Sorry about the long wait folks. I honestly had no intention of leaving you with that cliffhanger for so long, but whenever I sat down to write this week, nothing came out—nothing coherent that is—so it took me much longer to write than usual. Maybe the kids are siphoning off my creativity. Who knows? Regardless, I hope this is well worth the wait.

"So, are you going to tell me what my purpose is in the grand plan to save the world?" Jareth asked. "Or am I supposed to guess?"

"You don't need to guess, Jareth. I believe you'll find the answers you need within the very walls of this cave. However," Apollo amended, "I regret that for a time, I must leave you. I have urgent business that I cannot delay."

"The end of the world was urgent enough that you forced unpleasant dreams on me so that I would talk to you," Jareth retorted. He was convinced that his nightmares had not been coincidental, considering how easily Apollo had interpreted them to his own advantage.

Apollo deflected the barb as if it were no more than a fly; he was not the type to do battle on a whim. "Who said I forced you to dream, Jareth? I do not have mind control; illusions are your business, not mine."

"Perhaps," Jareth reluctantly admitted, stung slightly at the subtle accusation. Crossing his arms, he raised an eyebrow skeptically at his host. "But you were the one who suggested I sleep. You may think us uninformed, but those who dwell in the Underground still remember and pass down the stories of what you and your family did in the Aboveground. I need not say more than the Oracle at Delphi—those poor girls. Do you particularly like goat entrails or did you just like to see the humans poke them for answers they couldn't possibly contain?"

For the first time since the Goblin King's arrival, Apollo smiled. His teeth glittered against his gleaming skin—diamonds sparkling against a golden setting—and for a split second, Jareth understood why so many of the human women were so willing to surrender their innocence to the Olympian men. Apollo's smile was as guileless as it was infinitely charming, unlike the mischievous smirk Hermes continually wore. Whereas the latter may appeal to women the strength and wit to enjoy the challenge, Apollo's smile engendered trust to all who beheld it, despite the devilry behind it.

"I admit it," Apollo chuckled. "I did get my own brand of entertainment at their expense. Unlike Hermes, I never truly harmed anyone, simply misled them. Being a connoisseur of wisdom makes you susceptible to find amusement at other's folly. I enjoyed both their discomfort and their feeble attempts at divination. They were so silly, really, like children poking at mechanical toys to see how they work and unable to admit that they hadn't a clue.

"And despite your self-righteous accusations, Jareth, you would have been just as amused as I. Remember, I know how you treated Sarah when she came to your Labyrinth. I've seen it. Were the Cleaners a harmless prank? And the Bog of Eternal Stench? By the gods, that place is foul!"

A muscle in Jareth's jaw clenched, "I had my reasons, which you should know if your understanding is as acute as your visions are accurate."

"It is, which is why I do not berate you for your actions, merely point out that they are not so very different from my own. I know you had reasons, Jareth. So did I." Apollo's smile faded. "And now, I must depart, for despite your dislike of my half-brother, he is necessary."

"Hermes. What need to I possibly have for that traitorous scoundrel?" Jareth spat.

"Do you not recall what his purpose is in the Underworld? He's the guide. Without him, we cannot hope for an audience with Hades."

"Hades?"

"Yes, Hades—called Pluto by some and Orcus by others. He is Lord of the Underworld," Apollo said acidly, "making this pleasant countryside you've been frolicking in his personal Labyrinth—if you will pardon the analogy. Though the rest of us have lost our power, he still reigns supreme in this wretched land and if you hope to leave it, you would be stupid to shun him. Hades doesn't like being ignored."

"And I suppose your half-brother is the only person capable of gaining an audience with one as powerful and mercurial as Hades?" Jareth snorted derisively and rolled his eyes.

Apollo nodded and turned to face the entrance, calling over his shoulder. "While I am away, I suggest you use your time wisely." With a slight wave of dismissal, Apollo left Jareth standing motionless in the cave—his mismatched eyes unfocused and distant.

