To the Victor Go the Spoils

Not much to say this time. I think this marks about the halfway point in the story, but that depends on where the story leads me. I certainly don't know where we're going. The theme today is "Eternal" by Ishihara Shin'ichi. Round up the disclaimers and brand 'em. Have fun!

Ladymage ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To the Victor Go the Spoils

Part 12 ~ Talk to Me

It was long before Jareth could stand, but as the light dimmed in the Underground, he could be seen straight and slender next to the gnarled tree where the game had begun. As he stared out over the Labyrinth, he could almost see a ghost image of Sarah beside him. But what he did see pained him more than the agony he had just experienced.

Numerous acres of the Labyrinth had been destroyed and all that remained of where they had been were piles of dust.

Jareth had accepted, though grudgingly, the toll Fae magic took from him. He knew that anytime he expressed his emotions, the magic would exact it from his physical body and give it physical expression. The flicker of amusement he ordinarily expressed was enough for the parlor tricks he performed every day. A little more was all he needed to do anything he wished and the pain was no more than a pin prick, if that. But to let his emotions have free reign as he had would release it from all control. It often chose to be destructive and would lash out at the one thing in this world he was truly bonded to: the Labyrinth.

Jareth's features schooled themselves back into their customary expression. He could feel that he no longer had the ability to rebuild what had been destroyed. His reign over the Underground had expired and it was time to return to his lady. With a pathetically dramatic swirl of his cloak, Jareth disappeared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sarah looked into her mirror as she sat bonelessly in front of her vanity. Another schoolday had gone by, just as long and pointless as the last. The headache had finally passed, but it left behind it a feeling of overall uneasiness, a "whisper in her Ghost" as a movie character once put it. The girl ran her fingers over her reflection. "Mirror mirror on the wall," she joked weakly. "Where is that tricky bastard?"

She hadn't expected an answer.

Too tired to do more than lean away from the table, she watched as the mirror darkened and cleared, offering her a clear view of the Underground from the air. The view began to slowly close in, not to the castle, as she expected, but to the hill that had been her introduction to the Labyrinth's treacherous ways. It had been a nice little hill as she recalled, with nothing more dangerous on it than the old, blackened tree. And Jareth.

Apparently, Jareth had returned to the hill, for it was his form she was able to make out near the tree. But not, she assumed, for reasons of nostalgia. It was hard to tell , though, as she focused on his face; he was the master of the stony expression. But if her eyes weren't deceiving her, she thought he looked a little pale, a little tired. Oh well, she thought. If he is, tough cookies. He should have been back here, not doing a dramatic recreation of The Wanderer. She continued watching as he turned and disappeared.

"Becoming vain in our old age, are we?" The mocking voice was just behind her, making her jump and the picture in the mirror vanish.

"Jareth," she said tiredly.

"You call, my lady?" He retreated to ensconce himself on the window sill.

"Shouldn't I punish you or something for breaking the time limit?"

"As you wish."

"I wish you would tell me what in the hell was going on with that temper tantrum the other day. And why you suddenly felt the urge to return to the Underground." He could hear the undercurrent of anger in her voice but her words caught his atttention.

"The other day?" Had it been that long?

"Yes, Jareth, the other day," she snapped. "It's been over forty-eight hours since I let you return to your precious Underground. Now what's going on? Why do you think I have magic?"

"Because you do," he began, turning to watch her face. "Last--uh-- the other night, I saw you leave the house and I followed you. I watched you dance. You cast what is known as a "forgive and forget" spell, which blocked your family's memories of that night and the feelings you experienced. You blocked my memories and feelings, which is no mean feat. You have Earth magic, Sarah, a kind of magic that is difficult to control and even more difficult to shape in the way that you did. Magic like that can only be used with vast talent and training." He noticed Sarah staring at him in wonder. "What?" he asked, with what should have been irritation.

"That's the first time you've ever bothered explaining anything to me," she replied, fascinated. "But why do you insist on meeting my Abuela?"

