I Shall Do Thee Mischief in the Woods
"Why are you sleeping in a hovel?"
The question was asked with barely concealed disdain.
"It's not a hovel, it's a cottage."
The gesture Jareth made was a pretentious assent—clearly, he didn't agree, but he wasn't going to argue the point further.
"Besides, I don't see you directing me to the nearest bed and breakfast," Sarah added. She rose stiffly from the straw bed and moved across the room, putting her back to the wall so she could watch Jareth, who leaned with casual grace against the footboard.
"It isn't my responsibility to find you decent lodgings."
"You aren't responsible for much these days, are you?"
"On the contrary, princess, I live to do your bidding." Sarah frowned, unable to miss the biting sarcasm in his words. "What would you like? The rooms of an Arabian queen?"
A flick of his long fingers and the drab room wavered. Multi-colored columns twisted up from the floor. A soft rug with an intricate circle pattern in bold purples, blues, and yellows unfurled beneath her feet. Sheer swaths of fabric in the same colors fluttered from the ceiling, around the columns, and over the long, wide windows stretching into shape. The material canopied the bed and pooled to the floor with the bright gold and pink satin sheets. Elaborate ornamental designs curled around the edges of the windows.
Sarah held her breath and tried not to feel queasy as she waited for everything to stop moving.
"Or perhaps you'd prefer something more traditional."
Another flick, an almost absent movement of those pianist fingers. The ceiling shot up, the windows shrank. The bed shortened and dark posts spiked down from the ceiling like stalactites, along with a gaudy chandelier complete with flickering candles. Dark purple and black damask flowed down the posts, draped over the large wooden headboard. Smooth, dark wood soaked up the brightly colored rug. The windows filled with silver and turned into large oval mirrors in ornate frames.
Compared to the last room, this one was stark, almost cold, but beautiful nonetheless.
"Still not satisfied?"
Sarah managed to close her mouth before looking at Jareth. "You don't have to show off to impress me, Goblin King," she said. His eyes narrowed. "I promise, I'm greatly intimidated by you already."
"What you are is an insolent woman," he replied, voice full of danger. The walls and furniture returned to their shabby state as Jareth stood and took a step toward her. The temperature dropped and Sarah fought the urge to back away from the dark shadows seeping into Jareth's eyes. "You would do well to remember who holds the power here."
Her fingers found the amulet under her shirt and bunched the cloth as they curled around the metal. "We both would, I think," she said.
Jareth's eyes flickered toward her hand and, just for a moment, admiration crossed his face. Then, his nostrils flared and his lips pressed into a thin line. "Touché, princess," he muttered.
Sarah made a face at the nickname. "Quit calling me that." She shifted her weight and glared when Jareth smiled, no doubt amused by her annoyance. "What are you doing here, anyway? Come to show me more about how I'm going to end up killing myself?" She froze and looked around in alarm. "I'm not standing on the edge of a cliff or something, am I?"
Jareth snorted lightly. "No," he said. "You're safe and sound in that sorry excuse for a bed." Sarah let out a small breath of relief. "For now," he added.
"You're like a ray of sunshine in my life, you know that?"
The surprise lighting Jareth's eyes disappeared into a speculative gleam when Sarah smiled derisively, and she wondered if he could see through her sarcastic words and expression. Because as soon as she'd heard the crushed velvet tones of his voice melt through the darkness, unexpected relief had raced through her veins while a strange, terrible kind of excitement had fluttered through her stomach.
She tried her hardest not to let him know that, though.
But maybe he already knew. He studied her for a long, serious moment...then turned away—just not quickly enough to hide the soft smile curving his lips. And it caught Sarah's breath. For once, it wasn't stiffly condescending or snidely amused. The honesty of the emotion amazed Sarah. And confused her. The Goblin King was like a force of nature straining against the confines of a human-shaped body. He was volatile as fire, capricious as wind, and just as unpredictable and deadly as either.
