Sarah: Riddler's Wood

[[[Author's note: This chapter contains a riddle. The answer *is* given away, so if you want to think about it and answer it yourself, STOP READING AT THE RIDDLE. Otherwise, there's a spoiler. You have been warned, so save your flames. I would also like to recognize the wonderful Kit Williams, who wrote The Masquerade, which gave me inspiration, and to Mairzy, who gave me the idea of including a Williams-inspired riddle.]]]

Sarah trudged onward, the soreness of her feet spreading to become a generalized ache that overtook most of her body. God, she was tired, she couldn't remember the last time she'd walked so long. And in total darkness! She almost wondered if she'd gone blind without knowing it; her mind produced dull, blue flashes and streaks like the afterimages of bright lights. She sighed heavily, feeling that she was going to die here, trapped God knew how many miles below the earth. And she wasn't sure if she cared anymore.

Abruptly she walked into something huge and flat and heavy, the impact knocking her to the ground. She cried out in pain and surprise, hands coming to her face where she felt something warm and sticky. It was unmistakably blood; exploration with her slightly gritty fingers revealed that in addition to what felt like a nosebleed, she'd split her lip.

Great.

She groaned--it seemed that the flow was already slowing. Standing, she ran her fingers over the wall she'd collided with. It was heavy, dusty stone as the rest of the walls--why, the tunnel just dead-ended! A sob rose in her throat--hours gone as she'd walked in this endless darkness, and all for nothing? Her hands were increasingly desperate as they moved over the wall, seeking something, anything that might indicate a way out. At first, it seemed the stone was as featureless as the rest of the corridor, but suddenly her fingers found an oddly shaped dent. Rounded, with slender protrusions--Sarah laughed. It was a handprint, clear as if someone had pressed his palm into soft clay. As if she had, her hand fit into the groove as if it had been made for her. She drew a breath and pushed.

Nothing.

Growling, she pushed harder against the stone, but it refused to yield. She began to mutter and curse under her breath, throwing her weight against it, frustrated by the lack of response. Her hand twisted as she pushed, and suddenly the indent rotated with a series of heavy clicks. The wall itself began to move, rusty squeals accompanying the heavy grinding of stone against stone. Light flooded the tunnel--Sarah flung her arms over her face to block it.

Slowly, she let her arms drop, eyes still squinting against the brilliance. The wall had completely given way, revealing a narrow staircase formed by gnarled branches. Sunlight shone through the dust like heavy golden ribbons. Eagerly, she mounted the stairs; hungry for the light, heedless of the bloody handprints she left on the door. The stairs opened on what had once been a tree, its trunk split in two. The halves spiraled apart and upwards, boughs green with oval, glossy leaves.

She looked around in amazement. Sunlight touched endless trees, edging green leaves with gold and making the dark wood sparkle. She walked closer to draw her fingers over the wood--unlike the maze where she'd seen the wise man, this bark was smooth and warm, embedded with flecks of gleaming silver. She smiled, ignoring the pain in her split lip. The sounds! It was quiet, as forests often are, but there was still an abundance of sound- birds called unseen from the branches, soft breezes made the leaves rustle, and somewhere she could hear goblins hiding, whispering to each other. Oh, it was alive, the very air was alive! She impulsively danced a few steps in her delight.

She began walking, picking her way carefully between the trees, energy suddenly restored. She could see a clear path not far away but chose instead a barely perceptible one--narrow and meandering, but far prettier and more enticing. She could still hear faint sounds, laughter and whisper of Goblins. Although it was a bit unnerving, knowing they were watching her, she felt rather reassured--at least they were alive.

"Stop!" a shrill voice said. Sarah looked down and saw a slim, brown goblin clad in a garment of leaves blocking her path. Its hair was deep green and cropped short; at a glance, Sarah couldn't tell if it was male or female. The creature held its long-fingered hand in front of it, the other hand on its narrow hips, feet wide spread.

Obediently she stopped in place. "Hello," she said, half nervous, half excited. After all, she'd met friendly goblins before.

The creature frowned. "Who goes? Who goes?"

She smiled again, "I'm Sarah, and I'm trying to get to the castle."

"Why go to the castle? Why?" The creature was nearly hopping with fury.

Sarah sat on the warm grass and embraced her knees. "That's a long story, little friend. I...I guess I'm on a quest for Jareth.

A deep green brow was raised, "Help you I might. Might. Am Gwynol, am I, guardian of the wood," Gwynol bowed deeply before continuing, "Answer this, and I will help! Gwynol will help Sarah!"

Nodding, Sarah sat up straighter, tilting her head slightly.

"Now, I ask, and now you answer. Past the points of three, I see thee. Never and now begin. Down it starts and finishes abroad, and whispers old secrets again."

Sarah stared stupidly at Gwynol, her eyes wide. What on earth could it mean? She wracked her brain, almost frantic for a moment before she drew a deep breath. "Its ok that I don't know this, I can take my time. After all, I'm not even sure I want to win anymore," she almost whispered. Instead of forcing it, she let her mind wander.

Surprisingly, a light went on her mind--she'd heard riddles like this before! Where? A book...another book she'd read as a young girl, a book full of riddles and rabbits...a journey... She mulled over the question again, and the answer presented itself. She leaped to her feet in excitement. "Wind! The answer is wind!"

Gwynol beamed proudly and raised its hands aloft. A great wind came, so strong that lifted Sarah off her feet, carrying her into the air, but soft and caressing as well, scented with woodsy spices.

"I help you, Sarah! I help you as far as I can! Remember Gwynol, Gwynol who helps!"