Chapter three, finally. This one has been written for a while, but I've been away on holidays, so haven't had a chance to put it up!
It's not super long, I know, but I enjoyed writing it. And I'm enjoying the next chapter as well!
Sorry to all those who are dying for some S/J "action". The course of true love never did run smooth.
Helly
Chapter 3
It was nearing the middle of Lúil, and the heat had been oppressive for weeks. Life in the castle moved at a slow pace during the day, many seeking to rest during the midday hours. It came to life at night, however, servants human and goblin bustling to complete jobs that had been neglected. Jareth had left for the Ard Righ's Summer residence to attend court matters several weeks earlier. He had taken his closest advisor, Cuinn, with him, and left the general running of the castle to Gwyneth. He did not intend to be gone any longer than he had to be.
Sarah worked and learned, grew brown in the sun, and slowly began to put on a little weight – now when she looked down, she couldn't see all her ribs. The tiny shed she slept in was stifling in the heat, but it was hers, and she kept it as clean as she could. Some days she would eat in the workshop by herself, sometimes the Lady was working – but Sarah never saw her eat. She never saw her sleep for that matter – it wouldn't have surprised her if the Folk didn't need either. She never asked about Jareth, and since she didn't spend much time with the other servants, her previous method of following his movements was obsolete.
The only one she really got to know was the little goblin cook, whose name she discovered was Cruet. When she didn't eat her food in the workshop, she would often descend into the cavernous kitchen, waiting until after the other servants had eaten. Cruet came to expect her at a later hour, and always fed her with his usual cheerful grin. If he wasn't too busy directing the other kitchen hands he would sometimes chatter to her, his little black eyes sparking in his wrinkled face. She learned that his wild hair would actually stand up on end if he got excited or upset, and she often hid her smile behind her sleeve, not wanting to offend the little man.
He talked about life in the castle, his kitchen, his recipes, and many of the humourous anecdotes he heard from the other servants. She didn't always ask him specific questions, but he seemed content to talk, having found someone willing to listen. From him she heard a great deal of the castles history, and it was from him she learned the age of the Goblin King – that he was nearly half a millennia. She found it difficult to grasp that among his own kind, he was still a relatively young man. She heard how the land they were on was originally claimed by his grandparents, and how the magical Labyrinth was built – tied by magic and blood to every generation of Jareth's family.
He covered a wide range of subjects – she heard gossip about the other servants, who was paired up with who, who had wronged such and such, and so on - market prices, who was overcharging and who was selling faulty goods (some of these names she recognized from her time there), politics, scandal, and rumors. He made her laugh, and she spent many evenings down in the kitchen with him.
"Little sprout," he would start, "let me tell ye about what happened to old Turlough the human, and his terrible daughter." He worked as he talked, clattering copper pans together, lifting lids, stirring and tasting. His long arms and fingers were never still, and he reminded her even more of a very lively animated tree.
"The two of them lived just outside the castle wall, in a wee stone shack that had been built by his father. He was a quiet sort, never asked for no trouble, and had always lived a simple and honest life. There were those that said he wasn't the sort to strive to better himself – he was satisfied with who he was, even if no-one else was. His wife had passed away when the girl was just a young lass, leaving him to raise her on his own. Well, the lass grew up quickly and soon took to managin' him – she had a tongue as sharp as steel and a quick wit about her. 'Twas said ye couldn't get within ten feet of her before ye felt yer ears begin to burn! She harped at her father day and night to get out and earn more money for them, so they could move up in the world. She herself was tight fisted, and stretched every penny they had so thin you could near see through them!
Well, one night – an ominous night it was, to be sure, thunder an' lightning burstin' all around, and a wind that near blew the hair off me own head," he paused to run his twiggy fingers through his wild hair with a grin, "on that night they was sitting in front of the fire, and Bronagh – for that were the daughters name – was darnin' a basket full of her father's socks. She hadn't allowed him a new pair in years, and they looked as though they had black spiders crawlin' all over them, so much had they been mended already.
Well, as they sat there, suddenly a knockin' came from their door. The father got up to answer it, but Bronagh stayed him with a hand.
'Tis likely to be some beggar lookin' for shelter. We'll have none 'o that, sit ye down, father.' The father meekly did as he was told. But soon the knockin' came again. It was so persistent that in the end Bronagh herself got up to answer the door.
She opened it, and standing in the doorway was a little old goblin woman, twisted and gnarled, her face hooded behind her dirty, tattered cloak. Well, Bronagh had even less love for goblins than she did for most anyone else, and she made to shut the door in the woman's face. But the woman stuck out her staff and caught the door, and try as she might the girl couldn't shut it. The rain and wind blew in around her.
'Old woman, what do ye want?'
'Daughter of Eve, I seek only shelter and food for the night.' The woman's voice was like stone on stone.
'We have none here. We don't take in beggars!' and she tried to shut the door again. The little woman's strength was great, and the door stayed open. The woman peered around the edge of it and saw the room, bright with firelight, and supper on the table.
'But, Daughter of Eve, I see plenty of victuals, and a place by the fire. Can ye not share them?'
'Nay, old woman, there be no place here for ye. Now go!' a third time she tried to close the door, but this time with a flick of her wrist, the old woman flung it open. Bronagh was thrown backwards into the room, and a great wind rushed in, dampening the fire and scattering ashes all over. Old Turlough cowered in his chair, and even the daughter now looked with fear in her eyes. The old goblin woman strode to the center of the room, and flung off her cloak. There before them stood one of the Folk, tall and beautiful, dressed richly in silk and gold. Her name was Caoilainn the Fair, and she was known by all folk for her beauty and great power. Now the human woman knew what error she had committed but sought to make amends.