Time elapsed slowly in the unchanging landscape. Without the cyclical motion of sun and moon to guide him, Jareth couldn't discern if it had been one hour or twelve since Apollo had left. His mind refused to coalesce into productive contemplation and for the first time in his life that he could remember, he missed the goblin hullabaloo. Mayhem distracted him; silence made him both sullen and restless. Weighed down with a growing ennui, he scanned the cave in search of something to pique his interest.

Apollo's home was very simply laid out: a central cavernous space leading to the outside world with a few small alcoves branching off. Jareth's 'inspired' bout with nightmares had occurred in one of these alcoves and he presumed Apollo used another for his own rest—if the sage immortal did sleep, that is.

Jareth passed by the small rooms with no more than a cursory glance; there was nothing in them to hold his attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he discerned a slight movement, a whisper of light in the otherwise gloomy cave. Turning his attention to the far side of the room, he perceived a fissure in the cavern wall heretofore unseen.

It was from this that the faint glow of blue light breezed gently toward him, beckoning him seductively. At first glance he could tell it was not one of the sleeping bays, which had been dark since his arrival. The thin tendrils of white smoke snaking into the room as if they were the tentacles of a ravenous creature and the light, its prey, further piqued his curiosity.

He wondered briefly if Apollo weren't trying to trick him, but despite his own misgivings, he was drawn inexorably toward the dimly lighted corridor. Unlike the rest of the cave, the dank smell of must and earth was masked by the thick, cloying scent of incense. High above his head—like stars viewed through the fine veil of an autumn mist—tiny blue flames winked at him. The pale light and heady aroma heightened his senses; his breathing roared in his ears and the sound of his footfalls in the mountain echoed louder than thunderclaps.

Before him, the hallway stretched onward with no end in sight.

Suddenly, Jareth felt a cool rush of air caress his face and a few strands of wild blonde hair tickled his cheek softly. To his left, a black hole in the wall yawned wide as if seeking to swallow him alive. He hesitated, but his lungs and brain were overfull with incense, making the fresh air too tempting to ignore.

He stepped into the blackness, half-expecting the floor to give way beneath him as he fell headlong into nothingness. Instead, light suddenly flared around him and he squeezed his eyelids together tightly against the glare. He breathed deeply of fresh air devoid of any trace of incense. Prying one eye open, he found the light less overpowering than it had seemed at first. Indeed, the only source of illumination appeared to be a wrought-iron lantern resting contemplatively on a carved desk.

Jareth shook his head, convinced that the light and incense in the hall had disoriented him. The only other logical explanation was that the winking blue lights and heady aroma of incense had caused hallucinations and light-sensitivity. There were many drugs that, when burned, could produce side effects similar to what he had experienced, even in the Underworld. Yet the effects wore off immediately upon exiting the influence of the strange corridor, leaving Jareth unsure as to the cause of the optical illusion.

Compartmentalizing the conundrum, Jareth surveyed his new surroundings with some interest. A cursory glance told him that he had chanced upon a study of some kind. Numerous bookshelves filled to capacity lined the walls from floor to ceiling on two sides of the room. On the front and back walls, someone—presumably Apollo—had mounted a wide variety of musical instruments, mostly stringed instruments but a few woodwinds and a number of panflutes, each with a different number of pipes, were interspersed between them.

On the fourth wall opposite him sat the desk upon which the single light source squatted studiously. The light streaming from the wrought iron lamp provided enough illumination for Jareth to discern that most, if not all, of the books lining the shelves were of human origin: histories, biographies, philosophy books, a smattering of epic poetry and a even a few collections of myths and fables.

"He must find humanity more intriguing that I suspected," Jareth noted with some amusement. "I suppose we have that in common." He browsed briefly, but soon turned his attention to the only other pieces of furniture in the room: the hand-carved desk and matching chair.

