Author's Note: I apologise to all those who have reviewed that I have not been able to reply this time around. I appreciate the fact that you take the time. So, a big thanks to Kawaii Usagi Chan San, GoldenRat, Princess, White Rose Withering, Anij, sweetbabby33, notsilveraura and Dafina.

Chapter Seven: New Angels of Promise

The cool snap of evening revived her after the incense-laden air of the temple. The hours of twilight had claimed the land, turning everything in the landscape to blurred shapes of blue, starlight and shadow. The path from the temple back to the house was illumined by paper lanterns that hung in the twisted branches of silent trees. No-one spoke as they walked; Sarah would probably not have heard anything that was said to her in any event. The echo of a voice still sounded in her head. My, my, Sarah Williams, she thought to herself, what have you become? Being in conversation with a god comes as no surprise to you.

The horses were waiting for them, their elegant heads held high over proudly arched necks. They were restive and nervy, their hooves pawing the ground in anticipation of their night run.

'I'm not really much of a horsewoman,' Sarah said to Rajad, eyeing the horses. 'And when I say not much, what I really mean is not at all.'

'Yes, Delaine told me. It is the quickest way - by foot the path is arduous and would take far more time than we have. I, however, am an excellent horseman, andit will be my privilege to carry you.'

Vanity, she reflected, appeared to be a common attribute among the Fae. But Rajad's boast was not an idle one, as she was soon to learn. He placed his hands lightly on his mare's back and vaulted effortlessly into the saddle with a movement so fluid his body had barely seemed to bend. She couldn't help an amazed gasp as she looked at him. He extended a hand to her and, using the toe of his boot as a foothold, Sarah was pulled up to meet him.

Delaine did not bother with a saddle or bridle. She spent some moments whispering into her horse's pricked ears and than sprang nimbly onto the strong back. Sarah watched her with admiration and a pang of jealousy. She made a mental note that riding lessons were to be a priority upon her return home. Ambrosius was also mounted - and he held Toby tightly to him. Sarah had wanted to leave him under Vathani's watchful supervision, but he had pleaded so insistently that she had, eventually, given in. And Ambrosius had assured her that no harm would befall him. They would all, therefore, escort her to the Tower of Virtues.

Rajad gathered the reins in one hand; his free arm wrapped around Sarah's waist and held her to him snugly. They probably made a very romantic picture, she thought; although, hers was an exceedingly uncomfortable position. If it were Jareth's arm around her now, if it were his body pressed firmly against hers... She would not want it to end. The horses were straining and at a word from Rajad they were released. Sarah gasped as the horse started to move, suddenly aware of its strength and easy grace. She turned her head and saw the figures standing on the wide steps, their arms waving in farewell. One had a pennant that she was fluttering madly above her head; and their voices, calling out words of parting and wishes of luck, echoed after them.

Sarah grasped the pommel and clung on; the only riding experience she had was a donkey ride at a fête when she was seven years old. Even so, she was certain that no horse could - or should - go this fast. They had taken the path that plunged deep into the forest, but she could see nothing of the scenery - it was a dark blur on either side as they sped along, the drumming of hooves on the hard ground only fractionally slower than her heart-rate. The wind whipped against her face until her eyes were streaming.

They rode hard. The deep blue of evening gave way to the black of night; the air was so clear that when the moon rose the contours of the landscape were precision-defined and bathed in silver. Sarah would have appreciated it, were it not for the fact that she was entirely focused on staying in the saddle. Her whole body was tensed and she was convinced that at any moment she would tumble to earth. Rajad held onto her grimly, his arm tightening around her squirming form until she could hardly breath. He did not ride in the stiff-backed manner of equestrians Sarah had seen on TV; his body moved with and in response to the horse and Sarah was forced to bend and move with him. It was a relief when they drew to a halt at a stream to allow the horses a well-earned drink. Sarah slithered to the ground, her legs feeling strangely hollow. She stretched out her jarred spine while the riders watered their mounts. Vathani's numerous bracelets jangled musically as she stroked the sleek neck of her gelding; his mane was almost as dark as her hair as she bent her head close to his.

'How are you doing, kiddo?'

