Notes: The "Be bold, be bold, but not too bold," line is from the story of Mr. Fox, one of the "Oh GOD that's creepy" school of fairy tales.
~*~
She had been walking now for what felt like about fifteen minutes. She wasn't sure of the duration; her digital watch said it was 19:67 on a Monday, Thursday, and Sunday simultaneously, and the pocket watch was tucked away. The dust kept getting into her throat and making her cough. And to her left, the wall of the Labyrinth rose, stretching into the distance, unbroken by doors or windows.
No helpful dwarves or wise old elves, eager to impart knowledge and secrets of success, seemed to be in evidence. The land was empty of everything except trash plants and Kathy.
"Fine," she muttered. "Not a problem."
The cut on her forehead had stopped bleeding. Her ankle still hurt, and each breath made her ribs ache, but she wasn't by any means incapacitated. She ran a hand over the wall, which was made in the old New England style of carefully fitted rough gray stones, with no mortar. It rose straight and true to a height of about twenty feet.
Kathy sat down and kicked off her sneakers. They were more flexible than the boots she generally wore, but not nearly good enough for what she needed now. Working quickly, she knotted the laces together and slung the sneakers around her neck. Tightening the straps on her backpack, she rose up.
The wall was good quality, but very rough. She raised her hands and insinuated them into a crack some three feet above her head. Lifting herself up, her besocked toes perched on a jutting piece of rock. The hands went up again, and so on and so forth. It was difficult, and once she very nearly slipped when she forgot and put her full weight on the bad ankle, but it was a way in.
The climb didn't take long. She sat at the top of the wall and looked out at the maze before her. It wasn't really all that big, she realized… perhaps five miles to the center as the crow flew. Kathy wished she could fly. The route was so full of turns and kinks it was more like a Celtic knot than anything else.
She tossed her backpack to the ground, where it clanked loudly, and put on her sneakers again. Time has a way of moving on without you.
"When you hang down," she told herself, "It'll only be a twelve foot drop. You used to do that on playgrounds when you were five years old. It's a cakewalk. Just roll when you hit the ground."
Supporting herself on her arms, she turned her front to the cold stone, and lowered herself until she dangled by her fingertips. And then let go. The bad ankle and rib protested, but she made it more or less unharmed. "Hah," she exulted, "That's the first step." A subtle hissing noise (the sound which is caused by dissolving magic) behind her made her turn around to see a great gate in the wall, plated with richly carved brass, that stood exactly where she had climbed over. It was even slightly ajar.
"Well up yours too, you big blond British bastard."
Another wall, this one in gray-veined white marble, ran parallel to the outer wall she had just wasted a good ten minutes climbing. This one, however, had a door near at hand. Roughly carved runic letters were hacked into the stone, contrasting oddly with the smooth perfection of the marble. Curiously, she ran a hand over them… and swiftly pulled back in surprise, for where her fingers touched, the letters became perfectly readable English. They said simply,
"Be bold, be bold… but not too bold,
Or else your life's blood shall run cold."
- Kathy shivered. The feeling of the letters squirming and changing under her fingers was one she wished she hadn't experienced, and something that she strongly suspected she wouldn't forget. A warning, then. She shouldered her backpack again, and passed through the doorway. It led to a marble hallway, which ran for ten feet and forked into two diverging paths. She chose the left-hand one, and set off at a jog.
~*~
The Labyrinth and the city at its center are always hot. No one knows why. The weather in the other lands east of the sun and west of the moon is always "most clement and gentle." But the castle, which is the heart and soul of the whole land, is always cold. It can't entirely be due to the massive old stones that form the halls and turrets. There must be something else.
Eric stood in the center of the unkempt throne room and shivered out of cold, fear, and illness. He was pale, and his freckles stood out on the pallor of his skin. Directly before him, the king of the goblins looked intently into his eyes. Eric wanted nothing more than to look away, but some instinct told him that would be extremely dangerous. Still, when Jareth extended a gloved hand toward him, he couldn't help but flinch back.