The desk had neither drawer nor cabinet to mar its smooth, Doric lines. The legs rose regally from the floor like the columns of a Grecian temple. Yet, however clean the workmanship, the workspace was far from impeccable. To one side, a stack of papyrus sheaves—which turned out to be sheet music—sat untidily beside a squat inkwell and stone cup containing quills. A number of parchment books bound in sheepskin were piled haphazardly, littering the only remaining space on the desk not occupied with musical notations and the iron lampstand.

Uninterested in the human works, Jareth scanned the opened books on the desk carelessly. He correctly assumed them to belong to his host and the thought of reading Apollo's personal journals appealed to his impish character. Flipping idly through them, he found very little to satisfy his overactive curiosity until halfway through the second volume. A third of the way down the page he saw the following, written in a strong, confident hand:

I received another vision today while I was on the bank of the Great River—I find it so soothing to sit beside the waters as they roll past, the perfect place to clear my head when I'm too overburdened with the present to see the future intelligibly. I'm surprised no one has found me out and invaded my secret retreat (I can't say I'm not grateful they haven't). Aphrodite would assume I come here to tryst and probably try to interrupt (or join in), which would hamper my work considerably. The only other one who might care is Artemis, but she is too respectful a sister to pry; she understands my need for solitude, especially with nature to surround me and bolster my energy. She's the same as I that way. Still, I wonder why no humans have found my hideaway either; they're prone to wander into places they shouldn't. Perhaps Zeus is protecting my privacy, for which I can be grateful; either way, I'm happy to enjoy the serenity by myself. The sound of birds and the fresh wind sing in harmony with the rippling waters below; the flow of energy here is magnificent.

Where was I? Ah yes, the vision. It concerns the Dark World and the tragic curse my father placed on it when he banished his relatives there so long ago. I saw a child—the same mystical child I have seen before whenever I focus my energy on the magic surrounding the Dark World. He was but an infant babe in his mother's arms this time and she crooned to him softly in her strange accent. It sounds so…formal, archaic (befitting a race lost to time and influence from outsiders). Both mother and child are from the Dark World, at least I presume so, otherwise why would they appear in my visions when I consider that banished place?

In all, the vision was of no consequence regarding content, but it does fit with a growing pattern that I have yet to distinguish. Every time I turn my inner eye and energy to the place we are forbidden by my father to mention, every time I think of it, I see this child who is not yet a man. Even at a distance I can sense his aura—magical energy beyond compare. More, even, than my father. It makes me wonder…why is this child so important? If only the Dark World were not cut off from this one; then, I might be able to see more clearly. Were that so, however, this child would likely have very little importance. Ah, now that is something to consider…

The account trailed off there and the next few pages were absent of any further information regarding the infant boy Apollo had seen. Neither did it hold much to intrigue the Goblin King's waspish delight in mocking all things asinine, for it dealt almost exclusively with happenings in Aboveground history and a few gossipy tidbits regarding the lives of his very distant relatives. He bypassed these pages with no more than a cursory glance. There was one entry, however, roughly ten pages from the end of the book, which immediately attracted his attention. The handwriting was the same, but oddly agitated and slightly scrawled:

A very strange vision today. I was, again, in my usual spot by the river, contemplating the Dark World and hoping for more insight into the boy-child with great magic. What I saw instead was quite bizarre and unexpected. Instead of a boy-child, I saw a beautiful woman, a human by the look of it.

She had long hair that swept her back as gracefully as a raven wing brushes the sky. Her eyes held green fire—a bright light flashing fiercely against the porcelain tint of her flawless skin. She looked roughly marriageable age* but she was dressed neither in the clothing of a virgin nor of a married woman; her clothing was very strange. Instead of a peplos or chiton, she wore a second skin of blue on her legs—truly, I have never seen this kind of garment anywhere nor do I know what to call it! Her overgarment was far too short to be a tunic and over it a sort of vest, though of what cloth, I am again left speechless.

What shocked me most was that she is clearly human; there is no trace of magical energy about her anywhere. How does this strange woman have any relationship with the Dark World? She must be from another time, a future time. But what does a human woman from the future have to do with my father's curse? How could she possibly be involved? Who is this green-eyed beauty and what could she possibly have in common with the boy-child from the Dark World? He cannot get to her and she cannot get to him because of the curse. Ah! My mind aches with puzzles! Alas that I do not yet see perfectly what the mists of time carry hidden in their bosoms.