Toby's luminous face was answer enough. 'This is so cool! D'you think Rajad will teach me to ride? Did you see the way he mounted the horse? It was, like...' Words failed him; his hands moved in a flowing motion that echoed Rajad's impressive grace. Sarah stifled a laugh; it was the first time that Toby had ever referred to Rajad with anything like admiration and may signal that he had - at least in part - forgiven the Elf for having been married to Toby's idol. She gave her brother some water and then drank some herself before crouching down to refill her flask from the stream. The water was ice-cold and heady. The rich and pretentious would pay a fortune for this stuff, she thought, drinking deeply and then refilling. From deep in the forest came the faint, high whinny of a horse. The animal drinking next to Sarah threw its head back, showering her with drops of icy water, and answered the call. Ears pricked, their breath frosting, the horses quivered as they stared into the dark woodland.

'Who else is there?' Sarah asked tensely as Rajad helped her up.

'Don't worry; it's just the wild horses. They run free in the forests - magnificent animals.' His horse nudged his head indignantly and Rajad stroked her damp muzzle, laughing. 'Not as magnificent as you, Rashira, obviously.' He hunted in his pockets before locating a sugar lump and fed it to her. 'Just like a big dog, really,' he commented, running his fingers through her mane. Like all of his kind, Rajad had a way with animals and the sight of his handsome face softening as he spoke into the mare's ear was a touching one. That sentiment was shared by Delaine, if the fleeting look of tenderness that crossed her face was anything to go by.

It was noticeably colder; the ground beneath their feet hard with frost. Sarah was grateful for the warmth of her travelling costume: knee-high boots, breeches and, best of all, the black jacket that fell to mid-thigh, the supple leather moulding itself to her form. It was lined with silk - shimmering midnight blue that, she could swear, still held the scent of its previous owner.

'We ride on!'

Sarah settled into the saddle again, feeling slightly more at ease than she had the first time around. She was prepared now for the sudden surge of strength from both horse and rider. They followed the path up the mountainside and as they passed the tree-line the first drifts of snow became visible. The way had been cleared for them and while the horses still maintained a breathless speed, it was slightly slower than before; the way was picked with more care. The air was thinner and Sarah felt her chest constricting as she breathed; the speed and lack of oxygen was dizzying: she kept getting flashes of strange faces peering out of the darkness either side of them as they sped past. She didn't know if they were real or simply her imagination and she didn't care anymore. She wanted ground under her feet, a clear head and one true deep breath of air. Her face was starting to feel numb and her eyelids kept closing against her will. She didn't know how long she stayed in this half-conscious state but was jolted out of it when Rajad - his voice close to her ear - shouted something to the other riders. They slowed and Sarah blinked rapidly to clear the fog from her eyes. They had reached the summit and were running easily along a fairly flat stretch of land towards a bridge. It spanned two mountaintops and on the peak opposite and slightly above them rose the Tower of Virtues.

The hooves echoed hollowly as the crossed the bridge. It was wide, built of solid stone and all along it was flanked by statues of fabulous winged creatures. But Sarah was aware only of the fact that the aged stone was the only thing between them and a very long way down to the valley floor.

She focused on the Tower. It was a dark, tiered mound silhouetted against the stars and at its very top there was a motionless figure. There was something strangely familiar about it.

They passed through the gateway in the outer wall and, finally, were brought to a stop. They dismounted gratefully; and as the horses were tethered Sarah looked back across the bridge. For a moment she thought it was her eyes still foggy from the change in altitude, but when she looked again it was still there. It advanced across the plateau and to a casual glance was nothing more than mist. But as Sarah stared at it she could see the shapes; a faint ragged army that drifted mournfully across the land.

'What is that?'

'Such things have always been seen in the forest - and not everything in the forest is friendly.' Rajad watched them uneasily. 'They will not cross the bridge. I do not know what they are; and I will not choose tonight to find out,' he added grimly, turning back to tend to Rashira. He pulled a blanket from his saddle bag and draped it over her haunches.

Sarah joined her other companions and gazed up at the huge structure, frowning. 'I know this place... I've been here before - this is in Rome.' She looked around. They were very definitely not in Rome, but...

'There are ancient ley lines in all our worlds, Sarah,' Ambrosius said, rubbing the small of his back. He smiled at her ruefully. 'I think I'm beginning to feel my age. As I was saying, ley lines... If you think of all the different worlds lying in layers, all with their ley lines running through them, well, sometimes those lines intersect or follow the same route. And when that happens a natural portal is formed. The Tower lies on a point that connects to every known realm - and many unknown ones.' He smiled at her. 'Are you ready?'