'Oh, Great Lady, how was I to know ye were who ye were? If ye had said your name, I would have given ye anything ye asked for.' But an elegant upheld hand silenced her.
'Daughter of Eve, you have shown your true nature. It should not have mattered if I was goblin, human, or Faeran – your selfish heart has shown itself to me. And you,' she leveled her gaze on the father, who hadn't moved from fear, 'you are also at fault. You did not stay the selfishness of your daughter's actions, and did not speak when you should have spoken. The fault is as much yours for your indolence.'
'Now,' she pronounced, 'your punishment. You will live as those that you so despise, and to grow a greater understanding and compassion for others.' The man and his daughter were both weeping now, but she was unmoved. With a wave of her hand, the two humans were transformed into the most hideous, ugly examples of my kind that were ever seen. They ran wailing into the stormy night, and never were heard from again." His eyes were twinkling with mirth, and he chuckled to himself. Sarah was a little horrified, and asked meekly,
"Do all the Folk do that sort of thing? Roam around and turn... others... into other things?" the little man shook his head.
"Nay, sprout, but the Lady Caoilainn takes a particular interest in the lives of those beneath her. She is the daughter of a High Court official, and was born with an exceptional amount of power. But mostly the Folk keep to their own business, leaving the rest of us in peace."
Sarah dreamed of home often, and even while she was out in the garden, her mind would often wander and imagine what her family were doing. She tried to picture what Toby looked like now, how he was growing up, his laugh, and his smile. Sometimes tears mingled with the sweat running from her face as she worked, and she wiped them both away with the back of a gloved hand. She had never stopped missing her parents, and wished there was some way she could let them know she was alright, alive, and thinking of them.
One night as she was sleeping fitfully in the heat, she dreamed of Toby. She was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him sleep. He was nearly seven, and his blond hair had lost none of its curl. Suddenly he sat up and saw her there.
"Sis!" his eyes lit up with joy. "You came back! I always knew you would." He automatically reached to hug her, but his arms passed through Sarah without making contact and he fell forward on the covers. Sitting back up, he looked around for a moment, then said; "Are we dreaming?" Sarah nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak. Already she could feel tears welling in her eyes and spilling down her ghostly cheeks.
"Where have you been, sis? We've missed you. Why did you go away?" at this Sarah gave way, put her head into her hands and sobbed. It was too much for her to bear – he seemed so real. He reached out a hand to pat her head, but with the same result as before. His chin began to wobble also, and sensing his distress, Sarah lifted her head and wiped her eyes, fighting to gain control.
"Toby..." her voice was rough with tears. "I'm... I'm alright, Toby. I don't know how to get home, but I'm alright. I wish I was really able to tell you this. I wish..." she bit her lip as fresh tears spilled over. Toby was looking at her with a furrowed brow, and he seemed to come to some kind of decision, nodding to himself.
His eyes took on a determination that made him seem older than his seven years.
"I'll find you, sis. I don't care how, I know you're alive somewhere and I'll find you."
"Toby... you can't. I'm not..." she hesitated, unsure of how much to say. She had always avoided mentioning the Underground to him, even when he asked about dwarves and fairies and goblins. And she certainly didn't want him getting involved in a fruitless search.
"I'll ask him." He grinned and suddenly the dream was over and she was awake, sweating in the dark.
Jareth was also awake in the dark, unable to sleep because of the heat. His quarters in the Summer Palace were much more luxurious than he normally favored – rich tapestries and drapes covered every wall and window, costly rugs covered nearly every inch of the stone floor, and dark, imposing furniture felt as though it overcrowded the room. The tapestries collected an incredible amount of dust, and the drapes were drawn over the closed windows. He felt as though he was suffocating, lying there in the darkness, on top of mounds of feather pillows and coverlets.
Finally he got up, and wearing only his breeches, walked to a window and with a heave, pulled back the drapes. Leaning into the stone recess, he unlatched the latticed window and pushed it open. Air that was marginally cooler than what was inside his room rushed in, and he leaned forward, breathing deeply of the night atmosphere. The moon was waning and cast little light over the towers and turrets of the palace. A slight breeze blew through the many pennants and flags hanging from the spires and set them fluttering gently. He breathed in again, savoring the sweet night air.
As he was about to turn and go back to his bed, he sensed something. Something that tickled at the edges of his awareness, something he hadn't sensed in a long time. Closing his eyes, he cleared his mind and listened. It came into his consciousness like distant waves crashing onto the shore – becoming stronger as it neared. It was a Call. Someone was summoning him – he didn't know whom, but the force of their will was strong indeed. He turned his mind towards its source – it was coming from the world Above.
For a moment his concentration faltered – he had not had a Call from Above since she had summoned him. What a disaster that had been – not only had she conquered his Labyrinth and taken back the child, she had shattered one of the most powerful coercive glamours he had ever cast with a few simple words and her damned single minded determination.
For months afterwards he had felt the effects of the magical backlash – which had been also physically reflected in his kingdom - as King, he was emotionally tied to the Land itself, and felt its pain. Entire sections of the city had crumbled; an entire wing in his castle had nearly collapsed. The Labyrinth itself had convulsed as though in pain, shaking the land itself and causing more damage. He had taken a long time to recover.
The Call came again, stronger this time, and he re-focused his attention. He began to get a picture in his mind of the individual who was making it, and their location. A very familiar location. A place that he had been particularly careful to ignore. The third time the Call came, its strength of will was enough to nearly grab him and pull him through the portal, He gave in, stepped up onto the windowsill and threw himself off, changing mid-flight into his owl form. Wheeling back into the room, he flew straight into the mirror, disappearing with a ripple like a stone thrown into water.
Author: yeah! Review me. Tell me if it sucks. Well... tell me constructively. XD
