The Core

Prologue

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Disclaimer: Jareth, Sarah, and the world of the Labyrinth is property of Jim Henson and Tristar and Lucasfilm and various other people who are not me. I earn no profit from this story, only the joy of writing.

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            Labyrinths are only mazes, and at the heart of every maze is its core.

            This was true even for his father's labyrinth, which was magic, malevolence and magnificence embodied. Though it flowed and twisted and defied time itself, even it had a heart, if one cared to find it.

            Griffith was awoken by the soft laughter of bells and the almost soundless flight of a snowy white owl. Sitting up, he stretched in the moonlight and slid from his bed slippery and sleek. He swung open his window and peered out into the endless darkness. Sure enough, two glowing eyes peered back at him and he smiled.

            "Hello Father," he whispered, and then stepped back. He concentrated, squeezing his eyes shut tight. His form shimmered and then a small hawk, black as jet, appeared where he had stood. Spreading his wings, Griffith took flight and soared through the window to join his father.

            They glided quietly through the night, over the Labyrinth and high above things too bizarre for human imagination. The world fell silent in their wake, respectful of their presence. They were the King and his heir, and they were lords of their domain and masters of the night.

            Griffith stayed right on his father's tail feathers, totally fearless as long as he could see and follow him. His wings caught the merest breath of air, and his spirit soared with the joy of flight. The hawk was his favorite form, and the first his father had taught him.

            "Shouldn't I be an owl, like you?" he had asked when he first took on this form. His father had only smiled and held him close.

            "You can never be me," the King had assured him. "You can only be yourself. You are a hawk, not an owl."

            They alighted on the sheltering branches of an ancient oak. The King was the first to return to his true form. Reality shifted and a slender, eternally young man appeared. He sat on the branch, which was as wide as the stairs in his castle, and allowed his legs to dangle beneath him. His son landed next to him and resumed the form of a small boy.

            They sat in silence, for there were no words worth saying, and listened to the world breathe around them. The cool air ruffled the boy's hair and he leaned against his father who draped an arm over him to hug him close. Griffith snuggled towards the warmth and marveled at how magic seemed to pour from the King's very skin.

            The moon's milky glow settled over them and Griffith heard the song grow in the air. It echoed in every living thing, and he felt jolts of delight streak through his body. Finally he could bear it no longer and finally joined his voice to the melody. Looking up, he saw his father doing the same.

            When the song's tempo died, Griffith asked softly, "Why does Mother never join us?" He had come with his father on these midnight flights since he was barely more than an infant, and yet his mother had never flown with them. This was the first time he had plucked up the courage to ask about her absence.

            His father's smile grew melancholy. "She cannot hear the song."

            This troubled Griffith greatly. "Has Mother no magic?" he asked.

            His father laughed gently, but it was not a cruel laugh so the boy knew he was not being mocked. The King never mocked his son or wife, though he could be cruel to others that he thought ignorant or ridiculous. "Your mother has the greatest magic of all," he assured his child. "She has the power to see through lies and pierce illusions. Hers is the power to create and destroy, to give and take away. Why, if it pleased her, she could rob me of all my magic, and has before."

            "But she cannot hear the song?"

            "No," his father said finally. "She cannot hear the song."

            Griffith decided it must be like having perfect vision, but being completely deaf and unaware of it. He could not imagine not hearing the song within all growing things, hear them hum and purr with life. His father had learned long ago that there were some things even his beloved wife would never understand and never be able to partake of, and this was one. As much as she loved them, Sarah never understood why her husband and son would disappear in the night to bask in the moon's rays and join their voices to the symphony of song.