She met his black eyes. 'No. But lead on anyway.'

He grasped her shoulder briefly and then started towards the great opening. A small dark shape swooped low over their heads, fluttering in the moonlight.

'I hate those things,' Delaine said, eyeing the bat with distaste. The faint beat of its wings was the only sound that broke the silence.

'If you don't bother it, it won't bother you,' Rajad responded; he took hold of her arm and pulled her inside, glancing over his shoulder at the mist that had now gathered at the opposite end of the bridge.

Rizan took hold of Delaine's other arm. 'I've had a great idea about how you can develop your writing career Underground.'

'Go on.'

'Are you ready for this?' He gestured expansively. 'A series of Elf-help books. Elf-help.' He sniggered. 'Get it?'

Delaine laughed in spite of herself. 'It's taken you this whole time to come up with that?'

He grinned at her.

Sarah heard Vathani muttering something under her breath that seemed to link Rizan's parentage with a camel; she hope that Toby hadn't heard it as it would no doubt become his favourite saying for the next decade.

The great dark mouth of the opening led into a gloomy interior of cold stone and high slit-like windows that allowed shafts of moonlight to cut across the paved floor. They started up a gently sloping ramp. It was wide and high enough for horses to pass and followed the shape of the rotunda. Heavy iron brackets held torches that had already been lit. Someone was expecting them, but there was no sound and no sign that anyone else was there. Anyone else living, at any rate. Sarah had the unnerving feeling that unseen eyes were watching them from the shadows.

She remembered that holiday in Rome. Trying to fit every major Italian city into two weeks with... Rob? She was fairly confident that had been his name. Just after graduation. Somewhere, in her old life, there were the photographs of the two of them standing sweltering on the bank of the Tiber, squinting into the camera held by a friendly Japanese tourist, the Ponte Sant' Angelo stretched behind them.

They had reached the level of the ramparts. The summit of the monument was surprisingly close and its statue clearly visible: the great winged figure sheathing its sword. Ambrosius drew them to a halt and they stood, listening. Sarah could hear nothing except her own laboured breathing; it still felt as though an iron band had been tightened around her chest. She felt Toby knock against her and automatically reached for him.

'What are we waiting for?' he tried to keep his voice to a whisper but it still echoed around the curving passage.

'I don't know,' she whispered back. Ambrosius silenced them peremptorily. The wind was barely audible through the thick walls but the occasional gust found its way through the narrow windows, stirring their hair and the shimmering gold of Vathani's robes. The torches guttered, thin plumes of smoke sent spiralling into the air, and then went out. The darkness was complete. Sarah felt Toby pressing closer against her, sensed Rajad and his brother shifting restlessly nearby, heard Vathani's soft murmuring that sounded like a prayer.

There was an explosion of light; it rippled along the passageways and with it came voices and music and laughter. The floor was tiled in black and white; the defensive slits in the now white walls gave way to huge windows and lamps of distinctly Art Deco design had replaced the torches. Above and below them and spilling out onto the ramparts was a crowd of happy partygoers. The men were elegant in black-tie, the women flaunting their flared silks and draped chiffons. A man hurried down the wide tiered steps to greet them, his red hair shining like fire. He grasped Ambrosius warmly by the hand.

'Ah, there you are, Raphael.' Ambrosius looked around mildly. 'This is all very ... colourful.'

'We were not sure exactly when you would arrive, but everyone was very keen to be here. Although, I'm sure that Lord Rajad would say that all this is because we cannot make an entrance with making a bloody song and dance of it, eh, my friend?'

'I would say no such thing,' Rajad replied stiffly, but the suspicious glances he had been darting at the gathering belied his words.

Raphael's smile broadened. He was not handsome, exactly; but there was something arresting about his face and a great deal of humour in the depths of his hooded eyes. His easy charm was in evidence as he greeted the rest of them. 'And you are the only two I have not met before,' he concluded, taking in Sarah and Toby with one glance.

Sarah took hold of the hand he extended to her. 'I am-'

'Sarah,' he said, smiling. 'Yes, I do know. And hello, Toby. Did you enjoy your first horseback ride?'