A dangerous thing, Sarah realized. Even more dangerous to allow herself to think of him like he was merely a man, to crave more of those genuine expressions.
To react to him as though he was ordinary.
"She's stealing from you, this witch you're staying with," Jareth finally said.
He was inspecting the frame of her bed with more scrutiny than the shoddy piece of furniture warranted. Which was just fine because Sarah was struggling to focus on the problem at hand.
"What could she take from me?" Sarah asked. "My PowerBars? She can have 'em. They taste like cardboard."
"Don't make light of this, Sarah." And Jareth's voice turned rigid and cool as he faced her again. "She's stealing your time."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. You can't steal..." She sucked in a breath, really thinking about what Jareth was saying. "Time."
Every passing minute was one less spent looking for the Goblin King. Sarah had already wasted two days at the cottage almost without noticing. That meant she had...seven left.
"Where were you last night to tell me this?" she grumbled. "We are seriously lacking in the communication department. I'm not sure this relationship is going to work out."
It was meant to be a joke, but the only thing really funny was how Jareth's stony visage melted into something closer to astonishment. Sarah wondered if she could turn this into a game—how many different faces could she get the Goblin King to make in one dream?
"I couldn't reach you last night," Jareth said, his tone sincerely apologetic—his voice soft and shivery, and doing confusing things to Sarah's heart and stomach. "It's a strain to be here now."
He turned his gaze on the walls around him. Pressed a bare hand against the rough stone and shook his head in irritation.
"You're close," he said. "I think."
He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he concentrated, then he growled deeply with frustration.
"I can't tell," he muttered. "There's a river nearby. Cross that and you'll be safe." When Sarah's mouth twisted with doubt, Jareth sighed. "There's much about this place you still need to learn, Sarah," he said. "Crossing water is the surest way to keep evil from following you." Her expression didn't change. Jareth sighed again. "Trust me."
Maybe it was his tone, this time—weary and perhaps a little melancholy—that made Sarah realize on some level, she did trust him, now. He may only be keeping her alive because he needed rescuing from the pickle he was in, but Sarah tried to keep in mind that at least he was keeping her alive. And, right now, it was enough for her. She'd address the selfish reasons behind it later.
"I don't know if it's the magic of the forest or what she's done to this shack," Jareth continued. And his voice had reverted back to businesslike boredom. "But it's hard for me to find you. She's strong, this witch whose clutches you've fallen into."
"Hold on a minute, I didn't fall into anyone's clut—"
"Have you eaten anything?" Jareth interrupted.
Annoyed, Sarah shook her head before the question registered. "A bite of stew," she reluctantly admitted. Jareth's expression became frighteningly serious.
"It may have been enough," he murmured, almost to himself.
"For what?" When he didn't answer, Sarah took a step toward him, hoping she looked as threatening as he sometimes did. "Enough for what, Jareth?"
He looked like he was straining not to say anything. "Enough for her to make you forget," he ground out through clenched teeth.
"Forget..." Sarah stared at him. Memory tampering food? Boy, that sounded familiar. "Like you did?"
"Like I almost did," Jareth corrected. His mouth twisted into a beautiful sneer. "But, you know, your will was stronger and all that."
An emotion Sarah couldn't identify streaked gold through the grey-blue of his eyes. He turned away from her again before she could catch more than a glimpse. Sarah quelled a surge of frustration.
"It's a dodgy bit of magic," he said, "manipulating someone's memories. But if you were strong enough to defeat me, then you'll easily overpower such an inferior foe."
"The problem is remembering that," Sarah pointed out.
Jareth nodded. "Unfortunately, there's not much I can do from here," he said, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. "Trust that the amulet I gave you will keep you safe."
Sarah pulled the piece of jewelry from under her shirt and held it up. It twisted gently on the chain, the faint light in the room casting shadows into the small indention on the front.
"It's missing a piece," she said, curiously. She ran her thumb over the circular indention, wondering how she hadn't noticed it before.
