Chapter 10.
Oberon called his most trusted advisor to his side, "Adjudicator Periwinkle," he addressed the younger Fae Prince. "I am in need of…"
"Advice," ventured the younger man, his gray eyes not hiding his interest.
"No," Oberon disagreed, "Not advice." He paced thinking out what it was he did want. "I want clarification on a point of law," he said as he paced. Periwinkle had always been a student of Fae law, and its applications, who better to turn to?
The tall, lean and graceful prince sobered. It was not often that his lordship the High King asked him for anything more than perhaps an interpretation of a point in the law… Never before had Oberon asked in an official capacity for clarification. Periwinkle had been an official of the Law for several centuries. In fact he was the longest reigning Adjudicator on the isle. He cleared his throat, schooled his face and asked. "What point of law needs clarification?"
The High King motioned to the table that was overflowing with scrolls, parchments, books and notes of all descriptions. "I've been over the law over and over," he stated grimly. "I have read every translation I could find," his hand dropped, "Without success."
Moving toward the table, the legally educated Fae lord picked up one parchment to read its contents. "This is The Escheat," he stared first at the parchment before turning his eyes to his King. "Sire, you've been reading The Escheat," he inquired. "Why, what is it you are looking for?"
"A loophole, Peri, a loophole." The King grumbled as he joined him at the long wide heavy laden table.
"To what," Periwinkle lowered the parchment back to the pile he'd plucked it from. He noted that all the parchments and scrolls on the top of the piles were ones that dealt with how the Fae were expected to deal with mortals. "I see a pattern here I find disconcerting."
"In what way," Oberon asked sourly.
"Sire, are you having a problem with the mortal realm," the handsome judge asked, his hand resting on the parchments.
Slumping his shoulders, the High King considered how to answer. "Not directly," he stated, hoping it was the right way to go about getting what he wanted from the Adjudicator.
"If not the whole realm," Periwinkle, not about to let this go, pondered aloud, "Then perhaps it is just one mortal that concerns you." Seeing the grim expression on the High King's face, he asked. "Or is it a Fae whom bothers you my Lord?"
"That I even have to claim him as Fae," growled Oberon with low fury, "Is a burden I can no longer bear."
Gathering his long robes about him, Periwinkle took a seat. "Ah," he said with sympathetic perception. "The Goblin King, Jareth."
"My beloved sister's son," the angry retort came, The High King found even this to be too difficult to say without it coming out a slur. "That devil spawn she has saddled us with."
It was not the first time that Periwinkle had witnessed such a retort coming from the High King. Having been in his court at the time of the incident, Peri had witnessed worse. "I was under the impression that the being in question had been designated a position with in another realm," he smiled coyly at the irate Oberon. Was I mistaken?"
"Therein rests my problem," a firm hand came down with a thud on the table. "I need to know if he's still bound by The Escheat Laws." Leaning on the table, his hands turning white with the pressure, Oberon demanded, "Is he?"
Long delicate fingers rested on the chin of the Fae Judge as he contemplated. "Actually," he admitted carefully. "I'm not sure." Long fingers left the chin and waved about in the air casually. "I mean he has citizenship as a Fae, but he's also the Goblin King of the Labyrinth… it's an interesting dilemma… after all his functioning puts him into much closer proximity with mortals on a regular basis."
"But does he have to adhere to the Escheat Laws?" Oberon demanded on edge.
Periwinkle nodded nonchalantly, "As a Fae he is bound by the same laws that we are, yes."
"You're sure," a thin sneer formed where the frown had been.
"As a Fae, yes of course," the Lord Adjudicator speculated. "If he is proclaiming himself a Fae King, he is obligated and duty-bound to uphold, enforce and obey the Escheat Laws"
A firm hand slapped the table again this time in joy, "I've got him!" The High King declared in a bold boast. "And this will be the nail that locks his coffin!" He drew a long satisfied breath. "I can demand his removal." He looked utterly pleased.
--
The crystal in the pale hand shattered. Olwyn stood up, "That is the last straw," she muttered. Crossing the floor of the tower room she moved to where the mirror stood. It was a vanity that Oberon had encouraged, one that she had never given much attention to until this moment. She stood before the looking glass, spread out her arms and brought them up above her head where she clapped her beautiful hands together loudly. Years of having been exiled to this tower had taught her to focus and hone her skills. "Image in the mirror," she breathed deeply, commandingly. "Come forth." Lowering her arms she stepped back as the image from the mirror stepped forward.
"Command me," the image of Olwyn bid her mistress.
"You must be seen as me," Olwyn motioned the image to the chair in which she herself always took her seat. "Stitch as I would, weave, and spin," She directed the faux image. "Be me."
"Yes, Mistress," the image moved to the chair and took her seat, just as Olwyn would. She lifted her needle and began to work on the tapestry.
Olwyn opened a cedar chest that lay at the foot of the bed she had been given here in the prison of this tower room. Within was a cloak entirely made of the thick fowler's knots. She draped it over her shoulders, wrapping herself against the cold of the night. "Remember," she warned cautiously, "Be me."