"Don't be stupid, boy. I'm not going to hurt you."
With that, he tapped Eric once, gently, directly between his eyes. The boy blinked twice, and shook his head experimentally.
"What did you do?"
"You had a mild concussion, which occurred as a result of the way the way I bought you to the kingdom. I have removed it. Those are the rules."
"Why didn't you help Kathy?" asked Eric belligerently, "She was hurt too. I saw it."
"She's got a bruised rib and a lightly twisted ankle. She'll live. Besides, you are my property. I have an interest in seeing you are properly maintained. She's only an irritation."
"That's not very fair."
"Ye gods, it's genetic."
"And anyway, I'm not your property. She'll save me."
"No, she won't."
"Yes she will."
"No, she…" Jareth stopped, shook his head in irritation, and said sharply, "Look, boy, the fact of the matter is that no one can beat the Labyrinth unless I let them."
"Mom did."
The Goblin King's face grew dark and thunderous, and Eric stepped back. Jareth stood with his fists clenched at his sides, obviously trying to gain control of some fugitive emotion. When he spoke again, his voice was tight.
"Your mother had help, and certain abilities which your sister does not possess. She will lose."
"Kathy's smart and brave."
"I have no doubt. But the Labyrinth requires more than that."
There was an air of finality in Jareth's tone, and he lowered himself into his throne with the expression of one who has no intention of continuing the conversation. He made a theatrical gesture with one hand, and a small crystalline orb appeared.
Eric sat down on the dusty floor and watched him. He had a very piercing stare, and in a few moments, Jareth glanced up at him.
"Well? I'm not your nursemaid, boy. Go and… play, or whatever it is you do. We've got hours yet."
"I'm not a baby. I don't want to go play," replied Eric, flatly.
"Very well," said Jareth, grinning, "Catch!"
He lobbed the crystal gently through the air at Eric, who caught it after a few fumbles.
"What is it?"
"What does it look like? It's a crystal. It can show you anything you want… if you're strong enough to command it."
Eric scrunched his brows together in confusion. "How can I command it?"
"Just concentrate on what you wish to see. But… and this is the important part… you have to be entirely silent while you do it, otherwise the charm won't work."
Eric folded his legs Indian-style and stared into the crystal, his chocolate-colored eyes wide.
~*~
The Labyrinth, thought Kathy, as she slowed to a walk for a moment, isn't nearly as weird as in the film. Just a big ol' maze. I haven't seen anyone, neither friend nor enemy. Her sneakers crunched on the dead leaves that coated the marble-tiled paths.
"So where is everyone, anyway?" she said to herself.
"It's oor off-saison, young ladie!" said one thickly accented voice.
"Aye, tha's roight!" chimed in another nearly identically-sounding speaker, "Ye get most people making the wish aroond and aboot midsummer or midwinter! 'Tis the weather, ye see! No one likes a crying bairn aboot when it's freezin or bilin!"
Kathy blinked and looked into an alcove to her right, which she was 100% sure had been empty until a moment ago. Now there stood two… well, things. They certainly weren't human, but they didn't really look like how she pictured goblins. In fact, they looked more like playing cards designed by giraffes than anything else.
"'Bilin?' 'Aboot?'" she asked confusedly, "What are you talking about?"
"The Labyrinth, ye daft berk! 'Tis this toime of year when ever one takes a holiday!"
"Savin us who actually maun needs work here, accourse!"
"Oh, aye, us accourse!"
They seemed rather excitable. Every sentence was a shouted exclamation. Kathy ran her fingers through her hair and looked around. She was entirely unsurprised to find that a wall had replaced the trail behind her. A sigh escaped her. It had been too easy.
"All right… so you're something I have to get past before I can continue the rest of the labyrinth?"
"Tha's right!"
"And… I remember this bit… one of you tells the truth and one of you always lies? And one path leads onward, the other one to certain death?"