"Yes."
Jareth's short answer made her turn her questioning gaze on him. "What goes here?" It would be a perfect circle, a little bigger than her thumbnail. Something easily misplaced, she thought with dismay. Had she lost it while traveling? But if that were the case, why hadn't Jareth mentioned it before? Surely, he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to scold her.
"Something you don't need to worry about," Jareth snapped. "Right now, you should be more concerned with getting out of this trap you so willingly walked into."
Sarah tucked the necklace back under her shirt and gave the Goblin King a pleasant smile—which only grew when he regarded her warily. "One day," she said, "when I'm not under the pressure of being killed or kidnapped, and you're feeling particularly chatty, we're going to have a long talk about all these secrets you like keeping from me, Goblin King."
Jareth's mood instantly changed—she could feel it in how the air warmed around them, saw it in the swirl of amusement in his eyes. "Only if you're very persuasive," he drawled.
The silky promises in his voice made every inch of her tingle. She looked away, licked her lips, and took a slow breath. Jareth's presence suddenly seemed too much for the tiny room. Raw, sensual energy radiated from him as easily as heat from the sun, and there just wasn't enough space to contain the wild tension sparking through the air between them. The intensity of his gaze as he watched her take another slow, deep breath was like the warm kiss of summer against her skin. And a reckless part of her wanted to find out how long she could keep her head above water in the maelstrom that was Jareth. Because it was sure to be a fervently passionate ride.
Get a grip,Williams.
"So," Sarah muttered, licking her lips again, trying to find moisture somewhere in her mouth. "Suggestions?"
Jareth's expression was bland again. "Most of the time, the only way to break the compulsion is to kill the sorcerer," he told her.
"I'm not killing anyone, Jareth," she said, firmly.
He shrugged. "Good luck, then."
Sarah's eyes snapped open and she stared up at the ceiling above the straw bed she lay in. Funny, she didn't remember that small crack spidering out of the corner...
The sun still lingered beneath the horizon as Sarah stumbled from the small room she shared with Talia, careful not to trip over the sleeping girl. The old woman wasn't in the main room, but a soft sound outside drew Sarah's attention to one of the back windows. Peering out into dawn's watery light, she saw the hag's silhouette in the middle of the garden. Her cane was propped against one hip, her hands were in the air. The long sleeves of her robe had fallen back, revealing knobby elbows and pasty skin. Her mouth moved and Sarah strained to hear what she was saying.
"Weeds of this garden, weeds of this garden, spring up, spring up. Work of this garden, work of this garden, disappear, disappear."
All around the woman, snarls of green pushed through the dark earth between the flowers and vegetables, until the garden was once again overgrown—all of which Sarah and Talia had cleared the day before. In an instant, the hag undid hours of labor.
And Sarah felt...nothing.
She walked away from the window and sat at the kitchen table. Chewing slowly on a piece of day-old bread left in the wicker basket, she mulled over her reaction. She knew how she should feel. And it was there...somewhere...banked deep below the surface. She thought, maybe, if it was freed, it would explode from her in a fiery blaze. She recalled the intensity of burning anger, but she seemed so far removed from it, now.
"It's good to see you eating, Sarah."
Sarah turned and smiled at the old woman as she walked into the house. "Should I wake Talia?" she asked.
The hog nodded. "There's much to be done, today," she said. "Start with the garden."
As soon as Talia had been roused and had her breakfast, the two younger women started their work at the back of the house. They spoke softly to each other, covering their laughter with their hands so the sound wouldn't carry into the house.
"Auntie disapproves of merriment while doing chores," Talia told her as they walked to the creek to wash up. "It's meant to be work, not fun."
They spent longer at the little stream than they had the day before, idly lounging in a patch of warm sunlight gallantly breaking through the thick canopy of leaves. Sprawled in the lush, cool grass, Sarah...felt. It was as though the thick haze of apathy had evaporated.
