Chapter 12: That With the Dead Has Been
5980 Days (June 30, 2007)
Warm air rose from the sun-heated stones of the Goblin City, soft like a caress through his feathers as Jareth wheeled, circling over his domain, low at first, then using the heated air to rise ever higher. It was just sunset, and the burnt orange-red of the horizon set the City alight in the colors of flame; below him, goblins sought shelter in the ramshackle houses that lined the streets, or simply lay down where they were, content to rest for the coming darkness. In the Junkyard, the scraps and treasures shifted and settled, encumbered Junk People snugging down for the night around tight piles of gathered effects, remnants of people they once had been or once wished to be. Each layer of the Labyrinth stretched before him as he circled higher, noting the sounds of night in each: the burping mist rising from the Bog, the bonfire in the Fiery Forest, the glittering lights in the Forest of Forgetfulness, the rustling and resettling of the Hedge Maze, which only moved when no one was looking.
Up he climbed, past the highest point of the City, and swooped in towards the Castle, circling tight around it, noting that no light showed in any of the windows. The Castle goblins would have long since settled; he sought only a hint of Sarah's doings.
Ciro's accident had changed her. Once, she had been as present to his senses as a subject of the Labyrinth: he could find her at will, sensing her exact location within his domain with no more than a thought. Now that knowledge was denied to him, and neither could he use the more mundane crystal scrying in this form. Perhaps it had been the accident, or perhaps it was merely magic catching up to her, as it had to Ciro; either way, she was different, since that day. Before, she had been human, though touched by Magic; now she had changed more than he had thought possible, becoming, in appearance at least, more like the women of his own race that he remembers from his youth. Her face had thinned, becoming more angular, and her eyes slanted sharply, the marks that matched his own now firmly defined, not the vague suggestions they had been when Ciro came to them. She had always been beautiful, human lushness and her own perfection accented, over time, by those early marks of immortal power, but just as her teenaged promise had blossomed into womanhood in the years between her victory and the day she called him again, the human woman's beauty was now sharpened by her magic, heightened and perfected beyond the capability of the race of Man. Her mind, her emotions, had changed as well: she was quieter, less impulsive, less passionate, slower to display emotion, perhaps slower to feel it.
She was more beautiful, but she was colder, too. And he was glad that in this Change, for Change it must be called—she was now no more human than he was himself—she had not lost her essential personality. The spark that made her Sarah remained, as did all of her memories; her present mood reminded him of her despair and boredom before Ciro changed them. It could easily be attributed to grief, which would ease with time. And she had proven, definitively, that Man could become Immortal, though the demonstration had come at a terrible cost.
But she had never cried for Ciro.
Jareth had mourned for the boy, and for Sarah and what she had lost, in those terrifying first hours, when he had healed the bruise to her head and yet she did not awaken. He was sorry that the child's full potential was lost, yes, but as Lord of the Labyrinth he could feel the boy still, and knew that he was well. Sarah had concerned him far more.
The bruise is healed. Why does she not wake? He feels her pulse, in her throat: it is steady, firm. She breathes, in and out, regular and slow. Is she only sleeping? But if she is sleeping, why will she not wake?
He watches her all night, but by morning, there is still no change. Yet her pulse is steady and strong, and so he pulls her close, wrapping around her, speaking more than he has in years, broken words that beg her not to leave him.
He circled wide again, still following the thermal, but saw no sign of her in the Castle tower: not in her rooms or in his. Not that he expected her to be in her own room; she had not been there at all, not since Ciro. They had never discussed it; he had simply brought her upstairs, after Ciro's fall, and she had never returned. For a few days, the door had stood open, but one day he passed it when returning from the Throne Room, and it was closed. He was certain, from that moment forward, never to close his own doors, either to keep her in or to keep her out.
He would be whatever she needed, if only she would permit it.
Her eyes open, and now he sees what he had missed, in his fear. The perfection of her features. The sharp definition of her eyes. The pupils, one wide like his own, one tightened to a pinprick in the bright sunlight streaming in the window. She is no longer human, and the realization is like a chord strummed deep in his soul: truly, finally, he is no longer alone.