Toby stared at him. 'Yeah. How did you...'

Raphael winked and tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially; he still had hold of Sarah's hand and drew her arm through his, escorting her gallantly up the sloping passage. She walked with him without a murmur; at that first touch she had felt warmth spreading through her - and the jagged wound inside was a little less painful. For the first time in days she felt a faint echo of the happiness she had once known.

Whatever you expect, Ambrosius had told her, you will be wrong. Better to expect nothing. Sarah had never suffered from a lack of imagination, but Ambrosius had been correct - she would never have expected this. The laughter around her was like the peal of merry bells, but beautiful and inhuman. And even though Raphael, with his cheery smile and kind, wise eyes, was the picture of a debonair gentleman, he was light and fire made flesh. And even though the face he now wore was borrowed, it still glowed. They all glowed slightly, lit with their own inner radiance. The Shining Ones.

They reached the upper level; it was quieter, less crowded, the laughter from below floating up on air scented with gardenias and faded roses. As Raphael drew her across the floor, Sarah felt someone grasp her free hand; she was spun around and found herself confronting a great bear of a man. He wore the rough dark habit of a monk and his tallow-coloured hair stood around his head like a demented halo.

'So, this is her,' he boomed, inspecting her. He jabbed a large finger into her arm and shook his head disapprovingly. 'Too thin. She's too thin and too pale, Raphael.' Without warning he seized her chin, forcing her head back so he could peer intently into her eyes. 'You are walking from light into darkness, child, and what will be demanded of you is blood and flesh and bone. And-'

'You're making her nervous, Gabriel.' Raphael took hold of the wide shoulders and firmly steered him away from Sarah. She watched the shambolic figure obediently following his elegant companion. When she spoke her voice sounded slightly higher than usual. 'I always thought that Gabriel was supposed to be female.'

'A common misconception,' Ambrosius replied. 'Ah, now that's more like it.'

The man who approached them this time was tall and slender, his black hair brushed back from a high forehead. He had the slim face of an aesthete; his eyes were his most attractive feature: fringed with dark lashes they shifted from grey to green and gave nothing away.

'You know me.' It was not a question, but a statement of fact. And in that moment, as Sarah looked at him, she knew him as though she had known him all her life.

'Michael.'

The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly – the only evidence of a smile. How long she had been gazing at him she did not know, but somehow she had been drawn away from the others, guided by a touch on her arm so light she had been unaware of it. Delaine was chatting with Raphael, her head tilted towards his flirtatiously. Rajad had found an admirer of his own, but he kept glancing over at the lovely face now alive with laughter. The only other one of her companions she could see was Toby; he had found two other children – a little boy and a girl with platinum blonde curls and a particularly angelic face – and all three had started an impromptu game of tag through the mingling crowds that Toby, even at the grand age of ten, was not too old for.

She drifted across the floor on Michael's arm. It was the strangest sensation: she could feel the marble floor beneath her feet but she felt as disengaged as she would in a dream. The knowledge of her loss and of what lay ahead of her was still immediate in her mind, but the aching void that Jareth had left behind no longer completely clouded her thoughts. By the time they reached the head of a staircase she was able to smile at her companion. They stood at the top; its surface was so highly polished that Sarah could see their reflections - broken and refracted - looking up at them. 'You know,' she said meditatively, 'when I was a kid I always wanted to tap-dance down one of these. Too many old black-and-white movies, I guess.'

'And now you have put away childish things?' Michael asked, his eyes crinkling again.

'More or less, I think.'

'I have always thought that the ambitions of childhood are the ones that should be fulfilled,' he informed her, holding out his hands.

'What- No! I mean... I can't dance. Not like that. And I don't even have the right dress.'

'Don't you?'

She should have realised, she thought, as she looked down at the swirling silvery chiffon trimmed with ostrich feathers. She twirled around experimentally, watching with satisfaction how the skirt wrapped itself around her body before unfurling again. She raised a hand to her head; her fingers met the rigid set of marcel waves in her hair.

Michael took hold of her. 'Ready?'

Her feet seemed to know the steps. The invisible band had started up a lively percussive number and they glided down the stairs to its beat. He held her respectfully but firmly and from the spectators above and below came cries of encouragement. Sarah felt light enough to simply float away if not for Michael's hands holding her down.