"What happened to your love, Talia?" Sarah asked, softly.
The other woman was quiet for a long moment. Then, she sighed. "He died," she answered, simply. "A long time ago." She paused, then said, "When I was just a babe, the faeries told Auntie one day I would be in great peril from an enchanted piece of flax. She did everything she could to protect me, but it was all in vain. What those meddling creatures failed to predict was that, after the spell was broken, a worse fate awaited me." Talia rolled onto her stomach and turned her face toward Sarah. "I had two children, you know. Child as beautiful and radiant as the sun and moon. When I took them to their father, I found he was already married."
"Uh oh," Sarah murmured.
Talia nodded. She plucked at a stalk of grass. "His wife wasn't pleased to find me on their doorstep," she whispered.
"Understandable," Sarah said. "I take it she sent you on your way?"
"Oh, no," Talia said, shaking her head. "She killed my children, fed them to their father, then stitched my eyes shut." Sarah sat up with a gasp of horror. Talia's pretty mouth pressed into a firm line and Sarah briefly wondered if the girl could cry. "She cursed me to an eternity of blindness. I remember..." A soft, shuddering breath. "I remember her laughter, an evil, wicked sound. Auntie says she was jealous of my beauty, that people do and say cruel things when they want something terribly."
It was a mad, twisted fairytale she'd stumbled into, Sarah realized.
"What is that pendant hanging around your neck, Sarah?"
Sarah's fingers instinctively curled around the horned amulet under her shirt. "How did you...?"
"Auntie mentioned it to me," Talia said with a small shrug. "She said I should steal it from you." She rested her chin in the palm of one hand and frowned. "But I don't like taking things from people. It must be very valuable if Auntie wants it."
The curve of the medallion pressed into Sarah's hand. "Trust that the amulet I gave you will keep you safe."
A flash at the corner of her eye caught Sarah's attention. When she turned, she saw the sun glinting from...not a river, but the creek.
Close enough for me.
"We should be getting back," Talia said. She stood and brushed off her skirts. "Auntie will worry."
"Talia..." Sarah hesitated when the other woman turned unerringly toward her. "Talia, have you ever thought about leaving here?"
A delicate crease marred Talia's forehead. "Leave?" she repeated.
"Yes, just walking away from your aunt and this place," Sarah said. "Going out and finding...something else."
Talia gave a lilting chuckle. "I can't leave, Sarah," she said.
"Yes, you—"
"I can't leave, Sarah," Talia repeated, her voice wavering.
With a sigh, Sarah followed the other woman back to the cottage, slowly. She should have just said screw it and left her belongings behind. Because as they drew closer to the shabby house, the numbness crept back into Sarah's chest until she was left feeling as empty as a doll.
Almost, a whispering voice said. And the amulet warmed slightly against her skin.
"There you two loverly things are," came the rasp of the old woman's voice. "I was beginning to fear the wolves had run off with your mutilated bodies."
"Sarah and I were washing up," Talia assured. She patted the older woman's hand affectionately. "I'll pick some lavender for the bread."
"There's a clog in the chimney, Sarah, dear," the hag said, limping toward the house. Sarah obediently followed her inside. "Please take care of it."
That muted voice in her head screamed for her to run to the bedroom, get her things, and get the hell out of this nightmare. But it was so faint. It was easier to walk woodenly toward the fireplace, stopping only when she felt intense heat licking against her skin. Digging her heels in, Sarah came to a jerky halt.
"I'm sorry, Auntie," she said. "But I'm not sure what to do."
"Worthless child," the hag muttered. She shuffled across the room and stood next to Sarah. "You simply take this," and she picked up the iron poker next to the fireplace, "and stick it up there until the obstruction comes out."
It was like moving through tar, trying to get her arms to follow the command of her brain. But Sarah ground her teeth together and strained against the compulsion.
As soon as she touched the witch's bony shoulders, the air snapped.
And Sarah shoved.