—Perhaps I should visit the Three Sisters. They are not known for being generous with their knowledge, but they might offer a few table scraps to the dog that comes humbly to their banquet. Clotho** has always been fond of me. I might be able to wheedle something out of her if I'm charming enough. I shall have to head back to Olympus soon if I am to go. They always love my stewed meat and I'll need time to prepare it. It wouldn't hurt to bring along an instrument or two as well; music charms the soul.

"Sarah," Jareth whispered, instantly recognizing the apt description of his beloved wife. "So, Apollo saw her, too did he? That's interesting. I wonder why. She must be more important than he was willing to confess openly." He smirked arrogantly at the memory of his conversation, "And he told me nothing good came of immortals interacting with humans. What a bald-faced liar he is! She's clearly important enough to a part of his visions regarding the Dark World— which I can only assume is the Underground.

"Yet…" Jareth hesitated, "that still doesn't explain why he saw her at all…Could it be simply that she is the one who defeated my Labyrinth and thus sent me here to Erebus so that I might discover what I am supposed to do?" Jareth tapped his chin, one dangling foot swinging in time with the rhythm of his thoughts.

"Intriguing, but that doesn't seem like enough. Sarah must have greater importance to what Apollo claims is my task than he was willing to admit. I have to keep searching these tomes; perhaps he saw more of her that might give me a clue to how she is involved…and while I'm at it, maybe I can find out more about how to reverse his father's curse. Given what he divulged earlier, there can be no doubt that the boy with the magic is I."

Full of self-importance, Jareth leafed through the last few pages of the book but the final entries were insipidly uninteresting, so he returned the book to the desk and picked up another. To say his curiosity was piqued would have been an understatement. On the contrary, the customarily unruffled Goblin King was quite agitated. Eager as he was for more information regarding Apollo's visions, he rifled through the remaining books on the desk. Even his own troubled mind could not discern whether he longed to see his own name or that of his Queen written on the thick pages running like water through his fingers.

He study divulged ample information about himself—most of which he already knew since it differed little from what Apollo had told already him. He found an entry describing Apollo's revelation that he would be the one to undo Zeus' curse and heal the fraying magic holding the three worlds together, but it did not describe the problem in detail, much less how such healing would be accomplished. Much to his disappointment, he gained no new information from the other volumes on how he was to 'heal' the fractured magic nor did he find any entries that included Sarah.

Frustrated at his lack of progress and feeling that he had wasted his time, Jareth slammed the last of the books down on the desk with an indignant grunt. He heard the soft snick of a metal lever being activated and a section of wood on the front panel of the desk pulled a hairsbreadth a way from the rest of the woodwork. He pried at it with his fingers but nothing moved. The secret panel was stuck.

He searched the desk for something thin and sharp to prize open the panel and found a long, thin knife used for cutting papyrus into sheets for binding. Inserting the tip into the thin slit, Jareth worked the end of the knife under the panel in a few deft movements of his skilled hands. Within seconds, the panel of wood lay on the desk and whatever had been cached behind would soon be brought to light.

Jareth slid three fingers into the narrow opening searchingly. His fingertips brushed soft leather and, closing around the desired object, withdrew a single, thin volume of fine paper bound and strapped in black leather.

It seemed a strange thing to hide in a secret panel in the bottom of a desk. The appearance gave no indication that the contents were dangerous or confidential and Jareth concluded that there was no reasonable explanation for the book's location. For, even if the book were somehow private, no one could possibly want to steal it.

"We're in Hell," Jareth scoffed. "Who would want to steal a book?"

The thought then occurred to him that the book had been purposefully planted in the secret panel to arouse his interest. Perhaps its importance would have escaped him had it been left on the desk or one of the shelves—if the latter, the likelihood of him giving it a second thought was slim, that is, if he had been able to find it in the first place. If the former, he might not have perused it carefully, supposing it to be another journal of Apollo's visions.