Still working on the needle work, the image had not even turned her face to look her way. "I shall." She promised as she worked on, oblivious to the presence of the real lady of the tower.
Drawing a crystal from the air, the princess breathed upon it lightly. It changed color, from clear to dark, nearly black. Extending the hand that held the orb, Olwyn pressed it to the wall, opening a portal. Stepping through her vanished from the tower room, leaving behind the false image of her-self. In the portal vanished as soon as Olwyn was within it. Lifting the orb the Lady of the Tower uttered words of enchantment, powerful words… the first true magic words ever uttered. "Anáil dragan uisce orth bhais betha, do cheol déanta."
At first it seemed little or nothing had happened, except for a slight tingling in the hand holding the orb above her. Closing her ebony eyes, drawing slow and even breaths, Olwyn allowed herself to become one with the flow of energy. "Anáil dragan uisce orth bhais betha, do cheol déanta." She repeated with utter calm and assurance. This time the sphere in her hand burst into light, and the space where she stood was surrounded by a vortex. With more confidance the Daughter of the house of the High Fae Race cried out once more, "Anáil dragan uisce orth bhais betha, do cheol déanta." The vortex moved faster and she could feel herself being pulled into its spinning heart. "Dragon's breath, charm of death and life, thy omen of making. I Olwyn Tuatha de Danaan command you to do my bidding." She could feel the power rush through her. "Take me to the lands of the Labyrinth!"
There was a roaring in her ears, and the princess felt her body floating as if she had wings. The fowler's net cloak stretched out, she extended her arms, and the cloak fluttered out behind her. Olwyn rose up into the vortex, transported instantly from the between that was hidden from even Mighty Oberon. She had no fears, for she had experienced this sort of power before, long, long ago. She had never felt so free, as she did at this moment.
The vortex carried her away from the isle of her imprisonment to the outer rim of the Labyrinth. Where she landed gently and the whirlwind dissipated as quickly as it had arisen. Serene, tranquil, completely composed, Olwyn released the dark orb. Allowing it to float effortlessly above her giving light to her path. She shook out the fowler's net cloak and her gown, setting herself to rights before surveying where it was that she'd landed. Her eye was drawn to a tree, where a phantom image of an antique clock hung before evaporating into nothingness.
"There's been a runner recently," she observed extending a hand toward the empty space in the tree, drawing it back quickly when she heard a man's voice speak, the sound drew a startled gasp from the Fae Princess. The voice came from behind her. "Turn back, Sarah. Turn back, before it is too late." Olwyn closed her ebony eyes and listened again as it floated on the windy hillside. "Turn back, Sarah. Turn back, before it is too late." She knew it would repeat over and over, and she listened to the sound of the voice. "Jareth," she said with knowing.
"My son."
With her eyes closed the Fae Princess could place herself closer to the emotions that had been spoken here. She felt the presence of two forces, one male, and the other female. "Speak," she whispered and opened her eyes, seeing what had happened here only hours ago.
Sarah was looking at the castle. It seemed to be a long way off, but not impossibly far to travel. It depended on what she would encounter in the valley, how easily it could be crossed. Was the darkness down there perpetual? "It doesn't look that far," she said, and heard in her voice the effort she was making to sound brave.
Jareth was at her elbow now. He looked at her, with a smile that was icy. "It's farther than you think." Pointing at a tree, he added, "And the time is shorter." His long soft tendrils of hair brushed over the face of the girl, causing her to shiver nervously.
Sarah saw that an antique wooden clock had appeared in the tree, as though growing from a branch. On it were marked the hours to thirteen, as on the nursery clock in the lightning.
"You have thirteen hours to unriddle the Labyrinth," Jareth told her, "before your baby brother becomes one of us."His voice betrayed his feelings, something he'd never done. He was remorseful, and more giving than he'd ever been… but then this was no ordinary girl… this was the creature who's very soul had called out to him.
"Us?"
Jareth nodded. "Forever." He began to back away, lest he faulted all together and give more away than he had a right to. He had already given her fair, no, more than fair warning. He only hoped she'd heed it. 'Such a pity,' he thought to himself shaking his head as he backed away.
Magic still hummed in the air. Sarah was standing still, hair tossing in the wind, looking out across the valley toward the castle. After a while, she said, "Tell me where I start."
She waited for an answer, and finally she heard him say, "What a pity."He and his voice faded away. Leaving the girl standing and staring at the place where he had been.
Olwyn opened her eyes, "How charming," she exclaimed in a soft voice. "My son is a romantic." The wistful look was now replaced with peaceful calm and happiness. She looked down the hillside, and snapped her fingers altering the orb she wished to move on. Once her pathway was effacingly lit, she raised her skirts so she would not become entangled in them and carefully moved down the hillside. The hot wind that had been making lazy dust devils on the hillside cooled, not to a chill, but more temperate, and pleasant. Dust devils died away and the hillside that had seemed dead now burst once more into flower. What had been a sandy hill was now carpeted in wild grasses and ivy along the winding path.