He turned towards the Castle again as he came level with the Eyrie, hoping against hope that he would find Sarah there, but again she was absent. As he turned away, intending to circle out to the colder air over the Labyrinth in order to descend, a sudden warm gust caught him, a gust which denied the logic of rising air and sun-heated stone. It pushed him sideways and up, faster and higher than he would have chosen to rise, and a hint of laughter flowed over and around him, like a child's tentative fingers exploring his feathers.
Ciro.
Not truly, not anymore. Not the child he had loved, however distantly. Not the child Sarah still grieved. But he gave a hoot, and let himself be spun, rejoicing in the exertion of flight, in the blossomed magic of the playful, childlike spirit, in the knowledge that however changed the boy might be, even if he was less, he was happy. A cold wind blew in from the opposite direction, twisting him over again, and he could here two laughs, now, one girlish and sweet, one childish and free. The name of the other spirit was lost to time, but he was glad, also, that Ciro was not alone.
For twenty-two minutes they circled and played, tossing him between them, and he allowed it, glad of the simple diversion, for the physical challenge of keeping his equilibrium between the two happy spirits. The sun had long since set when they finally released him, and the warm air over the city was cooling, making it easy to circle down towards the Castle tower again.
And as he circled down, he saw her.
Sarah stood on his balcony, watching the night. Once she, like his subjects, would have fallen asleep soon after sunset, unless she made an effort to stay awake or he woke her. Now she seemed to feel the pressure of sundown as little as he did: while he still needed to sleep, there was little magical encouragement to do so.
He circled around the tower, coming behind her, and transformed and landed in the same motion, the movement so precise and practiced that his feet, meeting the ground, were as silent as his owl's wings.
"Hello, Jareth," she said.
She always knew.
"Sarah." He stepped closer.
"Does the moon here match the moon Above?"
Every day she asked different questions, though they were always elementary, like this one. This was the fortieth such day.
"It is similar."
"How?"
"It simply is."
"But how?"
He took another step, and leaned against the balcony railing, turning so that he could look into her face.
"The Underground is in many ways a mirror of the world Above. You know this, Sarah."
Her eyes flicked to his, and then away.
"I just want to know how much—how close it is."
"You know the answer to that, as well."
She nodded, once. "It depends. Yes?"
Bare inquiry. Empty.
"As you say."
She nodded, as though to herself. "I must start from fundamentals."
He turned towards the Labyrinth, sleeping quietly now, the wind in the distant forest and the shifting stones of the nearer sections mixing in a soft shushing whisper, so much a part of his life that he only noticed it when he paid attention. Even he had limits. The Labyrinth, and those here, and his duties to the World Above, and Sarah, always Sarah, filled his mind; it had been hundreds of years since he had considered such simple questions. Not since he had explored the fundamentals of magic with Koliada, and even then he had never thought to ask about the moon.
Her questions did remind him not to take his realm for granted. The Labyrinth was many things, to him, and had been for most of his life: duty, prison, sanctuary.
Home. More home than ever, since she came.
"Will I ever have my own stars?"
He turned back to her, raising his eyebrow at her question. "I am afraid not, no."
"Why?"
"I do not know how it is done."
"'I move the stars for no one?'" She gave a wry chuckle, and he treasured the sound. Sarcastic as it was, her laughter was far too rare.
"I did not know you heard that." He smiled at her, amused that she would bring up his words from so long ago. "Surely you will comprehend that I was speaking poetically."
"You said it right to me. But I find my memory is improving, particularly my memory for things that happened here."
"What else do you remember?" He rested a hand lightly at her back, and she permitted it, turning her head towards him slightly.
"Nothing you haven't told me over and over," she said with a shrug. "I know how much you need me."
That seemed an odd thing to say. It was not untrue; she had provided focus and strength when his was failing, and he would go on far longer with her presence than he would have alone. But that was in the past; the decision was made. He opened his mouth, not yet certain how he would reply but believing one was needed, but before he could speak, she turned towards the Labyrinth again, moving her body just enough that his hand lost contact. He let it fall, instead of following her.
"I saw you," she said, after a moment. "Flying."
"Yes?"
"You…." She trailed off, and glanced at him briefly. "I've seen you before. You don't usually… you looked like you were… playing."