When they reached the bottom she turned to him, laughing. Nothing in his face had changed, nor in the way he looked at her. But she felt the change, nonetheless. 'I didn't come here to dance.

'No.'

'It's time now, isn't it?'

Michael nodded. The lights had dimmed and the joyous sounds of celebration had fallen silent, receding back into the worn stone that contained so many memories. The last of her childhood dreams had gone, as though it had never existed.

'I'm scared.'

'That is good. Fear will make you cautious - and you will need to be cautious, Sarah.' He held her gaze and then smiled. 'It's this way.'

The door was small, inconspicuous - strangely out of keeping with the surrounding grandeur. They were waiting for her, huddled together; only Raphael - his impossibly red hair glinting despite the gloom - stood apart. She crouched in front of Toby. 'I'm going to say good-bye now.'

'But, Sarah!'

'But nothing. This is it; this is as far as you go. I want you to stay out here. And behave yourself for once in your life, okay?'

One corner of his mouth twitched and he tried to out-stare her. Then his eyes fell. 'Okay.'

She went through the motions of saying farewell. Toby's embrace was hard and clinging, but even as she held him she felt as though someone else was guiding her actions; all the emotions that would otherwise have paralysed her had been blocked. She submitted to Rizan's crushing hug and accepted a kiss on each cheek from Vathani. Ambrosius held her by the shoulders and then let her go. They had already said all that they could say to one another.

He had made her no promises - he had given up on that a long time ago. The sight of her determined face filled him with pride and sorrow. It was not the task he would have wished for her. Yet, she would not always be entirely alone. That kernel of knowledge was the sole consolation he had.

It went without question that Delaine would stay with her until the end. It was her right, after all. Equally without question was that Rajad would stay with Delaine.

What a devoted group we are, she thought. She had come to despise that sly, sarcastic little voice in her head. It was, she knew, born of grief and fear and the sooner she could rid herself of it, the better. She looked back at Toby; Vathani's hands rested lightly on his shoulders and Sarah felt sure that he couldn't get up to too much mischief while under those watchful dark eyes.

Sarah passed through the doorway and after a moment heard it close behind her. The Mirror of the Worlds stood before her. It took up most of the wall; its frame of heavy silver had once been highly decorated, but over thousands of years it had been worn down until only the occasional ridge or depression spoke of what had been. The surface was smooth and hard but she had the feeling that there was something behind it, something waiting to be woken and called forth. The room was dim, the few torches fixed to the walls not strong enough to penetrate the gloom of the vaulted ceiling above them. The air was cold and held the bitter taste of dust and dead flowers. Sarah inched forward, her eyes fixed on the mirror. She could see nothing in it until she stood directly in front of it; her face looked drained of colour, the black of her clothes blended into the ill-lit background so that she had the unnerving impression that her disembodied head was suspended in the air. Behind her she could see Delaine and Rajad - two blurred, watery figures. Sarah moistened her lips and turned to Michael and Raphael.

She screwed up her eyes against the sudden light; there was music in the air, a strange, low song that vibrated in her chest. And then, as her eyes adjusted, she saw him – Michael, the Seraph, in all his glory. The fabric draped sinuously around his body glistened like a snake's skin. He had six wings, in all, of emerald feathers, each fringed with saffron and each with a dark eye upon it. But these eyes were not simply markings like a peacock's feathers: these were living, seeing eyes. Two wings swept across his lower body, covering his feet; another two masked three of his faces that shone with unbearable beauty – the forth was clearly visible and at that moment Sarah felt that she could quite happily spend the rest of her life staring at it. The final pair of wings curved above him, the tips almost touching the high roof of the chamber and as they stirred slightly they sent a warm breeze across her face.

It was with great effort that Sarah forced herself to turn her attention to Raphael. His four wings were of scarlet and gold and as she watched him his features changed so that one moment he had the head of a great lion, the next the face of a Renaissance youth. On either side of him was a wheel of fire, their flames shooting into the air yet not scorching the stone floor; even these wheels seemed to have eyes and wisdom of their own. A bar of flame connected them and on this stood Raphael, like a mighty charioteer. How anyone had managed to reduce the Cherubim to plump, smiling infants with gauzy wings was a mystery.

