinked at the simple, seemingly straightforward answer.

“Oh…ok,” she started to dip the spoon into the bowl, but stopped once again. She looked hard at Amaranth.

“If you can’t get in, then how do I? And what’s my part of the bargain…you haven’t told me yet.”

“Ever the persistent one,” Amaranth laughed. Sarah shrugged, not sure if that was a compliment or a complaint. The fey woman’s face grew serious. “Eat, Sarah. I’ll tell you what I need from you while you do.” Sarah didn’t need to be told a third time. She ate.

“First of all,” Amaranth began, “we must get you into the Labyrinth, and keep you there…”

***Later, elsewhere in the forest…***


The woods resounded with the sound of baying dogs, the terror of the hunt close on the heels of its prey. The dogs rushed through the close growing trees, bounding with ease over boulders and fallen logs. Behind the dogs could be heard the thundering hooves of the hunter’s horses. The prey rushed just steps ahead of them, always just steps ahead, surprisingly nimble for it’s apparent bulk. The patchwork fur of the quarry taunted its pursuers, glimpses of it flashing through the trees. The dogs strained harder, long red tongues flapping out from between sharp, white teeth.

Sarah was panting from the exertion, but she kept running. Amaranth had assured her she wouldn’t get caught, not until she wanted to at least, but that didn’t keep her heart from nearly pounding out of her chest in fear. The heavily muscled hounds were so close, red eyes locked on her back. At least the cloak of patchwork fur she wore around her shoulders was light. She could barely feel its weight, and somehow it never caught on the grasping branches as it flapped around her body.

“You needn’t evade them for long,” Amaranth had said, settling the cloak around Sarah’s shoulders. It seemed to cling to her like a second skin. “Remember, you want to be caught.” Sarah looked at her with disbelieving eyes. Amaranth laughed. “Trust me.”

Ahead Sarah saw a tree, thick and twisted. The trunk was knotted enough for easy climbing, and the branches high enough that hopefully the hounds couldn’t reach her. She scrambled up the black trunk, crouching among the sparse leaves. Her hands, the skin black and leathered, gripped the smaller branches tightly.

The cloak covered her entire body, from head to toe, leaving only her face and hands exposed. She looked at her hands, scrubbing them against each other. They looked terrible, black and gnarled, but felt just as they always had. She turned to peer into the small mirror on the wall. Her face had receded deep into the shadows of the furred hood, but what little she could see matched her hands. Her eyes were very white and wide against the darkness. She touched her cheek tentatively, relieved to feel familiar soft skin. “I can see why he won’t remember be, but how does this get me into the Labyrinth?”

“Trust me,” Amaranth replied.

The hounds rushed at the tree, jumping and snapping their jaws at the creature huddled just out of their reach. They bayed, snarled, and barked ferociously, but it did no good. They simply couldn’t reach their quarry. They backed away, but remained close enough that Sarah couldn’t have escaped if she wanted to. They seemed to lounge, as if they no longer cared about what was up the tree, but Sarah knew they were ever vigilant. That was fine. She focused on her breathing, trying to calm down and remember everything Amaranth had told her.

“That’s it?” Sarah asked, “Are you sure he’ll go for it?” Amaranth smiled, and Sarah just sighed. “I know, I know. Trust you.”

Amaranth brushed her hand over the soft, patchy fur. “He won’t be able to resist,” she assured her.

Minutes later the horses, lithe and muscular steeds, charged through the trees. There were perhaps half a dozen of them, decked out in bright, fanciful colors. The riders were much the same, three men and two women, dripping in silks and satins of every color. They fluttered and twittered like so many birds, circling the tree and peering up into the branches to catch a glimpse of their prey.

One man stood out among the peacocks. He rode on a stallion that seemed no more than smoke, but it’s hooves struck the rocky ground with a sound like steel. Compared to his companions his clothes were practically subdued. But the high-collared, short-waisted, blue doublet and glossy black riding boots only enhanced the paleness of his features. His hair was a shocking white blonde and floated about his face like soft feathers. Mismatched eyes examined the tree with keen interest as he dismounted. He strode up to the tree with a leisurely prowl, and the dogs moved out of his way on their bellies, heads bowed.

Sarah was frozen. He seemed to be staring right at her, trapping her with his raptor gaze. She realized that with everything else going on she hadn’t even considered what it would be like to meet him again. She realized she had pushed the fear away, buried it, and now here she was, about to confront him and completely unprepared to do so.

Below her, the Goblin King propped one foot up on a tree root and leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee. He stared up at her through the branches, tapping his riding crop against his boot. “Well now,” he drawled, “what have we here?”


Forgotten Language

By: Shel Sylverstein

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?