He did not know if telling her would help her or hurt her, but how could he not tell her?
"Sarah—"
"I know." She blinked, and he could see her lashes flutter and then still, her eyes closing, and to his surprise he saw a tear, formed at the corner of her eye, drip down her cheek, a tiny crystal in the brilliant moonlight.
A tear.
"Sarah…." He touched her hair, lightly, and he could feel her whole body trembling, just a little.
The tear turned the corner of her mouth, and ran down her jaw, splashing soundlessly on the stone balcony edging in a tiny, nearly perfect circle. He watched it spread through the irregularities in the surface in the rock, darkening the banded gneiss so that the little flecks of plagioclase and quartz sparkled all the brighter.
A second splashed down as he watched.
"I know he Changed. I knew he was still out there somewhere. Seeing you with him shouldn't change anything."
His hand slid down her shoulder, arm wrapping around her as he stepped closer. She stood passive, in that half-embrace, but she didn't stiffen or pull away.
This was her heart, unlocked, if only a little, for the first time since that fall. She put a hand on the balcony, next to the stain of her tears, and he laid his other hand over it, afraid to speak lest he disturb this fragile moment.
"It shouldn't matter," she said again, and shook her head sharply, once, twice. "It shouldn't. It won't. I should be glad that he's—glad that you—I—" But the tears were coming, in spite of her battle, and she shuddered, a full-body movement that drew her deeper into his embrace. "I can't—do you know—Jareth, what will I do?"
He gave in to desire and pulled her close, and she came, falling against him, her fingers clutching into his shirt as she buried her face in his chest, broken, shaking with tears. Had he known how hard the loss of the child would be for her, he would not have permitted the attempt in the first place. But what was done was done.
And there was only one answer, one he had taught himself over and over in his lonely centuries, as his people fell to dust. "Endure," he whispered. "Endure."
Eventually, her tears quieted, and she sagged against him, her eyes closed. The wind on the balcony was cold, and if her body no longer demanded rest at sunset, sleep would do her good: it had a healing power of its own. He shifted and lifted her, and she made another quiet whimper against his shoulder, nuzzling into his collarbone. He opened the bed with the flick of a finger and placed her in it, then followed her down when she locked her fingers into his collar and refused to let go. Her mouth sought his, and he responded automatically, tasting her tears, feeling the weakness of her sobs and the strength of her fear in the tremble of her lips and the varying pressure of her kiss.
They had hardly touched since Ciro's fall, and they had not been intimate, though she slept in his bed. A return to their normal existence, that life they had had before the child, would be healing. He pulled her closer, one hand around her waist, the other cradling her head, and deepened the kiss.
She tasted of grief.
Sarah broke the kiss, finally, with a sigh, then ducked to hide her face in his neck as she yawned. She snuggled closer, and stilled, her eyes closed.
Jareth kissed the crown of her head, and let her sleep.
He woke to an empty bed. He searched; Sarah was not in his sitting room, or on the balcony, or in the Eyrie. This was not completely unexpected—she spent time in the Library occasionally, though she had not left the Castle since Ciro's loss—but it was unusual that she would depart before he arose. He dressed and began the descent towards the Relative Stairs, but stopped quickly: Sarah's door was open.
"Sarah?" He peeked inside, cautiously, verifying that she had not simply entered her sitting room. The room was scrupulously clean of dust—he had never allowed the magic to fail—but a large rucksack lay half-opened on the chaise, a thick notebook and pen sticking out of the front pocket. The tray in the corner, usually stacked with the food the occupant had not known they wanted, sat half-uncovered, and was, as far as he could see, empty.
He moved towards the bedroom, whose door also stood open, but before he could enter, the door to Ciro's room, which had been closed, opened, and Sarah appeared, holding a carved owl that Jareth had made for the boy long before his fall. She closed the door, and it disappeared into the wall.
"How did you do that?" It had not been his first thought—he was far more interested to see that Sarah had been in these rooms, again, at all—but the Castle was supposed to obey him alone.
She glanced at him, and then at the spot on the wall where the door had been. "I didn't do it on purpose. I suppose I was finished with it." She crossed to the chaise and tucked the carving into the rucksack.