A secret panel, however, that aroused his interest instantly. A master of secrecy and illusion, Jareth was prone to find such arts intriguing when employed by others. He hated being out-maneuvered at his own game and prided himself on being able to see into and through disguises of all sorts. Apollo, no doubt, knew this and used the information for his own advantage.

"He conned me into finding this," Jareth acknowledged with no little approbation. He had to admire the fellow's audacity and cunning. Apollo had successfully manipulated the Goblin King so deftly that Jareth had not been aware of what was happening to him. Jareth grinned and saluted his absent host, "Bravo, Apollo. Well done, I must say. Now, let's see what is inside this book you so desperately wanted me not to know you wanted me to find?"

He untied the leather cord and flipped it open. The words "Healing: Energy and Magic"were emblazoned across the first page in silver lettering.

"Well, well, well," Jareth purred. "What have we here? More dreams and visions? Or perhaps, something more."

Jareth flipped through the first few pages of the book avidly and it wasn't long before he understood why Apollo had planned for him to uncover this book. And why he had gone to such lengths to hide it in order that Jareth would understand its importance. The information contained within this thin volume could change the way all creatures—kings and citizens alike—existed in the Underground. If Apollo was correct, it could save the world.

Suddenly, he knew he couldn't sit in the room any longer. He had to leave, to find someway of getting out of the Underworld no matter what the cost to himself. He rose excitedly and, in his haste, did not realize he was no longer alone in the room.

His body hit something solid where nothing but air should have been. Jareth lifted his eyes from the book in his hands and his mismatched blue ones met Apollo's golden ones.

"We must leave now," Jareth said brusquely, ignoring Apollo's slightly stunned expression and walking past him. "I have no time to explain, Apollo; I'm certain you're already aware of what I have discovered—seeing as you planted it there for me to find."

But before Apollo could make a reply, Jareth strode past him and into the heavily incensed hallway leading back to the cave. When he arrived in the central chamber, he found Hermes lounging dejectedly on the floor. His apparel looked markedly shabbier since Jareth had dismissed him and the wings bedecking his cap, sandals and staff drooped dispiritedly.

"Take me to Hades," Jareth commanded, startling Hermes out of his despair. "Whatever I thought or think of you doesn't matter in the slightest so quit feeling sorry for yourself and do something useful for a change. Come, come, Hermes, you mustn't wallow."

Hermes gaped, looking frog-like and pitiful in his bewilderment. Jareth tapped his foot impatiently. He wished he had his riding crop with him to knock some sense into the bemused immortal. The man looked positively idiotic, like a goblin trying to figure out whether 'imbicile' was his name or an insult.

"Well?" Jareth quipped nastily, a touch of arrogant importance leaking into his voice as he crossed his arms impatiently over his chest.

"You heard him," Apollo prodded calmly, taking a single, measured step into the room to join them. "Hades awaits."

* In the Greco-Roman era, women were married far younger than they are today. At the very youngest, they were married off as early as twelve to fourteen years of age. (It coincided with the onset of puberty and thus, the ability to bear children) Late teens (sixteen to eighteen) would be the latest they would get married. It may sound weird now, but since the average lifespan was roughly 30-40 years old, early marriage meant more time to have lots of babies, which is what the ancients wanted! (sometimes women would not marry in order to dedicate themselves to serving a goddess, like Hestia for example, but this was not the norm for most girls). Hopefully this makes sense of Apollo's observation that Sarah was 'roughly marriageable age'.

** Clotho is the Greek name for Nona (Roman), the first of the three sisters. Since Apollo was first a Greek deity, I have him using the original Greek name for this goddess rather than the Roman name, which I have the Undergrounders using because they despised the Olympians.

Anyhoodle, I hope you liked it and were not too disappointed after the long wait. Again, I'm sorry, but my brain was refusing to work this week! Leave a review and I'll love you forever ;)