"Verra good!"
"How do I know you're not lying right now? Maybe you're both liars. Maybe both ways lead to certain death."
The two things conferred briefly.
"Err… ye don't."
Kathy set her bag down and knelt in front of it. She unzipped the largest compartment and spoke composedly, "I was never that good at logic puzzles. Now, I do know the answer to this one… Mother told me… but since I know what happened to her, I think I'll go with Dad's suggestion." With that, she rose to her feet, concealing something behind her back.
"All right, then," she said, a hint of a grin hovering at the corners of her mouth, "You. In the red. Tell me which is the path to freedom."
"How do ye know that I'm no' the liar?"
The grin blossomed. She stood up, and although she wasn't a tall woman, she towered over the four-foot guards. Kathy took her hand from behind her back, to show the tire iron she was carrying. She tapped it lightly against her palm a few times, where it made a meaty thwap.
"Because you're going through there first."
~*~
"Hah!" yelled Eric, gazing into the crystal. Jareth was jerked from his own thoughts, and turned his head sharply to face the boy.
"What?"
"Kathy beat those guards with two heads! Look!"
Intrigued, Jareth sat down on the floor next to Eric and gazed into the crystal, where, indeed, he saw Kathy prodding the irritated guard. From the looks of it, both heads were swearing.
"Ah… the direct approach. I haven't seen that for quite some time." Jareth's tone was that of "Bored spectator at golf tournament". He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, and looked at Eric, silver eyes showing much more interest than when he had looked into the orb.
"I must say I'm impressed, boy. Controlling the crystals is no easy task. Have you got any fairy blood in you?"
"I heard Mom say that her aesthetician Rupert is a big old fairy, but at least he dresses nicely and knows how to choose a wine."
"Not, I suspect, the sort of fairy I had in mind. But you have an obvious aptitude for magic, which is quite rare in modern humans."
Eric looked up at the Goblin King, suspicion and wonder mingling in his expression. "You mean it?"
"Indeed I do."
"Sweet!"
"Quite. Are you sure you don't want to stay in this land? There are so many things you could learn. The crystals are only the beginning."
"Wow." Eric was quiet, and looked at the ground. "But my family would miss me. Anyway, I don't like the goblins. I don't wanna be one."
"You don't necessarily have to be a goblin, you know," Jareth's voice became low, conspiratorial, "And how sure are you that your family would miss you? I believe…"
The Goblin King looked at Eric for a moment, while the boy felt the odd, but unmistakable, sensation of someone rummaging through his thoughts.
"Yes… your father visits you briefly every year, and has shown no desire to see you more than that. Your mother is entirely wrapped in her own life, and in any case, loves your older brother… Jared? much more than she loves you. Your sister obviously cares for you, but you seldom see her since she's gone to school, and she seems not to miss you nearly as much as you miss her."
Eric's lip trembled for a moment. "How did you know that stuff?"
"Just a trick. Something you can learn easily. If you decide to stay of your own free will, of course. The choice is everything."
Eric looked back into the crystal, his eyes still wide, but with new doubt growing in his heart.
~*~
Lefts and rights, lefts and rights… Kathy figured if she kept a basically straight path overall, she'd get to the center eventually. She had stripped out of her flannel, coat, and sweatshirt, getting down to a plain white T-shirt, but she was still sweating like mad. At some point the walls and pavements around her had switched from white marble to vine-covered granite. Huge striped bees buzzed in the gold-lit corridors, sipping from the purple flowers that dotted the vines. It was, Katherine thought, the most beautiful place she'd ever seen.
She came to a doorway of some dark reddish wood, set back into the stone, with trailing creepers hanging over its face. If an errant breeze hadn't lifted the vines for a moment, she might have missed it. The fact that there hadn't been any breeze anywhere else, and that you shouldn't take things for granted in the Labyrinth, escaped her entirely.