"Finished?" She would no longer remember? Or she would no longer grieve? She had saved the carving.
"There's no reason for the door to stay here, haunting me. It's better that it's gone."
Endure, he had told her. What was this?
She entered the bedroom, and he followed slowly. This was the most animated he had seen her since her Change, but the reason for that animation was as important as the truth of it. He stopped in the doorway, watching as she pulled a light jacket from her armoire and shrugged into it. Sturdy boots followed, and she kicked her light slippers off her feet as she walked to the chair by the balcony and sat to pull on the boots.
She was dressed for traveling, but today was too Short to spend much time in the Labyrinth. Did she mean to go somewhere close? But there was the rucksack, and the empty tray, and the carving.
"Where are you going?"
She was still looking at her feet, tying her laces, but he recognized the twitch of her eyebrows: she did not wish to answer his question.
He crossed his arms, and marked the beginning of the two minutes of silence they allowed each other, counting silently.
At sixty-two seconds, she sighed, and looked up at him. "I'm going into the Labyrinth. I want to walk the Longest Path."
The Longest Path. He knew every inch of his Labyrinth, but he had never walked the entire Path without stopping. There was always something else to do, and he knew it so well that he had never seen the point.
"Why?"
She stood, and walked to a mirror on the wall, twisting her hair into a bun as she moved. Once it was secured, she met his eyes in the mirror, and one corner of her mouth twisted up, just a bit: not a smile, but an acknowledgement. "Because I can't stay here."
I will never let you go.
"Sarah—"
"I need to get out of the Castle. To be alone. To think. That's all." She gave her hair a final pat. He wanted to go to her, to pull it down, just so she would have to stay long enough to fix it again.
He said nothing.
"Look, Jareth." She turned to face him, then crossed the room as she spoke, exiting back to the sitting room. He followed. "You told me this would happen. You knew. You wrote it in your letter, that we'd grow apart. That there would be times when we were not together. That the only constant in this life was change."
"But I—we—" He had written that, it was true, but he had never imagined that it would be she who required space. He had been alone for a long time. He had anticipated that he would wish to spend time alone again; it was part of the reason that they still kept separate apartments, even though they had nearly always slept together since her return.
And the original statement had also related to desire. Did she desire him no longer? They had not been intimate in a very long time.
"It's not about you, Jareth. And it isn't your fault."
"You have been different since Ciro fell, Sarah. I want to give you what you need."
"I need to be alone."
"We lost him together," he countered. "We should grieve together, not this strange semblance of togetherness we have been living, but truly together."
"Jareth, I…" Tears stood in her eyes again, but then she turned away, and her voice, when she spoke, was low, and sharp. "This isn't about Ciro."
"Do not lie to me, Sarah!" He closed the distance between them, gripping her shoulder and spinning her roughly to face him. "And do not lie to yourself. Not ever. It will never serve you."
"I—" Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met, and he saw her expression soften, just for a moment, before her determination came back. "Fine. But it isn't just about Ciro. And that's the truth."
"Whatever it is, let me help you," he said softly.
"You can't." She shook her head. "You've tried. But you can't. I have to do this alone."
His hands shifted, sliding down her back to draw her close, and he leaned down, placing a kiss on her forehead. She allowed it, her arms wrapping around his waist as her head came to rest in its familiar position against his chest.
No good would come of fighting this. "Sarah, if you need me…."
"I know." She kissed him, where her mouth rested. "I'll call."
A/N: Gneiss is a metamorphic rock that frequently contains small crystals recrystalized after the metamorphic process. The name is believed to come from the High German word gneist, which means "spark," because the rock, well… sparkles. I do not posit that most of the Labyrinth is built of gneiss—it appears to be sandstone, which sometimes also sparkles (it's the quartz)—but I thought something nicer was appropriate for Jareth's private domain.
The chapter title is from the Easter hymn "Now the Green Blade Rises."
The next chapter is roughly 1/2 to 2/3 complete (going by word count; most of my chapters are 3500-4500 words). Just as before, I will post progress updates to my profile at least once per month.
And as always, etcetera nine is a rockstar and I'd never get through this without her.