The hag screamed as she tumbled into the fire. Embers exploded from the hearth, burned holes in Sarah's shirt and sizzled against her skin. She quickly brushed them off and stumbled toward the bedroom.
"Gretel ain't got nothing on me," she whooped triumphantly. As she slung her pack over her shoulders, she heard the front door slam open and Talia's soft cry of confusion.
Sarah dashed from the room, intending on making a run for it, but came to an uncertain halt. Talia blocked the entrance, wringing her hands helplessly as the hag extracted herself from the fire. The old woman's hair and clothes smoldered. The smell of burned flesh cut through the scent of baking bread, nearly making Sarah gag.
The witch's eyes glowed with anger when she caught sight of Sarah. She pointed a gnarled finger. "Kill her," the woman choked out to Talia.
The blind woman turned in Sarah's direction. A contrite frown touched her pretty mouth. "I'm sorry, Sar—"
But Sarah was in motion again. She rushed toward Talia, ramming her shoulder into the other woman's stomach as she tackled her to the floor. Sarah heard Talia's breath whoosh out of her—and the loud crack of the younger woman's head as it bounced against the hard surface. She went limp and panic spike through Sarah.
Oh, God, I didn't mean to kill her!
She placed a hand over Talia's mouth and let out a breath of relief when warm air stirred against her palm.
Now, for the Wicked Witch of the—
A scream of fury raised the hairs on the nape of Sarah's neck. Instinctively, she scrambled off Talia's prone form just as the witch ran toward her, iron poker in hand. The business end of the tool stabbed through Sarah's shirt, grazed her skin and barely missed going through her abdomen as she rolled awkwardly onto her back.
Sarah lashed out with her foot, kicked the hag in the leg hard, the crawled away. She pushed to her feet—let out a yelp when someone jerked on her backpack and brought her to the ground again. With a surprised gasp, Sarah found herself looking up into Talia's stitched eyes.
"I'm so very sorry, Sarah," the girl whispered. "But you can't leave. Ever."
"The hell I can't," Sarah snarled.
She punched the heel of her hand into the other woman's face. Talia cried out. Sarah quickly clambered to her feet—
—and screamed as red agony seared through her shoulder. Unable to see through the white-hot pain, Sarah struck out toward the source. Her fingers curled around unyielding iron and she yanked. The witch screeched like a lunatic and Sarah blindly swung the poker in the direction of the sound. There was a sickening thud as it found its target. Warm stickiness spattered over Sarah's hands.
Blinking the pain from her vision, Sarah found the hag on her knees, one hand pressed against her head. Blood trickled through her fingers and down her neck.
"Insolent child," the hag spat. "I should have slit your throat when I had the chance. Look what you've done to my poor Talia."
Sarah shuffled to the side a bit so she could look at the younger woman while keeping the witch in view. Talia's mouth and chin were bright crimson, but she'd already managed to partially staunch the flow of blood from her broken nose. Sarah shrugged—winced when the gesture pulled unbearably at the wound on her shoulder. These two women weren't the victims, here, and this certainly wasn't Sarah's fault.
"What you should have done was given me directions and sent me on my way," Sarah said. She waved the poker menacingly when the witch shifted to ride. "Stay right there. I'm going to talk out of this house and neither of you are going to follow me. Got it?"
Talia nodded. The hag glared.
"Before the night is over, before the day is through, I will curse you, Sarah Williams," the witch said. She leaned over and drew her finger across the floor, making strange—almost familiar—symbols in the ash covering the stone.
"Stop that," Sarah warned.
A whispered chant began to fall from the witch's lips.
"Stop," Sarah said again.
The hag's words twisted malignantly through the air. Magic tingled through the room, uncomfortably itchy magic that made Sarah feel unclean.
"Stop!"
"Shut your pretty mouth before I sew it closed," the hag snapped. She smirked. "Then wouldn't you two make a loverly pair? Blind and mute. I should have thought of this years ago when I placed the curse on my Talia."