Gripping the verdegrised ring that served for a doorknob with both hands, she leaned back on her heels and pulled the door open. The antique hinges groaned. Kathy gripped her tire iron tightly and stepped through the door.
Her mouth dropped open in amazement. She stood in an immensely long hall, with inlaid parquet floors and a ceiling made entirely of stained glass. More vines trailed across the roof of the building, and as they blew in the wind (a wind which, by the by, couldn't be heard or felt in the corridor outside) they cast patterns of shadows in the colored light from the ceiling.
But that wasn't the most amazing thing. Covering the length of the hall on either side, in old gilt-wood frames, were life-sized portraits done in oils. Had, Da Vinci, say, or Vermeer seen them, they would have realized that someone else had already mastered portraiture, and sought more rewarding careers in dentistry or accounting.
At the end of the hall, a wide door was open. Through it could be seen an stretch of forest… and towering above the forest, the Goblin city, and the castle at its center. Kathy laughed with joy and took off towards the doorway.
It was hard not to slow down, despite her eagerness. The paintings were truly remarkable. Typically, the subjects were young women, although a few young men and older people were scattered here and there. And again, while they seemed to be by the same artist, they covered a wide range of historical fashions. Here was a brunette woman in a chiton, and next to her was a lady with high cheekbones, dark skin, a braided black wig and a pleated linen skirt. A bit further on, a Japanese girl wearing layer upon layer of silk robes stood next to a cavalier with long curls and a ruff.
None of the subjects of the painting's eyes could be seen. The Japanese girl stared down at the tea that she poured, the girl in the chiton intensely watched the distaff upon which she spun. The bewigged woman had simply closed her kohl-lined eyes. Regardless of what they were doing, all the faces had the same expression… as if they had learned that all the secrets of the world were sad.
As Kathy walked down the hallway, the costumes grew more and more modern. Here was a couple, the man in a Confederate Civil War-era uniform, the woman in a wide crinoline skirt. Then came a girl with red lips, bobbed hair, and a short fringed dress. And finally, at one of the paintings, Kathy slowed to a stop.
The girl in the picture was terribly familiar. She had long brown hair, and stood with her chin up, gazing (it appeared) into the mackerel sky that raged above her. Behind her, the scenery was more suggested than shown, but it seemed to consist of stairs and doorways. Her clothes were simple; jeans, sneakers, a white poet's shirt, and a brocaded vest. Kathy hadn't ever seen the ensemble, but the face was familiar. This was Sarah Williams, twenty-six years ago.
Kathy felt a shiver of foreboding run up her spine, and she left the picture of her mother behind. The portraits came to an end about thirty feet further on, and the door was perhaps sixty feet after that. Without knowing why, she started jogging.
Woman with kinky black hair wearing a kanga. Man with spiked blue hair and lip ring. Girl in DKNY business suit. The pictures flashed by. And then, Kathy couldn't help but stop, for the very last painting in the hall was a most interesting subject.
It showed a young woman, with true-gold hair, a lithe body, bitten fingernails and callused hands. She was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a plain white T-shirt. On her back was a green knapsack, in her hand was a tire iron. Unlike the other paintings, the subject of this one stared boldly out at the viewer with gray-blue eyes, and on the face was a go-to-hell grin. The face was even more familiar than that of Sarah. Kathy had looked at it at least twice a day for years and years, had washed it, plucked its eyebrows and medicated its pimples. It was her own face, of course.
Despite herself, she was drawn to the painting. No one had ever made a portrait of her before. Upon closer examination, she began to wonder if anyone had actually "made" this one. It was exactly up to date, from the cut over one eyebrow to the rip in the left knee of her jeans. But when she extended a finger to touch it, the paint was dry. And there was no artist's signature.
The air smelled tinny, the smell of magic at work. Half-dazed, Katherine reached up to touch the face, the mirror image of her own. But before her finger touched the canvas this time, the image blinked, smiled beautifully, and reached from the frame to take Katherine into its arms.
There was a moment of silence in the empty gallery.