"Sarah," he said, looking her straight in the eye, "Your magic and mine work on violently opposite principles. The emotion and will you use are catastrophic when added to Fae power. And yet, all that happened was rain and a little lightning."

"So? Something did happen, then."

"With your power, a good-sized section of the surrounding area should have been demolished."

"Are you serious?" she gasped.

"For some reason, the Fae magic I gave you is not reacting in the way I expected. I need to know why, so we can keep the two magics you now possess from causing chaos."

"Can't I just give it back?" Sarah asked in a small voice.

"Sorry." The grin he gave her was almost sympathetic. "Once granted, Fae magic is forever. Unless you are defeated in turn."

"Oh."

"So, why do you not know where your grandmother is? She is the one who taught you?"

"Yes, she taught me to dance. 'In the old way,' she said, 'the good way.'" Sarah reached into a drawer and pulled out a photograph. "As for why I don't know--" She handed it to the man, who looked at it carefully.

It was a relatively old photograph, in black and white, of a couple and a young girl in front of what appeared to be large wagons. Both the man and the girl were very fair; his hair looked almost white, though he was obviously not an old man. He was wearing the suit common to the period but with the shirt open and no tie. The girl had on a light colored dress. It was her eyes, their shape and color, though, that identified her as the daughter not only of the man, but of the woman with them.

She was a small woman, yet she drew the eye. The bones of her face showed in high relief, giving her face a look of strength and determination though she was smiling brightly. It was an expression that Jareth seemed to remember seeing before. The woman was obviously part of the group, her arm linked with the man's, her hand on the girl's shoulder. Yet her hair and eyes were a glittering black and her skin, in real life, would have been a light bronze.

Jareth turned the picture over. On the back was written "Visiting family, Summer 1960."

Sarah had been looking silently over his shoulder. "Those are my grandparents," she said quietly. "And my mother."

He turned it over again, looking at the girl who would one day grow up to abandon her own daughter. Sarah continued.

"It wasn't a common thing at the time. I gather most of the people my grandfather knew frowned on their marriage. But my grandmother came to town one year along with her caravan and they met. She is a Mexican gypsy. They wander all over the country, moving from place to place as the group decides. At that time, the border between the two countries wasn't as difficult to cross, so they came maybe every five years before heading back down. Abuela once told me that family is strength, but love is everything. She decided she would stay and marry the man she had fallen in love with. So they settled down to raise a family like most people did. But it turned out both of them were wanderers at heart, so they moved around a lot. They were better about it after my mother was born, but still, every so often they would pick up and move again. They were still doing it until a few years after I was born. Grandfather died and Abuela decided she would return to her family. Mother had made her own life. They didn't get along well; Mother hated the way they kept hauling her around the countryside. So Grandma went back to roaming.

"It was about three years ago when Abuela persuaded the caravan to return up North so she could visit me. Dad wasn't happy, but he let me spend the summer with them. I guess it was so he could have some "quality time" with Karen, but I had so much fun, I didn't mind. Abuela was everything I had ever dreamed of in a grandmother. She cooked and laughed and let me do anything I wanted. She told me stories of her past and the history of our people. She taught me how to dance. She answered every question I had and so many more. I cried when she left, but oddly enough I understood why. Wandering was her life and I wouldn't be the one to ask her to give it up. She had tried for my grandfather and if true love didn't work, I certainly couldn't do anything. She did tell me that she would be there when I needed her and I got the feeling that she would have taken me with her if she could. But Dad's the one who's supposed to take care of me. So she went back to Mexico and I came back here. Since then, I've had the odd card from her, but I don't know where she could be. Gypsies don't settle anywhere for long."

Jareth looked at the face that was hovering a few feet above his. "So that's where this comes from," he murmured, fingering her nearly black hair.

She turned away from him quickly. "Yeah," she said lightly. "Abuela says I have her chin, too."

"Well, then," Jareth commented, standing, "shall we go and visit your abuela?"

"How?"

"That, my dear, is the simple part."