"Are you saying...you're the one who did this to her?" Sarah asked, her tone filling with horror.
The witch cackled hoarsely. Talia sucked in a sharp breath. "That laugh..." the younger woman whispered. Her brow furrowed. "I remember that laugh."
"I couldn't have my loverly leaving me," the hag said, almost gleefully. She resumed drawing on the floor. "That stupid prince never even had a wife," she rasped, absently.
Sarah's limbs turned to lead. Alarm made her heart beat frantically when she realized she was slowly losing command over her body again.
The amulet under her shirt warmed until it was uncomfortably hot.
"...the only way to break the compulsion is to kill the sorcerer..."
"I'll bet you don't have to be dead," Sarah muttered. She took a dragging step forward, shifted the poker to hold it above her shoulder like a bat. "I'll bet you just have to be," another step, more jerky than the last, and she stood over the witch, "unconscious," she grunted.
She put all her weight behind the swing.
The old hag crumpled to the floor with a dull thump. The poker clattered loudly to the floor. Sarah stared at the fallen witch. The dark puddle spreading around her head gleamed wetly in the light of the fire.
"When she wakes, she'll not hesitate to kill you," Talia whispered, making Sarah jump.
She looked at the blind woman, who still knelt on the floor. "Come with me, Talia," Sarah said. The girl shook her head. "Your aunt is abusive and cruel, and you deserve better than this...hovel. Come with me. We'll find someone to help you."
But Talia shook her head again. "I can't leave," she said, softly. "Not yet. But you can. Go, Sarah."
When she hesitated, Talia reach out and wrapped her fingers around the poker. "I'll find a way to help you," Sarah promised, backing toward the door.
A sparkling tear slid through the blood on Talia's face and she nodded. "Go, Sarah," she said.
The witch groaned. Stirred.
Sarah ran—out the wide open door and through the garden. She hurdled the fragrant rose bushes and dodged hawthorns, catapulted into the forest. Holding up her arms to keep low branches from whipping against her face, Sarah ran for her life.
She ignored the throb of pain in her shoulder as she splashed through the stream. On the other side, she came to a panting halt. Bending over, hands on her knees, Sarah gulped in air, listened for any sounds of pursuit, and scanned the forest ahead.
Feeling safe enough for now, she took a moment to inspect the injury on her side and found it was nothing more than a scratch. The wound on her shoulder, though, was deep enough she could probably fit her pinky in up to the first knuckle. "Crazy old bitch," she hissed as she washed the blood off. She found a handkerchief in her pack, tied it tightly around the wound, then contemplated her options.
"'In that direction lives a Hatter, and in that direction, lives a March Hare. Visit either you like; they're both mad,'" she muttered, looking up and down the stream.
It looked like easier going to her left. Hooking her thumbs under the straps of her backpack, Sarah followed the stream toward the setting sun, hoping that, if she ran across anyone in this direction, they'd be a bit more sane.
A/N: (long one this time, sorry!) As far as I can tell, the oldest variant of Sleeping Beauty was Italian in origin and called Sun, Moon ,and Talia, collected (not written) by Giambattista Basile, and is actually a part of a larger story. While Talia's eyes weren't stitched closed and her children were never killed, it's still a bit darker than the more popular version the Grimm brothers collected (the prince wasn't so charming, for starters...). You can find the link to it on my author's page, if interested, as an Obscure Fairytale, since many people may not know it...
Chapter Title:I couldn't, for the life of me, remember where I'd come up with this chapter title. Originally, I'd thought it must be Shakespeare or the like. Turns out, it's the title for a short story by Kathe Koja from Snow White, Blood Red, one of my favorite collections of re-told fairy tales. It includes The Moon Is Drowning While I Sleep, by Charles de Lint (the best—and maybe the only...—re-telling of The Buried Moon I've ever read), and Troll Bridge, by Neil Gaiman.