And as Sarah stood before the Cherub and Seraph she was enveloped in their light and felt the fire of love, of wisdom and of knowledge spread through her. The sacred oil that had been placed on her brow burned in response, searing across her head. Yet despite the pain she craved more of it; she was floating, suspended in liquid light. She was invincible.

No, she thought suddenly. I'm not. I am breakable; but I am strong.

'And so you are ready.' Their voices sounded together; their magnificence had not diminished, but Sarah could look at them now without cowering. She looked at Delaine and Rajad - one last good-bye. In the presence of these celestial creatures Rajad, too, had changed: he seemed lit from within, emanating a pure white radiance through which only the deep green of his eyes was clearly visible. And beside him Delaine was a living dawn, a figure of pale gold.

She was drawn back to the mirror. Her mirror self looked back at her, pale and slightly smiling. The features were familiar and yet strange; she looked at the girl with the black hair and grey eyes who had ensnared the Goblin King. Behind that silvered surface something was stirring; and from far off came a murmuring so low it was inaudible to all save her. It skimmed through her mind, brushing against her ears: the faint whisper of a voice she knew better than she knew her own that spoke her name.

'How do I get through?'

Michael stretched out a hand until one long bright finger touched the still surface. Concentric circles shivered across it and from a region far beyond, but drawing ever nearer, were hazy spirals. The patterns shifted before her mesmerised eyes until there was no solid barrier between her and what lay beyond, only that fine mist. The gateway had been opened. Something brushed against her cheek - a long tendril from that swirling mass had reached out to caress her, to draw her in. And that voice was louder, more insistent. This was it, she thought. There was no turning back now, even if she wanted to. The path had claimed her and she would follow it to the end. She took a step forward and felt that cold embrace envelop her.

The torches burned lower and the magnificence that had flooded the chamber faded; the two figures that still remained shivered slightly. There was nothing more to see in the mirror, only the twisting plumes behind the rippling surface. But still Delaine stood staring into its depths as though she could follow the progress of that solitary figure through sheer force of will. The agitated surface calmed; and as the ripples slowed her reflection became visible. Rajad watched as her face, distorted, shifted out of focus and then reformed before the mirror's surface finally stilled and her reflection, the pale perfect copy of the living woman, looked back at him unseeing, just out of his reach. She had always been just out of his reach, even when she had lain in his arms. With youthful arrogance he had presumed he knew her and so he had lost her. In many ways they were closer now than they had been then. Pride on both sides had been worn down by experience; they could understand one another better now. But she was still just out of his reach.

He studied her profile: the clean sweep of her jaw up to the hollow just behind her ear, the markings that curved around her eyes and almost disappeared when she laughed. And that one stubborn lock of hair that always coiled itself around the base of her throat.

'I can ask Vathani if she will stay with you.'

'Vathani,' she repeated. 'Yes. That would be ... good.'

The cracks were starting to show; the collapse would not be far off now. He took a step toward her. 'Or, I could stay with you.'

'That would be better.'

He reached out and gently unwound the hair from her throat, his fingers brushing her skin; she turned into his arms and buried her face against his shoulder.

ooOoo

The wood beneath her fingers was smooth and cool. Driftwood. Sarah leant against it and tried to remember how she had got to this place. Memory took some time to return, and when it did the images were nonsensical. A night time run on horseback, a holiday from years before, a dance hall, winged beings of light, a man with mismatched eyes.

Jareth.

Her head pounded but as she breathed the keen, salty air the ache became bearable. Sarah dragged herself to her feet and looked around. The shore was as desolate a place as she had ever seen. Grey waters washed against the shingles and cliffs loomed over her, their granite faces implacable against the wind. She had never felt cold like this. It found its way through every gap in her clothing and bit her skin, penetrating her to the bone. She had to keep moving.

Clumps of seaweed marked the line of high-tide and the waves were already racing towards it; if she continued along the beach she would be trapped by the rising waters. Sarah clapped her arms around herself, trying to coax warmth and feeling back into her stiffening limbs. There was a path leading from the beach up to the top of the cliffs. Steep and rocky it meandered up the cliff face. Precarious was an understatement, but it was her only way off the shingles. Sarah adjusted her backpack and, grabbing a handful of long rough grass, began her long ascent.

To be continued...